บท 28: Inferno of vengeance

The air was thick with scorching heat, choking the breath from Robert's lungs. The acrid stench of burning wood and seared flesh clawed at his nostrils, and the sight before him turned his stomach. His village—his village—was engulfed in a sea of flames. The fire leapt greedily from home to home, casting grotesque shadows that twisted and writhed across the ground like the spirits of the dead. All around him, the screams of his people filled the night, a symphony of terror and agony.

Struggling to rise, Robert felt the world spin around him. His head pounded, his vision blurred by the aftershocks of the blast that had knocked him down. In the distance, figures moved through the swirling smoke—tribesmen, their faces obscured by darkness, moving like wraiths in the night. Their torches flickered as they set everything ablaze, turning the village into a hellscape of destruction.

"Get up," Robert hissed through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a growl as he forced his body to obey. Pain radiated from every muscle, but he pushed it aside. He stumbled forward, his heart hammering in his chest. Who had been hit? How many were still alive?

The ground trembled beneath his feet as another explosion shattered the night, sending a wave of heat and debris crashing over him. He threw up an arm to shield his face as the flames roared higher, consuming more of the village with every passing second.

His blood turned to ice.

His people—his family—were dying.

"No!" The word ripped from his throat, raw and desperate. He broke into a run, his legs screaming in protest, but he ignored the pain. The heat gnawed at his skin, the chaos clawing at his mind, but none of it mattered. He was their leader. He had to protect them.

A flash of movement caught his eye—a tribesman, a twisted sneer on his lips, raising a spear toward a fleeing villager. Instinct took over. With a feral roar, Robert threw himself forward, crashing into the attacker with bone-jarring force. They tumbled to the ground in a flurry of dirt and fists, the world around them a blur of fire and violence. Robert felt the rage coursing through him, blinding, all-consuming.

"You think you can destroy my home?" he snarled, slamming the man's head into the dirt, his hands trembling with fury. "You think you can slaughter my people?"

But even as he pounded the tribesman into unconsciousness, the shrieks of the dying echoed in his ears. The fires were spreading, the destruction unstoppable. He glanced up, his heart seizing in his chest. More tribesmen, their eyes glinting with bloodlust, were advancing through the smoke, moving with deadly purpose.

They were outnumbered—overrun.

This was no simple raid.

As the flames climbed higher, painting the sky in hues of blazing orange and blood-red, a horrifying realization settled over Robert like a suffocating shroud. This attack was calculated. The prisoner they had captured, the eerie tattoos glowing on his skin, the strange chant whispered in the dark—it all fit together now, a sinister puzzle he hadn't wanted to solve.

His gaze snapped toward the barracks, now engulfed in flames. Soldiers poured out, weapons gleaming in the firelight, their faces grim with determination.

"Kill them all!" Robert's voice cracked as it echoed through the inferno. "Destroy every last one of them!"

Thronton and Sabas, their faces streaked with soot and blood, rushed out of the barracks at the head of their units, diving headlong into the fray. Robert followed, his heart pounding in his ears, his vision narrowing to a tunnel of vengeance. He would make them pay.

Ahead, a group of tribesmen circled several children, their cruel laughter ringing out as they taunted their helpless prey. But before they could strike, a shard of ice cleaved through the air, piercing their chests in one swift, deadly arc. The tribesmen collapsed, blood spilling onto the scorched earth.

Thronton, his massive axe gleaming with frost, waded into the heart of the battle. With each swing, the ground shook beneath his feet, and the bodies of the enemy piled at his feet like broken dolls. His men followed in his wake, tearing through the tribesmen like wolves among sheep. Their movements were brutal, efficient, and utterly merciless. They were no longer men—they were demons unleashed.

The enemy, seeing their comrades fall like wheat before a scythe, attempted to regroup. They shifted their formation, trying to encircle Robert's forces, but a blur of blonde hair streaked through the smoke.

"Pincer formation!" Sabas barked, his voice cutting through the din of battle. His two hundred men snapped into position, forming the head of a spear. They crashed into the tribesmen's left flank, shattering the encirclement with a thunderous impact. Chaos erupted as the enemy's lines crumbled, and Sabas and his men seized the opportunity, cutting down their disoriented foes with cold precision.

Robert fought beside them, summoning his sword from his inventory, the blade gleaming like silver in the firelight. He slashed and hacked his way through the waves of tribesmen, his mind a whirlwind of fury and desperation. Each time he spotted a fallen weapon, he used his telekinesis to hurl it into the ranks of the enemy, sending spears and daggers flying like deadly projectiles.

Suddenly, a massive fireball burst in the center of their formation, the explosion sending men flying in all directions. Robert's stomach churned as he watched one of his soldiers disintegrate, his body torn apart in an instant.

Sabas had seen it too. "There's a mage that their trump card," he growled, eyes narrowing. "But we have one too."

Sabas scanned the battlefield for Thronton, who was carving a path of destruction through the enemy ranks. His axe cleaved through armor and bone with terrifying ease, the frost that clung to its blade freezing the air with each swing.

"Thronton!" Sabas shouted. "There's a mage in the village! He's tearing us apart—we need to stop him!"

Thronton grunted, swinging his axe into an approaching tribesman's chest. "I'm a little busy!" he shot back, his voice strained with exertion. "Why don't you handle it?"

"I need to command the field!" Sabas snapped; his tone urgent. "You're the best chance we have—find him and kill him!"

Thronton gritted his teeth, finally relenting. "Fine! But leave some fun for me." He turned and sprinted toward the village outskirts, his axe at the ready, the ground trembling with each step.

The pungent stench of burning flesh thickened as Thronton raised his axe high, a shimmering blue aura coiling around the blade. He brought it down with a roar, sending a wave of freezing energy surging across the battlefield. The tribesmen caught in its wake were frozen mid-motion, their bodies split in half by the icy force.

The Northmen, seeing their captain's signal, began to push toward him. Robert caught sight of the blue flash, realizing Thronton had found a way to flush out the mage.

Without hesitation, Robert broke away from the main fight, sprinting toward the left flank. As he moved, a tribesman launched a spear at his back, but Robert reacted in time, his telekinesis stopping the weapon inches from his neck. He turned, hurling the spear back with deadly precision, watching the tribesman crumple to the ground, lifeless.

Thronton was already scouring the village, his eyes blazing with fury. The streets were littered with bodies, and the village, once a sanctuary, was now a ruin. Rage boiled in his chest. These people accepted me. They trusted me.

He climbed a watchtower, his eyes scanning the treeline beyond the village. And then, he saw it—a flicker of orange light in the distance, deep in the trees. The chanting. That damn chant. He's been communicating with them the entire time.

A fireball shot toward the watchtower. Thronton jumped, but the explosion caught him, sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. His men rushed to his side.

"Captain, are you alright?"

Thronton staggered to his feet, fury blazing in his bloodshot eyes. "That bastard just gave away his position."

Without another word, he led his men into the shadows of the trees, hunting the mage with cold, murderous intent.