It was a three-day journey to the village that requested aid to defeat the bandits attacking them. During those three days, with a banner that had the Thorneharts’ coat of arms, the journey had few to no problems. Of course, they also had a banner symbolizing Thornefang.
They finally reached the village near the southern border of Stellhart. The territory beyond this point was of Viscount Reval Drenwick.
There were three nobles who were direct neighbors of the Duke Vardon’s Stellhart, two of whom were at the rank of Viscount and one who was a Marquess. Among them, Drenwick was widely regarded as the worst, not for any open treason, but because he simply didn’t care. His people suffered while he entertained himself with wine, women, and the illusion of control. If there was a noble least likely to answer a call for help, it was he.
A day before reaching Dorsen, Lucen noticed the snow had vanished. A warm spring breeze brushed past his cheek, carrying the scent of thawed earth and distant water.
’It’s been a lifetime since I’ve seen such good weather.’ Lucen jokingly thought to himself.
The village in question was a farming and fishing village, as it was located near a lake. Lucen already had an image of what the village looked like due to the bandit attacks, but he was not expecting such a devastating look.
The wooden palisade fence surrounding Dorsen was half-collapsed. There was no one guarding the area. There were no sentries. No scouts. No curious children peeking from behind barrels. Just the steady sound of hooves crunching dry earth, and the faint lap of water from the distant lake.
"Little leader, there’s the scent of blood," Harlik spoke with a frown on his face.
Lucen’s expression didn’t change, but his hand instinctively reached for the arquebus on his shoulder.
"Greg, go scout the area. Everyone else, tighten formation. No one wanders off alone," Lucen ordered, his voice steady but sharp.
Thornefang immediately responded. Armor shifted, boots hit the dirt in coordinated rhythm, and arquebuses were quietly unstrapped.
Greg gave a quick nod as he entered the village, hugging the walls and keeping low. His movements were quick, and his steps were soft.
The rest of the squad advanced slowly, fanning out with Lucen at the center. The Village of Dorsen was eerily quiet.
One house had its door blown inward, a single bloodstain trailing out like a smear of paint. Another had fresh boot prints, multiple sets, muddying the floor. Just looking at the aftermath, Lucen could already imagine what had happened.
’Damn it!... Was I too lax? If we had come here a day earlier, would this not have happened?’
Lucen was feeling guilty about what had happened to this village, but he did not show much on the outside, thanks to Acting Adept, the skill that now served as armor to his soul, a mask that never cracked, no matter what he felt inside. This trait has helped him on numerous occasions now.
Lucen could not even appreciate the fact that his men were moving in a modern formation in the middle of a medieval village.
While Lucen was grinding his teeth in his mind, the group continued moving forward into the village, only to see more devastation. There were burned houses and scorched places, but the fields remained safe.
’Not only are the fields safe, but I’ve seen many bloodstains but no bodies. In fact, I haven’t a single dead or living being in this village. Not the villagers nor the attackers were here.’
"Little leader, I think I’ve found some survivors."
Greg, who had scouted ahead, called the other, pointing at a certain area. Lucen and Harlik dismounted from their horses and walked towards Greg.
Greg stepped aside as Lucen and Harlik approached the half-collapsed shed.
Inside, crouched in the shadow of scorched timbers and broken crates, was a teenage boy, no older than sixteen. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, and his breathing was ragged. His arms were spread wide in front of four younger children, two boys, two girls, who clung to each other behind him, eyes wide with silent fear.
The teen held a rusted pitchfork, its tip trembling, though his grip was white-knuckled. He didn’t scream or beg. He simply stood his ground.
"I won’t let you take them," he said, voice hoarse, but unwavering.
"We’re not the ones who attacked. We came from Ironhold, sent by Duke Vardon to help this village from the reported bandits." Lucen took a step forward and spoke.
"Are you lying to me? How can a kid like you be someone sent by the Iron Duke?" The teenage boy became even more wary as he pointed his pitchfork at Lucen.
It was at this moment that Lucen was about to use his blessing, Eye of Judgement. Lucen had tested out this blessing a few days ago on a few things: the mercenaries, some wild animals, and even those just passing by their direction. At first, he thought it would only work on five people per day, but it turns out it works on everyone in his line of sight, and you can activate it five times per day.
