Chapter 14: The Viper Lurks

At the town of Torrwr, chaos reigned. The once peaceful streets were now engulfed in flames, the flickering inferno casting grotesque shadows on the buildings. Bodies littered the cobblestone roads, some still, others twitching in their final moments. The anguished cries of the surviving citizens echoed through the burning ruins, their desperation drowned by the roar of the fire and the cruel laughter of bandits.

The marauders moved like a swarm, arms laden with stolen treasures—trinkets, jewelry, and whatever else they could tear from the town’s remnants. Their faces, covered in soot and grime, gleamed with greed. The smell of smoke, blood, and burning wood mingled in the air, thick enough to choke.

Atop the hill that overlooked the carnage stood a grand home, larger and more ornate than the rest of the town. It was a mansion owned by the mayor, untouched by the flames, yet ominous in the firelight. A man approached this house, his steps deliberate and unhurried. His dark brown hair was wild and tangled, his beard thick and scraggly, framing a face twisted with malice. He moved with the confidence of a predator, savoring the destruction around him.

With a wicked grin, he braced himself and drove his boot into the front door with a thunderous kick. The door exploded inward, splintering into shards as it crashed against the wall. The sound echoed through the home, followed by the distant crackle of the fires outside.

From the shadows, a guard appeared, his sword drawn, ready to defend the last vestige of safety in the town. His eyes were wide, betraying the fear he tried to suppress. He swung his blade at the man, desperate but determined.

But the intruder was faster. He dodged the attack with a mocking laugh, stepping aside as though the guard were nothing more than a child playing at war.

“Too slow!” The man sneered, driving his knee into the guard’s abdomen with bone-crushing force. The air left the guard’s lungs in a strangled gasp, and the sickening sound of cracking ribs followed. He crumpled to the floor, blood dribbling from his lips as he clutched at his broken torso, dropping his blade to the ground.

The invader barely glanced at him before snatching the fallen sword. With a brutal efficiency, he drove the blade into the guard’s back, pinning him to the floor. The guard let out a final, gurgling breath as his body went still.

“Such a waste,” the man muttered, yanking the sword free with a sickening squelch. He kicked the guard over from the doorway and threw the sword down. His eyes glanced towards the dead guard’s neck, a guild tag glimmered in the faint light. He bent down, picking it up between two fingers and inspecting it with mild amusement.

“A level eight, huh?” He chuckled, ripping the tag off. “Is this really the best the guild has to offer these days? Letting anyone move up the ranks, are they?”

Just like the guard’s sword, the invader tossed it aside and entered the building. The house was once a symbol of prestige, the mayor's home perched at the top of the town like a crown jewel. Now, it was eerily silent, the grandeur reduced to little more than a husk of its former self. Lavish paintings, finely framed, lined the walls, their subjects staring down in judgment over the chaos that loomed beyond the door. Decorative vases, polished brass fixtures, and an ornate chandelier glistened faintly in the flickering light. In the corner of the room stood a large wardrobe, its polished wooden surface gleaming in the dim light. Everything in the room exuded wealth, a stark contrast to the burning ruins outside.

The air inside the house was thick with tension, and from the doorway, heavy footsteps echoed ominously. The slow, deliberate pace sent shivers through the walls as if the house itself feared what approached.

A deep, mocking voice broke the silence. "Now, the question is, where is the little old mayor?" The words were followed by a creak as a man clad in black armor entered the home. His presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air, his armor dull and worn, yet intimidating in its simplicity. Not an inch of skin was shown.

The man with the messy hair, standing near the center of the room, chuckled darkly. “Looks like we’re playing a game of hide and seek,” he said, flashing a grin that dripped with malice.

Hidden inside the wardrobe, the mayor’s one remaining eye darted through a small crack in the door. His breath came in shallow, silent gasps as he watched the two intruders stalk through his home. The mayor, an old man whose years of prosperity now meant nothing, quivered in terror. He pressed himself as far back as the wardrobe allowed, clutching the walls as though they might conceal him from the inevitable.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of how fragile life truly was. The man in the black armor radiated an aura of pure, unrelenting fear. The mayor’s skin prickled just looking at him. There was something unnatural about the knight’s presence, as though his very existence brought a shadow of death that hung in the air. The mayor fought to hold his breath, but his body trembled uncontrollably, betraying him.

