Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Barbarian Night Raid
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"Hey, shift change."
"Ugh... Why'd you take so damn long."
"I'm right on time. What's your problem?"
The militia member standing watch on the palisade greeted his approaching comrade with a weary nod.
How grueling it had been to endure this bone-chilling cold in nothing but a single layer of leather garb.
Shivering uncontrollably, irritation welled up inside him, but he forced a smile as he handed over the duty.
"Anything unusual?"
"Same crap every day. I guarantee you, if they hit us now, we're done for."
"Heh, tell me about it."
The barbarians kept coming day after day, whittling away at their numbers.
No wonder watch shifts had stretched from two hours to three, and patrol routes pushed farther out.
The already sloppy defenses had grown so lax even he could feel it.
But pointing fingers wouldn't help—the village was in dire straits.
"...How's the Village Chief holding up?"
"Lost in thought, as usual."
The mystery man's heated debate with the chief was already the talk of the town.
And it had the young folks fired up, mostly because he promised a way out of this mess.
A decision would come by morning, no doubt.
The militia man silently prayed the chief would make the bold call.
Whoosh!
"Huh?"
But in that instant, the lone torch on the watchtower sputtered out, struck by something.
The wind had picked up moments ago, snuffing it clean.
"Got any oil? I'll grab an ember."
"........."
"Hey, you got oil or not?"
"........."
Letting the torch die meant a chewing-out from the squad leader.
But while he was in a rush, his friend was frustratingly silent.
Couldn't he hear?
Exhausted and annoyed, the militia man trudged over and grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, you deaf? The oil..."
Thud.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
The friend he'd yanked had a javelin lodged in his throat—dead on impact.
Not the wind. A javelin.
His mind went blank as he instinctively looked straight ahead.
There, countless barbarians crawled over the palisade like maggots emerging from the dark.
Thwip!
Another javelin—what he'd mistaken for wind—hurtled toward him.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
Tap.
"........."
His eyes snapped open.
Not his usual punctual wake-up—this felt off.
The narrow window slit confirmed it: no light seeped in.
Still the dead of night.
Snore!
He swept aside the straw bedding and scanned the room. Everyone else was deep in slumber, snoring away.
The earlier bustle of the militia had long faded, leaving the village eerily quiet.
Only the flickering hearthfire pierced the gloom.
Why was he awake?
What had stirred him?
Having felt this countless times before, he rose calmly.
Creeak.
He slid the window aside quietly.
Staring into the silent village, he sought the source of his unease.
Sound, scent, atmosphere.
Even amid the pitch black and utter silence, his disquiet lingered.
Clunk.
He shut the window.
Then eased the door open beside it and stepped out slowly.
Crunch, crunch.
He crouched low, scanning his surroundings.
Snow had stopped falling; a cold wind blew through the typical winter predawn.
But one thing stood out: over half the watch torches had dwindled.
He grasped the omen instantly.
Thud, fizzle!
He snatched the torch hanging by the building's front, hurled it to the ground, and extinguished it.
Then slipped back inside and shook Snow-Covered from her deep sleep.
"M-Master?"
"Shh. Wake the others."
In this crisis, she was the most reliable by far.
He told them to stay put until his signal, then stepped out to scout.
"Tch."
Damn—they'd taken the weapons.
He clicked his tongue softly and rummaged for anything usable.
Snow-Covered, now alert, darted to the hearth and yanked out a fire poker.
"Here!"
Better than bare hands.
He gripped the poker she offered, checking its sharp tip.
Then clasped her anxious shoulder firmly.
"Be cautious."
"But don't hesitate."
She remembered well.
Her trembling had stopped; clear eyes met his.
Time to do his part.
Poker in hand, he stepped out again.
"........."
The darkness had thickened.
Even fewer torches now.
Without pause, he dashed toward the nearest watchtower, slicing through the shadows.
Tap, tap, tap, tap!
He climbed the ladder to the palisade top.
Normally, a watchman would challenge him here.
But the tower was empty—no torch, no presence.
Creeak!
Sniff, sniff.
Blood.
Reaching under the platform, his hand came away drenched.
Sure enough, a decapitated watchman slumped in the corner.
Night raid.
A surge of heat rose from his toes to his head.
Of all days, the barbarians struck the night they arrived.
He shouldn't have brought Snow-Covered and the rest—this was his mistake.
But cold reason swiftly doused the regret.
Barbarians pulling a coordinated night raid?
He'd never seen or heard of such discipline from them.
No wonder the watchmen fell so easily.
Clank!
They'd even stripped the warning bell nearby for total silence.
He salvaged the corpse's bow and dagger.
Then sprinted along the palisade toward the main gate.
Tap, tap, tap, tap!
Bodies, bodies, bodies.
Most gate guards were down.
That meant one target: the village gate they'd entered through.
They aimed to topple the village tonight.
Leg up on the railing, he nocked an arrow swiftly.
The gate loomed ahead.
Shadows stirred busily in the dark.
His face tightened.
