"Aurora, please don't go outside tonight unless absolutely necessary. A demon crossed the border and attacked a nearby village."
"But… demons aren't supposed to be able to cross the border. How is that possible?"
"I don't know the details. Sometimes one or two slip through. I don't know if it's coming our way, but what I do know is—we need to prepare ourselves, for safety."
Demons don't attack during the day. That gives us time, Hans thought.
After walking for a while, they arrived by the riverbank—only to see Attu lying motionless on the ground. Aurora gasped and screamed in terror, bursting into tears as she ran toward her son.
"Attu!"
Hans, rushing to his side, immediately thought, A wild animal must have attacked him.
But looking around, there were no tracks, no signs of struggle, not even blood near Attu's body.
They knelt beside him. Hans turned Attu's head to check on him—and both were horrified to see blood streaming from the boy's eyes. Aurora sobbed louder in panic.
Hans quickly checked for a pulse.
Still alive, he sighed with relief.
Then he gently opened Attu's eyelids to inspect further. What he saw made him freeze—Attu's eyes had changed.
What is this…? These eyes…?
He had never seen Attu without his blindfold.
As Hans held Attu, he suddenly felt something emanating from the boy's body.
This… mana?
It was wild, chaotic. He'd only sensed something like this once, during his academy days from a seasoned mage—and even then, not this powerful.
Not now. Let Aurora calm down first, he thought. We'll talk later.
Hans gently lifted Attu and the three of them returned to the village.
"Aurora, he's just unconscious. I don't know what happened to his eyes, but he's stable. We just need to wait for him to wake up. Then we'll know more."
"What should we do? Shouldn't we call the healer?"
"She's not in the village. She went into the mountains this morning to collect herbs. She won't be back for a while."
"Then what do we do?"
"He'll be fine. We just have to wait."
They reached the house. Inside, they gently laid Attu down in his bed. Aurora sat beside him, holding his hand and crying silently. Hans placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Please, pull yourself together. He's going to be okay. If the healer returns, I'll send her over to check on him. But for now, he just needs rest. Don't cry."
"O-Okay…" she replied, her voice choked with tears.
"I'll be going now. I'll come check on him again tomorrow."
Aurora sat beside her son for hours, not eating, not moving, simply waiting for his eyes to open.
As dusk fell, she finally got up, realizing that if he woke, he would be hungry.
She stepped outside to prepare food.
During this time, the village men were making preparations.
As night fell, Hans assigned the men to take shifts in pairs throughout the night. Hours passed. Only an hour remained until sunrise, but few of the young men had managed any sleep.
Two of the guards were talking to pass the time.
"Man, when will it be my turn to get married?"
"At the pace you're going? Definitely not this year. Get a better grip on that spear—your aim is worse than your luck with women," one joked, peering into the darkness. "Something doesn't feel right."
They laughed quietly until the howl of a dog pierced the silence from just outside the village.
"Hey... Did you hear that?"
"Yeah, it was a do—" he didn't finish. A spear shot through the air and struck him square in the head.
He dropped instantly, lifeless.
The second man, stunned, didn't even turn his head right away. He simply stared at his fallen friend, unable to process what had just happened. When he finally looked toward the direction the spear had come from, an enormous hound leapt from the shadows and lunged at him.
It was no ordinary hound—it was massive, demonic, with monstrous teeth and glowing eyes. The beast sank its fangs into the man's flesh, drawing out a scream that echoed through the village.
People heard it.
From the central road, villagers rushed out with whatever they could grab—tools, sticks, kitchen knives—anything that might help fend off the sudden attack.
The hounds poured in through the village gates.
Hans recognized them immediately—these were the Hellhounds of Baskervill.
Villagers swung and stabbed, but most weapons had no effect on the creatures. Hans, armed with his twin swords, fought with precision and fury. He drove one blade into a beast's belly, kicked it off, and ripped the sword free. Another hound went for one of the nearby men—Hans leapt forward, slashing into it with one blade, pinning it down, then plunging his second sword through its skull.
He reached for the wounded man.
"You alright?" he asked, offering his hand.
Just as the man took it to stand—another spear whistled through the air and pierced straight into the man's chest.
Blood gushed like a fountain, spraying Hans's face. Stunned and shaking, he turned around slowly, and there he saw it—
Baskervill.
The demon strode into the burning village like a noble from a cursed medieval court—dressed in ornate clothing, crowned by two curved horns rising from his skull.
Hans's whole body trembled.
He stood in a battle stance, but fear twisted in his chest. Every step Baskervill took sent shivers through Hans's bones. He felt like a rabbit facing a wolf.
So distracted by the chaos and the beasts, Hans hadn't even noticed the corpses piling around him. Most of the young men had already fallen. Hounds rampaged through homes, dragging out screaming women and children. Half the village was already in flames.
But Hans did not run.
He gritted his teeth and lunged at the demon, attacking with all his might. Baskervill dodged with ease, countering effortlessly. Hans was losing focus—fear clouded his every strike.
Still, he refused to back down.