The knight’s head snapped toward the wardrobe, his gaze piercing the wood as if he could see the mayor cowering within. Time seemed to freeze. The mayor’s body stiffened, a gasp caught in his throat. His mind raced, pleading silently to the gods, praying that the knight would turn away, that this nightmare would end.

But mercy was not to come.

With a sharp cry, the man with the messy hair leapt forward, slamming the wardrobe doors open with a deafening bang. “Found you!” he yelled triumphantly, his voice dripping with cruelty as he reached in and yanked the mayor from his hiding place.

The old man tumbled to the ground with a pitiful thud, his body already weakened and broken. His leg, torn off years earlier, had left him crippled, helpless to defend himself against the invaders. The mayor’s frail body hit the floor hard, but the pain barely registered over the rush of terror flooding his senses. He craned his neck upward, looking at the towering figure before him, a vision of horror. The knight stood tall, his face a mask of indifference as he stared down at the pathetic form of the town’s leader.

“What do you want?” the mayor croaked, his voice small and pitiful, as though the answer would only bring more torment.

The knight’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice was steady, cold. “I want the tablet this village hides. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. I know it’s here.”

The mayor’s heart skipped a beat. The tablet. His blood ran cold as the weight of the request settled over him. His mind raced. That ancient relic, a treasure passed down through generations, the town’s most sacred artifact. To him, it was more than just a relic—it was a piece of history, a symbol of hope, of faith. His voice cracked with desperation. “The... the tablet? That’s this town’s holy relic! I can’t give you such a thing! It is an invaluable, one-of-a-kind item, a gift from the gods themselves—”

The knight’s gauntleted hand shot forward, gripping the mayor by the collar and hoisting him off the floor as though he weighed nothing. The old man’s breath hitched, his one foot dangling helplessly. “Was your town’s holy relic,” the knight said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Now, it will be mine.”

The mayor’s face contorted in desperation. “No! I can’t give up such an important—” His protest was abruptly silenced by a swift punch to his jaw. The force sent him crashing to the floor with a dull thud, the taste of blood flooding his mouth as it gushed from his nose. Dazed, he blinked up at the knight, the edges of his vision swimming in darkness.

Through the narrow slit of the knight’s helmet, the mayor saw them—red eyes. Cold, unblinking, and glowing like embers in the shadows of the helmet. The sight froze the mayor’s blood. Those eyes were not human; they were something far worse. His heart pounded as terror flooded every corner of his being.

Scrambling on the floor, the mayor stumbled backward, his hands shaking as he pressed against the wall in a feeble attempt to escape. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one more desperate than the last.

The man with the messy hair laughed from the shadows, a cruel, mocking sound. “Look at him go!” he jeered, stepping closer. “Pretty good for a guy with only one leg!” He crouched next to the mayor, the tip of his sword grazing the ground. His smile widened, sick with amusement. “Now, here’s the real question,” he said, his voice dropping into a low whisper. “Would you like the other one to match?” He lifted his sword, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light.

The mayor’s voice cracked. “Please!” he begged, tears mixing with the blood on his face. His body shook uncontrollably, the remnants of dignity slipping away as pure survival instinct took over.

The knight, however, seemed unfazed by the mayor’s pleas. His eyes wandered around the room, settling on the framed photographs hanging on the walls. He reached out and casually pulled one down, inspecting it as if he were idly browsing in a market. “It seems you had a nice, long life,” he mused, glancing at the mayor with a smirk hidden beneath his helm. “At one point, you even had a leg. Look at that.”

The knight turned the photograph slowly toward the trembling mayor, revealing a worn image of a younger man standing tall and proud, back when both legs were intact. Beneath the photo, a small plaque bore the inscription: Level 5 Adventurer, Future Mayor of Torrwr. The knight’s lips curled into a humorless smirk under his helmet, his cold eyes lingering on the picture as if mocking the man who had once been.

"Level five adventurer," the knight sneered, his deep voice dripping with disdain. “How noble. How heroic.” His words oozed with sarcasm, each syllable twisting like a knife. Without hesitation, he dropped the framed photograph to the ground, where it shattered on the hardwood floor, glass scattering like fragile memories broken beyond repair.

The knight’s eyes, glowing faintly beneath his helmet, drifted back to the mayor. “Will you be telling me where my tablet is now?” His tone was calm, almost indifferent, as he shifted his attention to the other pictures adorning the wall—images of a life now reduced to rubble, much like the town outside.

