Chapter 11 - In Need
--Earlier--
The sun hung high, casting long golden streaks through the trees. Midafternoon warmth soaked the air, buzzing with insects and birdsong. Three village children sprinted out of the treeline, breathless and flushed. Their sandals kicked up dust as they stumbled toward the nearby field where two guards stood lazily chatting near a post.
"H-hey!" one boy cried. "Help!"
The younger girl tripped over her own feet, falling to her knees. "Kyro and Lyra, t-they went into the forest!"
One of the guards furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Alone?"
The tallest of the children nodded rapidly. "Yeah! They went deep. Lyra said she'd only be a minute, but she had her sword and everything! Kyro followed after her!"
The other guard straightened immediately. "How long ago was this?"
The kids exchanged glances. "...A while," the girl admitted, shame creeping into her voice. "P-please help them!"
The first guard knelt in front of them. "Which way?"
The children pointed toward the trail, narrow, dense, and rarely used. A path meant more for seasoned hunters than children.
"Go back to your homes," the second guard said, already turning. "Now."
He blew a sharp note on a whistle hanging from his neck. Another guard came running.
"Alert the head house immediately. Find Reyna and Thorskil," the first guard ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "We have two children officially unaccounted for in the deep wood."
***
--Samsworth Household, Fifteen Minutes Later--
Fifteen minutes later, inside the quiet comfort of the Samsworth kitchen, Reyna was vigorously kneading a large batch of fresh bread dough. The rhythmic, soothing sound of her work was abruptly shattered by a series of hard, frantic knocks against the heavy oak front door.
"Coming!" she called out, dusting the white flour from her powerful hands. She strode across the room and swung the door wide open.
A local guard stood panting heavily on the wooden steps, sweat dripping profusely down his temples, his breathing completely ragged.
"It's the children!"
Reyna's heart skipped a beat. The warmth completely drained from her face.
"What do you mean? What happened?" she asked, the question trembling in her throat even though her maternal instincts already provided the exact, terrifying answer.
"Your daughter," the guard said. "And your boy. They went into the western forest by themselves."
Before the guard could even finish his sentence, Reyna was moving the opposite direction, into the house, then out the backyard, sprinting across the grass with a speed that defied her large stature, she ran through the recently made shortcut for the barn field, her voice ringing out across the farm like a cracked whip.
"Thorskil!"
He looked up from the recently constructed barn, hands still dusted with hay. One glance at her face was enough, he could sense something was wrong.
"Reyna?"
"They're in the deep forest," Reyna gasped out, her words stumbling over one another, caught in a volatile chokehold between raw panic and rising fury. "Kyro and Lyra. I explicitly told them not to wander far from the house—!"
Thorskil didn't waste a single breath asking redundant questions. The easygoing, gentle smile he always wore completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. He gripped Reyna's shoulder once, a silent anchor of absolute focus, and they both turned, heading straight back into the house at a dead sprint.
Reyna threw open the front door, storming through the central hallway toward their private quarters. She violently yanked open a heavy, iron-bound cedar chest resting in the corner, her trembling hands locking around the familiar handle of a massive, double-bitted battle-axe. She hoisted the heavy steel effortlessly, slinging it over her shoulder as her jaw clenched into a rigid line of pure iron.
Thorskil moved with a chilling, fluid calmness toward the weapons rack mounted directly above the hearth. His sharp eyes landed instantly on the primary sword mounted in the center of the display. Its sheath and hilt were a pristine, light-absorbing, terrifying shade of absolute black—a legendary blade that looked as though it had been meticulously carved out of the empty voids of space.
Excalibur of Destruction.
His fingers hovered over it, Thorskil hesitated. But only for a moment. Then he reached to the side, where a simpler, iron-forged sword waited. That one would do.
There was no time to change. He wore the same sweat-dampened shirt and worn trousers he'd worked in all morning. Reyna still had her apron on, stained with dirt and flour, her hair a mess from rushing outside. None of that mattered. They stepped outside again, the door swinging shut behind them, and without a word, they ran.
***
--Deep Forest, Moments Later--
Deep within the forest, the village guards moved as fast as their training allowed, blades drawn, their eyes sweeping anxiously through the thick, tangled underbrush.
