Jack and Ruben didn’t have to use the potions.
Because everyone who had been hit by the strike had died.
The corpses of at least twenty people were scattered from the explosion, some were even on the roof of houses nearby. Few were even soldiers, most were civilians.
It hadn't been that hard to get into the “fortified” village, the west section of the wall had been completely destroyed. Some houses were on fire, others were wiped clean off their foundations. Those that weren’t completely destroyed were peppered with holes from the debris, probably killing the people inside as well.
“I am very sure these people do not know that Marcus’s attack is responsible.” Ruben commented. “I'll go talk to the mayor, to see if we can get recovery and assistance for the tragedy.” Ruben told Jack. "You stay here and keep the people calm.”
“I-” Jack protested, but Ruben was already gone.
Jack began counting the bodies instead of simply estimating. He stopped when he reached , 6 were soldiers, the rest he assumed were civilians.
After a while of evacuating people, which was done by simply shouting at people to stay away from dangerous areas, Ruben returned.
“How many?” Ruben asked.
Jack shook his head. “Forty-seven.”
Ruben looked away for a second, visibly disturbed. “The town has a population of 219”. He said quietly, “This is the most devastating event seen in this town in almost a century.”
Jack had studied the history of The Davwlands. 92 years ago, a Warlord called Saymuk Paknov attempted to annex Quow via force, Quow, being an even smaller town than now, had almost zero chance of fighting unless other lords and kings got involved. Unfortunately, Since Quow was only a small village, only producing small amounts of wheat and chicken had no financial importance to neighboring lords, therefore they stood by and did nothing, some sources claimed that Saymuk, in fact, paid other lords and leaders to not interfere.
Saymuk launched regular attacks, killing or wounding a few people each time. The people resisted, but never organized a defense or counter attack. Until a year of scheduled attacks people were able to predict when the next attack would come. The village chief at the time, Qazak, demanded that the people fight back, melting the iron from the rims of barrels, shovels, and wagon wheels. They created a vast arsenal of crude weapons that they would eventually use on the troops coming their way. Many people died during the attack but at the end emerged victorious.
After the attack the villagers built a wall surrounding the village. Paknov, the country named after Saymuk Paknov eventually fell apart due to internal issues and was taken over by his brother Halwak Paknov, who immediately ended the war with Qazak and his people. Since then, Quow had never seen a day like this.
Ruben was making his way toward the hole in the wall, when he called out to Wyatt.
Jack squinted, the area was covered in smoke and dust, he could barely see Wyatt and…
Marcus.
Wyatt was arguing with Marcus while they were approaching, as they got closer Jack could hear them better.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that the wind would blow my attacks!” Marcus said frustrated. “Like, doesn't that ever happen to you?” “Also, it's their fault too!” Marcus continued. “What kind of Idiot would stand that close to the edge of the village?”
“They didn’t expect it to rain hell on the village!” Wyatt was fuming, his face red from anger, “This is why I kicked you out of the Autumn Branch! Because you are not only a liability but you are a danger to people around you!” Wyatt looked at the people near the area.
“Now shut the hell up before these people hear you.” Wyatt hissed. Jack! He rapidly approached Jack.
How bad is it? He asked, when he got close enough.
“47 people.” Jack said solemnly.
Wyatt closed his eyes, as if he were trying to think. Then he spoke. “What was the village population?”
“219.” Ruben replied.
“I want to talk with the Chief, Ruben, can you come with?”
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Ruben began walking towards the center of the village, with Wyatt following closely behind.
Jack watched them leave. When he looked back, Marucus was gone. As he made his way through the crowd of people, He heard a man weeping.
He saw that the man was cradling a dead boy in his arms, weeping. The body of a dead woman laid beside him on a layer of straw
The man was covered in scratches and soot, but he was not injured, he must have gotten it from digging through debris.
Jack felt rage rekindling inside. These people were just collateral damage to a hero's attack. He wasn't going to let Marcus get away with it. But attacking a hero was dumb idea. He had to be more powerful for it. He could tell the entire town that it was Marcus’s fault, but people likely wouldn't believe him. Besides, Marcus could easily lie and blame the Autumn branch. The town would probably believe him, and Marcus was apparently part of the Iron Legion, One of the largest hero groups, with over 200 members, compared to the measly 5 members of the Autumn branch. Now, Jack realized, telling the truth would be an even worse idea.
Jack had to kill Marcus.