As expected, some who'd scaled the wall were hauling the ropes to open it.
He loosed the taut string, arrow flying true.
Screeech!
Thud!
Thwip!
It pierced a barbarian's throat mid-pull.
The slackened ropes gave way; the half-open gate slammed shut with a bang.
"Ha?!"
The startled barbarians raised weapons.
He dropped the cumbersome bow, gripping poker and dagger in each hand.
Without hesitation, he leaped from the palisade and charged.
"Uoa?"
They spotted the lone foe.
But seeing just one, they sneered and rushed him.
"Aaaaaa!!"
Whoosh!
A bellowing barbarian hurled his club.
Clang!
He dodged lightly.
Leaped at the charging brute, smashing the poker into his face.
Crack!
Neck twisting unnaturally, black blood sprayed.
The roar cut short; the others recoiled again.
"Hoo..."
Familiar thrill coursed through him.
The rust of sleep and chill melted away.
He stoked the fire of battle-will deep within, eyes flashing open.
Whish!
Poker hurled like lightning, impaling another's chest.
Crude iron—good for one use only.
He spun the dagger deftly in his palm, reversing grip.
Closed on the flustered foes with quick steps, slashing wildly.
Slash!
Gurk!
One tried blocking clumsily with his club—blood gushed.
Without stopping, he kicked another's spear-thrust, shattering ribs.
Crack!
Their will shattered.
Dagger flashing, he slit throats, tore gullets—felled the rest in seconds.
He caught a fleeing one too, tidying up as a bell tolled piercingly.
Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!
Warning bell from the opposite palisade.
While he'd blocked the gate, some lucky watchman had spotted the raid.
Good enough.
He tossed the snapped dagger and shook off the blood drenching him.
As if to bury the brutal raid, heavy snow began dumping from the sky.
"Raid!"
"Kyaaak!"
Torchlights flared everywhere.
Militia grabbed arms, charging the scaling barbarians.
Chaos reigned; blood stained the white ground.
He watched calmly, picking up a dropped bone knife.
Then severed the gate ropes for good measure.
Slash!
With the main entrance secured, the uproar would be quelled eventually.
No time to dawdle.
He bolted back toward the log building with Snow-Covered and the recruits.
"Khaaa!"
"Grrraaaagh!"
A tattooed barbarian snatched a fleeing villager, stabbing him through.
Then hacked off the head, yanked it, and peeled the scalp raw.
"Haha!!"
The villager's agonized screams mingled with the barbarian's filthy glee.
Two recruits peeking through the window slits turned pale.
"W-What do we do...?"
"Dammit, I don't know."
The militia had rushed out with weapons to defend the village.
But their haphazard chain of command crumbled in crisis, leaving innocents to die.
At this rate, their log building was next.
Unarmed against such savages? Despair gripped the recruits.
Where was the Knight?
Their eyes turned to Snow-Covered, the second to wake.
Younger than them, she sparked natural worry.
"That should do it, miss. You know how to use it, right?"
"Thanks, granny. Caught plenty of squirrels with one."
But Snow-Covered showed no fear, focused as she chatted.
In that short time, she'd gotten a sling from the old woman, woven from cloth.
One flustered recruit hesitantly called to her as she prepped to head out.
"U-Um..."
"How's it looking out there?"
"H-Huh?"
Broken Sword's top order to the recruits was to guard Snow-Covered.
So they'd planned to flee with her.
But somehow, she'd seized control.
Stepping forward, her inexplicable aura overwhelmed them.
Sling secured tight, she said,
"I smashed a table over there. Use it as a shield."
"Ah...!"
What nerve.
Heading out with a tiny sling and makeshift shield?
Foolhardy, they thought—yet felt an inexplicable pull.
Like gazing upon the daughter of Broken Sword, who once seemed a great hero.
The recruit asked gravely,
"...We're going out?"
"Yeah. To the meeting hall. Master's sword is there."
Waiting inside for their master's return would've been safer.
But with barbarians torching every building and slaughtering folk, staying put was riskier.
Be cautious, but don't hesitate.
Instinct told Snow-Covered: no hesitation now.
The recruits scrambled for the table-shield and fell in behind her.
"Hoo..."
Creeak!
Snow-Covered took a deep breath.
Threw open the unlocked door without pause and stepped out.
Destination: the village meeting hall, where their weapons waited.
Grab the sword, link up with Master—off slaying somewhere.
They'd barely exited when a roar echoed ahead.
"Graaaaa!!!"
"......!!"
A barbarian, fresh from gutting a villager, charged them—club caked in flesh and gore.
The recruits knew they had to block it, but their legs froze.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Crack!
But a sharp whistle cut the air; the barbarian crumpled.
A sling-flung stone hit like a bullet, embedding in his forehead.
There stood Snow-Covered, taking more stones from the old woman and reloading.
"Don't be scared!"
Their stiff knees loosened.
An inexplicable courage surged within.
Grinding their teeth, the recruits clutched their crude shields and hurried after her.