But one man ran entirely faster than them all. Saul.
He had not uttered a single syllable when the children first brought the alarm to the village center. In fact, the absolute millisecond the names Kyro and Lyra had cleared the boy's lips, Saul's body had reacted long before his conscious mind could even process the data. He had seized his primary sword, smoothly slid a concealed steel dagger into his right boot, and vanished into the dense foliage before the guards could even finish asking what had happened.
His pace never slowed and he didn't know exactly what had gone wrong, but deep in his bones, something screamed that they were running out of time. He pressed forward through the tangled woods as his steps quick and quiet. The forest here was familiar, but still treacherous, though he moved like a phantom, eyes scanning the ground for any trace.
There.
Tiny footprints in the dirt; two sets, running close together. It was what he could distinguish, a boy and a girl. Saul's chest tightened and he didn't stop. The tracks led him through a narrow gap between the trees and into a small clearing. A wagon stood abandoned in the middle. Blood stained the boards, and three black wolves lay sprawled across the top; slain
Saul slowed his pace, eyes sharp as daggers.
He studied the area quickly. There was an arrow buried deep into the bark of a nearby tree, and it a clean shot but It hadn't hit its mark. He turned slightly, stepping past the trunk. More arrows jutted from trees beyond it, each one staggered and leading deeper into the woods. A trail.
The children had been fleeing. Someone had been shooting at them. He thought
Saul narrowed his eyes and followed the path. The forest darkened as he descended into thicker terrain. The trees grew taller as the air damp and heavy. Moss clung to everything. Each step took him deeper into what was now clearly swampland.
And then he saw them; Figures. Moving slowly through the marsh. They were armed and laughing.
Bandits..!
Saul pressed his back to a tree, eyes locked on their movements. He could count them now. The leader moved with a deliberate pace, further ahead from the rest. The others trudged behind him, blades drawn.
He exhaled calmly, he had finally found them.
***
"Put the girl down," Saul said. "Now."
The words were calm and measured, but they struck like a hammer in the dead air. The remaining bandits flinched, blades twitching in their hands, even the birds had gone silent. The leader, however, remained still. He was unbothered, even. Smoke curled lazily from his lips as he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head with mild amusement.
"Who are you supposed to be?!" one of the bandits barked, trying to mask his unease with bravado.
Saul offered no verbal response.
"Saul!" Lyra cried out, her voice cracking heavily under the weight of her exhaustion. Her golden eyes were wide, heavily glazed with a mixture of immense relief and acute physical pain. "Y-you're actually here...!"
I pushed my small body upright with trembling, mud-slicked arms, my young muscles screaming at me to collapse. Sweat and grime stung my eyes, but my racing heart steadied instantly. Saul is on the field.. We might actually have a chance here!
"Get him!" one of the bandits shouted.
Steel hissed sharply against leather as the four grunts rushed forward in a disorganized wave. But from my vantage point on the ground, Saul moved less like a man and more like a storm of blades.
His footwork was clean, balanced even on the slick swamp floor. His blade met the first attacker with a hard cross-strike that shattered the man's Aura in a burst of light and pressure. Before the bandit could recover, Saul pivoted and slammed the hilt of his sword into the man's neck. The thug crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The second and third attacked in tandem, one high, one low. Saul twisted between their blows, dodging by inches. His blade knocked one sword aside, then rebounded to strike the other man across the temple with the flat. A loud crack could be heard, his Aura broke. The third took a kick to the chest that sent him crashing into a tree. Both were down. Groaning. Not even getting up.
The last tried to turn and flee like a scared child.
Saul reached into his coat. A flick of his wrist, and a throwing knife spun through the air. It didn't stab, but struck the man's shoulder with enough force to knock him off balance. Saul was already there before he could hit the ground, delivering a hard elbow that knocked him out cold.
Four armed, grown combatants had been systematically neutralized in less than ten seconds. Only two primary entities remained standing in the damp swamp clearing: Saul and the Bandit Leader.
