The guild master's words came at the sword saint like a heavy physical blow, the weight twisting her mind into a mess. She didn't let her inner turmoil reflect outwards, her expression remaining neutral, like the context of their discussion was as plain as the weather, and not the deaths of countless victims.
"What…do you mean?" she asked, her voice trying its best to remain steady and calm.
The old man placed both knuckles on the table and sighed. The sorrow in his eyes could no longer be hidden. The next statements that came after were just as devastating as the first. The sword saint, still mentally stunned, perked up to listen to his narration.
"The townspeople are all dead. The probability of any living survivors is slim, almost nonexistent—"
The sword saint stopped him midway.
"What do you mean dead!? They were evacuated out. Was it an ambush from bandits? Were they savaged by beasts?" she asked, each question coming just as the first was about to land. The golden gaze of her eyes looked frantic, her mind piecing together answers for her own questions. In all three plausible scenarios, a full wipeout was highly unlikely.
So what had occurred?
The guild master listened to her frantic questioning but answered none. Rather, he continued to speak.
"The evacuation wagons got to the neighbouring towns successfully. The townspeople were provided with temporary shelter and care till the current situation became better—"
"So how did they die?"
The guild master hesitated. He didn't have to beat around the bush, and yet he did.
"The beast horde. Recent developments have shown that the beast horde wasn't an issue opposed only to us; rather, we were just the only ones that noticed its approach. Uninvited and unprepared for, countless mana beasts laid siege onto different towns around the region. The towns that survived sustained casualties beyond reason, and those that didn't were wiped out completely."
The guild master paused to catch his breath, the split second of respite enough to send the sword saint's thoughts into a frantic mess once again.
They fought, those men and women fought by my side, died by my side because they felt they had something they were fighting for. They were willing to die, knowing that their relatives would end up safe.
And now here she was, being told their deaths were meaningless.
"The region has fallen. The only thing that lies ahead from this town, in all directions, is death and destruction. An envoy from the capital city would soon be employed to take account of the situation and calculate the losses."
Silence came. The guild master had nothing else to say. The best way he could have told her all this while remaining as stoic as possible was to present it like a report. He couldn't let her see the guilt that tormented him beneath the calm surface. He had been the one to propose the evacuation; their deaths represented a part of his failings.
His knuckles on the table tensed. He had sent countless people to their deaths, even if he didn't intend to.
"So why tell me? What am I meant to do with all this?" the sword saint asked, her voice no longer able to maintain its calm edge.
"I watched countless men and women die on that battlefield. They died thinking their deaths had meaning. That their memory would live on with the families they fought for, and now you're telling me all that was pointless!"
"Elaine, calm down."
"How do you expect me to be calm? The hundreds out there are probably expecting a family to go to, friends to catch up with. What am I meant to tell them now?"
The sound of the door barging open interrupted her.
A young adventurer rushed in, the panic in his eyes speaking volumes of what his mouth was yet to tell. "The back gate… beast… high grade…" His attempt at forming a sentence while drawing steep breaths was incoherent. But they both got the message.
The sword saint's mind began to refile events. A high-grade beast? The adventurers outside were enough to handle any feral or hunger-grade beast—unless the high grade wasn't.
"How many war grades were accounted for?" she turned to ask the guild master urgently.
"Five war-grade beasts were spotted before the horde approached," the old man replied, not understanding the reason for the question.
The sword saint's expression immediately grew dark. She pushed the chair back and hurried to leave the building, the guild master's worried voice calling behind her.
"We killed three!" she repeated continuously in her mind. If what the guild master said was true, then she had to prepare to face another threat—even if it meant doing it alone. She stepped out of the building. Countless eyes watched her movements, waiting for what was to come next. But the ethereal general of war vanished, leaving behind a fragmenting blue afterimage.
The sword saint was gone.
The back gate was chaos reincarnated. Mutilated bodies were scattered about as hundreds of vines searched for their next victim. The faint droplets of blood that drifted in the air gave the sky the illusion of looking crimson. The air was thick with the smell of iron. The sword saint appeared within it. The concentrated odour stung her nose, but currently that was the least of her concerns.
The amount of destruction that surrounded her was more than she had expected, the gruesome scene not too different from the battlefield she had left moments ago.
She unsheathed her long sword, its silver blade catching the light. Two vines that noticed her presence rushed forward with devouring speed. She bolted forward, striking her blade at the right moment and cleaving through them. From her peripheral vision, she noticed slight movements from a body and turned towards its direction.
The countless vines that rushed towards the same body showed she wasn't the only one watching the battlefield. The vines got to it first, their countless thorns sinking into pale flesh.
The sword saint did the calculations in her head—she wouldn't be able to make it in time. She took a stance, web-like cracks spreading beneath her feet. The grip around her silver blade tightened as she swung it in a horizontal slash. The air surrounding her felt like it wrapped itself around the blade and pushed forward like a fierce gale in one precise strike.
The countless vines shredded under the assault of the strike, a thunderous roar originating from somewhere deep within the forest. But the sword saint paid it no attention as she rushed to catch the falling body.
The body landed safely in her arms, small frame and surprisingly lightweight.
It was a kid.