Chapter 17: Threads of Blood and Thunder
The quiet peace of the village didn't last long.
As Lina, Cilia, and the MC descended the hill where they'd sat watching the stars just moments before, a strange stillness replaced the usual chatter of the village evening. A coppery scent tainted the breeze. When they reached the edge of the square, the sound of murmuring voices and quiet sobs drew them in like a current.
A crowd had formed. Men, women, children—faces pale, eyes wide. The villagers parted with gasps when they saw Cilia and the others. Fear clung to the air like smoke. Blood trailed across the cobbled path in smeared streaks, leading toward the center of the circle.
The chief stood tall, though his hands trembled ever so slightly. In his right hand, he held a crumpled letter. Beside him, his wife stood with her arm across her chest, her face stone-hard but eyes glassy. At their feet, unconscious and bloodied, lay one of the guards.
"Father," Cilia called, voice cracking as she ran up. "What… what happened? What's that letter?"
The chief's jaw was tight. He looked at his daughter, then unfolded the stained paper and read aloud, his voice low and grave:
"Two brats took care of my boys. They are currently in your village. Normally this would mean war. Many would die. But I'm feeling generous. I will offer you a choice.
One. Hand over the ones who dared harm my boys.
Two. Hand over your pretty little daughter, Cilia.
We'll be coming tonight to collect them. Don't keep me waiting. — Drahz of the Iron Fangs."
A cold silence fell.
"Those bastards…" Cilia's mother hissed under her breath.
Cilia's voice trembled. "What are we going to do?"
Her father clenched his fists. "No matter what happens, I'll never hand you over."
One of the remaining guards, a young man with blood on his temple, tried to look brave. "Chief… do we fight?"
"We may have no choice."
"Who is Drahz?" the MC asked.
Cilia's mother answered. "He's the self-proclaimed tyrant of this region, controlling all the thugs and raiders from the Deadroot Plains to the Hollow Peaks. He's vicious. Relentless. And obsessed."
"With Cilia?" Lina asked.
"He saw her once, long ago, at a festival. Said she had the 'eyes of a queen.' He's been fixated ever since. But he never had a reason to attack until now."
"I didn't know those thugs were part of the Iron Fangs," Cilia whispered, guilt rising.
"You think we care about that?" the MC said, puzzled.
Lina laughed. "So this guy wants to fight us? Good. Let him come."
She was already storming off when the MC placed a hand on her head.
"Calm down. We don't even know what we're up against yet."
"This is our village's problem," Cilia said, voice small.
Her parents agreed. "We can't rely on outsiders."
"But we're not outsiders," Lina said, turning. "We're friends. And no friend abandons another."
"Exactly," the MC added. "Besides, the letter called for us too."
"But…"
"No buts," Lina cut her off. "We'll protect you. We're strong."
The MC nodded. "But we wait. Let them come to us."
As night fell, a tense calm settled over the village.
The chief sent everyone indoors. Torches lit the borders. The guards were armed, but hope was a fragile thing.
The MC trained quietly in a field, manipulating stones and air pressure with greater fluidity than before. Pulling, rotating, levitating — all in rhythm.
Lina wandered, talking with Cilia, trying to distract her. They laughed quietly beneath the stars, just a little.
But when the deep thrum of heavy boots and snarling voices echoed from the woods, silence fell.
The alarm bell rang.
The thugs had arrived.
The Iron Fangs approached like a wave of shadows — over a hundred men clad in mismatched armor, wielding axes, curved blades, maces, and crude spears. Their leader, Drahz, towered over them, clad in thick black leather reinforced with bone plating. His silver beard flowed down his chest, and one of his eyes was covered by a spiked metal visor.
Lina and the MC stood at the village entrance, torches behind them, wind tousling their cloaks.
"Those are the brats that attacked us!" one of the thugs growled.
Drahz cracked his knuckles. "These kids?"
Lina stepped forward. Her red sash fluttered in the wind. "Let's cut the chatter. All of you at once. It'll save time."
The MC's eyes narrowed. "Don't hold back."
With roars of rage, the Iron Fangs surged forward.
The clash was like a thunderstorm tearing the ground apart.
The MC moved first — snapping his fingers and pulling the ground beneath a cluster of charging thugs. The earth heaved, causing them to stumble. With a sudden push, he launched stones like cannonballs, knocking several back into their comrades.
Lina darted through the chaos like a flame. Her footwork was swift and dance-like. She slid beneath a swing, spun, and kicked a thug into another. Her scarf coiled like a whip as she grabbed a dagger and tossed it mid-spin into the knee of a charging foe.
They moved like gears in the same machine.
A hammer swung at the MC's head — Lina leapt over it, planting her feet on the thug's shoulders and using the momentum to flip. As she passed, the MC yanked the hammer wielder's legs with a pull, sending him crashing down.
"Two on the left!" Lina shouted.
"I got them!"
He pressed his palm to the ground and pulled the air pressure from under them — a vacuum made their legs buckle. Lina followed up, jumping off the MC's back, spinning in the air, and delivering twin kicks that sent both flying.
Drahz watched, snarling.
"Cowards! Surround them!"
Thugs encircled the duo, coming from all sides.
The MC clenched his fists, pushing out a wave of air — like an invisible wall, it knocked back the closest attackers. Lina used the opening to leap onto a thug's shoulder, springboard again, and land behind Drahz's front line.
She struck with fists and elbows — fast, brutal, efficient.
Meanwhile, the MC was a whirlwind of tactical magic. He pulled weapons from enemies' grips. He pushed debris into the air, using them as shields. He fought not with brute force, but with clever physics, redirecting energy and momentum like a dance.
They met again at the center, breathing heavily, surrounded by groaning bodies.
"Still with me?" Lina grinned.
"Of course."
"Wanna do the trick again?"
He crouched. "Go."
She sprinted, stepped onto his back, and he pushed with precision.
Lina flew through the air like a crimson comet, barreling straight toward Drahz.
He barely raised his axe before she slammed into him feet-first. The impact echoed. He stumbled, teeth gritted.
She twisted midair, using his chest as a pivot, and delivered a spinning elbow to his temple. The metal of his visor cracked. He swung wildly.
She ducked.
He lunged — but the MC pulled the earth behind Drahz's foot, tripping him.
Lina didn't miss the opening. She drove her palm into his chest with all her strength.
A shockwave burst.
Drahz crashed to the ground.
"Tch. Already unconscious?"
The remaining thugs saw their boss fall and fled in a frenzy.
The villagers emerged from hiding, stunned.
Cilia was the first to cry out, running toward them. "You did it!"
Her parents followed, and the village burst into celebration.
That night, the village square was alive with joy. Bonfires roared. Food overflowed. Drums beat. Songs were sung. Children danced around Lina and the MC.
Lina wore a wreath of wildflowers. The MC was handed a carved wooden token — a symbol of honor.
They sat under the same tree again, watching the stars.
Cilia lay between them, arms behind her head.
"I thought I lost everything," she whispered.
"You gained us," Lina replied.
The MC smiled. "And you've got a village worth protecting."
Silence.
But once again, it was the comforting kind.
Not the end.
Just a new beginning.