The forest had swallowed the sound of the village hours ago.
Only the crunch of boots and the faint chatter of men filled the air now.
Fifteen men clad in light leather armor walked.
And Laro walked in front, the broad-shouldered vice-captain of Windket's guard with his signature long coat brushing against the tall grass.
While the glow of noon slipped between the trees, painting the forest floor in streaks of pale gold.
None of them wore proper armor.
All they had were leather vests, iron buckles, and casual shirts beneath.
Windket wasn't rich enough to afford and maintain proper armor.
Or at least that's what the Chief said.
The men laughed as they walked in a laughter too ugly for the quiet woods.
"Did you see the look on that baker's wife yesterday?" one of them snorted, taking another puff from his smoking pipe. "Nearly dropped her basket when I winked at her."
"You sure it was the wink?" another man said. "Maybe she saw that nose of yours and our of sheer shock."
The first laughed, shoving him lightly. "Ha! She was staring plenty. Can't blame her. A woman that bored would melt for a man like me."
A third voice chimed in from the back. "Save your charm for the ones that still have all their teeth, genius."
They roared, the sound bouncing through the trees.
Laro didn't join in.
He smoked quietly as he led the men deeper into the forest.
His face was scarred and rough, marked by too many fights that ended the wrong way.
His sharp and pale green eyes stared ahead like a man who still remembered a knight's discipline.
Though it had been years since he'd practiced any.
"What's so damn funny back there?" he called, voice coarse but calm.
"Just talking about the women, Captain!" one of them said between laughs.
Laro grunted. "You idiots ever shut up? We're out here to check the lightning phenomenon… not out on a damn picnic"
"Phenomenon, huh?" another said. "Yeah, sure. If that's what you wanna call it... I heard it struck the same spot nine times."
"Probably some mage's experiment."
"Or a treasure."
That word pulled every head toward the speaker.
Laro smirked. "Treasure, huh? You think something worth finding would land this close to shithole?"
"You never know, sir," the man said. "Chief did say not to leave a single patch unchecked… Could be we strike gold."
"Or strike our graves," someone muttered.
Laro chuckled under his breath. "Relax… We all know this forest like the back of our hands… If there was danger, we'd smell it already."
The men laughed again, a little louder this time.
One of them spat into the dirt; another broke a branch and used it to draw something crude in the soil.
A stick figure with exaggerated curves.
"Ha! That's the innkeeper's daughter," he said, grinning like he just make art. "See? Perfect hips."
"That… somehow actually looks like her," another replied as men gathered around it. "You know, her old man caught me looking once and chased me with a broom."
"Me too!" someone said, and the forest filled with another wave of laughter.
The smoke from their pipes drifted upward, curling through the sunlight.
Laro glanced up through the canopy, watching the sun straight on their heads. "Alright, enough talk. We've wasted enough time already… We'll sweep north, then circle back. Chief wants this forest clean before the royal dogs arrive."
A chorus of "Aye" followed, half-hearted but loud.
He took another slow drag from his smoke before emptying the pipe on the ground, the embers glowing for a moment before dying in the grass.
"Keep your eyes open," he said, turning his gaze forward. "And if any of you spot something worth selling…" He paused, lips curling into a grin. "Don't tell the chief just yet."
The men chuckled again with the same shared greed.
And so they kept walking.
Joking.
Laughing.
The forest thickened as they walked deeper.
And soon they reached a point where trees packed so close that their roots jutted out of the ground.
Laro slowed his pace, squinting through the light that filtered through the canopy.
Something about the quiet felt wrong.
Then…
-Crick.
His ear picked up the faint, unmistakable sound of a boot snapping twigs.
"Men," But before he could even finish …
Two crimson spheres arced from the shadows, whistling through the air before thudding against the dirt right in front of them.
And -
-WHOOOSH!
Fire detonated, spreading like molten tar, clinging to leather, clothes, and then skin.
Men screamed as their bodies ignited, rolling frantically across the ground, but the fire did not let go.
It clung to leather, then skin, then muscle, feeding like a living thing.
Laro reacted just in time to dive away, hitting the ground hard as heat passed him.
He came up on one knee, coughing dirt.