But he was not equipped to fight such an opponent, especially one that could rain hell from the sky.
But Jack had studied magic. He knew something that not even Marcus knew about magic.
Marcus was not inaccurate because of the wind blowing his attacks, but rather the way where summons them.
Jack first saw sky attacks when he was just a teenager back when he had lived farther west. He remembers watching two Aldarians fighting a group of slimes. One of the Aldarians launched the magical attack with deadly accuracy, completely wiping the slimes off the land. Later Jack studied the attacks and others like it. He never cast a single in his life, he wasn't even sure if he was born with magic ability, but he had studied the art somewhat.
The attack is water based, summoned from a cloud, but Marcus didn't know that, obviously because he had simply copied the spell and didn't bother studying it. So when Marcus cast the spell, the magic simply went to the nearest cloud.
Jack planned to kill Marcus with his shovel, not his sword. The reason why was simple, Marcus wore basic chainmail armor, which would reduce the damage of sharp attacks.
If Jack was to kill Marcus as quickly as possible, he would have to use his shovel.
After looking around the village more, he found a small house with the door open, Marcus was standing at the door. His back was turned.
Jack brought down the shovel with a force born of sheer anger, the metal edge cutting through the air with a chilling swish before connecting with Marcus's neck. Marcus's yelp pierced the stillness of the night, his body recoiling instinctively from the impact. Blood spattered across the ground, a dark testament to the violence that had erupted between them.
With a grim determination, Jack swung the shovel sideways, the weight of it driving into Marcus's side with a sickening thud. Marcus grunted in pain, his breath catching in his throat as he fought to maintain his footing. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil.
As Marcus turned to face Jack, his eyes burning with rage and desperation, he lashed out with a swift kick, catching Jack off guard. With a sharp cry of pain, Jack stumbled backward, momentarily vulnerable to Marcus's next move. In a flurry of motion, Marcus drew his short sword and lunged forward, the gleaming blade aimed directly at Jack's chest.
Despite Jack's best efforts to evade the attack, he wasn't quick enough. The razor-sharp edge of the sword sliced through his flesh, leaving a deep gash in his shoulder. Agony flared through him, but he pushed the pain aside, reaching for the vial of healing potion tucked securely in his belt.
With trembling hands, Jack popped the cap and hastily gulped down its contents, feeling the magical elixir course through his veins and soothe his injuries. Drawing upon his last reserves of strength, he lunged forward, seizing Marcus by the collar and pressing the pole of the shovel against his neck.
Marcus's struggles were fierce, his body writhing and contorting in a desperate bid for freedom. But Jack held fast, his grip unyielding as he applied pressure to Marcus's throat, cutting off his air supply. With each passing moment, Marcus's struggles grew weaker, until finally, his body went limp, unconsciousness claiming him.
As Marcus's body went limp in Jack's grip, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, mixing with a deep sense of relief that the immediate threat was neutralized. Jack released his grip on Marcus's unconscious form, allowing him to slump to the ground. He surveyed the scene, the blood staining the earth, the harsh breathing echoing in the silence. Jack grabbed Marcus’s knife which he had dropped during the struggle and slit his throat.
Jack stood above the body. The healing potion had yet to do its work. He would simply have to wait. Sure enough after a few minutes he looked as if he had only gotten into a small scuffle.
Despite the temptation to use another healing potion to hasten the process, Jack hesitated. He knew the dangers of overdosing on such potent elixirs. Instead, he resolved to rely on the natural healing process, hoping that the group wouldn't notice the lingering effects of their altercation.
With a final glance at Marcus's body, Jack turned and made his way back to the carriage where Kuhara and Carl awaited. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Jack stepped inside the carriage, greeted by the warm glow of the lanterns and the comforting presence of his companions. Kuhara and Carl looked up as he entered, concern etched on their faces as they took in his disheveled appearance.
Kuhara looked up at him, she had a patch on her eye and a cast on her leg, Carl was sipping apple cider in the corner, he looked half asleep.
“What happened to you?” Kuhara asked, and she shifted into a more comfortable position. “You look like you’ve been mugged.”
“That’s because I was.” Jack replied, taking the opportunity to lie, “he grabbed my bag and stole a few potions.
Kuhara’s eyes widened, “Damn, tough day, huh.”
Before Jack could reply, Ruben burst into the carriage.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news for the second time today,” he said.
“Marcus is dead.”