The wind blows through the snow under the pristine light of the sun. Though it doesn't melt, it gleams instead. The cold makes your senses numb, making your eyes the only option for admiration rather than sigh or smell. Nevertheless; it is quite the spectacle to behold. 

"Who knew the north was this beautiful." 

Fafnir inhales the fresh air of the new dawn, exhaling a white cloud of smoke this dissolves in the air.

"Shall we begin then?"

Fafnir turns to face a row of somewhat worn out villagers wearing crude leather armor, armed with handcrafted wooden sword and shields. They look rather prepared for a group of citizens. Are these kinds of people common in the frontiers?

"First I shall demonstrate defending." 

He takes his wooden sword by the handle, gripping it tightly. Fafnir points to one of the villagers near the far left row. "You, attack me with all your might," he then follows up an intimidating gesture of challenge, and with that the villager comes forward, they facade forward, opposite of each other. 

"Begin when you are ready. Don't worry about anything else, just show me what you are capable of."

With one fluid movement, the villager lunges his body forward, his wooden sword draws upward. Fafnir responds by backing onto his pivot leg, focusing his weight on one side to counter the sword's uppercut with the flat side of the wooden sword. 

Their weapons lock on to each other, but Fafnir's counter had enough strength and speed in it to break his opponent's weapon in half.

The challenger and the rest of the villagers that were watching echoed their voices in surprise. 

"How did you do that? Why did mine break and yours did not?"

The baffled villager speaks out in admiration. They know that there are a lot of strong warriors out there, but for one of them to come here and demonstrate his strength was a sight to behold.

Fafnir, on the other hand curses himself from under his breath. He realized the he instinctively used his powers once more to escape from that situation. He would have not reacted that fast if it weren't for his godsend abilities. His eyes in particular, saw things in a slow speed if focused and calm. Those powers of his kicked in once he realized that he could not counter it fast enough, but it does not stop there. 

Instantly endowed with inhuman strength, he uses it to forcefully break his opponent's weapon, mainly because of the surprise in the attack, and the suddenness in it. 

He grips the hilt of his sword, making a crackling sound after exerting his anger unto it. "Damn it." He murmurs once more. The villagers look at him with confusion in their faces as his expression darkens.

"Is something the matter sir?"

Fafnir shakes his head at the remark, it comes to him that he acted badly in front of others, giving them the wrong idea possibly.

"Forgive me for that. That was excellent, so let us move on to the next then."

Fafnir recalls the reason as to why he is training the denizens of this frontier village north of Rhodovierre. What drove him to act like this all of a sudden.

"They are all strong. Those that came here last night was just a small detachment, the rest are holed up in a ruined fortress west of this village. It houses a formidable army there. Even Rhodovierre fears an uprising from them."

The elder rambles on about what he knows. They apparently are called the order of 'Sanctius' an army dedicated to the ancient and the mystic. They were banned for their inhumane and fearful crusades that gave them a new name. 'Espada Sanctia' meaning 'the sacred swords' in other languages. 

They were not exiled to the north, rather they chose to live there where the imperial church of Ylur cannot find them. The church itself was well known, but the order under Pahldor dissipated in time, maikng them a relic of the past. Now refined, they seek to uncover the secrets left by the gods.

"No army can hope to match them in combat. It would require strength equal to the fabled circle of the ancient's war. The two known circle members are Luke Galehearth of Ardrasthrur, and Fiol lumiere of Vasantria. Even those two might be enough-"

"But not for the sorcerer I assume."

Fafnir cuts Kalas off. The elder does not respond, indicating that Fafnir's assumptions are correct. Even with that, Fafnir doesn't seem to be disturbed in the slightest, not like what he would usually do in the past.

"The earlier the better. I will leave early to exterminate the vermin of the north."

He triumphantly announces. Turning to leave, he looks to the side where Kalas stops him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Will you grant an old man a favor?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Please save my granddaughter. She is the only one left close to me as family. I don't know what I'll do if I lose her as well."

