"Follow the coastline south," Aldric muttered. It sounded simple in theory.
In practice, the pristine white beaches quickly gave way to treacherous mudflats. Beyond the flats loomed jagged cliffs, forcing them inland. When they finally navigated the dense, pine-choked ridges and returned to the water, the coast had transformed into a labyrinth of dark green reefs.
They hacked their way through the wilderness for a week.
On the afternoon of the sixth day, the tree line broke. Down in a sheltered cove, Aldric spotted a cluster of dilapidated wooden huts.
Kevin dropped the handles of the handcart, his face lighting up. "People! Ser Aldric, a village!"
"Civilization," Aldric sighed, feeling the constant tension in his shoulders ease a fraction.
"They will welcome us," Kevin beamed, dusting off his tunic. "It's a great honor for smallfolk to host a warrior like you. And by the sacred laws of hospitality, once we eat their bread and salt, we are bound. We mean them no harm, and they cannot harm us."
Aldric raised an eyebrow. "Bread and salt stops a knife in the dark?"
Kevin looked confused. "It is a sin against the gods to violate guest right. Is it not the same in your homeland?"
Aldric thought of the history books he had read, of betrayals sealed over wine and feasts, of smiles hiding poisoned daggers. This kid has a lot to learn about human nature. But he kept his cynicism to himself, offering only a noncommittal grunt as they walked down the dirt path toward the huts.
As they neared the edge of the village, the wind shifted.
Aldric stopped dead. His hand dropped to the hilt of his greatsword.
"Kevin," Aldric's voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. "I don't think anyone is welcoming us today."
"Ser?"
Kevin followed Aldric's gaze. Lying in the dirt just past the first hut was a crumpled shape.
Aldric stepped forward and crouched. It was an old man, his gray hair matted with dried, black blood. His calloused, weather-beaten hands were clawed into the earth. Aldric gently pulled back the man's torn tunic. A massive puncture wound had caved in his chest—a brutal, fatal thrust from a spear or a heavy pike.
The old man's eyes were wide open, frozen in an expression of absolute terror.
Aldric stood up. He unslung his shield and drew his short sword, shoving them into Kevin's chest.
"Stay behind me," Aldric ordered.
Kevin gripped the shield, his knuckles white. "Yes, Ser."
The village was eerily silent. No dogs barked. No smoke rose from the chimneys. The only sound was the buzzing of flies.
They walked down the main thoroughfare. Bodies littered the roadside.
An adult man missing half his face. A woman clutching a pitchfork, her throat laid open. Two young children huddled together, pinned to the earth by a single spear.
Kevin staggered to the edge of the road, fell to his knees, and retched violently.
Aldric didn't vomit. The metallic tang of blood and voided bowels filled his nose, but his stomach remained steady. Instead, a cold, crushing weight settled in his chest. His grip on the Serpent's Striker tightened until the leather wrap groaned.
He had seen massacres in digital worlds, rendered in pixels and polygons. This was different. The smell of death was absolute.
He walked toward the largest building, the village hall. The doors were splintered. Inside, the furniture was smashed to kindling.
In the center of the room, a young woman was tied to a support beam. She was stripped bare, her feet nailed to a wooden bench. Blood coated her face where her eyes had been gouged out. She had been dead for hours.
Curled at the base of the post lay a toddler, blood pooling from his ears and nose.
Aldric stopped breathing. The silence in the room was deafening. He didn't inspect the child. He didn't need to. He stepped forward, drawing his dagger to cut the ropes. He laid the woman's body on a ruined bed, placed the toddler gently beside her, and pulled a torn, woven blanket over them both.
He stepped back, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.
What crime did a blind woman and a toddler commit? he thought, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack his teeth. What kind of animals walk this earth?
A shadow fell over the doorway. Kevin stood there, his face the color of ash.
"Ser," Kevin whispered, his voice trembling. "They are all fishermen. They have nothing of value. My father... he told me stories. The savages from the far north, or the Skagosi. They raid the coasts. They kill for sport."
Aldric's eyes were blank, staring at the blanket. "Bring the handcart."
"Ser?"
"Bring the cart, Kevin."
For the next hour, they worked in grim silence. Aldric loaded the bodies onto the cart, pushing them to a clearing just outside the village limits. Thirty-two bodies in total. Men, women, children.
Aldric stripped off his golden armor. He took the heavy mining pick, snapped the wooden haft, and forced a thick, sturdy branch into the iron head.
