"Hmm?"
Arthur frowned as his eyes snapped open. A sound—distant yet unmistakable—echoed in his ears. It wasn't just movement… it was something heavy crashing against the ground.
His senses flared, but his Detection range wasn't wide enough. If danger was approaching, he wouldn't know until it was too late.
He pushed himself up from the chair, stepping toward the reception desk.
Empty.
His gaze swept across the library.
No one.
"Strange—"
BOOM!
A violent tremor shook the floor beneath his feet. Arthur lurched forward, barely managing to grab onto a nearby table as the entire building quaked.
Then—an explosion.
Outside.
His frown deepened. Without wasting another second, he stormed toward the door and flung it open—
"Huh..."
His breath hitched.
The world outside was chaos.
A massive, burning boulder sat smoldering just beyond the library's entrance, flames licking at the stone like hungry beasts.
The ground was drenched in blood. Bodies—lifeless, twisted, torn apart—were scattered across the street.
Arthur's mind reeled.
"How… how did everything fall apart in just a few hours?"
And then—
A shrill, desperate scream.
"Save me!! Please!!"
His gaze snapped to the side.
A demonic hound, its snarling maw drenched in crimson, was dragging a woman by her leg.
Her flesh was torn, teeth sunk deep into her calf. She clawed at the ground, fingers raw, nails ripped clean off, leaving behind streaks of blood.
She grasped, reached, fought for something—anything—to hold onto.
But there was nothing.
And she was slipping away.
Arthur's eyes turned cold as mana surged through his body, wrapping him in its faint glow. He placed a hand on the wooden fence beside him, fingers tightening. Then—
Creak
With a sharp yank, the wood tore free. His mana was limited, but experience had carved his skills to perfection. This body was new, yet the techniques he had forged through countless battles remained etched into his very being.
His steps were steady, his grip firm on the wooden plank as he closed in on the hound.
A blur swept past the woman. Before she could react, the beast's body tumbled away—its head, however, remained, still latched onto her leg.
The woman remained frozen, her breath caught in her throat. A shudder ran through her as she stared at the severed head clinging to her leg, its lifeless eyes still locked in a savage glare.
She moved to shake it off, but before she could, Arthur stepped in. Without a word, he grabbed the hound's head and wrenched it free, tossing it aside like garbage. Blood splattered across the dirt, the scent thick in the air.
"Find a safe place," Arthur said firmly.
Before the woman could even respond, he was already gone—vanishing into the chaos.
He knew there were others in danger. He could've helped them. But Arthur was selfish.
Before saving anyone else, he had to be sure—his family came first.
'Several hounds… and a troll? No way this is natural.'
His feet pounded the ground as he sprinted toward the mansion.
And then—he saw it.
The front door.
Torn open.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
"No!"
He dashed inside, heart pounding louder than the explosions outside.
The moment his eyes landed on his elder brother, the breath was knocked out of his lungs.
There he stood—arms gripped tightly in the jaws of a demonic hound, its teeth digging deep into his flesh.
Yet the boy didn't fall.
He didn't cry.
He didn't even flinch.
His face—once soft and full of life—was bloodied, clawed, torn open in places. His legs were trembling, barely holding him up, but he stood firm.
Between the hound and the doorway.
From inside the room behind him, their mother's screams echoed.
Blood poured freely down his mangled arm. But still, he didn't move.
He didn't let the monster pass.
He stood there—a shield.
Arthur froze, his mind going numb.
That image burned itself into his soul.
His elder brother—bleeding, broken, and still standing.
"A-Arthur...h-hide...please .." Kevin called out, his eyes bubbling with tears finally.
The wooden plank in Arthur's hand broke as he advanced toward Kevin.
He didn't fear the hound. He walked past it like it was just a street dog.
The beast lifted its blood-drenched head, its jaws dripping with flesh and gore. Its burning eyes locked onto Arthur, but he didn't flinch.
Arthur knelt beside his brother, quickly wrapping his bleeding arm with a stream of water that shimmered with a faint glow, stopping the blood from pouring out.
The hound let out a low growl, then lunged with all its weight, jaws wide open.
"You did great, brother," Arthur whispered, rising to meet the beast.
He didn't dodge. Instead, he thrust his arm forward—straight into the hound's mouth.
The beast bit down hard, its teeth tearing into flesh.
Then Arthur's eyes hardened.
Water surged from his arm—rushing down the hound's throat in a flood. Not gentle. Not clean. It was violent, swirling like a storm trapped inside the beast.
The hound thrashed as the water filled its lungs, its stomach, and even its skull. Its growl turned into a choking gurgle. Blood and foam poured from its nose and eyes as its body twisted in agony.
The pressure kept building.
Suddenly—boooom.