"There is a high chance that she's already gone by the time I get there. Are you prepared for that if ever?"

Fafnir's stern voice gives a bad omen, but Kalas takes it as a precaution. Unable to answer as if his voice had disappeared entirely. He then loses all strength on his legs, and he collapses on the floor.

"I cannot promise you anything. If she is alive however, then I will do all I can to keep her that way."

The elder's eyes open wide in surprise. A sliver of hope still lives in his heart, pleading with fate to intervene with this kind of ordeal brought on to him. 

As they converse, villagers yell outside, their voice rallies the rest of the villagers. They take up arms and form up by the gates. The old elder regains his strength, rather he forces himself up. 

"They have come once again. I must defend this village even if my life rests upon it!"

he shuffles to the door, his cane leads him as he carries a sizable book on his left arm, barely holding on to it. Fafnir takes his sword and follows the elder, an answer pops into his head. "I know who the sudden visitors are."

The bells are rung, and so does the battle begin. The elder reaches the courtyard, covered in snow, the ideal position to be in for his likeness so that the barrier he will be erecting will reach every corner of the village. 

"Another request if I may, stranger. Won't you help my people fight?"

He pleads, not giving Fafnir any other choice but to comply as he closes his eyes and begins chanting unfamiliar words as he traces his hands on the worn out leather covered book. 

Fafnir watches the villages from a distance instead of helping right away, observing their prowess. He thought to himself. (The old me would have pitched in without hesitation, but why do I hesitate? Does this mean that I have changed? In just those few weeks that I disappeared, I became something else entirely.)

The villagers clash with the well-armed order of knights. The villagers wear custom made leather armor, hide shields, pitchforks, worn out sword and spears. A few only hold bows and arrow, and they stand idle, aiming at the enemy from the safety of their watch towers. 

There were two to three knights for every villager. Watching made his stomach churn from the brutality that the knights would inflict upon their enemies if they chance upon them unarmed, overpowering them with brute strength and tormenting them on the spot.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Unable to hold in this sinking feeling that's been growing inside him, he rushes forward, targeting the very first knight his eyes set upon.

His eyes shift in focus. Not gleaming yellow, but normal. Fafnir attacks with an unsheathes sword slash after reaching striking distance of the nearby unaware soldier. 

Only after turning around did the knight notice Fafnir's presence. the very moment that happened was too late for him. 

The attack left a long clean vertical cut along the seemingly impregnable armor. The knight falls to the ground, his blood spills on the snow, staining nature's frozen tears.

Without paying mind to the injured villager sitting on the ground, he sets his sights on another enemy, not wasting any time. 

He runs, it seems that he negates the encumbrance brought by the weight of the snow. Fafnir seems to glide on it even on an impossible uphill battle.

He shouts, turning it into a sharp exhale in unison to attack with his weapon, piercing the soldier right through his armor like butter. The knight still breathes, but Fafnir plunges his sword further, twisting it as he pulls it out where droplets of thick blood comes splashing out. 

Three knights take notice of him, rushing him all at one. They seem to work well in groups as what seems to be a relentless attack from one of them turned out to be a cycle of slashes, fashioned to be an effective killing technique.

Fafnir slides under one of them as the targeted knight slashes downwards, but unfortunately hitting to snow. He turns around but is unable to. he looks down, realizing that a sword had pierced his armor through his chest. 

He convulses, coughing up blood from inside his helmet.

Fafnir ruthlessly pull out his sword, kicking the deceased knight away from his sword, making a clean sound of metal sliding on metal.

Fafnir looks at the two other knights that were in on the formation. They look puzzled and petrified to even move. 

"How disappointing. I thought this would be challenging coming from the infamous 'sacred swords', but my expectations have been greatly betrayed."

He provokes them, but is genuinely disappointed by the outcome he had been originally expecting. 

