The sight of Arland's house being consumed by flames was devastating. As the fire tore through the house, its fierce glow illuminated the cold night, creating a haunting spectacle. Mounting my horse, I succumbed to a sense of helplessness and despair. The thought of Arland and Ingrid being inside the house as it burned, infused unbearable pain in my heart. I swung the reins around my horse, urging him to gallop as fast as he could.
As we neared the house, the situation became even more dire. Under the eerie light of the moon, I could spot the silhouettes of numerous people surrounding Arland's house. My heart sank as I realized this was not merely an accident; it was an attack.
As I unmounted my horse, the imposing figure of a barbarian suddenly emerged, blocking my path. His presence was intimidating, and the two-handed mace he wielded bore the grim evidence of recent violence, stained with fresh blood. I walked toward him, looking up to his eyes with fiery determination.
"I can't let you pass until I find the Lord of this town. I thought a little fire could get his attention."
"The elderly, what you have done with them?"
"They were...uncooperative when I asked them some questions," he said with a menacing grin, as he placed the mace on his nose, enjoying the full scent of blood dripping from his weapon.
A surge of anger overwhelmed me as I gazed helplessly at Arland's house, a place filled with memories of my childhood, now devoured by flames. This barbarian, driven by a ruthless thirst for power, had not only destroyed a home but had likely harmed those dear to me.
His threat was clear and direct. "This place will burn, and there's nothing you can do about it. If you take one more step, I will kill you."
Suddenly, the sudden whistle of an arrow caught me off guard. It soared past me, striking the barbarian leader in the shoulder. Phillip had come up with the distraction, providing a moment of opportunity for me to attack. My emotions boiled over into rage, my hands wielding both Arland's and Lysander's swords, as I thought of my parents' falling victim to this merciless madman.
I gripped my swords firmly, and fueled by a surge of emotions, I charged towards the wounded barbarian leader. The element of surprise was on my side, at least momentarily, as the barbarian winced in pain due to the arrow's impact.
Phillip continued to shoot arrows toward the rest of the barbarians who were beginning to react and attempted to come to their leader's aid.
The clash of steel rang out as my swords met his mace with ferocious intensity, sending sparks flying from the point of impact. The physical manifestation of our struggle was fierce, but a daunting realization quickly set in; despite my passion and determination, the swings of my swords were failing to land a hit on the barbarian leader.
"I am Gallagher, the Ruthless! You think a flimsy sword like yours can cut through me?"
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In a show of brute strength, he wielded his mace with just one hand, effortlessly pushing me back. With a scowl that was more irritation than pain, he yanked Phillip's arrow from his shoulder, discarding it as if it were nothing more than a sliver on his finger. Gallagher glanced at the blood oozing from his wound and without flinching, he smeared his hand on his blood and streaked it across his face.
"Blood for blood, that's the rule I live by," Gallagher said.
He grips his mace with both hands and charges towards me. The relentless assault with his mace was a display of raw power, but it came with a trade-off. Each swing of his mace was heavy and forceful, causing the weight of his weapon to slow him down. This allowed me to use my agility to my advantage, dodging his powerful blows.
It quickly became clear that evasion was all I could manage in the face of his never-ending offense. Each time the mace cut through the air, I found myself retreating, narrowly escaping its potential impact.
"I will let you in on a little secret," Gallagher said. "The old man died from a single swing of my mace. It took twice the effort to kill the old hag."
"You will pay with your life! Once my brother finds out you have killed our parents, he will have no mercy on you!"
Turning my attention towards Phillip, I saw several barbarians emerging from the shadows, swarming towards him with ruthless aggression. Phillip held his own, but the odds were quickly turning against him.
"I'm getting overwhelmed here, Randall!"
Suddenly, a monstrous howl erupted from the darkness. The sound, deep and spine-chilling, reverberated through the town, it echoes seeming to touch every corner and crevice. The barbarians, in the middle of their attack, abruptly ceased their assault, their expressions turning from aggression to overwhelming fear.
Suddenly, under bright light of the full moon, a mantle of shadows swept over the pastures; the scene transformed into something almost surreal. The barbarians began to vanish one by one as if they were swallowed by the darkness itself.
Gallagher abruptly ceased his attack against me, his attention riveted on the inexplicable disappearance of his men. " What kind of witchcraft is this?"
I signaled Phillip to retreat towards the safety of the town. My eyes caught a glimpse of something extraordinary within the shadows — a speckle of white moving with an unnatural speed. It was then that the pieces fell into place, and I understood the barbarian's reference to 'The Demon Wolf.' This creature, leading the pack, was massive, its size dwarfing that of any normal wolf.
The blazing flames from Arland's house cast an eerie glow, reflecting a horde of wolves moving through the darkness with coordinated precision that was almost otherworldly.
The moment I realized what was moving fast through the shadows, I hastily turned towards Phillip.
"Phillip, Run! Now!"
As I retreated, the chaotic scene unfolded with a grim inevitability. Gallagher, the barbarian leader, fought with desperate ferocity, swinging his mace in a futile attempt to fend off the relentless onslaught of the wolves. But it was clear that he was no match for the savage attack of the pack.
The wolves moved with ruthless efficiency, overwhelming Gallagher from all sides. Despite his size and strength, he was quickly overpowered. His mace clattered to the ground, rendered useless against the vast number of the wolves. The pack converged on him, their teeth sinking into his flesh with lethal precision. In a matter of moments, Gallagher was brought down, his cries of pain and rage quickly silenced.
Then, resembling a king among his warriors, the white wolf positioned itself over Gallagher's defeated body, marking him a symbolic assertion of victory. Its fur, stained with the blood of his men, depicted the grim truth of the Demon Wolf's might. The white wolf let out a fearsome howl, infusing my soul with fear.
Gallagher emits one last laugh before the demon wolf savagely tears at his throat with a brutal bite.
That creature couldn't possibly be Lysander. I couldn't bring myself to accept what I witnessed. However, regardless of my denial, the resemblance is almost identical.