The mayor's lips trembled as he tried to form words, his bloody face lowered in a desperate attempt to avoid the knight's burning gaze. “P-please, understand,” the mayor stammered, his voice a weak whisper, barely audible over the roar of the flames outside. “That tablet is more than a mere relic, it’s—"

“I know.” The knight interrupted, his voice cutting through the mayor’s plea like a blade. His gloved hand reached for another framed photograph, this one depicting the mayor shaking hands with a guild member in what must have been a long-forgotten alliance. He stared at it for a moment before his tone turned mocking again, imitating the mayor’s pleading voice. “One of a kind. Holy. Forged by the gods.”

His fingers curled around the frame, and with a single motion, he released it, letting it crash to the floor alongside the other shattered frame. The knight’s patience had thinned, his mood shifting into something darker, colder. “Now,” he said, his voice low but commanding, “I will ask again. Where is the tablet?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The mayor kept his head bowed, blood dripping from his nose and onto the floor, staining the wood with every breath. His heart pounded in his chest, fear battling against a duty he could no longer protect. The tablet was more than just an artifact; it was the soul of the town, a symbol of their history and legacy.

The knight, sensing the mayor’s hesitation, didn’t waste time. He didn’t need to. “Bring him to me,” he commanded, his voice calm but carrying the weight of inevitability.

Without hesitation, the man with the messy hair moved, grabbing the mayor by the arm and yanking him off the floor with ease. The mayor cried out, but his voice was weak, and his body even weaker. He was tossed roughly at the knight’s feet like a discarded piece of trash. He tried to rise, his hands scrabbling for the cold floor, but the man with the messy hair kicked him back down, keeping him pinned underfoot.

The mayor breathed heavily on the floor as the knight asked him again for the tablet. The mayor closed his eyes, not wanting to give it up.

"Fine. Don’t talk." The knight’s voice cut through the silence, cold and indifferent. "We prefer it this way."

The knight bent down, his armored hand reaching for a shard of glass from the shattered picture frame. The man with the messy hair yanked the mayor from the ground, sitting him up right. The mayor's heart raced, a cold sweat breaking across his brow as panic tightened its grip around him. He had no idea what was coming next, but every fiber of his being screamed to run, to escape, but he was being held tightly.

As the knight approached, the mayor tried twisting away, but the messy haired men held his head in place, forcing him to look at the intimidating knight.

"Look at me," the knight said, his voice devoid of emotion. He crouched before the mayor, his hand now gripping the man’s jaw with crushing force. The knight’s fingers dug into the old man’s skin as he slipped the shard of glass between the mayor’s trembling lips. "Now, bite."

The mayor shook his head, eyes wide, trying desperately to spit the glass out. But before he could, the knight's armored fist slammed into his face with brutal force. A sickening crack echoed in the room, and the mayor's head snapped back, the sharp taste of blood flooding his mouth as the glass shattered between his teeth. He spat blood and fragments onto the floor, coughing as pain exploded through his jaw.

"Where is the tablet?" the knight asked again, his voice as calm as ever, as if the violence were nothing more than a casual conversation.

The mayor coughed, blood dripping from his chin. "Th-the importance of such a piece... it’s… it’s too valuable to…" His voice wavered, the words choking on his fear and pain.

The knight, unimpressed, didn’t wait for him to finish. He picked up another shard of glass, his movements slow and deliberate, almost as if savoring the moment. "It’s more important to me now," he said, placing the jagged shard into the mayor’s mouth once more.

The mayor’s eyes widened in terror, and he tried to jerk his head away, but the knight was faster. Another punch landed, this time harder, slamming into the mayor’s cheek with enough force to blur his vision. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But the man with the messy hair held him upright, keeping him from collapsing entirely.

“Woo! Look at you!” The man with the messy hair chimed in, clearly enjoying the mayor’s suffering. He gave the older man a nudge, forcing him to stay conscious. "You really had a good run, didn’t you? A level five adventurer, protecting your town. And now look at you, spitting out your teeth."

The knight stood, watching the mayor struggle to stay upright. Blood dripped steadily from the older man’s lips, pooling onto himself in shallow gasps. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his frail body betraying him.

The knight’s voice was soft, almost thoughtful as he stared down at the broken man. "Have you had enough?" he asked, his tone giving no hint of satisfaction, only calculation.

