On the northwestern edge of the Forest of Gloom, the morning mist, like a thin veil, shrouded Boon Village, nestled in a forest clearing.
The crooked farmhouses lining the dirt road had roofs covered with dried thatch. The cooking smoke rising from the chimneys was thin as silk, mixing with the aroma of baked oatcakes and slowly spreading through the mist.
Under the old oak tree at the village entrance, several villagers wrapped in patched burlap were bent over, gathering the recently harvested rye—the Empire's tax collectors had passed through three days prior, taking away the majority of the grain. What little remained was barely enough for the whole village to scrape by until next spring.
"Hans, are your oatcakes ready? My child is crying for them." A wrinkled old woman leaning on a walking stick shouted toward a nearby farmhouse.
The "Sizzling" sound of baking cakes came from the farmhouse. A bearded man poked his head out, holding a charred oatcake, and shouted back with a smile: "Almost! I'll bring it over to your child after it bakes a little longer!"
By the stream at the village entrance, several children, barefoot, were catching small fish in the shallow water, their laughter as clear as birdsong.
Their clothes were worn out but clean, their little faces smeared with mud, and their eyes were full of expectation for a "full meal"—in another half hour, they would eat oatcakes mixed with wild herbs, the happiest moment of their day.
The villagers of Boon Village had lived here for generations, surviving on wild herbs from the forest, fish from the stream, and a few meager acres of cultivated land.
They never provoked the greenskins in the forest, and they paid their taxes to the Empire on time, seeking only peace—even if life was tight, even if they had to chew bark to survive the winter, as long as they could live and watch their children grow, it was enough.
But this humble peace was utterly shattered by a mournful blast of a horn.
"Wuuuu—Aooo—!"
The horn blast came from deep within the forest, like the roar of a wild beast, carrying a chilling, spine-tingling coldness that instantly pierced the morning mist.
The villagers gathering rye suddenly straightened up, their smiles freezing; Hans in the farmhouse dropped the oatcake he was holding, rushed to the door, and anxiously looked toward the forest; the children by the stream stopped playing in terror, hiding behind the adults, their small faces filled with fear.
"What... what is that sound?" The old woman leaned on her stick, her voice trembling.
No one could answer her—the people of Boon Village had never heard such a horn blast. There was no human presence in the sound, only pure savagery and madness.
Before long, the thatch at the edge of the forest began to shake. Immediately after, a group of dark figures rushed out of the morning mist, like a black torrent, charging violently towards Boon Village.
They were beastmen.
Leading them was a nearly three-meter-tall Great Horned beast, with a goat's head and a human body. Its two curved horns were thicker than water buckets, their tips stained with dark red blood. Its body was covered in thick black fur, and its heavily muscled arm carried a rusty great axe, with shreds of flesh still hanging from the blade. Its hooves pounded the dirt road, leaving deep indentations, and every step made the ground tremble slightly.
Behind him followed hundreds of beastmen—some had bull heads and human bodies, holding spiked iron clubs; some had goat heads and human bodies, carrying crude longbows with arrows wrapped in dried intestines; and there were also smaller Gors, looking like half-man, half-wolf, drooling, holding sharpened wooden sticks, and running faster than rabbits.
Their fur was covered in mud and bloodstains, emitting a sickening stench. Even dozens of steps away, one could smell the mixture of rotting flesh and sweat.
"Charge! Take everything! Kill everyone!"
The leading Great Horned beast roared, swinging his great axe directly at the old oak tree at the village entrance. With a "Crack," the trunk, as thick as a bowl, was chopped in half. Branches, still trailing morning mist, crashed to the ground, causing the terrified villagers to scream and run toward their farmhouses.
The beastmen, like rabid wolves, stormed into Boon Village. The smaller Gors were the first to pounce on the fleeing villagers. Their speed was astonishing; a little girl who ran too slowly was tackled to the ground by one of the Gors.
The Gor opened its mouth full of sharp teeth and savagely bit down on the girl's neck. Blood instantly sprayed out, staining the thatch on the ground red.
The girl's mother rushed over like a madwoman, but she was struck on the head by another Gor's club, collapsing instantly and falling silent.
Hans had just pushed his wife and child into the cellar when he turned and saw a bull-headed beastman charging into his farmhouse.
The bull-headed beastman raised its iron club and smashed it violently into Hans' chest. Hans felt a sharp pain, his ribs snapping instantly. He spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed, watching helplessly as the beastman lifted the cellar cover and let out a cruel laugh at his wife and child inside.
"No—!" Hans roared with his last ounce of strength, but the bull-headed beastman stomped on his head. Brain matter mixed with blood splattered onto the farmhouse wall.
Under the old oak tree, several villagers raised their hoes, trying to fend off the charging beastmen.
But their resistance was as fragile as paper before the beastmen—the leading Great Horned beast swung his great axe, instantly splitting two villagers in half, guts and blood spilling everywhere; the remaining villagers were terrified, turning to run, only to be shot through the back by an arrow from a goat-headed beastman, collapsing and dying in spasms.
