Morning came like a goblin's club to the face for Isakk — his head throbbing and face pale. He quickly stands up, getting ready to scout the area like always, courtesy of Captain Wideroth's useless orders.
"Damn noble and his pointless commands. Tch."
Isakk walks out of his tent, careful not to wake his tent-mates, especially the pregnant woman he'd grown reluctantly fond of. One would think women and children would be spared from war — but this world is not kind enough for that.
"Hands sore as hell since yesterday, head dizzy as a man on a spooked horse."
He walks through the camp, passing Captain Wideroth's tent — extravagant compared to the ones where five to seven men sleep shoulder to shoulder while the Captain sleeps in comfort, doing nothing but fill his useless mouth and bark orders like a dog. Isakk heads into the forest, ignoring the guards he passes as they gossip loud enough for him to hear.
"Look, it's him," said the first guard.
"He really does look like a noble. Maybe from a fallen house," said the second.
"No — just the son of a whore." They laughed without shame.
Isakk grits his teeth and keeps walking, pushing deeper into the forest past his usual survey point to cover more ground. He walks for what feels like an hour — long enough that the birdsong thins out and the trees grow older and quieter — before he stumbles upon a destroyed village.
"What the hell happened here."
He scans the area carefully, burning the location into his memory, then moves through the ruins. The destruction is old but thorough. He's picking through the rubble looking for anything worth taking when he hears footsteps behind him. He spins fast — nearly giving himself whiplash — hand already on his dagger.
"Come out. Who's there — I'll gut you if you don't show yourself right now."
A small girl steps out, red-eyed, lower lip trembling.
"Are you here to kill us too?"
Isakk exhales slowly. He sheathes the dagger.
"No. What happened here, girl? Who did this?"
She grips her little bag tighter.
"A demon."
Isakk's blood runs cold. Demons rarely leave their territory — but when they do, they are merciless without exception.
"A demon. Alright." He keeps his voice flat. "Show me anything worth finding here, then come with me back to camp. You'll be safe there."
The girl looks up at him with hollow eyes.
"There is nothing of value here, good sir."
Isakk sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
"Fine. Then let's go." He glances back at her, making sure she follows. "No funny business, you hear me."
She follows — quiet, obedient. Too quiet. Too obedient.
Something nags at the back of his skull. He turns, studies her for a long moment — then drives his dagger into her eye without a word.
She doesn't scream.
Black blood oozes from the wound as her lips curl into a smile.
"Nice try," Isakk says, stepping back, blade still raised. "Your clothes are clean. Your stomach is full. This village has been dead for over a week — I'd wager longer. So tell me." His eyes don't leave hers. "Am I wrong, demon?"
The smile widens. The black blood keeps coming.