Our journey continued along a dirt road that cut through open fields and small patches of forest on either side. The midday sky was clear, yet the wind carried a strange scent sharp and bitter, like burning wood.
Then, in the distance, a thick column of black smoke rose high into the sky.
"That's smoke…" I murmured quietly.
Ashrel stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "Too large. That's no small fire."
Without another word, we both broke into a run toward the source of the smoke. The closer we got, the clearer the sounds became panicked screams, the clash of metal, and something growling in an unnatural way.
When we reached the top of a small hill, the sight before us made me stop in my tracks.
A small village was under attack.
Several wooden houses were on fire. Flames licked the walls and thatched roofs. Villagers ran in every direction some desperately trying to douse the flames, others injured and collapsed on the ground. In the middle of the chaos, three tall creatures with dark ashen skin and glowing eyes agrora were fighting against a handful of village men armed with nothing but hoes, crude spears, and sheer courage.
Without hesitation, Ashrel drew his sword.
"I'll take the front. Help with the evacuation!" he called out.
I nodded and ran toward the injured villagers.
"Hey! Are you alright? Come on, let me help you up!" I said, steadying an elderly man whose arm was bleeding.
I helped several people make their way toward a wooden barricade at the rear of the village. A few women were trying to calm the crying children. The scene was chaotic, but the villagers still looked out for one another.
That was when I spotted a small child sitting on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
"My brother… my brother is still up front… please… please…" he cried between gasps.
I knelt down in front of him. "Where is your brother?"
"Near the fence… he can't run…"
I glanced toward the front. Smoke and dust blurred the view. But somehow, my hearing suddenly felt sharper. The sounds that had blended into chaos now seemed to separate, one by one.
I closed my eyes.
Screaming. Burning wood. Running footsteps. And… a faint groaning sound, somewhere to the left ahead.
I opened my eyes and ran straight toward it.
Near a section of broken wooden fence, a dark-haired boy was struggling to crawl. His leg had been gashed by a sharp piece of wood, and blood flowed freely.
"Hey… are you okay?" I asked, kneeling beside him.
"I… I can't run…" he answered, wincing in pain.
Without a word, I carefully lifted him. He was light, but his blood quickly soaked through my clothes. I carried him quickly toward the rear barricade.
"My brother!" his younger sibling cried out when he saw us.
I handed the boy over to some of the waiting villagers and immediately began dressing his wound with clean cloth from my medical kit.
Meanwhile, at the front of the village, Ashrel was fighting.
I glanced over.
His sword moved with frightening speed, almost impossible to follow. His old wounds had healed, and now he fought at full strength. He slashed one agrora cleanly across the shoulder, sending it reeling, then spun and cut down the second in a single fluid motion.
What stilled me was the faint light trailing his sword as it swung.
Like a thin flash of silver.
With one powerful strike, two agrora fell. The last one tried to attack from behind, but a group of village men surged forward together and brought it down.
Within minutes, it was all over.
All three agrora lay motionless on the ground.
Ashrel took a long breath, then walked over to me.
"Are you hurt, Abram?" he asked.
"I'm fine, Ashrel. Don't worry. I'm alright."
Shortly after, a group of villagers approached. A middle-aged man with a simple sword at his hip stepped forward.
"Thank you, sir, for helping us. My name is Doron. I'm a farmer here." He bowed respectfully. "Most of us here are just farmers and herders. We rarely have anyone who can fight. We are truly grateful to you, Sir Knight."
Ashrel offered a faint smile. "No need. I'm not a knight just a hunter. My name is Ashrel, and this is my nephew, Abraham. We happened to be passing through when we saw the smoke."
I noticed he had invented our relationship as uncle and nephew. He even glanced at me briefly with a small apologetic smile. I didn't mind.
That night, we were invited to stay.
In the heart of the village, a bonfire was lit. Several of the men who had fought earlier sat with Ashrel, talking over the events of the afternoon. Small bursts of laughter began to rise a sign that the tension was finally lifting.
I chose to stay on the other side of the village, helping tend to the wounded. Fortunately, though many had been hurt, there were no casualties.
I cleaned wounds with warm water, applied salve, and wrapped them carefully.
The boy I had rescued earlier came over with his younger sibling.
"Thank you, brother, for saving us," they said, almost in unison.
I smiled softly. "It was nothing. Be more careful next time."
They told me their mother had passed away long ago, and that their father had also been wounded in the attack. I had already treated him, and his condition was now stable.
Their father bowed to me with quiet dignity. "We are in your debt."
I simply shook my head.
When I was done, I closed my medical kit and stepped outside. Ashrel waved from across the fire.
"Abram! Come over. Eat something."
I hesitated for a moment, but eventually sat near the bonfire. The lively atmosphere made me feel a little out of place.
Doron tried to start a conversation. "Sir Abraham, you truly helped a great many people tonight. It's rare to find a healer as generous as yourself."
"Ah… it's the least I could do," I replied, a little stiffly. "I only treated whoever was injured in front of me."
Doron smiled broadly. "Most healers are reluctant to use their supplies. They're stingy and won't help unless paid well."
That caught me off guard.
Ashrel spoke up, his voice calm but deliberate. "I noticed there are no knights or permanent guards in this village. Why is that?"
Doron's expression grew serious. "This village is made up of farmers and herders. There used to be a knight post here, but since it was rarely needed, it was eventually abandoned. The regional lord only comes to collect taxes. Even during the first attack, they sent no help."
"And after the attack did they respond?" Ashrel pressed.
"No," said Doron, bitterness edging his voice. "They still demanded taxes. We were furious, and only gave them one sack of grain. The knight who came even threatened us, but since there were many of us, they eventually left."
I clenched my fist without realizing it. Not a shred of empathy.
Doron then asked, "Where are you two headed after this?"
"South. To the kingdom. We're looking for a horse or a cart to speed up the journey," Ashrel answered.
"Ah, in that case…" Doron glanced over at a friendly-faced man seated nearby. "Belfin is heading to the city tomorrow."
The man smiled and raised a hand. "That's right. My name is Belfin a traveling merchant. I'm heading back to Worin City tomorrow morning. If you'd like, you're welcome to ride along in my cart."
Ashrel studied him for a moment. "We wouldn't want to impose."
"Not at all," Belfin said quickly. "Honestly, I'd feel much safer with Sir Ashrel along. Especially after today."
As it turned out, Belfin was a frequent visitor to the village stopping by to trade and rest. Because of his generosity toward the villagers, he was regarded as something of an honored guest. When the agrora attacked, he had helped as best he could before taking shelter with the others.
The night grew late. The bonfire dwindled, and one by one, the villagers returned to their homes.
The next morning, the village was quieter, though the scars of the fire were still plain to see. We helped repair some of the broken fencing before finally getting ready to leave.
Belfin was already waiting with his cart simple, but sturdy.
"Let's go, before the sun gets too high," he said cheerfully.
I climbed into the back of the cart among several sacks of goods. Ashrel sat up front beside Belfin.
As the cart pulled away from the village, a few of the villagers waved farewell.
I turned to look back one last time.
The smoke had cleared. But the image of the agrora and that faint light along Ashrel's blade remained burned into my mind.
Our journey now continued toward Worin City.
And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I had a feeling that what had happened in that small village was only the beginning of something far greater.
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