Herman and Gilian reached the south gate of Huina Village just as the world outside seemed to unravel into horror and violence. They arrived with urgency in their steps, the echoes of chaos growing sharper with every stride. The dusk had deepened, painting orange lines across the land and turning the shadow behind the palisade into a living thing.
The gate, solid and reinforced with carts, planks, barrels, and nearly anything that would fit, groaned under the pressure outside. Sounds shuddered through the wood—scratches, heavy moans, the repeated slap of flesh and bone against the braced logs.
Herman immediately looked for Ronova, the smell of rot burning in his nose. Nearby, villagers worked side-by-side with guards under Ronova's firm orders, hauling more fortifications into place. Ton's blue sash flickered just visible as he moved aid and gave commands.
Gilian, breathing heavily, slowed as he reached the swelling crowd at the gate. He dropped a hand to his belt pouch almost by habit—a soothing gesture, feeling the collection of tools and small pouches tied to his waist. He let his fingers circle the rough shape of what lay inside, each object a memory of desperate earlier hours. The world's noise seemed to fade as, for a short moment, he remembered the final preparations before making this tense journey.
They'd left Harley in the care of Diana before leaving—the poor boy had been nearly in shock from fright. Herman pressed the last of the mana stones into Gilian's hand with a steady look and then gave Arvan instructions. "Arvan, you bring this weapon and tools to Cren. And after you deliver it. Assist him to help the evacuation. Instead of staying here, we need someone who is familiar with the forest and this whole situation in the evacuation group." It was the kind of order that wasn't up for debate, and Arvan simply nodded, face tight and went directly to the treatment area. Gilian had almost protested, but as he glanced at Harley's drawn face, he couldn't deny the need for someone vulnerable to be kept close to safety.
The recollection faded, darkness and dread rising as Tedy's loud voice cut through everything. High above them in the watchtower, Tedy used the silken-thread communicator to cast his voice down. "They're still coming! The gate's shaking, but it's holding—for now! There's more—must be twenty or more than fifty of them! All shapes, all sizes. They smell like the dead… like old meat left in the sun. It's worse than before!"
Reality snapped back. Gilian felt his heart thump hard, the air sharp in his lungs. He exchanged a worried glance with Herman. Not waiting, the two of them hurried to the base of the watchtower and climbed up beside Tedy, who was pale yet focused, scanning the horizon with wide eyes.
From above, the scene was even more chilling. Past the piles of fortification, through gaps in the crude barricade, the mass of attackers stood pressed tight—limp arms, broken-clawed hands, jaws slacked or twisted in grotesque hunger. Some crawled, some limped, a few dragged themselves on shattered legs, while others had wounds so deep their insides seemed to hang loose, yet they never slowed. Human faces mixed with animal skulls, bristling fur, snapping jaws—a carnival of death, every one pressing close with no sound but a hideous chorus of groans and guttural, mindless howls.
Ronova, bow in hand, stood a few steps away at the tower's ledge, face pale but determined. He loosed another arrow at the thickest part of the crowd below. The shot struck a man-shaped figure in the gut. The creature jerked but didn't so much as flinch—patched blood splashed over empty ribs where the arrow stuck, and the corpse simply kept pushing with the rest.
"They don't care if you hit them…" Ronova muttered, lowering the bow and cursing under his breath. "Even shot through the heart, nothing stops them except breaking them apart. They're not alive, not in any way that matters."
For a while, the three men simply watched, speechless. Herman's eyes were hard and sharp. He followed the movements below, observing it quietly, not all the creatures attacked in unison. Some just wandered, their broken faces pressed against the wood, moving by simple instinct. But from time to time, one or two would suddenly snap their heads, snarl, and join a more focused push—especially when one let out a wild, mindless moan. It was like watching ripples spread on a pond after a stone was thrown.
Tedy fumbled for words. "I… When we rang the bell, they were moving strangely, just sort of… shuffling, like they'd forgotten how to walk." He shook his head, haunted by what he'd witnessed. "But after the bell sounded, it was like something snapped. All of them turned right at us. They rushed the gate like they knew we were here, or something told them to come."
Herman's brow furrowed. He watched the crowd with new purpose, eying the pattern within the chaos. "It's the sound," he said finally. "They move by instinct, but the bell… and maybe the smell, too, but mostly the noise. That's what gathers them, what sends them straight at us."
To test his theory, Herman took a small object from his own pouch—a dull, misshapen stone, one of his precious few left. He rolled it in his palm, whispered a counting spell, then tossed it far out over the top of the barricade toward a patch of weeds to the left of the gate, well away from the growing crowd.
The stone landed with a soft thud, then—pop!—it erupted with a quick, crackling flash and a sharp, sudden bang, throwing up dirt and dead grass. Every head near the gate snapped toward the source of the noise. A moment of stillness hovered, then half a dozen of the corpse-things peeled away and lurched toward where the stone had fallen. They crowded around it stupidly, circling the empty space as if looking for prey, then, as no living thing appeared, they soon lost interest and wandered back to the others.
