The Kantadar archer stood by the window, unusually relaxed for a man on duty. His helmet, too tight and uncomfortable, had made his head hot and itchy, so with a casual gesture, he removed it and set it aside. Leaning heavily on the windowsill, he yawned, unaware that the end was quietly approaching.
The noise from the lower floor filled his ears, and he allowed himself a crooked smile, already anticipating a long-desired release from the monotony of his post. Lost in this fleeting moment of indulgence, he had no idea that death was creeping upon him, silent and lethal.
Above, on a wooden beam, a figure moved with the grace of a predator. Leon, with his long sword already drawn, had slipped unnoticed into position. His soft leather shoes made no sound on the beam as he crouched, measuring his prey. Eyes locked on the archer's exposed neck, Leon prepared. He gripped the sword in reverse, his left hand steadying the blade's strong side in a practiced half-sword technique. The tip hovered above its mark, ready to strike.
Leon drew a deep breath. Damn it! Justice from the heavens! And then, like a shadow descending from the night itself, he leapt.
The force of Leon's attack knocked the archer off balance, his momentary calm shattered as Leon crashed onto him from above. The two hit the ground with a heavy thud. The archer, completely blindsided, let out a gasp, his cry cut short as Leon's sword drove mercilessly into his throat. The blade sliced through, pinning him to the floorboards beneath.
The archer's eyes widened in sheer horror, his life slipping away in agonizing spurts of blood. He gurgled, helpless, as the warm crimson flowed from the wound.
For Leon, this wasn't his first time facing death, not in the truest sense. Having trained against goblins and zombies from the cursed lands, he had steeled himself for such moments. Yet now, having taken his first human life, there was no hesitation, no regret, only a grim sense of satisfaction. Perhaps it was the burning memories of the original owner of this body, the desire for revenge flooding him. But he felt no remorse, not for a man like this.
Behind him, Liam and Brandon were quick to follow. With a swift motion, they pinned the archer's flailing limbs, holding him down as Leon pressed the blade further. He twisted the sword, the dwarf-forged steel cutting effortlessly through flesh and bone, severing the archer's head in a single, decisive stroke.
Down below, a man with a pockmarked face struggled with his leg armor, fumbling with the straps as the sounds of struggle reached him from above. Confused by the commotion, he paused and shouted, "Matt? What's going on up there?"
No answer came. Frowning, he hastily re-fastened his armor and gave the young girl beside him a sharp slap across the cheek. "Stay put, or I'll kill you," he growled, before stomping toward the stairs, anger bubbling up.
As he climbed, he called out again, "Matt! What's taking you so long?" But as he reached the top of the stairs, his breath caught in his throat. There, on the floor, lay the headless body of his man, a pool of blood spreading out beneath it.
Standing beside the corpse was a boy, barely more than a youth, his clean face at odds with the bloodstained dagger in his hand. The boy smiled, waving with chilling ease, and spoke in perfect Uriah, "He's gone to hell. You're next, you pig."
The pockmarked man's face twisted in fury. "Where did this little rat come from?" he roared, drawing his sword and charging up the remaining steps. But just as he reached the third floor, his body jerked in surprise, he had felt a sudden, cold sting at his waist.
A searing pain shot through the pockmarked man's body, so intense it felt as though his very bones were being torn apart. He glanced down in disbelief, eyes wide, as the blade of a sword protruded from his waist, gleaming with fresh blood.
Leon had struck from the shadows. Hidden in the blind spot just behind the entrance to the stairs, he had waited for the perfect moment. Now, with both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, he twisted it with vicious precision, aiming to tear through the man's internal organs.
"Ahhh—!" The pockmarked man screamed in agony, his voice raw and broken as he flailed in pain. His vision blurred as tears welled up, but he couldn't turn to face his attacker. Desperately, he tried to raise his right arm to fight back, but the narrow wall by the wooden steps trapped his hand, preventing any meaningful defense.
"Galuf!! Galuf!! Are you deaf?! Get here, NOW!!" He bellowed, calling out to his men stationed outside, panic rising as his body weakened. But instead of help, he saw something far more terrifying; a tall, angry young man, Liam, charging at him with a fierce determination burning in his eyes.
"Die, you bastard!" Liam roared as he closed the gap. In his hand, a short-spear-like rune crossbow arrow glinted ominously. With one fluid motion, Liam thrust the arrow forward, directly into the pockmarked man's eye socket.
The sharp tip, forged to pierce even griffin hide, plunged through the eyeball effortlessly. Liam's strength drove the arrow in deep, nearly reaching the man's brain, the force of his hatred evident in the brutal strike.
Before the man could even register the pain, Liam followed up with a vicious horizontal slash from his broken sword. The jagged blade tore through the man's neck, carving out a massive chunk of flesh. Blood poured from the gaping wound, and the man's screams turned into a wet gurgle as his throat was ripped open.
At the same moment, Leon yanked his sword free with a swift motion, sending a spray of crimson across the floorboards. The pockmarked man's body convulsed violently, his hands desperately clutching his ruined neck. Unable to keep his balance, he stumbled backward and tumbled down the stairs, his body a lifeless heap by the time it reached the bottom.
From below, a bloodcurdling scream erupted. A young girl, ragged and terrified, watched in horror as the man's body crashed down before her, a trail of blood marking his descent.
On the second floor, another Kantadar soldier arrived just in time to see the gruesome scene. His leader lay dead, rolling down the stairs, blood pooling around him. The soldier's eyes widened in terror.
