My Family in the Novel?

Chapter 246: Saving the Queen 12

No matter which path we traversed along the medium-sized road, the putrid stench of decaying corpses lingered in the air, a grim testament to the suffering inflicted upon this village.

Some of the bodies were still fresh, indicating that the atrocities had been ongoing until recently. How much pain and anguish had these people endured at the hands of their tormentors?

Elena, with her compassionate heart, couldn't ignore the cries of those in need. She rushed to aid the wounded, attempting to heal their physical injuries.

Yet, despite her efforts, the scars of their trauma ran deep, etched into their minds and souls. They recoiled from her touch, their gratitude overshadowed by the psychological torment they had endured.

It was a heartbreaking realization that even healing their physical wounds couldn't erase the trauma they had suffered.

Whether it was the influence of demons driving the bandits to such depravity or the darkness within their own hearts, the fate of these bandits seemed sealed.

'Today, they would all die'

I'm, pretty sure Alex is already killing a bandit or two quietly right now... considering his personality.

As we continued our journey towards the village center, where the source of the demonic energy could be pinpointed, we inadvertently stumbled upon a child.

He collided with my side, tumbling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

"Ow...!"

The child exclaimed in pain as he tried to scramble to his feet, his eyes widening with fear as he saw me observing him with curiosity.

In a flustered attempt to apologize, he stammered, "I-I'm sorry!" before abruptly dropping to his knees and bowing his head to the hard, rocky ground.

Though his display of deference was unnecessary, I could sense the deep-seated fear in his eyes.

It was clear he mistook me for one of the bandits who had wrought havoc upon his village.

"Are you alright?" I inquired, stepping closer to him with genuine concern etched into my features.

"Y-yes," he replied, his voice tinged with grogginess as he struggled to regain his composure. His gaze remained fixed on me, his eyes brimming with curiosity and apprehension.

As I pondered the child's condition, Elena approached my side, her gentle touch grounding me in the midst of the chaos surrounding us.

"Ian, this place...."

Though her face was obscured by the white veil that draped over her features, I could sense the intensity of her gaze as she focused on the strange markings adorning the child's neck—a telltale sign of a curse.

"Yeah, it's worse than I thought...."

Not even a young child like him had been spared from the horrors that befell them.

This innocent child had been touched by darkness, his youth and innocence marred by the malevolent forces that plagued his home.

"Kid, may I know your name?" I asked gently, extending a hand in a gesture of reassurance.

"P-Peter," he replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Peter, huh? That's a very nice name. Back from where I come from, it's a very honorable name for a person who serves God,"

As I spoke Peter's name, a small pang of sorrow washed over me, knowing the innocence he embodied had been tarnished by the cruelty of this world.

But that is how it always works.

'The fate of the weak was dictated by the whims of the powerful'

Blame could easily be cast upon the bandits who had wrought havoc upon this village, or the demons whose malevolent influence had tainted its inhabitants.

Some might even point fingers at my own family, whose actions had indirectly contributed to the chaos engulfing our world.

But amidst the blame and despair, one truth remained constant: those who were born weak and remained so would always find themselves at the mercy of others.

This village was merely a microcosm of that harsh reality—a stark reminder of the cruel hierarchy that governed our lives.

Drawing closer to him, I gently patted his head, offering what little comfort I could to this child who had endured so much.

Confusion furrowed his brow.

'Where had everyone gone to?'

Normally, his subordinates would be indulging in their debauchery, reveling in the spoils of their conquest.

Yet now, there was nothing but desolation and emptiness, as if the very lifeblood of the place had been drained away.

Even the subordinate who had informed him of the situation had vanished without a trace. It was all too peculiar, but Ransolph pushed aside his bewilderment for the time being.

Dwelling on such matters was not his style; he preferred a more straightforward approach to problem-solving.

With a resigned sigh, he dismissed the oddities and focused on the task at hand.

If someone had orchestrated this sudden disappearance, then they were likely still lurking nearby.

And if that were the case, well, Ransolph had a simple solution in mind: eliminate the source of the problem.

It was a plan as straightforward as it was effective, and Ransolph couldn't help but smirk at the simplicity of it all.

'It's probably the bastard who called for me... how fun!'

As Ransolph descended the steps, a sense of unease gnawed at him, exacerbated by the inexplicable brightness of the sun overhead despite the ominous clouds. Something felt off, and he couldn't shake the feeling that danger lurked around every corner.

Lost in his thoughts, he was jolted back to reality by a voice beside him, cutting through the silence like a knife. Startled, he turned to see a cloaked figure standing nearby, their features obscured by the shadowy depths of the hood.

Caught off guard, Ransolph's instincts kicked in, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his weapon. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of caution and defiance.

The cloaked figure remained unfazed, their presence exuding a palpable aura of power. "So you're the bandit leader," they remarked, their tone calm and composed despite the gravity of the situation.

Ransolph's heart quickened at the implication behind the stranger's words. Who was this person, and how did they know who he was?

As the stranger revealed his face, Ransolph was met with a visage straight from his darkest nightmares.

The features before him seemed to defy all natural laws, exuding an otherworldly aura that sent shivers down his spine.

It was as if the embodiment of darkness itself stood before him, mocking his feeble attempts at comprehension.

A chill ran down Ransolph's spine as he beheld the creature's unsettling gaze, its eyes devoid of any semblance of humanity.

The grotesque pallor of its skin and the pulsating tendrils that writhed beneath its surface only added to the horror of its presence.

"What are you?" Ransolph managed to stammer, his voice trembling with fear and disbelief.

He knew he was facing something beyond his wildest nightmares, something that defied all reason and logic.

The creature's smile widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"What does it matter?" it replied, its voice sending shivers down Ransolph's spine.

"Run," it urged, the word echoing ominously in the air.

Instinctively, Ransolph's survival instincts kicked in, overriding any sense of bravado he might have mustered.

Without a second thought, he turned on his heels and bolted, fleeing from the abomination that stood before him.

He didn't know what horrors awaited him, but one thing was certain: facing this creature was a death sentence he wasn't willing to entertain.

He didn't survive this long as a bandit leader because of his strength alone.

It was his keen instincts and a hefty dose of luck that propelled him to his current position of power.

As panic surged through him like a raging river, Ransolph's mind raced with profanities. 'Fuck...! Fuck...! Fuck...!'

For the first time in his life, his instincts screamed at him with an urgency he couldn't ignore.

They weren't just warning him of danger; they were telling him that his time was up.

He was already dead....