Chapter 420
They kept running toward the village chief's house, toward the center of authority that they had always respected yet rarely approached, toward the only hope of saving the village from the disaster that was about to arrive.
With ragged breaths, with tears nearly spilling, with voices trembling violently, they told everything they had just witnessed.
About the insane and ruthless Obrim Dynasty, about their intention to exploit the village's wealth in the most horrifying way, about the flesh and internal organs that would be offered upon the magma of the mountain, about the black-and-red banner that had already been raised as a sign that the invasion would soon begin.
They warned the village chief to prepare defenses immediately, to gather the young men capable of fighting, to evacuate the women and children to safer places, to do anything possible to prevent the invasion from the Obrim Dynasty.
Their young eyes radiated genuine fear, their small bodies trembled as they imagined what would happen if that army succeeded in breaking through the fog.
They had seen the outside world, and the outside world was a nightmare made real.
Yet the village chief, with all the wisdom long respected by every villager, with all the years of experience that had made him trusted as a leader, revealed a limitation no one had ever realized before.
He refused to listen to the warnings delivered so passionately by the children still covered in sweat and dust.
His dim eyes could not see the fear in theirs, his aging ears could not hear the tremor in their voices, his rigid mind could not accept that the world beyond the fog was not what he had always believed it to be.
He regarded their words as nothing more than childish rambling, the product of imagination running too wild, a nightmare that had followed them into waking.
He smiled with false wisdom, stroked Xavier's head with his wrinkled hand, and said that there was nothing to fear.
The fog would protect them, just as it always had.
No one could penetrate the fog, let alone an army from the outside world that did not know the way.
The children only needed rest and to forget their nightmares.
And while the village chief remained lulled by his mistaken certainty, while the elders still gathered to discuss the news from the visitors in a relaxed manner, while the villagers continued their daily lives without suspicion, from the western area—from the direction long considered the safest because the fog there was the thickest—the army of the Obrim Dynasty began to enter the outermost border of Xavier's village.
They emerged from the fog like ghosts that had long waited for the right moment to reveal themselves, wearing black armor that reflected the sunlight with a grim sheen, holding drawn swords ready to cut down anyone who stood in their way, with black-and-red banners proudly waving in the peaceful village air.
The first ranks, the second ranks, the third ranks—they kept coming without end, as if the fog were a gate to hell and they were the demons pouring out to seize the world.
"How cruel that irony was."
The rumbling came from a direction no one had expected.
From the western border, where the thickest fog had long been considered an impenetrable fortress, the first flames suddenly burst forth, tearing through the darkness of the night.
Villagers who had been preparing for sleep or sitting on their porches briefly saw the orange flicker in the distance, thinking it was merely lightning wandering through the valleys.
But when the sound of cracking wood and faint screams began to drift through the wind, when the scent of smoke started to tickle their noses, when dark plumes began staining the once-clear sky, only then did a few of them begin to feel that something was wrong.
Too late.
Because the fire had already devoured the outer guard posts, burned the dry fields ready for harvest, and turned the western border into a gate of hell thrown wide open.
The village bell, which for decades had stood proudly atop the wooden tower at the center of the settlement, which had faithfully announced births, deaths, and celebrations, whose sound had long been embedded in every villager's ears, suddenly rang in a way it never should have.
Not the familiar orderly chime, but the sound of metal twisted by unnatural force, the shriek of steel chains snapping apart, the cracking of tower wood collapsing in an instant.
And when the massive bell finally broke free from its bindings, when gravity dragged it down from a height of dozens of meters, when dust and wooden fragments scattered in every direction, no one nearby had time to react.
The bell struck the ground with a nauseating thunder, bounced once with the force that remained, and began to roll.
Its path was unpredictable, ignoring the logic of the terrain, as though an unseen hand guided it through the panicked crowd.
A middle-aged man running while carrying his child was shocked when a dark shadow suddenly swept past him from the side.
His body was rolled into the hollow interior of the bell and then thrown out again in a form that no longer resembled a human being.
A woman who had been trying to wake her sleeping husband managed only half a second of a scream before the wheel of death crushed through their house, shattering the bamboo walls and destroying everything inside.
Forty souls within seconds—forty bodies that had been breathing and dreaming moments before, forty lives ended in the most brutal way the village had ever witnessed.
The bell that once symbolized unity and togetherness now rolled greedily across the ground, chasing anyone who tried to flee, leaving a long red trail behind it.
"Just a little longer and we could have reclaimed the western territory. Just a little longer and this village could breathe again. Then… that gate opened."
Haaaah!
"Not because it was forced open, not because it was smashed from outside. But because it was opened… from within."
The resistance at the central border had been fierce since the sun began to tilt westward.
The Village Defense Force, whose numbers were only a third of the enemy's, whose equipment consisted merely of bamboo spears and wooden shields, whose training relied mostly on hunting experience in the forest, managed to hold back the assault of the black-armored soldiers for hours.
Xavier, who had joined only days earlier, whose hands were still stiff holding a spear, whose eyes were still unaccustomed to seeing blood flow before them, remained standing in the front line with the others.
They used every gap in the massive wall, every small opening that allowed them to strike from unexpected angles, every height advantage that gave them even a momentary edge.
And slowly—very slowly—they began pushing the Obrim Dynasty's forces back.
One by one the black soldiers fell.
One by one the red banners collapsed.
One by one the cries of victory began to echo from the side of the village.
As dusk crept closer, as the western horizon turned into a reddish orange that ironically resembled the color of the enemy's banner, the Village Defense Force nearly reached the moment they had dreamed of.
Several sections of the western village had already been reclaimed.
Several defense posts seized by the enemy had begun to return to their control.
Several meters of lost ground were once again stepped upon with pride.
To be continued…