Mima is a very clumsy elf. Her only redeeming factor is that she is the best shooter their small elf army has. Still, she is a clumsy elf in the end. She recalls her mistakes when they assaulted the Brunhen Village. Because of some random dog, she almost dies at the hand of the fat lady with a freaking axe
She is lucky Lafira was around. That elf berserker has a sharper axe and was able to save her on time.
Swearing to herself to never make a mistake again, she makes sure that her role on the raid on Jeremy barony will be flawless. As their roles are long-range units, she realizes it might be better to bring a bow as a secondary arm than a close-combat steel weapon. If she needs to protect herself from close range, she can just rely on her dagger.
She ignores the jibes from her elf sisters. So, the result is, she is the only elf with two quivers on her ass. It's a bit troublesome to carry with the burdensome crossbow, and the long bow hanging on her shoulder.
But when she reaches her nest, it is now all fine and dandy. Of course, she makes sure first to kill the humans in the house she will use as perch. With the moonlight and her sharp eyesight, she marks the manor's entrance.
There are 20 crossbow women, and for each side, five dedicated elves station themselves to appropriate angles in which they can shoot as many humans as they want. Mima takes post in a place where she can take aim at the front entrance of the manor, and the garden.
Mima listens to the air with her ears perking up. The elves' coordinated hunting methods rely on the different coded singing of birds. For almost every village, the meaning of every whistling is almost the same.
~wpi ~wpi
It was melodious chirps in short intervals saying that every elf is now in their own station, and they can proceed in the operation simultaneously. Mima echoes the same chirping confirming that she too is already in her position.
Mima takes mark with her crossbow and kickstarts the slaughter by sending a steel bolt to a passing servant's skull by the manor's entrance.
…
Varen's steps are lithe, and so are the elderly elves behind him. They are nimble and quiet. For the old-timers, this is their bread and butter since all of their life, it was only hunting that they know. Now, they are hunting not just for any prey, but the strongest prey in the barracks.
The ten of them separate from each other to make their task more efficient. They drive their sharp steel picks to the soft spot just under their jaw. The picks are sharp and long and can easily reach the brain of the high-ranking sleeping soldiers on the top floor of the barracks.
They make their silent slaughter in a methodological manner. The sleeping soldiers cannot even utter a scream as the elves force their mouths shut as the steel pick inserts itself from under, and then to the brain.
There were some who ferociously fights back but they are as equally and silently dealt with. Yirlung jabs his steel pick at the heart of the noisy bastard who almost wakes up his bunkmate. The others also meet some accidents, but they calmly and wisely deal with them.
Varen rarely makes a mistake as he was able to pinpoint with his superhuman hearing who is sleeping lightly, and deeply. He deals with light sleepers first, cleanly stabbing them either at their temples, eyes or from under their jaws.
Some of the elderlies find themselves in trouble as the human soldiers catch them red-handed. They immediately flee to their own and start regrouping with Varen. With their Molotovs, they start burning down the barracks.
As Varen's group surrounds the barracks, they patiently wait for possible survivors. Wielding their longbows, they take perch on some of the buildings. The barracks are a singular building that has rooms floor by floor making it easier for them to surround it. Moreover, it helps a lot that the barracks are mostly made of wood, burning it becomes easier.
…
Lafira revels in the blood of humans. In boundless bloodthirst, she strides to a humble house of a couple. She sees a young couple making love with each other in the deep of the night and this triggers her.
"Filthy fucking humans."
With both axes in her hands, she pounces on them chopping them into pieces until they are mincemeat. She enjoys the process of cutting humans with her axe. She doesn't know when, but there is a unique pleasure that drowns her senses in murdering humans in cold blood.
Lafira proceeds to another house. Coming from the window, she spots a peaceful family sleeping with their only daughter in the middle of husband and wife. There is no remorse in Lafira's eyes as she brings down both of her axes to the father.
What she doesn't know is that the father is a light sleeper, and realizes there might be a burglar.
The father's eyes open as he wakes up and sees the axes. His first reaction is to shove Lafira away. They ought to engage in close combat. With Lafira's blood boiling, she takes it to another level and throws an axe at the human father.
Lafira's axe hit its mark. The father didn't dodge as he is afraid it will land on his family. Lafira didn't feel anything at all at these fatherly sentiments and just proceeds on butchering the humans. Her axe falls down the father's head, and then the mother who slightly wakes up from the commotion, and finally, the daughter who is still peacefully sleeping.
"That wasn't a year younger, right?" She muses thinking to herself what use could his majesty have for these humans. There is no way she is thinking that the Elf King is feeling a semblance of pity for these pitiful creatures.
At this rate, Lafira will be on her road to becoming a bloody slaughterer.
…
Trudviar only has one thing going on in his mind, to accomplish his objectives, he must kill his emotions. To get his rightful revenge against Count Urden, he shall heed Art's words to his heart.
Starting with the small militia guarding the gates and walls, Trudviar commences the manslaughter with but a word.
"Kill,"
After killing the night guards, Trudviar proceeds on accomplishing his next objectives. As efficiently as possible, he gives his commands to his fellow elves in an unfeeling manner.
With a small entourage of elves, they bring the carriages brimming with lumber to the pathways. They bring lots of them by the northern and southern gates. With their Molotov, they burn down the carriages. With his own sword, he cuts down the lever operating on the gates.
Not stopping even one moment to question his morality, he instructs the elves to proceed with the genocide. They kill, and kill, and kill. The inn's floor is soaking with blood. The houses are full of screaming. The commotion grows louder and louder, and the people start waking up and gathering.
However, the humans are too late. Plenty of buildings are burning. The elves use the remaining high buildings as vantage points to detect the running humans. Some elves are even going as far as to use their bows and arrows to hunt from the high buildings.
Some humans dare to fight back, but they stand no chance to the ferocious elves whose lifespans stretch double or maybe even triple to the humans. The accumulation of skills manifests itself in its most destructive form. The simple hunters have now become experienced soldiers capable of hunting their prey in the most efficient and effective way possible.
The elves start rounding up the humans.
Trudviar comes to them with a Molotov in hand. He had the elves get the babies under 1 year old. The mothers start crying and begging. The fathers who try to fight back were long dead. Some of them who are too cowardly gather with their wives, they hold their wives in their embrace telling them that it will be okay.
The elderlies have given up life long ago but still manage to spark up the little courage they have with small words. There are even some elderlies who personally wield their iron weapons, but all of them are quickly suppressed with a simple arrow to the knee.
There are youths too unsure of what is really happening.
Trudviar lights up the Molotov in his hand with a torch. He throws it at the gathered humans. They burn so brightly it reminds Trudviar of the gathered headless corpse of the elves in Lorekleim Forest. He emotionlessly walks away his heart as hard as stone, but still hot with anger.
…
Wisley stays at the inn of Jeremy barony. From inside his room, he hears screaming and crying. All of this blood will also be in his hands. He is not innocent. He might be not the one holding the steel, but he is as guilty as the doer of the deed.
He can say he is free of guilt as he is just a bystander, but no… That was deceptive self-comfort. The truth of the matter is that he is as guilty as the elves doing the mass slaughter… Not that he is sure if the elves would think of this as a sin.
For all he knows, the elves might be thinking of this as their right for all they have lost and suffered.
Wisley closes his eyes. He is not a devout man. But in his heart, he silently prays to the divines that this slaughter does not spread anymore.