DIE!...

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The cry echoed out in the night, and the eyes of a black-haired teenager flew open in surprise.

“Wha…” Groggily, he propped himself up with his arm, rubbing his bleary eyes with his fists.

“H-HELP! ARRGHHH!” A scream pierced the night air, startling the boy fully awake.

Duarte’s head swung left and right in panic, not understanding what was happening. The first priority he looked for was his younger sister, who lay sleeping comfortably beside him in the tent.

Through the tent’s thin fabric, screams of pain and grating moans rang through the air. The firelight of several caravan fires shone silhouettes onto the tent, the shadows dark, and menacing. They danced on the cloth, large and unnatural. The young boy couldn’t understand what was going on, but it was immediately obvious to him that he was in great danger.

“Sarah, wake up!” Duarte whisper-shouted at his little sister while shaking her awake, trying his best as to not attract any untoward attention.

“…Big brother? W-what’s happening…” Similarly groggy, Sarah instinctively clung on to her big brother’s sleeve. While she was still half-awake, she could tell that something horrible was going on due to his panicked tone, and the screams that rang in the air.

Before the teenager could even respond, the clang of metal sounded out in the air, along with the shouts of men and women.

The shadows on the tent grew more and more vivid along with the noises, surging like a tidal wave in the dark through the light of the fire. The moans in the distance grew louder, and he could literally feel the vibrations through the ground, from the masses of footsteps.

One of the shadows grew bigger than the rest, having separated from them. Staggering and unnaturally paced footsteps thudded out as the figure approached, its form flickering from the light of the fire.

As the shadow grey larger and larger, it quickly turned into an outline of a wobbly figure. As it approached, Duarte quickly shoved his little sister behind him, covering her with all of the blankets within arms reach in tent.

Fumbling around, he lunged for a small wooden toolbox in the tent, grabbing a beautifully crafted small knife, the blade of it around the length of a grown man’s hand. The blade had no proper hilt, but instead a length of metal which had been meticulously twisted so as to fit one’s grip. The initials ‘H.A’ had been carved out on the polished blade, and it gleamed from the light of the fire, even though blocked by the tent’s fabric. It was his father’s smithing blade, and it was the only weapon he could think of in the tent.

Leaping backwards, he placed himself directly in front of the mound of cloth which contained his sister.

He bent his legs slightly, balancing himself on the balls of his feet while holding the dagger out in front of him. The blade was pointed outwards towards the opening of the tent, far from him. Such a stance was one he had learned proactively, from a passing rogue which had been hired for the caravan.

Resolution and determination shone in his eyes, and he stared forward as menacingly as he could.

“Ha… Ha…” His breathing quickened as the shadow approached, but he stood in place firmly, his expression hard.

“Urghh…”

A raw, red hand reached through the gaps between the entrance of the cloth, separating it.

As the thing reached further in, its arm was revealed to be skinless. Small drops of blood dropped onto the floor of the tent from its arm, and its moaning grew louder as the tent opened further.

“Y-you!” Duarte’s breathing grew erratic, breaking rhythm as the skinless creature reached its head into the tent, laying its eyes on him.

“Agh…” The creature’s eyes seemed to glow in the dark as it stared at him menacingly, like a tiger over a small bunny.

Holding the smithing knife in front of him, Duarte’s eyes widened as he stared at the creature in horror. His hands instinctively stretched out in front of him, holding the knife as far as he could from his body as he pointed it towards the creature.

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“Urk.” The teenager’s entire body began stiffening as he froze up in fear, completely forgetting the lessons he had learned from the many passing adventurers.

Seeing horrors was one thing, and running was another, but to have the courage to hold up his blade, looking death straight in the eye?

You… Stay back!... I’ll kill you, I swear!

The words stay stuck in Duarte’s throat, unable to escape, as he looked the approaching creature straight in its eyes.

“HEY!”

The loud shout of a middle-aged man sounded out from outside of the tent, and a pair of arms ferociously tore open the entrance before grabbing the creature by the throat with both hands, dragging it outside of the tent.

Loud and meaty thuds sounded out through the tent as the outline of a blacksmith could be seen on top of a creature, smashing down on it repeatedly while roaring out in anger.

A tear crept up Duarte’s eyes as he heard the voice, his muscles loosening as the knife slipped through his hands, falling to the ground, forgotten.

“Kids?!” A hand ruffled aside the cloth at the entrance of the tent, and in through came a slightly chubby figure, of a medium build.

