The village was a scene of absolute carnage. The crackling of flames drowned out the moans of the dying, and the smell of burning flesh mingled with the acrid stench of blood. As Aric stood, dazed from the orc's blow, the nightmarish scene around him sharpened in brutal clarity. The fog of ale still clung to his mind, dulling his reactions, but he couldn't ignore the horror in front of him.
All around, the orcs were tearing through the guards like wolves among sheep. The soldiers, though trained, were no match for the orcs' raw strength and brutal ferocity. One of the guards, a stout man named Farlan, charged toward an orc, his sword raised high. He swung with all his might, but the orc swatted the blow aside like it was nothing. The guard barely had time to react before the orc's spiked gauntlet crashed into his face, crushing his skull with a sickening crack. Farlan's body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around his head.
Aric's heart pounded, but his limbs still felt heavy, sluggish. The screams of villagers cut through the air as more of them were dragged from their homes, their cries silenced as they were either thrown into the flames or brutally decapitated by the orcs' massive blades. The creatures moved with terrifying efficiency, their armor gleaming in the light of the fires they had set.
Another guard, Thorin, tried to flank an orc, his spear aimed at the creature's exposed side. He thrust forward, but the orc caught the spear mid-strike, snapping it in half with a single motion. Thorin's eyes widened in shock as the orc grinned beneath its horned helmet and drove the broken shaft of the spear through the guard's chest. Thorin's body convulsed once, then went limp, falling to the ground with a dull thud.
Aric staggered to his feet, blinking hard to clear his vision. The haze of drink still dulled his senses, but the growing dread, the overwhelming stench of death, and the sight of his fellow guards falling like flies sharpened something inside him. This wasn't a drunken brawl in a tavern. This was real. This was life or death, and he was failing.
Another scream pierced the air. A woman, no more than twenty, was being dragged by her hair toward the center of the square by an orc twice her size. She kicked and thrashed, but her efforts were futile. The orc laughed, a deep, guttural sound, as he pulled a jagged blade from his side, raising it high to deliver a killing blow.
A surge of rage tore through Aric. He had to act. His heart pounded in his chest, and the fog began to clear. His body remembered what his mind had forgotten, how to hunt, how to kill. His muscles tensed, and the years of training, the forgotten legacy of his family, all came flooding back to him in an instant.
He gripped his longsword tightly, and without hesitation, he charged.
Aric moved with a speed and precision that surprised even him. The sluggishness of the drink vanished as adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses. He reached the orc just as it prepared to strike, swinging his blade in a wide arc. The longsword connected with the creature's exposed back, slicing through flesh and bone. The orc roared in pain, dropping the woman as it staggered back, blood spraying from the deep wound in its side.
Aric didn't give the orc time to recover. He moved in again, this time aiming for the gap between the orc's helmet and breastplate. His sword plunged deep into the creature's throat, severing its windpipe. The orc gurgled, blood spilling from its mouth as it collapsed to the ground in a heap.
The woman scrambled away, her eyes wide with terror and gratitude, but Aric didn't pause. There were more to kill.
Another orc charged at him, swinging a massive war axe with the force of a battering ram. Aric ducked just in time, the axe missing his head by mere inches. He retaliated with a quick strike to the orc's knee, cutting through the tendons and sending the creature crashing to the ground. Without missing a beat, Aric drove his sword into the orc's chest, silencing it forever.
Despite his newfound focus, the battle was already slipping away from them. The remaining guards fought valiantly, but one by one, they fell. Jareth, the lead guard, was the last to go, overwhelmed by two orcs who pinned him to the ground and cleaved his head from his shoulders in a single, brutal motion. His decapitated body fell to the ground, his lifeless hand still clutching his sword.
The village was burning faster now. The fires raged out of control, consuming the wooden homes and shops with ravenous hunger. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and suffocating, choking the air. The orcs, their mission complete, began to retreat, dragging the last of their captives into the shadows, their grotesque laughter echoing through the burning streets.
Aric stood alone in the square, his chest heaving from the exertion, his sword dripping with the blood of the fallen orcs. He had killed them all, those that remained, at least. But as he looked around, at the bodies littering the streets, at the burning wreckage of what was once his home, a sinking realization washed over him. He had been too late.
The orange glow that had once been a distant threat now illuminated the entire horizon. The flames weren't just in the village anymore, they had reached the estate.
Aric mounted his horse, his mind a swirling mixture of rage, guilt, and disbelief, and rode hard toward the manor. As he approached the estate's gates, his heart clenched at the sight before him.
The manor was burning.
Thick, black smoke billowed from the roof, and the once-proud stone walls were now cracking under the heat of the flames. The estate's grand windows shattered from the intensity, sending shards of glass raining down like jagged tears. The guards who had stayed behind to protect the manor were dead, their bodies strewn across the front courtyard, bloodied and broken.
Aric dismounted and ran toward the manor's front entrance, his feet pounding the scorched earth. He threw open the doors and rushed inside, the smoke already thick in the air, making it hard to breathe. His eyes watered, and his lungs burned, but he pushed forward, desperate to reach his lord.
