The Varkonian Raiders

From a distance, the boy whispered to himself. "I have to help them…"

He watched as one of the Varkonian raiders towered over an old man, barking commands.

“Listen, old man! Tell me where the treasure is, and I’ll let your grandson go. Otherwise…”

The elder’s frail body shook with fear. “No… please… don’t hurt him. He’s just a child.”

Another raider stepped closer, growling in his throat. “Then speak! Where is it!?”

The old man’s voice broke as he gave in. “…Alright. I’ll tell you.” With a trembling hand, he pointed toward a small, weathered temple nearby. “It’s there… inside the temple’s basement. But please—let my grandson go.”

The raider grinned cruelly. “Alright.”

But as they turned toward the temple, one of them slit the child’s throat without hesitation.

The old man’s scream tore through the air. “NOOO!!”

The raiders only laughed heartlessly as they walked away, leaving the elder collapsed in grief.

From afar, the boy’s fists clenched so tightly the veins in his arms bulged. His jaw locked. His heart burned—not with fire, but with fury.

"You monsters…" he whispered.

He followed them silently, slipping into the shadows as they descended into the temple’s basement.

[The Temple's Basement]

Inside the stone chamber, the three raiders rummaged greedily through ancient treasures—gold coins, jewels, gleaming weapons.

In the corner, half-buried in dust, lay two rusty purple daggers. Forgotten.

One of the raiders picked them up and spat in disappointment. “Tch… these are trash. Maybe two or three Varkoins at best.”

(Varkoin: The unified currency of the Varkonian-controlled Earth. One Varkoin equals one hundred US dollars.)

Their looting was interrupted by a calm voice echoing through the chamber.

“Seems like your parents never taught you not to steal from others.”

The raiders spun. Their eyes widened as the boy stepped forward.

“You brat!” one of them barked, face twisting in anger. “You dare follow us!?”

“And you dare harm my people?” the boy answered coldly.

The raider sneered. “You’ve got a death wish!”

The boy’s lips curled into a sharp grin. “Let’s see.”

He stretched out his hands. Without warning, the rusty daggers lifted from the ground, whirling through the air before flying into his grip.

The moment his fingers closed around them, they changed. The rust dissolved. Their edges glowed, reborn as flawless purple steel with razor-sharp blades.

The raiders froze, stunned. “Wha—what the hell!?”

Moments later, the boy walked back outside. Behind him, three raiders lay broken and battered, dragged out like lifeless carcasses. They were bleeding, bruised, but still alive.

The villagers gasped. No one moved.

Without a word, the boy tied their legs together with thick rope and hoisted them upside down from a tall pole. His voice cut through the silence like ice.

“These are the ones who killed a child in front of you.”

He picked up a stone and pressed it into the old man’s trembling hands.

“It’s your right to take revenge, sir. Throw stones at them. Make them feel the pain they gave you.”

The elder’s hands shook. His grief curdled into rage. With all the strength he had left, he hurled the stone. It struck one raider squarely on the forehead. Blood poured down his face.

The village fell silent for a single heartbeat.

Then, like a dam breaking, they erupted. Men, women, elders, even children—everyone grabbed stones, sticks, broken scraps of metal. They hurled them with screams of fury.

The air filled with the sound of rocks striking flesh. The raiders’ cries of pain quickly became howls of terror. And then, silence.

When it was over, the three hung lifeless, their bodies battered beyond recognition.

[A few minutes later]

[After the burial of the child]

The villagers buried the child in silence. When the grave was covered, the old man approached the boy, eyes red with grief, yet filled with gratitude.

“Son,” his voice broke, “I don’t know who you are. Or why you helped us. But to me, you’re no less than a deity. Thank you.”

The boy wiped the elder’s tears. “No need to thank me. They deserved it. But… I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them in time.”

“It’s not your fault,” the old man said softly.

His gaze dropped to the boy’s hands—and froze. His eyes widened. “Wait… those… those are the Fenrir Daggers! How are they… brand new!?”

The boy tilted his head. “Huh? These?”

“The Daggers of Hiroshi,” the old man whispered, almost reverently. “The savior of humanity. That temple… it’s Hiroshi’s Temple. We’ve worshipped him for generations.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Wait… what?”

The elder’s breath caught. Slowly, realization crept into his face. He studied the boy in awe.

“Oh… I forgot to ask…” His voice shook. “What’s your name, son?”

The boy hesitated. For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then his voice rang firm.

“…I am… Hiroshi Soraya.”

The old man staggered back, whispering in shock. “W-What…?”

His knees gave way. He fell before the boy, and in seconds the entire village followed, bowing deeply.

“I should’ve known… Only you could defeat Varkonians like this. Only your touch could restore the Fenrir Daggers. The legends… they were true. You’ve returned. The Flame Demigod… Hiroshi… has returned!”

Hiroshi reached down, gently lifting the old man to his feet. “Please… don’t bow to me. I’m not a god.”

“Maybe not,” the elder said, tears streaking his cheeks, “but you are our hope, Lord Hiroshi. You’ve saved us today—but the world suffers still. The Tyrants have destroyed everything.”

“I know,” Hiroshi said quietly. His eyes hardened with resolve. “And this will end soon—I promise. If more raiders come, use the weapons in the temple basement. I saw swords, bows, everything you’ll need to defend yourselves.”

The old man nodded, grateful but anxious. “Where will you go now?”

“To the First Ring,” Hiroshi answered. “I have business with the First Tyrant.”

As he turned to leave, the elder called out desperately, “Wait!”

He pointed toward the temple’s summit. “There’s a portal on top of the temple! It leads to the Australian Ring—about one kilometer from the main fortress. It’ll save you time. Go, Lord Hiroshi. And… thank you for everything.”

Hiroshi’s expression softened. “I should be the one thanking you. I hope this village has a better future.”

He went towards the temple, the villagers looked at him with hope. Their hearts filled with joy as their saviour had returned.

He climbed the ancient stairs. At the peak stood a massive portal, circular but cracked at the top right corner. Moss and carvings covered its stone frame.

Before it rested a pedestal, engraved with the outline of two daggers and a hand.

Hiroshi placed the Fenrir Daggers into the grooves. The carvings flared to life, glowing with streams of violet energy. He pressed his palm into the stone handprint.

The portal blazed with golden light, humming with power.

Hiroshi smirked faintly. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

He stepped through.

[Australian Ring Outskirts]

Hiroshi emerged on top of another temple, this one in the heart of a sprawling savannah.

Engines rumbled in the distance. He squinted against the sunlight.

Then he saw them—hundreds of armed guards, missile tanks, and armored vehicles encircling the temple below.

His expression stayed calm, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“What the—?”

To Be Continued…