By week’s end, Brindlecross was no longer the same village. The influx of refugees had swelled its numbers to more than six hundred, turning quiet lanes into crowded shelters. Over seventy of the newcomers were children, and their voices mixed with the ring of hammers and the sound of weapons training. Roughly two hundred and fifty adults and older youths were expected to stand in defence when the goblin warband arrived.
Spiked-lined trenches now scarred the fields—wooden stakes jutted from the ground. A pair of hastily erected watchtowers—manned by archers—rose above the now extended and reinforced palisade. Villagers carried spears with confidence; others patrolled with cudgels or axes.
Yet unease smouldered. Villagers and refugees whispered that William was cursed. Garrick’s venom spread in low voices. At times, even the elder’s gaze lingered on Will with weary doubt.
The crude talisman retrieved from the goblin scout lay on the elder’s table, its shadows stretched by the early morning light.
“I suspect we’ll be attacked tonight or tomorrow night.” William frowned. “And there’s been no sign of the army.” The catkin rogue had made regular scouting trips looking for signs of the promised army or packs of goblins. She’d found no signs of the former and too many signs of the latter.
“Another attack.” The elder’s shoulders drooped. He looked to William.
Will leaned over the table and placed a hand on the old man’s arm. “Brindlecross won’t fall if I have anything to say about it.” He gave the elder’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “We have this day and maybe the next to prepare.”
The elder nodded. “Thank the old gods you’re here. If only I were still young and…”
William tightened his grip on the bone charm. The forest beyond the palisade loomed darker than ever; the true war was soon to begin.
***
William took a break from his own sword training; he wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned against a rough post. The elven huntress’s calm voice carried over the training ground, correcting stances and praising improvements.
Will’s eyes followed the flight of arrows as villagers loosed their shots. They’ve improved a lot. More than half of the arrows now struck the targets with a satisfying thunk; the noise filled him with a quiet pride.
He glanced at the young children scattered around the village; over half of them were refugees, with half of those being orphans. Despite the looming threat, most of the children ran around laughing; some had found sticks and were mimicking the sword forms taught by Marie, the leader of the adventurers.
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A young elf girl approached with a tankard of watered-down ale. She looked up at him with awe in her eyes. “For you, Sir Knight.” She held out the drink.
William smiled. “Thanks.” He took a gulp. “That’s just what I needed.” He watched as the little girl’s cheeks turned pink. She bowed, turned, and ran back the way she came, her long, silver hair with a streak of pink bouncing as she ran.
For a moment, he allowed himself to think that perhaps Brindlecross had a fighting chance. “I have to protect this place; it’s important.” He gulped down the rest of his drink and turned his attention to another adventurer.
Carl had a mace strapped to his back, but today the grey-skinned adventurer was teaching a group of villagers how to use a sling. The stone projectiles whizzed through the air and hit the inner palisade wall with sharp cracks that would make even armoured knights hesitate. Damn! They’ll do some serious damage to un…
William’s thoughts were cut short as he sensed someone behind him.
“Will!” Fredric shouted.
Spinning around, he saw a dagger being driven towards his neck by Garrick. On instinct, he jerked his arm up and deflected the blade with his vambrace; the dagger scraped across the metal armour protecting his left forearm, causing no damage, while the empty tankard went flying into the air.
Garrick didn’t hesitate. He slashed again, wild and desperate, aiming for William’s unarmoured face. “You killed my son! Devil!”
William blocked the man’s dagger slash with his forearm again. “Stop this madness!”
Garrick was beyond hearing; his teeth were bared like a cornered beast. The grieving father swung with all his strength again. “Die!”
Will grabbed the man’s swinging arm and redirected the blade up and through the farmer’s throat at a shallow angle. He watched in horror as the dagger went straight through the farmer’s neck and protruded out the other side.
The sound was wet and choking. Garrick’s eyes went wide with shock as blood bubbled from his lips. His hands clawed at the hilt of the dagger as though he could undo what had just happened. He staggered, gurgled something incomprehensible, and then crumpled at William’s feet. The dirt darkened beneath the dying farmer as he fumbled at the dagger for a few moments before his arms fell limp at his sides in a growing pool of his own blood.
Silence crashed over the training ground. The steady rhythm of arrows and sling-shots ceased. All eyes turned to William as he stared down at the dead man whose hatred had driven him to his own end.
Fredric ran to his side. “Are you alright, Will?” After spending the week together, he’d all but dropped the honorifics after William kept telling him it wasn’t necessary.
The first murmurs spread through the gathering villagers. Some nodded in grim understanding, others whispered behind their hands, their eyes filled with suspicion and fear.
William took a step back and leaned against the post where his helmet still rested. “I had no choice.” His hands trembled. “He-he tried to kill me.” This didn’t feel the same as killing an NPC before the system errors; he could see the man’s last moments through his eyes and smell the iron-rich blood that had splashed on his golden armour. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as the shock of what happened washed over him like a cold numbness.
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Heron's Hearth In Another World
TweekZ
Chapter 022 [PVP Event Triggered: There Can Be Only One]
