"Tankizu, tell me, why did the elders send us to the ends of the earth to attack such an insignificant place?" Leined asked, walking with a light, carefree stride, his hands clasped behind his head. The gloomy surroundings, marked by gray hills and opaque skies, seemed to have no effect on the relaxed confidence he exuded.
"I overheard Officer Tinix mention that our task is to sabotage the provisions of the Kingdom of Valerius," Tankizu replied, his deep voice resonating like the echo of a drum in the twilight. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, though his tone carried the familiarity of someone speaking to an old companion. Years of camaraderie, further strengthened by family ties, lent his words a straightforward yet sincere quality.
Leined let out a brief, skeptical laugh. "Sabotage provisions? Come on, what's the point of this? If they wanted a significant blow, they could've ordered us to attack a port or a fortress, not some forgotten village."
Tankizu paused for a moment. "It's not the village that matters. It's the chain reaction. They want to sow chaos without taking the blame for the attack. When hunger and despair take hold, the elders will offer 'help.' That's how they'll earn favor and control Valerius from within."
Leined's face tensed, though his usual sarcasm remained intact. "So we're just pawns in a game we don't fully understand? A slow checkmate, where the blood of innocents becomes the ink of their victory..."
Tankizu interrupted, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "That's exactly what we are—pawns. And pawns don't question; they execute."
The group began their preparations. Leather straps creaked as the men adjusted their armor and weapons, the clinking of swords breaking the stillness of the forest. Leined, however, maintained his lighthearted demeanor, typical of him, and delivered his usual parting quip with a mocking grin: "Hey, Tankizu, don't go dying on me. It'd be such a pain to explain to your sister why you didn't come back."
Tankizu responded with a throaty laugh. "I'll only die when you learn to be serious and propose to my sister—which is to say, never."
Both laughed; this time, their laughter wasn't the seal of camaraderie but the prelude to tragedy.
The darkness surrounding the scene was broken only by the faint flicker of dying flames, struggling not to extinguish. Each spark bore witness to the fury that had consumed the place. The heavy air, thick with the metallic tang of blood, was almost unbreathable. On the ground, broken bodies painted a grotesque tableau of flesh and earth, of peasants and warriors alike. The massacre had spared no one; victims and executioners alike lay under the same indifferent sky.
Of the sixteen men who had set out, only four remained standing. Their breaths were heavy and uneven, as if each inhalation carried more than just air. Sweat streaked their faces, mingling with blood, dust, and unshed tears. Their eyes, tense and hollow, converged on a single point: a child.
Small and frail, he stood motionless amid the chaos. His clothes were stained scarlet, though it wasn't his blood that covered him. His wide-open eyes reflected the dwindling flames, yet they revealed no fear or pain, only a chilling emptiness.