Fiction Forger

Chapter 4: Evident Changes

Two Weeks Earlier

The village of Gunta was no more. Once a thriving settlement, it now lay in ruins. The charred remains of monstrous creatures littered the ground, their twisted forms a testament to the ferocity of the attack. The villagers, who had once called this place home, were now nothing more than lifeless bodies, piled together in a macabre heap.

Even the corpses of the rescue team were here, all dead, their wounds seemingly inflicted just a couple of hours ago.

A scout, horrified by the sight, quickly moved to follow the trail of battle. The path led him into the dense forest, where the signs of conflict were still fresh. Broken branches, scorched earth, and the occasional splash of blood marked the way. The scout's heart pounded as he pressed on.

He came across a broken carriage, its wooden frame splintered and a giant boulder crushing it. Nearby lay the mutilated corpse of one of the kingdom's informants. The scout recognized him instantly.

"I can't believe even old Gin is dead," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief and sorrow. "Just what the hell happened here?"

The scout knelt beside Gin's body, noting the deep gashes and burn marks that marred his flesh.

"Sir Sage," he called.

The sage, a tall figure draped in a cloak that seemed to blend with the shadows, stepped forward. Bending over, he picked something from the corpse-a name tag.

"Let's go," the sage said, his voice firm.

The forest was eerily quiet, with only the soft rustle of leaves underfoot breaking the silence. The scout moved cautiously through the underbrush, his trained eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of disturbance. Suddenly, he halted and raised his hand in a silent signal.

"Sir Sage, there are marks of fighting here," he reported, his voice low but urgent.

The sage's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene before him. The forest floor was littered with the bodies of Empire knights and members of the Guardian Organization. The battle had been fierce, and it was clear that some time had already passed since the clash; the blood staining the ground had begun to dry.

He moved among the fallen, noting the wounds inflicted by both magic and steel. His practiced gaze took in the details-burn marks from spells, deep gashes from swords. Each detail told a story of the violent encounter that had transpired. As he examined the scene, something caught his attention: a faint trail of dark mana lingering in the air. He followed the trace, his senses keen and alert.

At the source of the mana, he found a gruesome sight. The body of Rod Thorden, the second son of the Thorden family, lay crumpled on the ground. An arrow had pierced his skull, and his arms had been severed. The robes he wore, the distinctive garb of the Guardian Organization, were soaked in blood. The sage shook his head in disappointment.

"Rod Thorden," he muttered, recognizing the young man.

Suddenly, a shout broke the silence. "Sir!! Knight Evan is still breathing! His heartbeat is slowly fading!" one of the scouts called out.

The sage hurried to the scout's side, where Knight Evan lay sprawled on the ground. His breath was shallow and labored, a sword protruding from his abdomen. His armor was shattered, and his skin had turned an alarming shade of pale from blood loss. Poison darts were embedded around his neck, their lethal toxins taking their toll.

The sage knelt beside Evan and placed his palm on the knight's chest. A soft green glow emanated from his hand as he began to channel healing magic. "Pull the sword out," he instructed one of the scouts.