The man with the messy hair let go of the mayor, and the old man slumped to the floor, collapsing in a heap of agony and exhaustion. He coughed, a small pool of blood seeping from his mouth, his body shivering violently with every breath.

"Maybe," the knight said, his voice calm and calculating, "we should try something more... drastic."

The man with the messy hair laughed, drawing his blade from its sheath and waving it around wildly. "I say, let’s make him nice and even!" he shouted with gleeful menace, stepping closer to the mayor. "Cleave the other leg off! Give him a matching set!"

The mayor whimpered on the floor, too weak to move, too terrified to protest. He could only watch through blurry vision as the blade swung dangerously close. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but there was none. He was trapped, utterly helpless before the two monsters that had destroyed everything he loved.

The knight, looming ever closer, stood above him, his red eyes glowing from beneath his helmet. His voice was disturbingly calm, almost as if he were pondering a trivial decision. "My friend here wants to take your other leg," he said, glancing at the blade hovering near the mayor's trembling body. "But I’ve been thinking..." He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a death sentence. "Why stop there?"

The mayor let out a strangled sob, barely able to speak. “No, please...” His voice cracked, broken with fear.

The knight crouched down once more, his red eyes glowing with an eerie light as he reached for the mayor’s throat. "Then tell me," he said, his voice a whisper, cold as death. "Where. Is. The. Tablet?"

The mayor’s breath hitched in his throat.

The mayor’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. His entire life flashed before his eyes—his youth, his days as an adventurer, the rise to his mayoral position, his family… all of it meaningless in the face of this impending doom. He was nothing to them. A relic in a burning town, no more significant than the ashes falling outside.

“I won’t be so nice to just take a leg.” The knight continued, his tone cold and measured. “Why leave you hobbling around, when we could just make sure the only place you ever exist again is in these pictures on the wall?”

“I—I can help!” the mayor stammered, his voice thick with fear. His mind raced for anything, any way to survive. “Please, I can help you!” He felt the words tumble from his lips, desperate and weak. "I can give you what you want! Please, anything other than-"

The knight’s boot crushed the shattered glass underfoot with a deliberate crunch as he strode toward the cowering mayor. His cold, metal-plated form cast a long shadow that stretched across the floor, the broken frame a symbol of the mayor’s broken spirit. “What I want,” the knight’s voice was low, yet it filled the room like a storm about to break, “is that tablet. And I don’t want to hear you tell me I can’t have it.”

The mayor’s breath came in shallow gasps, panic rising in his chest. He had worked so hard, fought for so long to keep the town’s sacred relic safe. How could he just give it up now? He couldn’t, not to them. “But… the town…” he whispered, his voice so faint it was barely audible, as if even speaking the words was too much for him to bear.

The knight’s armored hand shot forward, seizing the mayor by his thinning, snow-white hair. He yanked him upward with brutal force, the old man yelping in pain as he was dragged across the floor. The mayor’s frail hands flailed, desperately trying to pry himself free, but he was no match for the knight’s overwhelming strength.

With a snarl of impatience, the knight flung the mayor toward the doorway. The old man hit the ground hard, his body crumpling like a discarded doll. The breath was knocked from his lungs as he tried to gather himself, only for the knight to loom over him, like a reaper standing over its latest victim.

“Look at your town,” the knight growled, his voice edged with a cruel pleasure. “Whatever you thought you were protecting, whatever you cared about—it’s already gone.” He pointed toward the doorway while holding the old man’s head up. An orange glow of the raging fire outside illuminated the scene in a hellish light. “Everything you’ve spent your life for? It’s nothing now.”

The mayor blinked through his pain, his gaze drifting beyond the knight to the burning town of Torrwr. His heart broke at the sight. Flames consumed the buildings, climbing higher into the night sky as thick plumes of smoke choked out the stars. Homes were reduced to little more than blackened skeletons, collapsing under the relentless assault of the fire. The streets, once filled with the laughter of children and the sounds of life, were now littered with bodies. His people—his town—gone, all of it, in the blink of an eye.

He had failed them. He had failed everyone. A deep well of despair opened within him, swallowing him whole, dragging him into a place of utter hopelessness. His life’s work, his legacy was nothing now.

