Chapter 425
In just two days—two days that felt like two centuries—the eastern part of the village, which had long served as the last refuge for the refugees, which had been considered relatively safe because of its distance from the border wall, which had been the primary destination for everyone who managed to escape, slowly but surely began to be seized by the forces of the Obrim Dynasty.
Ninety percent of that region had fallen into their hands.
Ninety percent of the land that had once been the playground of Xavier and his friends, the place where he learned to walk and speak, the place where he first understood the meaning of the word home, had now turned into the dominion of demons clad in black armor.
Only the easternmost edge remained.
Only a small piece of land had yet to be touched.
Only a sliver of hope remained, thinning at the horizon.
And on that very edge, at the final boundary between the village and the outside world, thousands of people were now packed together in a terror that could not be expressed with words.
Xavier's eyes slowly opened when the cart suddenly stopped.
He heard commotion outside—the voices of people shouting in panic, the frightened neighing of horses, the clashing of metal that began to echo not far away.
He leaned toward the loose opening in the canvas, and through that narrow gap he saw something that would remain etched in his memory forever.
In the distance, along the horizon that had begun to glow red beneath the evening sun, thousands of black dots were advancing in a neat and terrifying formation.
They came like a rising tide that never receded.
Like an ocean of ink spilling across the land.
Like death itself walking on thousands of feet.
And at the front of that formation, waving proudly in the wind, fluttered the black-and-red banner—the symbol of the Obrim Dynasty that had now become the most terrifying omen for every remaining villager.
That army had not come to negotiate.
They had not come to offer peace.
They had come to slaughter anyone still daring to stand in the way of their plan to seize the eastern edge of the village, to take the last remnants of the land that had been the home of their ancestors for thousands of years.
"Why did everything happen so fast?!
Why am I always one step too late?!!"
Xavier watched everything unfold in a horrifying slow motion, like a nightmare that never reached the moment of awakening.
Around him, the remaining members of the little gang, several villagers who still possessed a trace of courage, and soldiers of the Village Defense Forces who were wounded yet unyielding suddenly rose with a determination that exceeded the limits of their bodies.
Those whose legs were crippled staggered forward to block the advance of the black-armored army.
Those whose arms were injured lifted whatever weapons they could with the strength they had left.
Those whose bodies were covered in wounds still tried to shield the younger children behind them.
The fire of resistance burned brightly—so fierce, so overwhelming, so stirring—as if they truly believed that courage could defeat numbers, that spirit could overcome swords, that determination could defeat an army that had trampled their humanity for so long.
But a flame that small, no matter how brightly it burned, could never stand against the sea of fire advancing from every direction.
Xavier's scream erupted at the same moment the first body from his little gang collapsed.
A boy still drenched in blood from old wounds, who had only just risen to join the defense, suddenly fell beneath the weight of three black-armored soldiers at once.
Xavier shouted desperately, his hoarse voice tearing through the panic as his hand reached into empty space as though he could pull his friend back from the grasp of death.
But no one heard his cry.
Or if someone did, there was nothing they could do.
The soldiers continued slashing mercilessly—without hesitation, without doubt, without even a hint that they were killing children far too young to understand the meaning of war.
Body after body began to fall around Xavier.
And every time one of them collapsed, every time he recognized a face beneath the spreading pools of blood, his screams grew louder, more desperate, more inhuman.
He begged anyone who might still care—the soldiers who were still fighting, the gray sky above them, the gods who might still possess a trace of mercy—to stop this massacre.
But no one heard him.
No one cared.
And the slaughter continued with terrifying speed.
One by one, the members of the little gang he had formed since they were learning to crawl, the friends he had led through the fog for the first time, the ones he had tried to protect during the betrayal at the great wall, were butchered before his eyes in the most savage ways imaginable.
Those small bodies were showered with countless slashes—even after they stopped moving, even after life had clearly left them.
The swords kept dancing above lifeless corpses, destroying whatever remained, turning the shapeless into something even more unrecognizable.
Until finally, when the soldiers ceased and moved on to their next targets, what remained on the ground were only lumps of red flesh that no longer resembled human beings.
There was nothing left that could be called a hand.
Nothing left that could be called a leg.
Nothing left that could be called a face.
Everything had merged into a single horrific mass—a pile of flesh, bone, and organs that could no longer be distinguished from one another.
"Congratulations. You have successfully broken through the dormant potential within you."
His neck had already grown cold from the touch of metal ready to separate his head from his body.
Xavier was forced to kneel, his knees sinking into the blood of his friends whose bodies were no longer recognizable, his eyes seeing but no longer able to cry.
He was the last one.
The only one left after everyone—after the loyal members of his little gang, after the soldiers of the Village Defense Forces who had fought to the last drop of blood, after the ordinary villagers who had only wanted to live in peace—had died in a heap of flesh that no longer resembled humans.
There were no more voices.
There were no more movements.
There was no more life around him except for the black-armored soldiers preparing for the execution.
One of them—a commander bearing a special emblem on his shoulder—had already raised a broad sword with both hands, ready to drive it down into Xavier's helpless neck.
The mouths behind him had opened wide, ready to explode into victorious laughter that would echo across the land they had just conquered.
But the laughter never came out.
Those open mouths remained open, yet no sound emerged from them.
The raised sword remained raised, yet it never descended to complete its task.
The eyes that had glowed with victory a moment earlier suddenly froze into empty stares.
All the soldiers of the Obrim Dynasty in that area—dozens, perhaps even hundreds—stopped moving simultaneously in their respective positions.
Like a painting that had suddenly frozen in place.
Like time itself had suddenly lost its direction.
Like the universe had taken a deep breath and held it within its chest.
No one moved.
No one blinked.
No one breathed—at least not with a breath that could be heard.
Even the dust that had been swirling through the air moments ago now hung motionless, neither rising nor falling, like tiny specks waiting for a command to move again.
To be continued…