Upon activation, everyone in his line of sight will glow with a certain color. Red glow means they had evil intentions. The brighter the glow, the more evil the intention, even if it’s minor, like a prank or a joke, the eyes would show a small glow.
A Blue glow means they were neutral and don’t really think much of you. The golden glow meant they had good intentions, and similar to the red glow, the brighter the glow, the better the intention.
Right now, the teenage boy gives off a faint red glow. Not evil, not malicious, just... hesitating.
Lucen, who saw the faint red glow, understood. The glow wasn’t from hatred or deception. It came from the boy’s fear and readiness to strike first to protect the children behind him.
The four kids behind him glowed blue, neutral. Probably too shocked and scared to even judge the situation.
"I understand that you might find it hard to believe, given your situation, but I am the leader of this unit, and we were truly sent here by Duke Vardon. If we wanted to harm you, we would have done it already."
The teenager clenched his jaw, eyes darting between Lucen’s armor, the banners in the distance, and the men behind him. His breathing grew shallower.
Still, he didn’t lower the pitchfork. The teenager was afraid that if he lowered the pitchfork, he wouldn’t have the strength to bring it up again. The teenager who was slowly accepting Lucen’s identity suddenly shouted at them.
"If you truly are people sent by the Iron Duke, why did you come so late?! Because of you, they—!"
Hearing the voice of resentment from the teenager, Lucen felt extreme guilt. It was true, he acted wasn’t truly urgent and did not hurry much. In truth, even though he kept saying he wasn’t looking at this world like the game he used to play, maybe in the back of his head, he still thought of it that way.
’What was I expecting? Did I think that the scenario wouldn’t flow if we weren’t here? The f*ck! If they died, wasn’t it because I really was too lax?’
Even though he was distressed outwardly, Lucen looked calm as the young teenager kept on shouting at them.
"It’s all your fault! The teenager screamed, his voice breaking, throat raw with anger and grief. "We trusted you nobles to protect us! You and your goddamn soldiers, what good are they if they come too late?!"
The teenager, whose hands were trembling, continued shouting out his feelings.
"Because of you, Uncle Halwen was made to bleed! Because of you, Auntie Fara was taken! Because of you, Elder Rowen was killed! Because you did not come on time! It’s all your fault! Everything is your fault!"
"Goddamnit! Will you shut the f*ck up already!"
Harlik suddenly spoke, which surprised not only the young teenager but also Lucen. Still, Lucen did not say anything and simply waited to hear what Harlik was going to say.
Harlik’s voice cut through the air like a whip. The boy flinched, startled, and his legs nearly gave out beneath him. Even the children behind him recoiled, shrinking behind his back again. But Harlik wasn’t done.
He strode forward, his heavy boots grinding against broken stones and dried blood.
"Hey brat, I’ve been listening quietly to you complain, and tried to hold back since you’ve experience this sh*t, but enough is enough. You keep on whining about how it’s all our fault that all this sh*t happened to you. Instead of blaming us who came to help, why don’t you blame the bandits who attacked your village?"
Harlik’s momentum was growing as he spoke to the teenager.
"Don’t make it sound like you’re the only one who had this kind of sh*t happen to you, brat. This is what happens everywhere, and you know what other nobles do in this situation? Nothing, nothing at all. You should be happy the Iron Duke has honor and the pride of protecting his people, which is why he sent us. If it were any other noble, like Viscount Reval on the other side, do you think they would give a rat’s a*s about your village or the people in it?"
Hearing what Harlik said, the teenager bit his lip in frustration. The teenager’s grip on the pitchfork faltered.
"I know that! I know that already, but!..." His voice cracked as he shouted back. The crack of the pitchfork hitting the dirt echoed louder than it should have in the hollow silence of the ruined village.
The four children who were shivering behind the teenager hugged the teenager and even stood in front of him as if blocking the group from harming him. The teenager saw the kids protecting him and could no longer hold it in and sobbed as he hugged them.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I was so weak, that I couldn’t do anything. I just watched them drag everyone away while hiding. I was a coward..."
Lucen stepped forward and spoke with as gentle a voice as he could make it.
"Can you tell me your name?"
The teenager looked at the young Lucen for a few seconds before answering. "It’s Milos."
"Milos, you’re not a coward. You hid yourself and protected the children, did you not? You have done your job in protecting these kids, now let us do our job and save those that could be saved. So tell me, where did the ones who did this take the villagers?"