Chapter 131: The Raid
Deep in the beastman nation. The Steel Fang Tribe.
A nondescript village sat on a gentle slope between hills.
The village was small — perhaps several dozen households. The buildings were constructed from rough stone and animal hides, low and simple, but solidly built.
At the village entrance stood several sharpened wooden posts, from which strips of dried meat hung, gleaming with a dark reddish oil in the sunlight.
The air was thick with a smell that was a mixture of animal musk, smoke, and blood. It was the particular scent of a beastman village — dense enough to feel almost solid.
Several beastman children were chasing each other on the open ground at the village entrance.
"I'm the beastman! I'm catching you all!"
A stocky young beastman spread his arms and lunged at the other children. His skin was light brown, his body covered in fine short fur. Tiger stripes were clearly visible on his forehead. Two round tiger ears rotated slightly on top of his head, tracking the sounds around him.
The other children screamed and scattered.
"Run faster! If the beastman catches you, you'll get eaten!"
The one shouting was a slightly younger beastman boy. His canines hadn't come in yet, and he ran with a somewhat clumsy gait, but those amber eyes gleamed with excitement. A tiger-striped tail swung back and forth behind him, keeping his balance.
He loved this game.
Being the "beastman" was the best part. Every time it was his turn to play the beastman, he would imitate the way his father looked when hunting — fierce and commanding as he chased down the "humans." That feeling made him feel as though he were taking part in a real hunt.
But today, he was a "human."
As the boy cut across the village, his feet slowed for a moment. His gaze drifted involuntarily toward the enclosed area at the village center.
It was ringed by thick wooden posts, the fence high, the tops sharpened to prevent whatever was inside from climbing out.
There were people inside.
More precisely — humans.
The boy glanced through a gap in the fence.
The humans were huddled on the ground, naked. Several were leaning against the fence posts, motionless — impossible to tell whether they were sleeping or dead.
One small girl raised her head and met the boy's gaze directly.
Her eyes were large, but their look was hollow — like two glass beads that had lost their luster. She looked at the boy with no expression at all, then slowly lowered her head and buried her face in her knees.
The boy made a dismissive sound.
Humans were just walking food, nothing more. His father had told him they were easier to keep alive than livestock — a little slop and they'd survive. And their meat was more tender than pork.
Apparently human infants were a particular delicacy, but since eating a baby that barely had any meat on it was quite wasteful, the boy had never had the chance to try one.
He pulled his gaze away and continued running toward the village's edge.
"Caught you!"
A cheer went up behind him. The young beastman playing the beastman had already tackled one of the slower runners and was sitting on top of him, laughing.
"That's all humans can do!"
The boy smiled briefly and quickened his pace. He had no intention of being caught.
The houses thinned near the village's edge. He hid behind an abandoned stone building, peering around half a head's worth, watching for movement outside.
The game wasn't over yet.
He just had to hide here until time ran out, and he'd win.
The boy caught his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Then —
His gaze passed idly over the horizon in the distance.
At the far end of the hills, something seemed to be moving along the skyline.
The boy narrowed his eyes and looked for a few seconds.
Dust.
A vast cloud of dust rose from the ground — like a great yellow-brown dragon flowing through the valleys between the hills, surging toward the village.
The dust grew thicker and thicker, blocking out the sky behind it.
Within the dust, something was gleaming.
Silver-white light.
The boy's lips parted slightly, a wordless murmur escaping him.
He thought of something his father had told him once.
"When you go out to play, never wander too far — or the Silver Demons who eat beastman children will get you."
The boy had asked, curious.
"What kind of creatures are Silver Demons? Are they a special type of demon?"
His father's expression had been complicated.
"They're humans."
Silver Demons.
The boy had always assumed it was a story his father made up to scare him. The humans locked in the pen couldn't even stand up properly — how could they possibly fight beastmen? How could any beastman be afraid of humans?
But now...
The dust drew closer. The earth began to tremble faintly. The vibration of countless hooves striking the ground traveled up through the soles of his feet and numbed his calves.
The silver-white light grew sharper and sharper, the gleams merging together — like a silver river rushing through the hills.
A mass of cavalry.
The boy stood rooted to the spot, legs as though nailed to the earth.
A low grunt of warning.
A thick arm covered in tiger stripes shot from behind him without warning, seizing him by the scruff of the neck. The boy's body was hauled sharply upward, feet leaving the ground.
"Wah—!"
Before he could struggle, he heard his father's voice.
"Don't make a sound!"
The boy turned his head.
His father's face, sharp with tiger stripes, was right there — close. Those tiger-slit eyes held a fear the boy had never seen in them before.
Both tiger ears were standing upright and forward, tracking the approaching hoofbeats.
"Go home and stay with your mother." His father's voice was very grave, the rough voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor. "Whatever happens — don't come out. Do you understand?"
The boy's mouth worked, wanting to say something.
"Do you understand!" His father's voice came heavier. Bared tiger fangs flashed in the sunlight.
The boy nodded vigorously.
His father released him. The boy stumbled, then turned and ran deeper into the village.
He had gone only a few steps when he couldn't stop himself from looking back.
His father had already turned, facing the approaching dust cloud. His hand rested on the iron axe at his hip. His shoulders were rigid. The tiger tail behind him had gone perfectly straight.
The village's warning horns finally sounded.
The deep, muffled calls rang over the village, one after another — urgent and sharp. The highest level of alarm. Enemy forces incoming.
The adult male beastmen came charging out of their homes. They quickly gathered at the village entrance, forming into several loose fighting lines.
But the boy could see it. The uncles and older men who always bragged about their own bravery — the ones who thumped their chests and boasted — were all wearing a color on their faces he'd never seen before. Ashen.
Several of them were shaking.
The boy had never seen them like this.
He ran past the last row of houses and ducked into his own stone home. He shut the door, crouched behind it, and peered through the gap.
The silver-white cavalry was drawing closer.
He could make out the silhouette of the one at the front.
That person was at the very front — golden hair streaming in the wind, armor brighter than any of the others. Carved at the center of the breastplate was an upright black sword.
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