Bab 266: From the English war-book

The village was a blazing inferno, its thatched roofs crackling and collapsing under roaring flames. Smoke billowed into the sky, turning day into a choking twilight. Villagers screamed as they fled, their cries piercing the air, a symphony of terror and despair. Children clung to their mothers, while the old and frail stumbled, their attempts to escape thwarted by the chaos around them causing them to fall.

Riders thundered through the streets, their torches flaring as they set fire to every building in sight, sparing only the central warehouse. The flames painted their armored figures in a hellish glow, their laughter echoing cruelly over the destruction.

"Run, little rats!" one rider shouted, his grin wide as he slapped the flat of his blade against the back of a fleeing villager, sending the man tumbling forward.