They rush him as he anticipated, swords held up high, shields tightly guarding their front. 

Fafnir stares with disgust, holding his sword with two hands, assuming an odd stance requiring him to breathe and stop all movement. 

They take this as a deadly attack, and are intimidated, making the charging soldiers slow down in their advance.

He takes advantage of their confusion, realizing that his bluff had worked. Fafnir charges them, swinging his sword from the left, turning his whole body along with it. 

It hits the middle of the shield, the knight scoffs at him for his futile attack, but not realizing that he was the target of the attack. 

Like a blur, Fafnir lets out a series of attacks the flow through. 

First attack: Spinning opposite with the same stance, attacking the unaware enemy to your right using a strong built up momentum.

Second attack: Once the first connects, there are two routes. First is if the attack goes through, then follow up with any technique that you with.

Second route is if the attack is parried or blocked. Follow through by retreating only a step and retracting your sword downwards. Rush forward with all your strength, releasing a devastating uppercut using your weapon. The result should be that you disarmed your opponent of their shield or weapon.  

Finish however you choose. 

Fafnir strikes forward, targeting the staggering knight right on his neck. 

The blade runs through the armor smoothly, instantly killing the soldier due to the shock.

He then throws the deceased body of the soldier to his ally.

The knight is unable to dodge due to the weight on his armor, forcing him to catch his colleague's body with his shield. 

Once he drops the body of the dead knight, the lone soldier finds himself truly alone, no sign of Fafnir anywhere. 

Suddenly, he feels a chill on his stomach. he feels the place where the cold feels out of place, but instead, he feels a sharp metal object and a thick wet water-like substance.

Only screaming in terror once he realizes that he has been pierced by his enemy standing right behind him. 

"Live a lavish life in hell along with your fallen brethren, scum."

Fafnir kicks the soldier away from him, looking at the aftermath of his battle coldly, not feeling any other emotion in particular. (What should I feel? I killed a person, should I be happy?)

Turning around, he looks at the remaining raiders. They spectated the battle along with the villagers whose attentions were also caught by the spectacle. 

"Anyone else who wants to follow them? It's free, not unless you're willing to fight."

They retreat in terror after a moment's pause, then running as if their very lives depended on it, in which is true to say the least.

All that's left are bodies of knights and villagers strewn across the snow. Thinking that, if he intervened earlier.... Then would the bodies of the villagers lying here be less than what it is now?

Fafnir hangs his head after a brief reminisce. "Just what have I become? This isn't like me," he murmurs to himself. Though he wants to yell out, he refrains from that, giving the deceased their peace of silence, and those who lost their loved ones a chance to pray fervently without disturbance. 

He leaves, returning to the village begrudgingly. 

But as he enters the village, heading for the elder's cottage, he feels a tug on his sleeve. There a small kid about five to six years old looks up at him like an human to a giant.

The small boy he expects to speak instead holds his tongue, staring at Fafnir in silence, creating an awkward atmosphere between the two of them.

"I-is there anything you want from me?"

"... oohhh, you talked."

"I think you meant spoke..." 

"Oh, really?"

"Yes... So did you want to say something?"

"Thank you for saving my father." 

The little boy runs away back to the man lying down on the cold, pale snow. The man ruffles the child's hair, laughing joyously as he embraces him in his arms.

A small fire of warmth makes its way into Fafnir's heart, warming him from the inside even if for a little bit. He couldn't help but smile at scene.

He brushes it off almost immediately, retracting his smile and gritting his teeth as he remembers the death toll of the villagers. 

Fafnir leaves, continuing towards the elder's cottage.

"Kalas. Let me train the villagers."

The surprised Kalas turns around, spilling his tea as he coughs, trying to recover from choking. 

He questions Fafnir while sitting down. 

"I have no objections with that, but why all of a sudden?"

"So you and the other villagers could protect yourselves better after I leave to subjugate Pahldor." 

Thus began Fafnir's training with the villagers.