He found Lord Veltrin in the grand hall, his body slumped on the floor, a sword lying beside him. Veltrin's lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, his mouth twisted in a final grimace of terror and pain. His fine robes were torn, his once-polished boots covered in soot and blood. The sword that had once been his symbol of power lay useless in his grasp, its blade stained with his own blood.
Aric stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. Veltrin had been many things, cruel, arrogant, undeserving of his title, but he hadn't deserved this. No one had.
The weight of it all came crashing down on Aric like a mountain. He fell to his knees beside Veltrin's body, his mind racing. He could have saved them. He should have saved them. If he hadn't been drunk, if he had taken the orcs seriously from the start, if he had been sober and focused, he could have stopped this.
His eyes burned with tears, but they weren't from the smoke. They were from the bitter realization of his own failure. He had let them die. The village. The guards. His lord. All because he had been too lost in his own self-pity, too buried in the bottle to be the hunter he was supposed to be.
Aric's hand trembled as he reached out to close Veltrin's eyes, his fingers brushing the cold, lifeless skin. His sword slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor beside him. The weight of his guilt was too much to bear.
"I could have saved them..." he whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackling flames. "I could have stopped this..."
The world around him burned, but inside, Aric felt only cold emptiness. He had failed. Not just as a bodyguard, but as a hunter, as a Davorian. The legacy he had tried so hard to forget now felt like a curse, dragging him down into the depths of despair.
The once-proud estate was crumbling around him, the roof beginning to cave in under the weight of the flames. But Aric didn't move. He didn't know if he had the strength to.
The flames roared louder, threatening to consume everything.
And still, Aric knelt beside the dead.
The flames roared all around him, devouring the once-grand estate. The fire seemed almost alive, crackling and snapping as it consumed the wood and stone, filling the air with ash and smoke. Yet in the midst of the chaos, there was an eerie silence, a void that enveloped Aric as he knelt beside the body of Lord Veltrin, his eyes closed, hands shaking, his mind lost in the depths of guilt and grief.
The estate crumbled around him, the wooden beams overhead groaning as they buckled under the heat, but Aric felt none of it. All he could think about was the faces of the villagers, their screams, the terror in their eyes as they were dragged into the flames. He should have been there. He should have protected them, not wallowed in the bottom of a tankard.
As he knelt in the wreckage, he thought he heard a voice, faint but unmistakable. A voice from his past, one that had comforted him in moments of despair.
"Get up, Aric. Get up."
It was his mother's voice, clear and strong, cutting through the haze of despair that had settled over him. Her encouragement had always pushed him to rise above the struggles of life, to be the hunter he was born to be.
Suddenly, Aric felt a surge of determination. With great effort, he pushed himself up from the ground, shaking off the remnants of his grief like a heavy cloak. The fire crackled louder, the heat intensifying as the roof began to sag. He glanced back at Veltrin, at the crumbling estate that had been both a prison and a sanctuary. There was no time for more regrets. He had to leave, now.
With a final look, Aric bolted for the door, adrenaline surging through his veins. The wooden beams groaned ominously behind him, and as he dashed out into the night, the building erupted into chaos, collapsing in on itself with a thunderous crash.
He staggered into the cool night air, coughing as the smoke stung his eyes. The village was still burning, the once vibrant homes reduced to ash and ruin. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, casting a pale light over the devastation that stretched before him.
Aric surveyed the destruction, the bodies of villagers scattered across the streets, remnants of lives cut short by the ruthless onslaught. He felt a familiar ache in his chest as he began to gather the dead, dragging them to a clearing in the village square where he could lay them to rest.
The morning sun rose slowly, illuminating the horror that surrounded him. With each body he found, he offered a silent prayer, his heart heavy with grief. He dug shallow graves in the dirt, honoring their lives with a sense of urgency and despair. The cries of the fallen echoed in his ears, urging him to remember, to remember their faces, their hopes, their dreams.
As the last rays of the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, Aric finished burying the dead he could find. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the soot and grime covering his skin. He stood over the makeshift graves, a wave of sadness washing over him. This was not how he had imagined his life would turn out, not as a monster hunter, not as the last of the Davorians.
With the morning light breaking through the darkness, a new resolve settled within him. He couldn't change the past, but he could seek answers. He had to understand why this had happened, why the village had fallen, and who was behind the attack.
Gathering what little strength he had left, Aric mounted Storm, his trusty steed, who had remained outside the estate, waiting patiently. The horse nickered softly as Aric settled into the saddle, his resolve hardening.
"Let's find the truth," he whispered, his voice steady and determined. The wind whipped through his hair as he turned Storm toward the road leading out of the village.
As he rode away from the smoldering remains of his home, he vowed to uncover the darkness lurking in the world, to seek out those responsible for the devastation. He would reclaim his legacy, not as a drunken fool but as the hunter he was destined to be.