His wide eyes stared at the carnage before him in disbelief.
The blast had swallowed twelve of his men as they writhed and screamed in the sheer agony of being burned alive.
Three others had also made it out with luck alone.
"On me!" he barked, voice hoarse.
The men obeyed without thinking, blades scraping free of their sheaths.
They moved into cover, forming a loose circle with their backs against each other as they scanned through the sudden hell on earth
One man shouted, "Captain! Over there!"
But there was nothing. Only the crackle of flames behind them and the stench of burning leather.
Another said, "Could be a mage."
"Just shut up and stay alert!" Laro snapped, rising to his full height, eyes darting through the treeline untill all that remained were the charred black bodies of their comerades still clinging to life as they twitched and trembled.
Laro's pulse thudded in his temple. He turned slowly, every sense straining, listening for that sound again.
-Crick.
His jaw tightened.
This time, it came from just in front of him.
Amidst the stench of burnt flesh, Laro saw movement.
A figure stepped out from behind a tree, half-hidden in the smoke.
A boy.
Dressed in a white shirt and black pants.
His face was calm, almost too calm, but his eyes, those violet eyes, burned with something primal.
Before Laro could even utter a word.
The boy raised a crossbow.
And -
-Thung!
A bolt sliced through the air straight for his head.
But Laro was a Mid-Stage Tier One Warrior.
He moved on instinct.
His hand snapped up, catching the bolt inches from his face.
"There!" he roared, snapping the attention of his men onto the boy.
And then, a blue light flashed
A weapon shimmered into existence in the boy's hands, the air crackling around it in a blue glimmer.
A larger-bladed spear materialized out of thin air in his hand.
And before he could even register it, the boy lunged forward.
To Laro, his movements felt slow.
He turned, catching the blade of the spear with his sword, and with a flick of his wrist, he redirected the thrust wide.
While his free hand shot out, seizing the boy by the throat.
He felt the pulse hammering beneath his grip as his grip tightened before he lifted him off the ground like a rag doll.
"Gotcha," he growled, eyes flashing in brutality.
The boy kicked and gasped weakly at Laro's arm.
"Thought you could burn me too, huh?" Laro spat, veins standing out along his neck as he shoved his sword into the thrashing boy's gut.
The blade sank deep with a thick, wet sound before hot blood spilled down the metal, dripping onto Laro's wrist.
The boy's eyes widened, shock, pain, and disbelief as the spear slipped from his hands, falling to the ground with a dull thud.
While Laro leaned in, grinning through clenched teeth. "Haven't I seen you before?"
Three of the remaining men approached, their faces twisted in recognition.
"Is that the trash?" one hissed.
"Yeah," Laro muttered, still holding the boy up by the neck. "Looks different, though. Who fed you, huh? You look like a person now. I knew I should've finished you back then."
"Sir," one of them said urgently, voice cracking as the weak groans of their comrades echoed, "we don't have time… our men are still alive! They need help!"
"I know," Laro said without looking back. His tone was almost casual as he pushed the blade deeper, feeling the resistance fade. "So, any last words, trash?"
The boy coughed the blood bubbling up his throat while his body trembled, but his eyes… they were still steady. Still fixed on Laro.
Then, slowly, his lips curved upward, in a weak, bloody, and infuriatingly defiant grin, just like his mother's.
"You lot are right where I want you."
The words came out soft, almost like a secret meant only for Laro's ears.
For a second, confusion flickered across the man's face.
And then another sphere materialized in the boy's free hand.
Laro's pupils contracted. "Wait!"
Too late.
The boy dropped it at their feet.
-Wooosh!
A blaze of flames erupted, washing over them in a wave of molten light.
Laro's guttural scream tore through the forest.
While the others fell with him, thrashing and screaming as the fire ate through their leather and skin alike.
The boy's own voice joined theirs, equally ragged and broken until it was impossible to tell them apart.
They rolled in the dirt, their bodies hissing and popping as the fire fed on everything it touched.
And they burned alive for ten whole seconds
The stench of cooked meat lingered long after the flames had died.
And at the center of it all, surrounded by broken, burnt, and weakly groaning men, lay the faint outline of a boy's hand.
Still smoking… Still twitching.