After the exhausting training, Drake could barely stay on his feet. His hands trembled from the unfamiliar weight of a real sword, his muscles burned, and his shoulders felt as if they had been filled with molten lead. Every breath sent pain stabbing through his chest, every step throbbed dully in his calves.

  He slowly shuffled toward the fire, where Lohan was already settling in.

  The older man tossed him a rolled-up sleeping bag without a word.

  “Here.”

  Drake caught it and began to unroll it. The fabric was coarse, patched in pces, soaked with the smell of smoke, sweat, and old blood.

  Lohan gave a crooked grin:

  “It’s a bit holey. The st owner got hacked to pieces right inside it.”

  Drake froze and eyed the sleeping bag warily, as though it might suddenly come alive and plunge a knife into his throat.

  Lohan watched his expression for a few seconds… then burst into loud, hoarse ughter.

  “You should see your face! Pffft!”

  Drake pursed his lips in annoyance, but a moment ter he rexed too. There was no strength left even to be angry — it had burned away along with the st drops of energy.

  He wrapped himself in the sleeping bag and y down by the fire, using his folded cloak as a pillow.

  The fmes crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the warriors’ faces — red, bck, almost demonic. In the firelight, scars looked deeper, eyes emptier.

  But sleep brought no peace.

  All night Drake was tormented by nightmares.

  Burning houses — roofs colpsing with wet, sucking crashes, fountains of sparks and screams.

  Mother — an arrow through her back, blood pouring over Father’s hands.

  Father — dropping to his knees, coughing bright crimson, then face-first into the mud.

  The goblin — hacked apart, intestines looped on the ground, brain leaking in a gray-pink puddle.

  And everywhere — red eyes. Hundreds of red eyes. Watching. Waiting.

  He woke several times — drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering as if it wanted to burst out of his ribs. His body ached from the march and the training, every muscle screaming in protest.

  He y staring into the darkness, listening to the camp’s breathing: snoring, moans in sleep, rustling leaves, the distant howl of wind.

  In the morning the squad packed up quickly and without unnecessary talk.

  No one wasted time on conversation. People moved mechanically — rolling tents, shouldering packs, tightening armor straps. Movements honed, emotionless — like corpses forced to keep moving.

  The column set off again along the forest road.

  This time Drake walked in silence, but he looked more closely at those around him.

  And what he saw, he didn’t like.

  The soldiers’ conversations almost always boiled down to two things.

  Loot.

  And women.

  One bragged about how in the st raid he’d pulled a handful of silver from the vilge elder’s chest and “got a little something extra.”

  Another argued how much gold they could squeeze from the next vilge “if the owners don’t put up too much of a fight.”

  A third ughed lewdly about peasant girls — “tits like that, I’d drag her into the bushes right now.”

  Drake frowned.

  He had always imagined warriors differently.

  Like the heroes from his father’s stories — noble, strong, protectors of the weak.

  But these men…

  They looked more like a pack of hyenas trailing wolves.

  Several hours ter a vilge appeared ahead.

  Small, surrounded by fields and scattered trees. Smoke rose from chimneys, children ran along the road, chickens scratched in the dust. Ordinary life. Living.

  Kane raised his hand.

  “Halt.”

  The squad stopped.

  Kane narrowed his eyes, studying the vilge.

  “We actually made it in time.”

  The vilge looked alive.

  But the moment the inhabitants spotted the armed column — panic erupted.

  Women snatched up children and ran for the houses.

  Men grabbed pitchforks, axes, clubs in haste.

  Within a minute several of them were cautiously approaching.

  At the front walked the biggest man — huge, muscur, a sledgehammer resting on his shoulder. Scars on his arms, eyes heavy as iron.

  He stopped in front of Kane.

  “Who are you, warriors?”

  Kane smiled calmly — but the smile never reached his eyes.

  “Third squad of demon-syers.”

  The man narrowed his eyes.

  Kane continued:

  “According to my information, demons will attack this vilge soon.”

  He paused — heavy, like a hammer blow.

  “Most likely… tonight.”

  The elder frowned.

  “You may camp beside the vilge. But I ask… keep your men on a leash.”

  Kane gave a quiet snort.

  “I’ll give the order.”

  He looked straight into the elder’s eyes — cold, merciless.

  “But if I were you, I’d hide the women.”

  “Today during the day.”

  “And at night.”

  One of the men beside the elder started to speak, but the elder stopped him with a sharp gesture.

  The elder nodded — heavily, bitterly.

  “I understand.”

  He sighed as though shedding another year of life.

  “Come to my house once you’re settled. We need to discuss the defense.”

  The squad began moving toward the vilge outskirts.

  Corin approached Kane.

  “That bcksmith isn’t simple.”

  He nodded toward the huge man with the sledgehammer.

  “Looks like an old soldier.”

  Or a bandit.

  Kane smirked — short, mirthless.

  “All the better.”

  He cast a gnce at his soldiers — at their greedy eyes, at hands already drifting toward belts.

  “Keep an eye on the men.”

  “So they don’t start any more shit.”

  Corin nodded.

  “Understood.”

  “Let them prepare gear.”

  “Tonight there will be a fight.”

  Drake looked at the vilge.

  At the children running along the dusty road.

  At the women peering from windows.

  At ordinary, fragile life.

  There was no joy on his face.

  Lohan noticed and spped him hard on the shoulder — almost painfully