The scarred leader let out a low, disappointed grunt, casually releasing his grip on Lyra. Then, with a repulsive lack of care, he raised his heavy leather boot and kicked her small body off to the side like a piece of discarded luggage. Her frame tumbled roughly through the thick mud, coming to a halt against the hard roots of a decayed tree.
My heart sank directly into my stomach.
"Lyra!" I screamed, my voice raw with terror. I desperately tried to force my legs into a standing posture, but they completely failed me. All my body could manage was a pathetic, agonizing crawl through the muck, dragging myself inch by inch toward her.
Saul's jaw tightened as he took a step forward.
The bandit leader finally reached behind his back, his fingers closing around the hilt of a wide, beautifully curved steel falchion. Unlike the crude, rusted weaponry of his subordinates, this blade was immaculately polished, gleaming with a deadly, razor-sharp edge. The absolute moment the steel cleared its leather sheath, I saw Saul's posture shift into a deeply defensive stance.
"You're no ordinary thug," Saul stated flatly, his voice dripping with icy recognition.
The leader smirked, slowly rolling his neck until a series of loud, structural cracks resonated through the clearing. "You'll see."
Then, they moved to a swing.
CLANG!
Steel met steel; their first clash sent a shockwave through the clearing, boots skidding across wet ground, blades ringing with raw force. Even the trees quivered and mud kicked up. The air turned dense with tension.
Saul ducked beneath a brutal overhead slash and retaliated with a slicing counter. The leader blocked it clean and struck with his elbow. Saul shifted with the blow and answered with a sweeping low cut that grazed the man's thigh.
Back and forth they traded, neither gaining the upper hand. Saul's strikes were refined, calculated. The leader's style was heavier. They're raw power shaped by ruthless precision.
The duel was brutal and there was no wasted movement.
"You've had real training," the leader muttered between blows. "Your defensive stance... the sheer weight behind every single swing... You are no mere backwater settlement guard."
Saul offered no verbal confirmation, his eyes remaining locked entirely on the leader's movements.
Blades clashed again as sparks flew, both was pushed from the impacts of their blade, their feet digging deep on the mud as they halt. They exchanged glances to one another. Then the leader gave a sharp grin, like a beast recognizing another hunter.
"Oh..?" The Bandit leader said, intrigued. "I get it now. So you're a Sword Saint, aren't you?"
Saul's grip tightened rigidly around the leather wrap of his sword hilt. "So what if I am?"
The Leader laughed. "No wonder why my men fell on your hands quickly they could breath. No matter, they were more of a meat shield than anything else."
Saul remained perfectly silent, carefully observing the leader's structural shifts. Then, the leader chuckled low in his throat, and his internal energy suddenly detonated.
A thick, violent, dark purple Aura violently erupted from his flesh, spiraling around his physical form like a localized, rising hurricane.
"You are not the only individual in this world who possesses a martial title," the leader stated, his voice deepening significantly under the sheer atmospheric pressure of his raw power.
The surrounding forest seemed to actively flinch at his words. The very air turned immensely heavy, pressing down on every branch, leaf, and blade of grass.
Even from my prone position on the muddy ground, the crushing atmospheric pressure gripped my small chest like an invisible, hydraulic vice. My breath caught completely in my throat. The oxygen felt thick, dense, and uncomfortably heavy to process.
Saul stood his ground firmly, lowering his center of gravity, his breathing slowing to an absolute crawl. Every single inch of his veteran body was braced for the impending assault.
Then, in a single blink, the bandit leader completely vanished from my visual perception.
Saul's pupils shrank to microscopic pinpricks. A blinding, impossible blur of silver steel flashed instantly within his field of vision. A sudden, white-hot explosion of pure agony detonated in his right shoulder as the entire world violently tilted in his view.
His sword dropped instantly from his right hand, spinning uselessly into the thick mud. A massive spray of crimson blood painted the marsh grass as Saul's entire right arm was cleanly, mercilessly severed at the shoulder joint in a single, high-velocity cut. In that exact parallel instant, his defensive orange aura shattered with a sharp, catastrophic cracking noise, like a thick sheet of ice breaking under a heavy boot. The ground briefly illuminated with chaotic white-blue sparks before completely dimming into darkness.
Before Saul's nervous system could even fully register the amputation, a heavy, mud-caked boot slammed violently into the center of his back.