The knight’s words cut through his grief like a jagged blade. “It’s all over, old man. The town is finished.” There was a dark satisfaction in the knight’s tone, the cruel glee of a predator toying with its prey. “Now, where’s the tablet? Or do I have to take something else from you?”

The mayor’s lips trembled. He could barely find the strength to speak. For a moment, the room was filled only with the crackle of the fire outside and the distant screams of the townspeople still caught in the blaze. His thoughts were clouded by fear and grief, but deep down, he knew there was no point in holding out any longer. He had lost everything—there was no one left to protect. No one left to care.

The mayor’s frail body shook as he took a shuddering breath. “U-under…” he croaked, his voice thick with defeat. “Under the mantle… inside the fireplace…”

The admission left his lips like a death sentence, the final surrender of a broken man. The knight watched him for a long, silent moment, a smile curling beneath his helm. “Good,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He released his grip on the mayor, who collapsed onto the floor, his body limp and defeated.

The old man’s gaze drifted once more to the burning town outside the door. His heart ached, but there was no fight left in him. Nothing more he could do.

Without a word, the knight moved towards the large fireplace, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. He reached into the dark cavity, his arm disappearing up into the mantle. For a tense moment, there was only the sound of crackling embers outside.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the knight pulled something free—a small, ancient stone tablet. His gloved fingers traced the worn surface, brushing along the intricate carvings that marked it as something far older than anything in the room. He turned it in his hands, inspecting it with a calculated, almost reverent gaze.

The man with the messy, long hair watched him from across the room, still twirling his sword lazily in one hand. His grin stretched wider, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “So?” he asked, his voice dripping with dark humor. “Is it the real deal? Or did he give us a counterfeit item?” He jabbed his blade toward the mayor, who lay trembling on the floor, too weak and broken to even attempt to flee.

The knight’s eyes, glowing faintly beneath his helmet, flicked down to the tablet. His fingers ran along the withered edges, worn smooth from centuries of handling. “This is the one,” he said with certainty, his deep voice echoing in the chamber. “The tablet of the ancients. My master will be pleased.”

With a casual motion, the knight slipped the stone relic into a pouch on his belt as if it were nothing more than a trinket, its weight inconsequential. “We’re done here,” he added, already turning toward the front door, his interest in the ruined mayor and the decimated town seemingly evaporated now that his task was complete.

The man with the messy hair glanced down at the mayor, who was staring wide-eyed at the floor, frozen in a state of sheer terror. Blood still trickled from his bruised face, his one good leg twitching as if his body still fought against the inevitability of his fate.

“And what about him?” the messy-haired man asked with a lazy grin, nudging the mayor’s quivering form with the toe of his boot. The mayor whimpered at the contact, his voice caught in his throat, unable to speak or beg.

The knight didn’t even glance back. His cold, detached voice was the only response. “Do with him whatever you want,” he said, as if the mayor was no more than trash to be discarded. “I’ve got what I came for. The deal is complete.”

A twisted smile curled across the man’s face, his eyes lighting up with a cruel glee. “Oh, I will,” he chuckled, lifting his sword high, the blade gleaming ominously in the flickering firelight. The mayor’s eyes widened in terror, his mouth opening in a silent scream, too paralyzed by fear to even beg for his life.

The sword fell, the sickening thud of steel meeting flesh echoing through the room. The mayor’s cries were silenced as his blood sprayed across the floor, pooling beneath his broken body. The messy-haired man flicked his sword clean with a sharp motion, a casual smirk playing on his lips as if the act had been nothing more than a passing amusement.

He turned toward the retreating knight, wiping the blood on the mayor’s back. “So,” he called after him, his tone shifting to one of feigned casual interest. “When do I get to join this little group of yours? What did you call it again… The Chosen?”

The knight paused at the door, his armored figure framed against the inferno raging outside. For a moment, he stood still, as if considering the question. Then, without looking back, he spoke, his voice cold and final.

“When you prove you’re more than just a tool,” the knight replied, stepping into the night. “The Chosen are for those with a purpose. It requires more than just a thirst for blood.”

With that, the knight disappeared into the smoke and fire, leaving the man with the messy hair standing over the dead mayor, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned, even wider than before.

“More than a tool, huh?” he muttered to himself, a glint of ambition flashing in his eyes. He sheathed his sword, casting one last look at the destruction they had wrought.

The knight may have left, but the fire in the man’s eyes burned just as bright as the flames devouring the town.