He stepped into the clearing and swung.
Thwack. The iron head buried itself deep into the compacted soil. Aldric tore a massive chunk of earth free. He swung again, and again, driven by a mechanical, terrifying fury. His enhanced muscles rippled under his tunic, moving with a speed and power that defied human limits.
Kevin watched, bewildered. Why is he doing this? In Westeros, a sellsword or a passing knight would loot the corpses for coppers and ride away before the rot set in. Digging a mass grave for peasants took a day of hard labor. It offered no coin, no glory.
"Ser," Kevin ventured hesitantly. "These people are strangers. Why spend your strength?"
Aldric didn't stop his rhythm. Dirt flew over his shoulder. "Because I can. And because someone has to."
Kevin swallowed hard. He grabbed a rusted shovel from the village and jumped into the pit alongside his master, though he could barely keep pace with Aldric's furious excavation.
Hours passed. When the pit was deeper than a man is tall, Aldric jammed the pick into the dirt.
"Enough," Aldric breathed, his chest heaving. "Help me."
They lowered the thirty-two villagers into the dark earth, laying them side by side. When the last body was placed, Aldric took the shovel and began burying them, packing the soil tight to form a large, raised mound.
Aldric leaned on the shovel handle, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. "Will the wild dogs dig them up?"
"I don't know," Kevin said softly. "Stones would help."
"We don't have the time," Aldric said, looking at the setting sun. "We did what we could. The rest is up to the earth."
He looked at the bare mound. It felt incomplete.
"Kevin. What gods do these people pray to?"
"The Seven," Kevin replied. "But the Northmen pray to the Old Gods. I don't know the words... the Silent Sisters handle the dead."
"Then I will handle it," Aldric said.
He drew his dagger, shaving three thin splinters from a piece of pine. He struck his flint, lighting the tips until they smoldered, and planted them into the soil at the head of the grave.
Thin streams of white smoke drifted into the twilight air.
Aldric closed his eyes, clasping his hands together. He drew upon the lore of the Sunwalkers, letting his deep voice resonate in the quiet clearing.
"Eternal Light, pierce this darkness. Look upon these souls cast into the cold earth. Let the warmth of the Sun guide them from the shadows, and grant them the peace they were denied in life."
Kevin didn't understand the strange, melodic cadence of the prayer, but the solemnity of it made him bow his head. He silently offered his own hurried prayer to the Stranger, hoping the thirty-two souls would find rest.
When the smoke from the pine splinters finally faded, Aldric opened his eyes.
The anger hadn't vanished, but the crushing helplessness had abated. Taking action—even just moving dirt—had grounded him.
"Get your gear, Kevin. We leave now."
"Now, Ser?" Kevin looked at the darkening sky. "Should we not rest in one of the huts?"
"No. We don't know when the animals who did this will return. If there's one village, there's another down the coast. We march."
They didn't light a torch. They ate hard, cold rations as they walked, leaving the graveyard behind.
They followed a narrow, rutted dirt path that wound away from the coast and deep into the dense forest. The moonlight filtered through the canopy in pale, shifting slivers.
Aldric walked point, his greatsword drawn. Kevin followed closely, his hand tight on his short sword. The silence of the night woods was heavy, broken only by the chirping of insects and the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Suddenly, Aldric stopped.
Over the ambient noise of the forest, a new sound emerged.
Crack. Snap. Thump.
Someone was running through the brush up ahead. Running hard, stumbling, tearing through branches with frantic desperation.
Aldric shoved Kevin hard off the path. "Hide!"
Aldric ducked behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak, melting into the shadows.
The stumbling footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the ragged, gasping breaths of the runner. Further back, deeper in the woods, Aldric heard the snapping of twigs and the low, excited jeers of several men giving chase.
Aldric tightened his grip on his sword. He didn't step out. He waited, letting the prey come to him.
A figure burst from the undergrowth, sprinting blindly down the path right past Aldric's tree.
Aldric didn't hesitate. He thrust out the heavy, steel-banded scabbard of his sword.
The runner's shins slammed into the scabbard. They pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain, crashing hard into the dirt.
Aldric stepped out from the shadows, raising his weapon.
The figure scrambled backward on the ground, pushing up onto their elbows. The moonlight caught their face.
It wasn't a raider. It was a young woman, her clothes torn to rags, her eyes wide with absolute terror as she stared up at the towering, armored giant looming over her.