Chapter 12. Barbarian's Attacks

Once Emilia was done gathering everything she needed, she carefully packed her finds into the sturdy leather bag the village elder had gifted her. The bag was stuffed to the brim with bundles of glowing mushrooms, fragrant herbs, and clumps of carefully uprooted Silkfern wrapped in soft moss to keep them fresh. Nestled among them were a few precious vials of the antidote she’d brewed, along with a small pouch of crushed Mooncap spores—her first step toward cultivating a steady supply of medicine.

She stood back for a moment, hands on her hips, and let out a deep breath. Her muscles ached from crouching, digging, and climbing all day, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that came from working toward something meaningful. “Alright,” she muttered to herself, cinching the bag shut. “Let's take a bath one more time, and let's go bring civilization to this whatever age.”

The journey back to Tharrosk Village is unsettlingly quiet. Emilia’s footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, and every rustle of leaves set her nerves on edge.

Hikarimetsu, walking beside her in her human form, scanned their surroundings. “The forest is holding its breath,” she murmured, resting a hand lightly on the hilt of her ethereal blade. “Something stirs.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Emilia hissed, tightening her grip on the leather strap of her bag. “You’re going to jinx us.”

But nothing leapt out of the darkness. No twisted beasts or creeping horrors blocked their path. Only the cool night air and the constant, low hum of magic that seemed to seep from the very roots of the forest.

For a moment, Emilia allowed herself to believe that she and Hikarimetsu would make it back to the village safely, her precious cargo of mushrooms, herbs, and Silkfern ready to kickstart a new future for Tharrosk. She could already picture the villagers learning to cultivate food and medicine, maybe even creating a cleaner, healthier place to live.

But that fragile hope shattered the moment she saw it, dark smoke curling up into the night sky on the horizon. Emilia stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. "No… no, no, no." Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as dread coiled deep in her stomach. “That’s… that’s coming from the village,” she whispered.

Hikarimetsu’s expression darkened, her sharp golden eyes narrowing to slits. “It seems trouble has found us, Master.” Her voice was a low, dangerous purr, already thick with anticipation.

Emilia’s pace quickened and then turned into a full sprint. The heavy leather bag thumped against her hip as she ran, branches clawing at her clothes. “Please let me be wrong. Please let them all be okay,” she muttered, her throat tightening. When they finally burst free of the treeline, the sight before her nearly knocked her off her feet.

The comforting wooden palisade of Tharrosk is a battlefield. Flames licked at the outer walls, casting the entire village in a hellish glow. Villagers screamed, some clutching crude weapons as they scrambled to defend their homes, others dragging the wounded toward cover. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Emilia’s voice broke as she choked out, “What the hell—?!” Her wide eyes darted across the chaos, searching desperately for the elder, for anyone she knew.

Beside her, Hikarimetsu’s entire form changes into battle form, ready. she sheated the katana. “Raiders,” she spat, her tone laced with venom. “These are humans, barbarians. I smell human bloodlust.” Without waiting for another word, Hikarimetsu surged forward like a streak of golden light.

“Wait—Hikari!” Emilia cried, but her plea was lost to the roar of chaos ahead.

The katana spirit descended upon the nearest group of attackers with a fluid, almost dance-like motion. Her blade flashed in wide arcs, moving so fast that it seemed to hum through the air. The first barbarian never even had time to scream. His crude bronze axe was raised high when Hikarimetsu’s blade sliced through it and him as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood sprayed across the firelit night, mingling with the embers rising from burning huts.

The Red Fang warriors are terrifying up close. They're massive, towering over the villagers, with muscles like coiled ropes beneath their painted skin. Jagged crimson streaks covered their bodies in wild patterns, marking them for war. Their armor was a patchwork of bronze plates, animal bones, and thick hides. From their belts hung trophies: broken tusks, severed fingers, and carved fetishes that pulsed faintly with malevolent magic.

Those humans are predators, hardened by countless battles. But against Hikarimetsu, they're the prey. One of them roared and swung a heavy mace toward her head. Without even looking, Hikarimetsu ducked, pivoted, and drove her blade cleanly through his chest. She wrenched it free in a spray of crimson, her golden eyes blazing with battle fervor.

Another tried to grab her from behind, his massive arms like tree trunks. Hikarimetsu just smirked like she's actually enjoying it, spun her blade in a glittering spiral, and severed both of his hands in a single, elegant motion. The clash of battle drowned out his screams.

Emilia stumbled forward, her breath ragged and uneven, each inhale laced with the stench of blood and smoke. Her heart pounded so violently in her chest it felt like it might burst. She could barely comprehend what she's witnessing. Hikarimetsu moved through the battlefield like a living tempest, her form weaving between fire and shadow, her katana moving so fast and precisely while glistening in blood.

The soil beneath Emilia’s boots is no longer earth but a sodden, crimson mire. Each step she took made a sickening squelch, as though the ground itself were groaning beneath the weight of death. The once-familiar village is now unrecognizable, a place of screams, fire, and carnage. The Red Fang barbarians aren’t simply dying. They're being unmade.

Limbs and weapons alike are reduced to fragments as Hikarimetsu’s katana sweeps through them with unerring precision. One moment, a warrior stood, roaring his defiance; the next, his body fell apart in pieces, as though sliced by invisible threads.

Hikarimetsu’s movements are terrifyingly beautiful, a dance of slaughter. She twirled and pivoted with impossible grace, every slash a seamless part of the next. It's an art, but not the art of creation. This is art of destruction, painted with screams and blood.

For every step Emilia managed to take forward, another warrior fell, their lifeblood soaking into the dirt. The barbarian war cries shifted, growing strained and ragged as fear began to take root.

One of the Red Fang brutes, tall, muscles glistening beneath the red war paint streaking his body, charged her, swinging a massive bone-and-bronze axe. Hikarimetsu didn’t even glance at him. Her blade flickered once, almost lazily. The barbarian froze mid-swing. A heartbeat later, his head slid cleanly from his shoulders, his body collapsing in a heap with a wet thud.

Emilia’s stomach churned, bile rising to her throat. It's beautiful and horrifying all at once, like watching a master chef at work, except instead of food, it's blood and flesh that Hikarimetsu is carving with her blade. The air is thick with the coppery tang of blood, the heat of nearby flames, and the guttural, panicked shouts of the surviving warriors.

The Red Fang warriors began to falter. Their roars turned to shouts of fear as the realization set in: “Run!” one of them bellowed, his voice cracking. “It’s a demon! A spirit of death!”

But there's nowhere to run. Hikarimetsu’s voice rang out, cold and mocking. “Your path ends here.” And with a final, sweeping slash, she cut through three warriors at once, their bodies collapsing like felled trees.

Emilia’s legs trembled as she reached the gates, clutching her bag of supplies. “Hikari…” she whispered, torn between awe and terror.

Hikarimetsu didn’t turn to face her, but her voice drifted back, calm and utterly unshaken. “Stay behind me, Master. Tonight, Tharrosk will not fall.”