Gregorios watched from the window as his father conjured the fireballs from his hands. In the meantime that this was happening, the girl woke up slowly, moaning in pain.
"What? Where... Where am I?" She was lying on Greg's bed, resting from her injuries. Greg looked back at her for a few seconds, meeting the girl's yellow eyes. She screamed in fear.
"Hey! Hey, it's alright. Calm down, girl. It's alright." Greg was approaching the girl who was trying at all costs to flee away. Her bruised legs prevented her from moving properly and she soon fell onto her stomach.
"Ugh," She moaned in pain and coughed.
"I told you to calm down!" The boy approached again, this time there was nowhere to go.
"What is your name?" he asked calmly. The girl's wounds opened in view of the amount of blood that stained the gauze that covered the wounds. She glared at him, almost growling like an animal. It was just a boy. Very different from the men who hunted her.
"Is this a way to treat the person who saved your life?"
"You saved me?" The question accidentally came out of the girl's mouth. She blushed for a moment and then reshaped her form. How could someone who was probably the same age as she saved her? Impossible, right?
"You are a child." She said frowning.
"Said the brat."
Greg could smell the burned crops outside. The grass was burning hot and he could feel the magical fluidity of some of them. He turned to the girl who was sitting on the dusty floor.
"Won't you tell me your name?" She looked him up and down with her twinkling yellow eyes, they matched her flaming hair.
"Heveleona. Heveleona Yorvindottir. And yours?"
"My name is Gregorios Arthurson Hovir. But you can call me Greg. It's a pleasure to meet you, Heveleona." He raised his hand towards her.
"You can call me Leona. That's what my grandfather used to call me." She lifted her right hand, greeting him and letting a slight smile spread across her face. Greg thought she was cute.
Greg felt a chill. He heard a scream coming from his mother. He looked out the window, seeing his parents lying on the ground, hugging each other, about to die. The boy was furious, his hands shaking and his lips pursed. He concentrated, his eyes turning blue, releasing energy like flames. He could feel the magical power of each of them. Twelve in total. Just one in front of his parents. Like a cannon, he sped away.
He broke the door by manipulating the wind, causing the wood to hit the walls, and then retrieved a small sword his father kept in a bedroom drawer.
Leona followed him. The girl forced herself to remain standing, trying in every way not to look weak in front of the boy in front of her. Her grandfather always told her never to lower her head to anyone. Much less a man. Or a boy.
"Where are you going?" She asked in anguish. Greg looked at her coldly, but at the same time smiling, not wanting to frighten her.
"I'm going to sort out some unfinished business."
Without thinking twice, Greg smashed the windows with a gust of air and jumped out. He had the exact location of each of the bad guys, but the one who interested him now was the big one. He accelerated, becoming light as a feather, being practically carried by the wind at high speed. He watched as the brute's blade was raised with pride and anger. He could see all the lives that were taken from this world by that object. He wouldn't let that happen to his mom and dad.
In one leap, advancing on the man, he spun, sword in hand. A clean cut penetrated the man's thick neck. A six-year-old boy wouldn't have that much strength for that, so Greg forced the wind against himself, increasing his speed to full speed so as not to stagnate the sword on the bandit. In moments, the head was on the ground and the body, too. Blood spattered half of Greg's face.
Leona watched from Gregorios' bedroom window. She couldn't move. It was like seeing a warrior born in the body of such a small child. She never took the life of any human, animal or living being. She knew that one day she would have to do it, but Greg made it look so easy. It was as if he had fought wars before. She must be crazy, she thought to herself.
Greg was still standing in front of the corpse and the fire that burned continuously. His parents, shocked by the whole situation. Arthur rose from the frozen earth and ordered Renoelle to go back inside. He watched as his son teased those dangerous men.
"Son, are you… are you okay?" His husky voice barely left his mouth. He was crying.
"Of course I am, Dad." He smiled at his father, eyes closed. Such a sweet and kind expression. Arthur ran to hug him, his eyes swimming with tears.
"Thank God. Thank God..."
The family reunion was interrupted, not by the rain that came out of nowhere, but by the remaining eleven men. Arthur rose, sword in hand, but he could not even stand. He had used a lot of mana.
"I can still… I can still protect our family. I won't let any of them get close to you!" Arthur screamed with all the air he had stored in his lungs. He tried to stay awake, but it was in vain, he passed out.
Greg rose, now wielding two swords. Leona walked out the door towards the boy. She still couldn't get up fully.
"All this for that Dernov family brat! You will see boy, when I catch you I will disembowel you alive!" One of the thugs yelled.
Greg threw one of the swords at the girl. It was completely drenched in rain.
"Do you know how to use a sword?" He asked Leona. His eyes were focused on the men around him.
"I… my mom and grandpa taught me a little." She said as she took the sword. The sword was heavy. How the hell did he hold them both in each hand?
"Great. I'm counting on you."
Greg was on his feet. The rain had not stopped. None of them seemed to be a great wizard, but they were adults, they definitely had more magical control than he did. He watched as one of the bandits began to advance towards him. Rain lapping against his silver blade. He waited for the man to get as close as possible and then moved forward. He used the spell of Ignis and Ventus. The man dropped his sword to the ground as he burned alive. His cries of despair could be heard from miles away. Finally, he dropped dead to the ground. Two are gone.
Ten to go.
"How can such a small boy use two separate spells?"
"He's a double, finish him!"
Gregorios lunged at the bandits, blocked one of the attacks and cut another's leg, but it didn't go deep enough. The boy felt an incomparable heat approaching and controlled the rainwater, forming a huge water bubble, extinguishing the fireball that would kill him.
"He's a triple!" Said the bandit with the staff. He was the one who cast the spell.
Due to the lack of magic used, Greg assumed that everyone but the man with the staff was like his mother, they didn't have enough control over their mana to use it. Even so, it was possible to track them.
He had his focus. Controlling the wind, he ran past the men, but was pulled over by one of them, being thrown with everything to the ground. Greg moaned in pain. The sword had stopped a few feet away from the boy. The bandits were advancing towards him and his spine ached so badly he could barely get up.
Forcing his body to the maximum, the boy controlled the wind once more, but this time instead of using it on himself, he used it on his sword. With incredible speed, the sword flew toward each of their throats. Five fell to the ground, agonizing with the blood spilling from their necks.
Five to go.
"How? How is a kid doing all this? You're just a brat, do you hear me? A brat!" The man with the staff shouted. He conjured fireballs incessantly and Greg dodged them. The man was exhausted. He lowered his head for a moment, breathing heavily.
"I can… I can keep this up all day, boy!" He yelled, lifting his face quickly to face the other four men already dead on the ground. All this in less than twenty seconds.
"What?" Psstt. He felt a thin cut in his throat, blood flowing rapidly. He put his hands to the wound, trying to contain it, to no avail. Gregorios approached the man who was trying to say something to the boy. He stood beside the man, watching the thug's life slowly slip away, and in the end he died.
Even though they were bad people, Greg never liked killing people. In his old life, it was sometimes necessary, but he wished it wasn't like that.
His eyes met Leona's, who was open-mouthed at everything that had happened. He had one hand holding a deep wound in his abdomen, blood spurting out in heaps. The face covered in blood exuded weariness.
He smiled at the girl and passed out on the burnt lawn.