On a cold night, Sierra sat in front of her firepce, the silence broken only by the soft whistle of the wind. For her, it was a comforting sound, a signal that spring was nearing its end. She leaned back, feeling at ease in her upgraded home. The improved insution kept most of the chill at bay, and the doctor’s house—now rger and remodeled to her liking—was a testament to the progress she had made since taking on her role.

  She had also reformed the system for selecting proteges, believing the vilge would benefit from having more trained doctors. Unlike before, her students were free to stay in her hut or return home. Tonight, however, she was alone.

  “It’s cold,” she murmured, her hands moving through the yarn by instinct. She was no longer the unsure apprentice she once was.

  Yet her gaze dimmed, and for a moment the fire’s warmth failed to reach her. At times like this, she remembered the child she had left in the snow.

  Guilt settled in her chest like a stone. It was her first death—one born of her own hands—and the memory made them tremble.

  “Knock! Knock!” and a knock resounded from the door of her house, disrupting her menting.

  She gnced at the clock on the wall. It was three hours past midnight. Sierra stood up, in her prime, already in her early thirties—a youthful age by most standards, especially since humans lived up to 150 years.

  “Knock! Knock!” Another knock again, but she was already in front of the door.

  She opened it up and was surprised by what she saw. A few warriors of the vilge, 3 horses, and then the old dy chieftain, who was standing in front of her doorway.

  “Sierra, pack up your things and my medicine too, you have to come with us!” The old dy chieftain, Lady Zhisata, was already hunched. Her age was one of the greatest mysteries in the vilge.

  She wore a red duster with a coat covering her from the cold; her face was filled with lines that showed her age. As far as Sierra could remember, Lady Zhisata had the same appearance even when she was still young.

  “Stop staring! Hurry up!” the old dy urged.

  By the sound of her voice, it was an emergency. “I will be outside in a few moments!” She held on to her lucky charm—a small emerald emblem given to her by the Explorer long ago—dangling from her neck. It was all the encouragement she needed to carry on.

  There was a small path that led into the mountain range that was adjacent to the Mosspeak mountain. The trees ensured that the band of vilgers was invisible. Although there was no wind because of the trees, it was still cold, and the damp path was leaving a trail of mud.

  “Lady Zhisata, where are we going?” Sierra asked as she quickened her pace. Lady Zhisata was riding a horse, followed by two more horses carrying baggage; the warriors that were escorting them were on foot.

  The darkness fought the small torch that the warrior in the front was carrying; it was the only thing that gave guidance to them.

  Because of the hood of the Old Lady, Sierra couldn’t make out her face. “Just wait for a while, Sierra, we are almost there,” the old dy answered monotonously.

  In the hours of their walking, the clearing finally showed itself. The warrior in the front who was holding the torch pushed it down to the ground, killing it.

  The light of the sunrise began to fsh. Sierra, who walked out of the clearing, saw where they were now. She had been feeling the change of altitude, but what surprised her was the sight of the vilge.

  “Lady Zhisata, it's starting,” one of the warriors used his hands to point out the cloud that was approaching from the west of the vilge. He was using a telescope to look at it.

  Sierra turned the same way—and everything clicked.“The vilge… It’s under attack?” she whispered, eyes flicking to the old dy.“You… we actually escaped?” The realization hit her all at once.

  “Little one, you will understand someday, but for now, I must survive!” The old dy then subtly grabbed a pouch on her waist with a grave expression.

  ‘But my students!’ Sierra clenched her hands. She was feeling relieved and at the same time the guilt.

  “Lady Zhisata! There is a shadow there! Holding a sword!” The warrior then reported his sightings.

  “Keep on watch!” the old dy said.

  He wore rugged, travel-worn clothes, and a hefty backpack was slung over his shoulders, packed with rations of dried fruit, meat, and his favorite condiments and cooking essentials. A whetstone y inside to keep his carving knife sharp, while an odd bundle of weapons hung from the sides. The backpack was handmade, crafted to suit his needs. He looked like a support companion for adventurers—a human pack mule.

  His dark emerald hair was stiff, a sign that he had not bathed for some time. ‘20 of them… no, maybe more?’ he was trying to count the approaching horses with armored men wailing their swords. ‘I just have to stop their approach!’ Finally deciding on what he was going to do, he grabbed his strange sword. He called this sword ‘Fin Bde.’

  His name was Simon. Although he had very unkempt looks, he was sure of the sharpness of the Fin Bde.

  He didn’t need to think that much; the wind and the sound—the cttering of armor, the pounding of hooves— provided him with all the information he needed. He could sense how far they were and when they would csh.

  As he stood gripping the Fin Bde with both hands, he calmly waited. Though they were still distant, he could see that the riders were either confused or enraged.

  Then a shout of “Charge!” from one of the armored riders pushed the horses to charge at full speed—battle was inevitable. ‘It’s enough,’ his instincts seemed to tell him. He stepped forward slightly, which only deepened the riders’ confusion.

  Raising the Fin Bde into a high stance, he swung it down toward the ground. A crashing ssh of water exploded from the impact, ripping the earth apart and sending debris flying toward the charging horses.

  Some horses were struck, while a few armored riders managed to evade, but the lead riders couldn’t escape. The colpse sealed their fate. Unable to stop their charge, the horses and riders tumbled in a stampede, their bones breaking, spirits shattering, and casualties mounting.

  ‘That was effective!’ Simon smiled, his snake-like eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the success of his pn. But the surviving riders were horrified by his smiling visage.

  The bloodbath had just begun.