The hound erupted into bits and pieces as the water was too much for the hound to store and it exploded.
The whole room was filled with blood but Arthur was still not satisfied. He wanted to torture the hound more...but no helping in.
Arthur picked his brother, before shouting loud enough for his mother to hear, "Kevin is safe! Just stay there!"
He didn't wait to hear from her and dashed away from the house.
Before anything, he has to get his brother healed.
********
The head priest stood frozen in front of the burning church, his arms raised high, holding a trembling barrier of holy light. Flames roared behind him, the town drowning in smoke and screams. His eyes were wide with terror, sweat pouring down his face.
The hound in front of him growled low, its mouth soaked in blood. One of the church sisters had already been taken, her screams still echoing in his ears. The townspeople were dying all around him, ripped apart by claws and fangs. He could do nothing. Nothing but watch.
Bowman wasn't even sure if he could protect himself anymore.
'Oh Lord… why is this happening to us?' he thought, chest tight with fear. A week ago, their scouts returned with no sign of demonic presence. The skies were clear, the forest quiet. How could so many appear out of nowhere?
GRRRRRR
The hound snarled again, then took a few steps back.
Bowman blinked, confused—until he saw it.
Another hound crept into view from the shadows. Its fur was slick with gore, and its steps matched the first one like they had trained together. Without a sound, they lunged—together.
CRACK
"Agh!" Bowman screamed as the barrier shattered under the double impact. The holy light flickered, then broke apart like glass, sending him flying backward.
He hit the ground hard, dust rising around him. Pain shot through his body. His hands trembled. His staff rolled away.
Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up—only to meet the glowing red gaze of death itself.
The two hounds stalked toward him, side by side, their tongues hanging out, jaws ready. They weren't rushing. They knew he couldn't run.
And Bowman knew it too.
He watched death advancing toward him, its breath hot and foul, its eyes glowing with hunger. Bowman didn't scream. His body was frozen, his eyes empty—devoid of even the smallest flicker of hope.
So this was it. This was how he would meet his makers.
But then—
SQUELCH
A sharp, wet sound tore through the air.
In a blink, a blur passed between him and the two hounds. The wind from the movement brushed against his face.
Bowman blinked.
Then—Thud… Thud.
Two heads rolled onto the ground beside him, their black fur stained red. Blood sprayed into the air like a fountain, painting the church steps in a fresh coat of horror.
He turned, stunned, to the one who now stood between him and the hounds' bodies.
A young boy.
Barely seven.
His left hand supported an injured boy, and in his right, he held a wooden sword soaked in blood.
Bowman stared, unable to look away. The boy stood there like a soldier—no, like a warrior carved out of something darker, something deeper. Silent. Cold.
Bowman had been so lost in awe, he hadn't even noticed the moment the beasts were killed.
"...what?" he whispered, barely able to speak. This child—this child had done what grown men couldn't. Decapitated two demonic creatures in one clean motion?
Then the boy looked at him.
"Father Bowman."
"Eiik!" Bowman let out a sharp cry, stumbling back.
Arthur's dark eyes met his. There was no kindness in them—only something terrifying.
"Do you want me to save you and the town?" Arthur asked, his voice calm—but every word was laced with a weight that made Bowman's heart skip a beat.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
If Bowman hadn't just witnessed the boy slice through two demonic hounds like paper, he would've dismissed his words as madness. But now—
"I beg you," Bowman whispered, then fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the blood-stained ground.
Arthur gave no reply. He simply walked forward and gently laid his injured brother down beside the priest.
"Save him," Arthur said, his voice steady, "and I will save this town."
Bowman's throat tightened. He looked at the boy, then at the pale, bloodied child beside him. The wound was deep, dangerously so. If they didn't stop the bleeding now… there was barely a thread of hope left.
But he had to try.
"Anna! Michael! Come here, now!" he shouted with urgency.
Two figures rushed from the smoke—his most trusted subordinates. Without needing to ask questions, they dropped to their knees and began treating Kevin, using healing spells with trembling hands.
Arthur exhaled, a breath of relief slipping from his lips as he saw the bleeding slow and color return to his brother's face. It was far from over, but Kevin was fighting.
Now it was his turn.
Arthur turned to the town—and saw the nightmare waiting.
More than twenty hounds still roamed the burning streets, their growls echoing through the smoke. And in the middle of it all, the troll. Towering. Breathing like a furnace. Blood dripping from its club.
Arthur clenched his fists.
Half of his mana was already gone.
But was that going to stop him?
No.
He grinned.
A wild, lopsided grin that didn't suit his age—or the horror around him.
'It's been a while… since I pushed past my limits.'
And with that, Arthur ran toward the battlefield, a blur of motion cutting through the smoke, heading straight into the jaws of death.
*********
A/N:- Thanks for reading.