He let out a guttural grunt, his body flung forward through the air. He hit the wet mud with a hard, wet thud, his remaining arm sinking deeply into the soaked earth as his lungs desperately struggled to pull in oxygen.
What...? My mind completely shattered in pure disbelief. What just happened...? Saul is a Sword Saint... how did his defenses get bypassed so effortlessly?!
Slow, rhythmic footsteps followed.
They were highly measured, carrying a distinct, sickening vibe of pure psychological mockery. The bandit leader casually walked toward the bleeding veteran, carelessly dragging his bloodied falchion along the ground. He rolled his neck once more, letting out a soft, amused chuckle.
"That is the absolute extent of your power?" the leader mocked, looking down at the bleeding man. "Sword Saint? That is the grand title they bestow upon you in these lands?"
Saul groaned heavily, desperately pushing against the slick ground with his singular remaining hand. Dark mud clung to his pale cheek as he forced his torso up onto a singular knee, his jaw clenched so tightly it bled.
"You are fundamentally no match against a true apex combatant," the leader continued, raising his gleaming falchion high above his head. "You are like a pathetic fool wearing a crown made of rotten wood. Sword Saint... what an absolute joke."
The steel blade aligned perfectly over Saul's exposed neck.
"Allow me to show you what a real Sword King looks like."
My eyes widened to their absolute limits, my heart pounding so violently against my ribs it felt as though it might rupture. My frantic gaze darted across the clearing, locking onto Lyra's motionless form resting against the tree roots.
I have a plan. I'll have to distract him, and I'll get Lyra out of here. Kyro thought. He gulped while lifting his arm aiming it toward the bandit, he couldn't help but shake, one wrong mistake could cost their lives.
I gulped heavily, forcing my trembling left arm to lift, aligning my palm directly toward the bandit leader's blind spot. My hand shook uncontrollably; I knew with absolute certainty that a single statistical error would cost all of our lives.
I caught Saul's gaze for a fleeting microsecond. He slowly turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine. He saw the fire gathering in my palm, and he slowly blinked, offering a microscopic nod.
The older man understood the tactical play perfectly. He was old, he had lived a long, full life, and his physical utility was spent. Those were Saul's silent thoughts. He was entirely prepared to act as a permanent meat shield to buy the children a single chance at survival.
He understood my intentions.. I realized with a sickening spike of dread. I swallowed the lump of raw guilt in my throat, nodding back. I'm sorry, Saul.
FIREBALL! I yelled internally, unleashing the spell without a word.
Fwoom!
A small, highly concentrated sphere of orange flame detonated from my open palm, arcing swiftly through the damp air and heading directly toward the unprotected back of the bandit leader's head.
Boom!
It was a direct hit. A cloud of black smoke rose into the canopy, and in that exact parallel second, I forced my weak legs into motion, scrambling frantically toward Lyra's body. Every single agonizing step brought me closer to her form.
But the bandit leader's dark purple Aura instantly flared with immense thickness. The localized fire was violently dispersed like simple steam caught in a high wind. His hair smoked slightly where the impact had occurred, but his physical stance hadn't shifted a single millimeter.
Gosh, seriously..? Not even a flinch?
He slowly turned his head, his cold, calculating eyes locking directly onto me. There was absolutely zero humor left in the man's expression now, but only pure, predatory focus. With a simple, silent glare, he violently expanded the radius of his dark Aura.
The sheer weight of the energy slammed into my physical body, causing my knees to buckle instantly as I fell face-first into the thick mud. The pure, draining pressure of the bandit's aura acted like a localized gravity well; my physical stamina rapidly evaporated.
"How do you like my Aura Domain?" He asked with a straight face.
"Ugh!" I gasped, my chest impacting the wet earth.
Come on! Get up, damn it! I mentally screamed, desperately trying to force my weak limbs back into a standing posture. But my muscles were completely unresponsive. I was so incredibly close to Lyra; barely a few feet away. W-what's going on...?
Kyro felt something cold crawl up his spine, he slowly faced the Bandit then his breath stopped. It wasn't the silence, but It was the way that gaze pinned him in place. The world around him blurred at the edges and sounds seemed to vanish. Only that stare remained, drilling into him, stripping away every thought but one.