Herman pointed. "That's it. They hunt by sound. When the bell rang—when anyone shouts or screams—they focus. They're mindless, but something in them remembers what to do when they sense a noise that is different. That's why they're all at the south gate instead of spreading out."
For a moment, the group was silent, digesting this new piece of knowledge. Gilian's hands trembled at the thought. If sound could call them, then every frightened cry, every crash of a dropped board, every desperate yell could doom them all.
Gilian tried to imagine hunting these monsters. If they made too much noise, more would come until they were overwhelmed. But fighting in silence—how? Even bows and blades made noise in close quarters, and the gate, if it fell, would bring every monster for miles around.
Ronova shook his head, gathering his courage. "That means… If we want to defeat them, it has to be done quietly. No big attacks, no shouting, nothing to bring more. We have to move, strike, and move again. We especially can't ring the bell anymore, even to warn the villagers." He looked out at the wall of bodies. "But if even a few get through and start howling inside the village, the whole swarm might tear Huina apart."
The harsh truth pressed silence around them. Herman's jaw set, eyes hooded. "We can't even use the bow without risking making a sound. Mana stones that explode are much more risky—besides, I don't have many stones left, and even less that can work on these things." He checked his own dwindling supply, rolling and testing the weight. "We need to keep moving, stay quiet, and pick off what we can. But it's… dangerous. If we try and fail, we might make it worse."
They each huddled closer to the tower's rail, trying to see clearly in the fading light. The grim press of bodies below carried on, relentless and stupid, kept together only by the stench and by the echoing, hungry noise at the walls.
From the other side of the compound, Gilian saw Ton moving the rest of the villagers to the North Hall as planned, rations being distributed, people kept quiet and as calm as possible. Knowing his mother and Harley were somewhere in that silent, scared crowd sent a wave of cold through his bones.
In the distance, Arvan returned, breathless but unharmed for now. He signaled to Gilian from below the tower, and Gilian motioned him up quickly and quietly. Arvan's eyes were wide. "Harley is safe—the hall is locked, Diana has him and the doors are braced. Cren's weapons and the backup tools are there, ready for anything. They've started the evacuation list, but everyone who can walk is waiting for Ton before they start toward the lake."
Ronova pressed his lips tight in approval. "Good. Now, you three, if I give the word, be ready to lead people north—no looking back. Same as you too, Arvan. Support evacuation group with Cren"
Arvan nodded and went to the north gate with the guards to prepare for evacuation.
Tedy swallowed loudly. "I can keep watching from here, warning of anything new. But… if the gate breaks, or if something bigger comes—" His voice trailed off. Everyone understood.
Herman kept his eyes on the mass below. He slowly slid a throwing dagger with a silky attached to its handle from his belt—sharp, polished, not meant for throwing but grown familiar in his palm. "I want to try something. If arrows don't stop them, maybe a blade will do more, if I get the angle right."
With a practiced, silent motion, Herman drew back and flicked the dagger down toward the nearest attacker. It thudded into the skull of a limping corpse. Yet the walking corpse staggered a bit but can still moving. He pulled his dagger once more then prepared to imbued it with aero stones to make the dagger sharper then throwing it once again to another walking corpse as his test subject.
Shwunk! thwack!
With the help of an aero stone, the dagger's blade extended—sharpened and lengthened just enough to pierce through a skull. Herman hurled it forward, the weapon slicing through the air before sinking into the walking corpse's head with a clean, deadly impact. As the creature staggered, Herman gave a sharp tug on the silk thread attached to the hilt, pulling the dagger back into his hand. He wiped the blood from the blade. A moment later, the corpse jerked once—then collapsed, lifeless.
All three men in the tower leaned out, watching in tense silence. But even as one fell, the rest didn't pause. If anything, a few pressed close to the corpse, groping at it mindlessly, then simply clambered over it, as if it were nothing more than another log in the barricade.
Herman, grim but stubborn, "The head. We have to destroy whatever's left of the brain. Only then do they stop moving, it seems." He said it half to himself, half to the others, as Ronova relayed the finding over the silken communicator to the men still patrolling below.
But just as quickly, frustration flashed in Herman's eyes. "Even so, for every one we drop, ten more show up as long as they hear something alive on this side of the wall." He turned to Ronova. "We'll have to try several ways. We must use silence, and maybe try to draw them off, but slowly, a few at a time. We buy every minute we can for the evacuation. And… nothing loud, no calls for help, not unless you're ready to fight a thousand at once."
Ronova gave a short, fierce nod, and Gilian exhaled, mind filled with horror and worry. If sound was the key, if only silence could save them, then Huina's hope rested on careful, steady hands—not just with weapons, but also with courage.
Herman looked over the village one last time. The dusk was thick now, and the torchlight from the North Hall flickered like fireflies in the gloom. He wondered how many more would come before the evacuation was done.
"We have to survive until then," Herman murmured, his voice steady despite the fear. "We will try everything—but quietly. Now, get ready. The real test begins before the night is out."
The last words faded into the tense, watchful silence, where every creak, every thump, every accidental cough might spell doom for them all.