The beastmen rampaged through the village.
They broke into the farmhouses, searching for the meager remaining grain, stuffing oatcakes and rye into their pouches, throwing baskets of wild herbs on the ground and viciously trampling them with their hooves; they smashed the villagers' clay pots, drank all the water, and even snatched newborns from their mothers' arms, tossing them around like toys until the infants stopped crying, before carelessly throwing them onto the ground and crushing them into pulp with their hooves.
A young wife, holding her one-year-old child, hid in the corner of the woodshed, desperately covering the child's mouth, afraid to make a sound.
The woodshed door was kicked open, and two Gors walked in. They sniffed the air and quickly discovered the mother and child hiding in the corner.
The Gors let out strange, "Hehe" chuckles, approaching step by step. The young wife, holding her child, trembled violently, tears streaming down her cheeks, yet she dared not cry out—she knew that if she cried, her child would die.
But the Gors found her anyway. One Gor suddenly lunged, grabbed the young wife's hair, and dragged her out.
The young wife struggled, scratching the Gor's face with her nails. The Gor roared in pain, bit down hard on her shoulder, and tore off a chunk of flesh. The young wife let out a mournful scream, and the child in her arms began to wail. The other Gor snatched the child, grabbed its neck, and violently slammed it against the wall—with a "Smack," the child's crying stopped abruptly, and its small body dropped to the ground like a rag doll.
The young wife looked at her child's corpse, her eyes instantly turning blood red. She lunged at the Gor, biting its arm with her teeth, refusing to let go even when the Gor punched her in the face.
The Gor was enraged. It pulled out the dagger on its belt and stabbed the young wife's chest violently, stab after stab, until her body stopped moving. Only then did it contemptuously kick her corpse and turn to loot other things.
By the stream at the village entrance, several children hid behind a rock, trembling in fear as they watched the horrifying scene in the village.
They had personally seen their neighbor split in half by a beastman, and they had personally seen their own mother bitten to death by a Gor, yet they dared not make a sound—they knew that if they were discovered, they would die just like the others.
But one Gor found them anyway.
The Gor grinned, walking step by step toward the back of the rock. The children huddled together, tears falling like broken strings of pearls, but they bit their lips tightly, refusing to cry out.
Just then, a twelve-year-old boy suddenly stood up, clutching a sharpened wooden stick, and charged toward the Gor: "Don't come any closer! I'll kill you!"
The Gor paused for a moment, then let out a cruel laugh.
It easily grabbed the boy's arm, lifted him up like a small chicken, and then opened its mouth and savagely bit down on the boy's face—the boy's scream echoed throughout the village, but was quickly drowned out by the roars of the beastmen and the screams of the villagers.
The cooking fires of Boon Village had long been extinguished, replaced by fiercely burning farmhouses.
The thatched roofs were ignited, flames spreading along the wooden beams. Thick black smoke rolled, obscuring the morning mist and turning the sky black. The beastmen, carrying stolen grain and dragging captive villagers (mostly young women), wantonly destroyed the village—they smashed the villagers' furniture, tore down farmhouse walls, and even piled the villagers' corpses together, setting them alight, watching the flames consume the bodies while letting out insane laughter.
The leading Great Horned beast stood in the central clearing of the village, his great axe covered in blood and shredded flesh.
He looked up at the sky and let out a long roar. The beastmen behind him roared too, their voices filled with fanaticism for Chaos and hatred for civilization.
An old woman hiding in a cellar looked through a crack at the horror outside—her son had been split in half, her grandson bitten to death, and her home burned to ashes.
Her tears had long since dried up, and her face was expressionless. She silently took a pair of scissors from her bosom and plunged them violently into her chest—she would rather die than be captured by those monsters.
The sun gradually rose, the morning mist dispersed, and sunlight shone upon the ruins of Boon Village.
The burning farmhouses were still emitting black smoke. The ground was littered with the bodies of villagers, some split in half, some gnawed beyond recognition, and some burned to charcoal.
The water in the stream was stained red, floating with children's corpses and torn clothing.
The beastmen had already left. Carrying the stolen grain and dragging their captives, they disappeared into the depths of the forest, leaving behind only a devastated village and congealed patches of blood.
Boon Village was completely destroyed.
The village that was once full of cooking smoke and laughter now held only broken walls and charred wood. A few crows landed on the corpses, pecking at the rotting flesh and cawing, as if singing a final lament for this humble village.
The wind in the forest, carrying the scent of blood, swept over the ruins of Boon Village.
No one knew that this quiet and peaceful village had once existed here; no one knew that the villagers had lived humbly just for a full meal; and no one knew that their final fate was to be gnawed down to the bone by the beasts of Chaos.
The northwestern edge of the Forest of Gloom returned to silence once more.
Yet this silence was more chilling than the roars of the beastmen.
Beastmen!
They have come south!!!