A wave of absolute, freezing terror crawled slowly up my spine. I slowly tilted my head upward to face the bandit leader, and my respiration completely stopped. It wasn't the silence of the marsh that terrified me; it was the sheer, suffocating nature of the man's gaze pinning me to the earth like an insect on a display board. The edges of my vision began to blur into darkness, all ambient sounds completely vanishing from my auditory cortex. Only that hyper-focused stare remained, drilling deep into my psyche, stripping away every single logical thought save for one: Death.
I could not move. I could not speak.
My small fingers trembled pathetically against the mud, but my legs remained entirely rooted to the spot. Every single survival instinct screamed at me to run, to execute a countermeasure, to do anything, but my physical body completely betrayed my commands.
Then, a sudden sound broke the psychological hold: soft, ragged coughing.
My eyes jerked frantically to the side. Lyra. She was alive. She was slumped heavily against the dirt, her small hand weakly reaching out into the grass as she gasped desperately for oxygen. A massive wave of relief surged through my chest, but it was tragically short-lived.
The bandit leader turned his body completely away from Saul's motionless form. That cruel, sickening smile returned to his features. It was the raw, unadulterated hunger of an apex predator closing in on a cornered animal. A pure hunger for blood.
He approached Lyra's prone form with absolute, agonizing patience.
"No..." I whispered, the word barely carrying enough physical acoustic value to clear my lips.
Suddenly, Saul moved. His singular remaining left arm shot out like a lightning bolt, his fingers locking tightly around the bandit leader's ankle. The leader paused, slowly looking down at the bloody hand gripping his boot.
Then, without a single shred of hesitation, he hoisted his heavy leather boot and brought it down with catastrophic force directly onto Saul's remaining arm.
A sickening, resonant crack of fracturing bone split the quiet air of the swamp. Saul let out a piercing, agonized scream, a cry torn violently from the very depths of his soul. Before the echo could even fade, the leader executed a brutal, fluid kick straight to the veteran's face.
Silence. Saul's body collapsed limply into the thick mud, entirely unmoving.
The leader continued his steady walk.
My heart pounded significantly louder than my own internal thoughts. I watched, entirely helpless, as the monster neared my sister. Lyra groaned weakly, her sky-blue eyebrows knitting together as her eyelids fluttered open, trying desperately to force her dazed, heavily concussed body into a sitting position.
A massive shadow loomed completely over her, the leader slowly raising his hand to secure the prize.
"No! NO!" My voice finally broke free from my mouth, "Get away from her!"
I violently forced my body forward, my legs shaking violently, my steps stumbling and erratic. Too slow. Far, far too slow.
The leader reached down, his dirt-stained fingers inching closer and closer to Lyra's long, sky-blue hair.
Suddenly, frantic, incredibly heavy footsteps violently tore through the dense brush behind them. A massive blur of muscle and pure, blinding fury surged into the clearing like a runaway freight train.
The bandit leader sensed the massive influx of kinetic energy a microsecond too late. He violently spun on his heel, hoisting his curved falchion to intercept the incoming threat, and the very air exploded in a deafening, metallic detonation.
CLANG!
A massive, double-bitted iron battle-axe collided flawlessly with the bandit's steel sword. The sheer, catastrophic force of the impact sent a visible kinetic shockwave rippling across the entire swamp clearing, completely parting the stagnant water. The bandit leader was violently hurled several meters backward, his heavy leather boots dragging deep, jagged trenches into the thick mud before he finally ground to a halt.
He rapidly regained his footing, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he analyzed the fresh combat variable.
Standing directly between the bandits and us was a towering, powerful woman wearing a dirt-stained canvas apron. Her thick golden hair clung tightly to her sweat-soaked, tanned skin, and her brilliant green eyes burned with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage. Her powerful grip on the massive shaft of the battle-axe was entirely unshakable. Each heavy breath she exhaled hissed sharply in the freezing air like steam radiating off white-hot iron.
Reyna had arrived.
"Mom!" Lyra and I cried out simultaneously, our voices cracking with intense emotion.
[End]