Varkonian Raid

The Boy: [confused, eyes narrowing]

“Huh? Are those Varkonian raiders? Why have they chained that kid? I… I have to help them.”

From a distance, he watched.

One of the Varkonian raiders, towering over an old man, barked commands.

Raider 1:
“Listen, old man! Tell me where the treasure is, and I’ll let your grandson go. Otherwise…”

Old Man: [desperate, shaking]
“No… Please… don’t hurt him. He’s just a child.”

Raider 2: [growling]
“Then speak! Where is it!?”

Old Man: [voice breaking]
“…Alright. I’ll tell you.”

He pointed toward a small, weathered temple nearby.

Old Man:
“It’s there… inside the temple’s basement. But please—let my grandson go.”

Raider 1: [grinning cruelly]
“Alright.”

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

Old Man: [screaming]
“NOOO!!”

The raiders laughed heartlessly as they walked away, leaving the old man collapsed in grief.

From afar, the boy watched. His fists clenched so tightly the veins in his arms bulged.

His jaw tightened. His heart burned—not with fire, but with fury.

The Boy: [whispers]
“You monsters…"

He followed them silently as they entered the temple and descended into the basement.

The raiders rummaged through ancient treasures—gold coins, jewels, precious weapons.

At the center of it all lay two rusty purple daggers, forgotten in the corner.

Raider 3: [picking up the daggers, disappointed]
“Tch… These are trash. Maybe 2 or 3 Varkoins, at best.”

(Varkoin: The unified currency of the Varkonian-controlled Earth. 1 Varkoin = 100 dollars)

As they looted, the boy stepped into the room.

His voice echoed calmly in the stone chamber.

The Boy: [smirking slightly]
“Seems like your parents never taught you not to steal from others.”

Raider 2: [angrily turning around]
“You brat! You dare follow us!?”

The Boy: [tone dropping cold]
“And you dare harm my people?”

Raider 2:
“You’ve got a death wish!”

The Boy: [grinning, eyes sharp]
“Let’s see.”

He extended his hands forward. Without warning, the rusty daggers lifted off the ground and flew into his grip.

As soon as he touched them, the daggers transformed—restoring themselves instantly.
The rust vanished, replaced by glowing, beautiful purple steel with razor-sharp edges.

Raider 1: [stunned]
“Wha—what the hell!?”

Moments later, the boy stepped back outside. The villagers huddled in grief around the old man, who still wept for his grandson.

The boy dropped the three battered raiders at their feet—broken, bleeding, but alive.

The villagers gasped, frozen in shock.

The boy grabbed a thick rope, tied their legs together, and hoisted them upside down from a tall pole.

The Boy: [voice cold but steady]
“These are the ones who killed a child in front of you.”

He placed a stone in the old man’s trembling hand.

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

The old man’s hands shook. His grief turned to rage.

He gathered all his might—and hurled the stone at the raiders.
It struck one square in the forehead. Blood poured from the wound.

The villagers stood silent for a second.

Then—as if a dam broke—everyone picked up stones, pebbles, pieces of wood, scraps of iron—anything they could find.

The old, the young, the children, the women—all threw together.

For minutes, the air filled with cries of anger and rocks in motion.
The raiders screamed until their voices went silent.

When it ended, the raiders hung lifeless, their bodies battered beyond recognition.

The villagers buried the child in silence.
Once the grave was covered, the old man approached the boy, his eyes red but grateful.

Old Man: [voice breaking]
“Son… 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: [wiping the old man’s tears]
“No need to thank me.
They deserved it.
But… I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them in time.”

Old Man:
“It’s not your fault…”

His eyes caught a glimpse of the purple daggers in the boy’s hands.

Old Man: [confused]
“Wait… those… those are the Fenrir Daggers!
How are they… brand new!?”

The Boy: [tilting his head]
“The what?”

Old Man:
“The Daggers of Hiroshi, the savior of humanity.
That temple… it’s Hiroshi’s Temple.
We’ve worshipped him for generations.”

The Boy: [eyes widening]
“Wait… what?”

The old man suddenly paused, realizing something.

Old Man:
“Oh… I forgot to ask…
What’s your name, son?”

The boy stood silent for a second, then replied:

The Boy:
“…I am Hiroshi Nakahara.”

The old man’s eyes went wide.

Old Man: [whispering in shock]
“W-What…?”

He fell to his knees.

The entire village followed, bowing deeply.

Old Man:
“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.”

Hiroshi: [gently helping the old man up]
“Please… don’t bow to me.
I’m not a god.”

Old Man:
“Maybe not… but you are our hope, Lord Hiroshi.
You’ve saved us today—but the world suffers still.
The Tyrants have destroyed everything.”

Hiroshi:
“I know. 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.”

Old Man: [grateful but worried]
“Where will you go now?”

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

As Hiroshi turned to leave, the old man called out:

Old Man:
“Wait!
There’s a portal on top of the temple!
It leads to the Australian Ring—about 1 kilometer from the main fortress.
It’ll save you time.
Go, Lord Hiroshi. And… thank you for everything.”

Hiroshi:
“I should be the one thanking you.
I hope this village has a better future.”

Hiroshi climbed the temple’s ancient stairs.

At the top, a massive portal stood before him—circular but cracked at the top right corner, its stone frame covered in moss and old carvings.

In front of it, he saw a stone pedestal, engraved with the shape of two daggers and a hand.

Hiroshi placed the Fenrir Daggers into the pedestal.

The carvings lit up—bright purple energy flowing through the symbols.

Then he placed his hand onto the pedestal’s palm mark.

The portal glowed yellow, humming with power.

Hiroshi: [smirking slightly]
“Alright. Let’s do this.”

He stepped into the portal.

Hiroshi emerged on top of another temple, this time in the middle of a vast savannah.

As his eyes adjusted, he heard engines rumbling.

He looked down—and saw hundreds of armed guards, missile tanks, and vehicles surrounding him.

Hiroshi: [confused but calm]
“What the—?”