The Ambush Begins

“Ahh~ Ahh~ How annoying! This lecherous body of mine—it’s practically flooding the place. Let me wipe up and quickly check on that fire! Who knows, maybe bandits have really sneaked into the village…”

After a quick wipe-down, she shed her nightgown and pulled on a linen undertunic.

The golden-haired girl swept her hands behind her head, twisting her hip-length hair into two braids, then weaving them into one large braid coiled atop her head. She donned a soft linen coif.

She opened the chest, retrieved a heavy chainmail shirt, and slipped it on.

Reaching back, she pulled up the mail’s integral hood, its iron rings settling over her head.

She cinched her belt tight, hooked the scabbard onto it, and adjusted the position for an easy draw.

She stretched her arms, warmed up, then arched her back with a long sigh. “Hmm—time to go!”

****

Meanwhile, flames erupted across the village, thick smoke billowing into the sky. The unsuspecting villagers were jolted from their dreams by the searing heat. They dashed out of their houses in panic, only to have a burly arm loop around their necks and yank them backward. Three swift kidney strikes—shash, shash, shash—and their lives were snuffed out.

Scenes of such senseless slaughter unfolded in every corner of the village. In the span of mere moments, thirty or forty peasants—men, women, and children alike—had been cruelly murdered.

After the initial wave of backstabs, the bandits launched into a wanton massacre. The blaze lit up the sky, allowing the peasants to see their surroundings.

They saw their loved ones fall to bandit blades. Some stood frozen, their souls fleeing in terror; others, driven by a surge of bloodlust, charged forward to fight. Still others turned without hesitation and ran—ran toward the smithy. They knew that only Lord Svein could deal with these scoundrels.

Across the river, at the barracks, a guard heard shouts of “Fire!” and rushed out. Before he could grasp the situation, a series of whooshing sounds filled the air. He staggered backward as searing pain pierced his torso.

He only managed to cry out, “A-a-archers…!” before collapsing with a thud, unable to rise again.

The remaining guards cowered in fear, too terrified to step out. These men had not yet undergone formal training; they hadn’t even enjoyed the perks of being guards. Now they were forced to fight bandits ravaging the village. As complete outsiders, they felt no genuine attachment to Ostrava and thus lacked the courage to defend it.

Their morale plummeted. They could only hide inside the barracks, watching the roof timbers catch fire and collapse…

****

“Tolruk, behind you!”

Clang! A thrown axe spun through the air. Tolruk instinctively ducked, and behind him, an attacker’s skull was cleaved by the thick blade. The man toppled backward.

The carpenter Tolruk was locked in combat with two or three enemies. After hurling his handaxe, he swiftly drew his broadsword and became a sword-and-board fighter. His scale armor glinted in the blazing firelight, reflecting the bandits’ greedy gazes.

“Bastards!” Tolruk swung his sword cleanly, bypassing the enemy’s block. But then, from an unseen dark corner, a hidden arrow flew—aimed at his least protected hand. Fortunately, he had held back some strength; he twisted his body to dodge, though it allowed his opponent to survive.

Seeming to realize how troublesome Tolruk was, more bandits arrived upon hearing the commotion.

Tolruk’s face darkened. Though Noren had warned him of a possible bandit attack, he had still been jolted from sleep by faint noises outside. He had alerted his father to don armor and put on his own leather jerkin.

No sooner had he burst out the door than he saw the distant village ablaze. A sneak attacker leapt from behind the door and grabbed the elderly carpenter, whose reflexes had dulled with age. But when the thief thrust his shortsword, the angle was off—the blade skidded off the scale armor. In the next instant, the carpenter seized his wrist, spun around, and with a brutal chop, lopped off half his head.

But killing one enemy only brought more flooding in.

One bandit grimaced. “I told you there was a house in the far south. Might be some loot in there.”

Another laughed. “Hahaha—Then we’d better hurry. Whoever finds the valuables first gets to keep ’em!”

Watching his father being mobbed by several bandits, Tolruk’s exceptionally keen hearing picked up not only the villagers’ roars and cries amid the sea of fire but also a single breathing sound from the woods near the carpenter’s cottage.

‘An archer hidden in the shadows!’ Tolruk stiffened, his scalp tingling. ‘A trained archer! Shooting in the dark! These aren’t ordinary bandits!’

‘They’re regulars!’

Tolruk realized.

“Brother?” Freya timidly poked her head out from inside the house.

“Get back! Hide in your room! Lock the door and don’t come out!” Tolruk shouted over his shoulder. He knew they could not flee toward Hradec—the village roads were surely guarded. A tactical retreat would be walking into a trap!!!

“O-okay!” Freya scooped up the kitten trying to escape and nimbly retreated to her room, sliding the bolt shut.

The instant Freya disappeared inside, a thud sounded—an arrow embedded itself in the doorframe, its fletching quivering. Tolruk broke out in a cold sweat.

Another whistle.

He instinctively tilted his head; the arrow tore a gap through his shoulder-length blonde hair, sending a few strands floating down. His palms sweated as he tightened his grip on the composite bow.

‘I hope Noren and the others finish over there soon, or else…’ Tolruk dodged again, narrowly avoiding another arrow.

He glanced at the dark woods nearby, then at his father, who was only a dozen yards away and growing exhausted…

‘Or else I’ll be the one heading to Valhalla first.’ Tolruk swiftly nocked an arrow and sent a heavy four-sided shaft flying into the distant dark forest.

Whoosh!

…… ……

“Why hasn’t anyone come out yet?” Two bandits whispered on either side of the smithy’s main door. One turned to his right and made a hand signal.

Bandits hiding near a haystack some distance away waved their arms in reply, gesturing: No one’s come out, and no one’s coming.

‘Strange,’ the two bandits outside thought, relaxing a little. ‘We clearly heard noises inside. They couldn’t have noticed us, could they?’

Another thumbed toward the door, signaling: Should we just barge in?

The bandit shook his head slightly: No, wait.

Another gestured again: Or maybe we should…

Boom! The door exploded outward. One bandit was slammed by the panel and crushed against the wall behind him, flattened like a pancake.

“Wh…” The other bandit had no time to react. He only caught a blurry glimpse of a dark mass hurtling toward his face.

Smack! Crack! A crisp sound rang out, and the bandit crumpled to the ground.

In an instant, the two bandits guarding the door were eliminated. The few archers hidden nearby were frozen in shock.

From within the darkness of the doorway, a tall figure stepped out slowly. She flicked the blood from her fist, but her gloves still dripped crimson.

Noren looked at the bandits hiding near the haystack as if they were utter idiots. “You worthless scum—didn’t you notice my second-floor window was open? What were you all signaling about over there?”

With that, she raised her right hand and crooked a finger. “Come on, then. Once I’ve killed you, I can go back to sleep!”

The girl even feigned a yawn. “Ahh—so sleepy~”

“Roar!” The bandits flew into a rage and charged at her in unison.

“Just a woman!”