While his figure was by no means intimidating, his shoulders seemed as broad as ever.

“Duarte! Sarah! Are you there? Answer me if you can hear me!” The desperate voice of a middle-aged man sounded inside of the tent.

“Daddy!” A cry rang out as Sarah struggled out from underneath the fabrics, flinging herself into her father’s arms.

“Dad!” Alongside her came her older brother as he flung himself into the blacksmith’s embrace.

“My dear children…” Choking out the words in relief, Harold hugged the two children close to his chest.

“Dad, you’re bleeding!” Duarte exclaimed, noticing a dark patch slowly spreading through his father’s shirt.

“It’s nothing, just a flesh wound.”

While the blacksmith acted tough, he was clearly hurting. He was panting, his breathing heavy due to the exertion of fighting despite having a wound.

Releasing his children, the middle-aged man looked behind him, his face furrowed in concern. A hint of fear flashed through his eyes, but he kept it hidden due to the two standing in front of him. If he was alone, he could scream, but he no longer had the luxury to as both of his children needed him.

“Duarte, Sarah, listen closely. There’s no time to explain, but we have to leave right now, do you understand?” Clenching his hands into fists, the blacksmith kneeled down, looking directly into his children’s eyes.

“…” The two exchanged glances, noticing fear in each other’s eyes.

Taking initiative, Duarte hardened his face and nodded firmly towards his father, Sarah then hesitantly following suite.

Just as Harold needed to be strong for his children, Duarte needed to be strong for his younger sister. This was something he understood well, and it was why he stepped forward.

“Dad, the stuff in the tent?” The teenager gestured behind him with his hands.

“Leave it, it’ll only slow us down.” Giving the interior of the tent a brief glance, Harold’s gaze paused on his toolbox. “Actually, grab me my rounding hammer.”

A resolute gaze appeared in his eyes as he picked Sarah up into his arms, turning around to gaze through the tent’s opening.

Hurriedly, Duarte took several long steps towards the double-sided hammer sticking out of the toolbox, grabbing it. It was fairly hefty, the size of a grown man’s forearm. It was the hammer his father mainly used to flatten uneven edges in smithing, sturdy and tough.

“Dad.” Stepping beside his father, Duarte handed him the hammer, which he tucked into his trousers.

The man gave a brief pause, in thought, before stepping aside, gesturing towards the peephole with his free hand.

“A brief look, Duarte.”

Before the teenager could look though, Harold rested a hand on his shoulder. “No matter what, do not panic.”

Giving his father a nod, Duarte looked through the small entrance in the tent, looking out into the world beyond.

“Urrghh…” A moan grumbled out as a large group of skinless humanoid creatures shambled by, and shouts rang into the air in the distance.

From a ways ahead of the group, blocked by a large group of the creatures, Duarte saw blood spray up into the night sky, along with several limbs.

“What?! C-corpse-eaters? Such a large number of them…” The teen’s face paled at the sight, his eye shuddering at the blood spraying into the air.

The mangled corpses of several humans and horses were on the ground, the corpse-eaters feasting on them as they tore at the flesh in apparent glee. They were completely unrecognizable, having been torn limb from limb, their flesh gnawed off their skin.

Duarte felt the urge to vomit rise up but held it in as best as he could. He had seen the sight of corpses before, so he was able to handle it. The large, warm hand on his shoulder comforted him, and he looked up towards his father.

“The porters of the adventurers, and some of the adventurers themselves.” Knowing where his son was looking, Harold answered him in a concise manner. “There’s a damned horde out there.”

Noticing his daughter’s faint trembling in his arms, he hugged her closer to his chest.

“Son, we must make a break for it to Boss Melinda’s campsite, as fast as we possibly can, do you understand? You must not fall behind me, no matter what. If you do, then all three of us will die.”

“I understand.” Duarte nodded at his father solemnly.

“Hoo…” Harold took deep breaths.

While he was acting tough in front of his son, he had no clue as to whether he himself could keep up.

He was a blacksmith, not an adventurer. His faint muscles were built for pounding away at iron and steel, not for a marathon sprint. He knew he didn’t have the stamina for it but looking down at his trembling daughter in his arms, he knew he had to.

“Are you ready.”

“Yes, dad.”

“Then let’s go.”

Unfurling the flap in the tent, Harold stepped forth, charging out into the clearing, Duarte only a step behind him.