Chereads / Blood, Steel and Survival / Chapter 3 - Into the Fire

Chapter 3 - Into the Fire

The journey to the village was long and quiet, the only sounds being the steady clop of hooves and the distant rustle of the wind through the trees. Kael rode at the front of the small group, his eyes scanning the horizon, always alert. The land they traveled through was barren, marked by the scars of war. The remnants of past battles littered the landscape, burned-out farmhouses, skeletal trees, and the occasional mound of unburied dead.

Behind him, the other mercenaries muttered amongst themselves, their voices low and tense. Kael ignored them, his focus on the task ahead. He didn't care much for conversation, especially when there was work to be done. The mission was simple, scout the village, clear out any resistance, and secure it for the noble house that had paid Kerric's band. It was the kind of work they'd done countless times before.

But as they neared the village, something felt off.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke. Kael's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. The village came into view, nestled between a line of hills. From a distance, it looked abandoned, its huts standing silent and still. Too still.

"Looks quiet," one of the mercenaries behind him said, his voice uneasy. "Maybe they fled."

"Or maybe they're waiting," Kael replied, his tone flat.

The mercenary didn't respond, and Kael urged his horse forward, leading the group closer. As they approached, Kael dismounted, motioning for the others to do the same. The smell of smoke grew stronger, mingling with something more acrid. Blood.

Kael motioned for the others to fan out, their movements cautious as they approached the edge of the village. He knelt by the entrance of the first hut, his hand brushing the earth. Dark stains marked the ground—recent, and heavy. Whoever had been here hadn't left long ago.

"Kael." One of the mercenaries, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, whispered from across the way. "Over here."

Kael rose to his feet, crossing the dirt path to where the man stood. He pointed toward a pile of bodies, hastily thrown together in the center of the village square. Men, women, children—it didn't matter. All of them had been slaughtered.

"They didn't even fight back," the man muttered, shaking his head

Kael stared at the bodies, his face expressionless. This wasn't uncommon. Villages like these were often caught in the crossfire of the noble houses' wars. And when they were, it rarely ended well for the people who lived there.

"Get moving," Kael ordered, his voice hard. "Clear the rest of the village."

The mercenaries spread out, moving from house to house, but Kael remained by the pile of bodies for a moment longer. He had seen scenes like this too many times to count, but that didn't make it any easier. He wasn't one to dwell on the brutality of their work, it was simply the way of things. But even so, the smell of death never left him.

As the last of the huts were checked, Kael moved to the edge of the village, where the dirt path led toward the hills. His gaze swept the horizon, catching movement in the distance.

"Kael!" The call came from behind him. One of the mercenaries ran up, breathless. "We've got company. Looks like a group of soldiers, heading straight for us."

Kael's jaw tightened. They weren't supposed to meet any resistance, but things rarely went as planned. "How many?"

"Couldn't tell. More than us."

Kael turned to the others, who were already gathering their weapons. "Get ready," he ordered, his voice calm. "We'll hold them here."

The soldiers arrived faster than expected. Kael caught sight of them as they crested the hill, armored, armed, and far too organized for what was supposed to be a simple raid. Whoever had sent them wasn't taking any chances.

"Hold the line!" Kael barked, positioning himself at the front. His sword gleamed in the fading light, ready to meet the enemy head-on. The mercenaries fell in beside him, weapons drawn.

The clash was immediate. Steel rang out as the soldiers descended upon them, swords flashing in the fading sunlight. Kael met the first attacker with a swift parry, his blade cutting through the man's armor with practiced ease. Blood sprayed across his chest as the soldier fell, but there was no time to hesitate. Another was already upon him.

The fight was brutal, chaotic. Kael moved with deadly precision, his blade a blur as he cut down one soldier after another. But the soldiers kept coming, and with every swing, Kael could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on him.

One of the mercenaries beside him stumbled, a blade piercing his side. Kael stepped in, finishing off the attacker before pulling the fallen man back. He was still alive, but barely.

"Fall back!" Kael shouted, but it was too late. The soldiers had them surrounded.

A scream pierced the air as one of the mercenaries fell to the ground, his chest split open by a heavy axe. Kael gritted his teeth, swinging his sword in a wide arc, forcing the soldiers back. But they were outnumbered, and the mercenaries were falling one by one.

Kael's mind raced. This wasn't just a scouting mission anymore. They had been ambushed, and whoever had set this trap was expecting them. But why? His gaze flickered across the battlefield, trying to make sense of the chaos.

Through the din of battle, Kael caught sight of a figure standing on the hill, watching the carnage unfold. He didn't recognize the man, but the way he stood, calm and composed, it all told Kael everything he needed to know.

Someone had sent these soldiers here to eliminate Kerric's band. And they had succeeded.

As the last of the mercenaries fell, Kael found himself alone, surrounded by the enemy. His body ached from the countless blows he had taken, but his grip on his sword never faltered. He knew he was outnumbered, but surrender wasn't an option. He would die on his feet, sword in hand, as Kerric had taught him.

With a final breath, Kael readied himself for the end.