"Damn it! What the hell is happening?!" Panic consumed him. Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and bolted, leaping down the stairs two steps at a time. Reaching the first floor, he sprinted for the door, abandoning any thought of helping his comrades.
"He's escaping!" Liam shouted, immediately launching into action. In a flash, he picked up the long sword the pockmarked man had dropped and gave chase.
Brandon, too, was quick to react. He yanked his sword from the corpse of another fallen enemy and dashed down the stairs, hot on Liam's heels.
Leon, watching the chaos unfold, felt a surge of urgency. He knew the fleeing soldier could not be allowed to escape. But as Liam and Brandon rushed out in pursuit, something else caught Leon's eye, a bow lying next to the archer's lifeless body by the window. In a split second, his mind shifted. He dropped his sword and sprinted toward the weapon.
With expert speed, Leon grabbed the bow with his left hand and snatched an arrow from the dead archer's quiver with his right. As he nocked the arrow and drew the string, he stepped toward the window, his eyes searching for the escaping soldier.
Sure enough, the Kantadar cavalryman had already mounted his horse and was preparing to flee, his voice raised in a desperate shout to urge the animal forward. Liam and Brandon had just burst through the door, but they were too far away to stop him.
Leon, however, had the perfect vantage point. His muscles strained as he pulled the bowstring to its full draw, feeling the tension in his arms and shoulders. This was no simple hunting bow; it had a high poundage, requiring strength and precision. But this was a shot he was born for. Whether in his previous life or in this one as the son of a hunter, Leon's mastery of archery was second nature.
With the target clearly in his sights and the perfect bird's-eye angle, Leon knew he wouldn't miss.
He released the string. The arrow flew through the air, whistling sharply as it sliced through the space between them, aimed directly at the fleeing man.
"Ah!"
The Kantadar cavalryman let out a sharp scream as he toppled from his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud. An arrow had pierced through his back, lodging itself deep into his chest. He lay there, struggling to breathe, as blood pooled beneath him.
Leon, watching from the tower, saw the soldier collapse and quickly shouted down to his companions, "Don't kill him! I need him alive; I have questions."
Liam and Brandon exchanged a glance but obeyed, abandoning their urge to finish the job. Each grabbed one of the cavalryman's legs and dragged him back toward the windmill tower, his body leaving a trail in the dirt.
Leon put down his bow and picked up his sword, rushing down the stairs with quick, determined steps. As he passed the second floor, something caught his eye; a young girl, huddled in the corner, trembling. She looked like she was barely holding herself together, her eyes wide with fear.
"Don't be afraid," Leon said gently, softening his tone. "We're not going to hurt you. If you want to run, now's your chance." He offered her an encouraging nod, but without waiting for her response, he continued his descent to the first floor.
Once there, he found the Kantadar soldier lying in a heap, gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling with ragged effort. The man was on the brink of death.
"Brandon, you speak Uriah. Help me interrogate him," Leon urged. "I need to know if he knows where Olivia is."
Brandon crouched down next to the dying man, but after a quick glance at the severity of the wound, he shook his head grimly. "I'd like to, but I don't think this one's got much left in him." He punctuated his words with a hard kick to the man's head, causing a groan of agony to escape the soldier's lips. His eyes, already glassy, stared blankly as his breath became shallower.
The soldier, whose lungs had been torn apart by Leon's arrow, was beyond saving or questioning. His only sounds now were the faint, pitiful moans of someone nearing death.
"He's done for," Brandon said, standing. "But before, I overheard them talking at the top of the tower. They mentioned a father and daughter, probably Miss Olivia and the old blacksmith."
Leon's heart sank at those words. He had been holding onto the faint hope that Olivia, with her skills and wits, might have been able to escape on her own. But Brandon's news suggested otherwise, she had fallen into the hands of these brutes, and her situation could be dire.
"Olivia's in their clutches?" Liam growled, his fists tightening. His eyes burned with a mix of frustration and anxiety. "We can't let those monsters keep her."
Brandon stood silently, his gaze fixed on Leon, waiting for him to make a decision.
Leon's mind raced, torn between two impossible choices. He could feel the weight of their lives in his hands. Should they try to rescue her, risking everything? Or should they cut their losses and flee while they still had the chance? He tapped his fingers restlessly on the hilt of his sword as the conflict inside him grew. His heart told him to save her. He didn't want to leave Olivia, didn't want to let her fall into the hands of beasts like the Kantadar. But the pragmatic part of him knew the risks. They didn't even know where she was being held. To go after her blindly would be dangerous, foolish even.
What if it was already too late? What if she had met with a terrible fate?
Should we go to the village, confront the soldiers, and ask if they've seen a fierce blonde girl? Leon thought bitterly.
As the tension in the room built, a small voice broke the silence from the staircase above. "Are you talking about Sister Olivia?"
Leon, Liam, and Brandon spun around, startled. There, peeking timidly from the second floor, was the same brown-haired girl he had seen earlier.
Brandon stepped forward, his eyebrow raised. "Little girl, do you know where Miss Olivia is?" he asked, his voice firm but not unkind.
The girl nodded hesitantly, her eyes darting nervously between them. "Y-yes," she stammered. "You're the outsiders that Sister Olivia mentioned, aren't you? Are you going to save her?" She bit her lip, waiting anxiously for their response.
Leon's heart leapt. This could be the break they needed. He stepped forward, determination rising in his chest. "Yes," he said firmly. "We are."