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Chapter 81: Chapter 35:
Smoke slithered into the sky like serpents made of ash.
The once-peaceful village of Vareth, nestled along the quiet hills of Herion’s western frontier, was now little more than a burning carcass.
Its thatched roofs collapsed into flame, its wooden fences torn down by crude axes, its people, men, women, and even children, dragged into the mud or butchered in the streets.
Atop a fallen pillar that once held a small shrine to Hades, a man dressed in rough hide armor raised a bloodied sword and cried out:
"Praise Zeus! Praise the gods of light! Burn the heretics!"
A chorus of savage cheers answered him.
The Free Tribes Coalition, emboldened by the blessings of Olympus, ravaged every Herion village that stood loyal to the gods of the Underworld.
To them, Herion’s worship of Hades, Hecate, Styx, and other chthonic deities was blasphemy—a stain that needed to be cleansed by fire and steel.
Another priest of the free tribes stepped forward, swinging a censer dripping with fragrant smoke.
He scattered the ashes of a Herion holy book into the wind.
"These worms kneel to the dead! Let them join them!"
"Bury those worms to the ground!"
"Make them meet their deity!"
The warriors laughed.
And the fires roared louder.
A Herion mother, her arms broken, crawled toward her slain child, but a spear pinned her to the ground, killing her instantly.
"Hahaha! How pitiful!" A warrior laughed.
Another child screamed before being silenced.
"Noisy." Said another warrior in annoyance.
The warriors laughed, some even making a game out of who can kill more, and who can be more cruel.
Some of them would drag a woman and rape them, laughing as the woman would struggle, yet to no avail.
Once done, they will be killed.
"There is no future for these pagan worshippers!" Screamed one as he cut off the head of a villager.
"Praise be to Zeus! Glory be his name!"
They cheered as they burned every houses they come across.
However, just as one of the marauders raised a torch toward the last standing house to burn it, a sound tore through the valley.
Thwip!
The torchbearer choked on his breath. His eyes bulged. An arrow jutted from his throat. Blood gushed out from his neck like a fountain as he twitched, before falling down to the ground.
Silence.
The invaders stared at the corpse in shock.
However, they weren’t given time to process the scene as another shot towards some inavders.
Thwip. Thwip.
The arrows whistled like vengeful ghosts, striking down three more warriors in a heartbeat.
The air grew heavy.
And it was only at this moment that they finally reacted.
"E—Enemies!"
"Prepare for battle!"
The invaders quickly gathered into formation as they formed a defensive line of hundreds of men, all facing towards the direction where the arrow was shot from.
At first, there was just silence.
Then... a sound like thunder rumbled through the trees beyond the hill.
The ground shook.
The birds fled.
The inavders froze.
From behind a charred line of trees, the earth seemed to groan—and then they saw it.
A wave of iron and discipline surged forward in formation. 𝔫𝔬𝖛𝖕𝔲𝖇.𝖈𝖔𝖒
Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of armored soldiers emerged like a rising tide of steel.
Each man wore gleaming plate armor etched with the black crest of Herion Army — the twin serpents coiled around a sword. Helmets obscured their eyes, but their steps were unified, their presence deafening.
The Free Tribes warriors stood dumbfounded, blood dripping from their weapons, breath caught in their throats.
The Herion army marched without a sound except for the clank of metal boots, the rumble of siege beasts behind them, and the haunting call of horns that echoed like the wails of ancient spirits.
At the center, atop a black warhorse clad in barding of bone and silver, rode a man whose very aura seemed to split the mist:
General Kaerion.
Clad in a black cloak over bloodsteel armor, Kaerion carried no shield — only a long, curved greatsword that had once beheaded a disastrous beast.
His helm was shaped like a fanged skull, and his crimson plume fluttered like a banner of vengeance.
He raised his sword to the darkening sky, and his voice roared over the battlefield:
"HERION BLEEDS! WHO DARES WOUND OUR FLESH?"
The Herion soldiers roared as one, their voices shaking the forest and mountain alike.
"TEAR APART THOSE WHO HARMED OUR HOME! SHOW THE MIGHT OF HERION! FOR LORD HADES! FOR KING HERIOS! CHARGE!"
Kaerion pointed his sword forward, and the horns blared again.
The cavalry broke formation and surged ahead, followed by lines of spearmen and archers who loosed volley after volley into the sky, their arrows falling like black rain.
At this moment, the Free Tribes was immediately shaken.
In fact, some of them had already dropped their weapons and ran away.
"Run! Run! Run!"
"Do not look back!"
But it was futile.
Steel met flesh.
Order met chaos.
The Free Tribes were not warriors—they were zealots. And zealotry alone cannot hold the line against trained men forged in war and hardened by duty.
Kaerion personally cleaved through the center ranks, his sword trailing arcs of flame as it cut through shields and skulls.
His horse trampled bodies, its hooves stained crimson.
The priest of the free tribes raised his hands to pray.
"Hail Zeu—"
Kaerion beheaded him in a single stroke.
Within minutes, the battle was no longer a fight—it was a slaughter.
One of the Free Tribes leaders tried to flee into the woods, but found himself surrounded by Herion troops before he can do so.
He dropped to his knees.
"Mercy! I was only following the gods!"
Kaerion stepped toward him, dismounting.
"You followed them into damnation."
He turned to his soldiers.
"No prisoners."
The man screamed—but it was drowned by steel.
Kaerion observed the surroundings. The whole village was burning, and there were no survivors.
He clenched his fist. They were too late.
They underestimated the ruthlessness of their fellow humanity. To think their faith in a god would allow them to abandon their morals and completely sink to depravity.
Theology wasn’t meant to make humans like this.
"...You damn traitors. I will not let even a single one of you live."
When the sun finally dipped behind the trees, all that remained of the Free Tribes was ash, blood, and silence.
Kaerion stood amid the ruin, his sword dripping. He turned toward the shattered shrine of Hades and gave a slow nod of respect.
"Vareth has been avenged," he muttered. "But Herion’s vengeance cannot be quenched by just this."
He turned towards his army, "We head north! March with me!"
In the distance, as the army began to march again, black birds circled above.
The war had only begun.
