What I Expect from You.
We departed the mansion together, shielding ourselves from the rain beneath leather umbrellas. The only sounds that graced our ears were the raindrops descending and the gentle splashes of our footsteps upon puddles.
Rain had persisted throughout the morning, and noon approached swiftly, demanding swift decision-making. We bore the responsibility of mending the lives of those whose homes lay in ruins and those who mourned their loved ones.
Perhaps, just perhaps, there remained an opportunity for a fresh start.
After a few minutes, we arrived at the scene. The sight was utterly desolate. From our vantage point, it was evident that the assault had been far more devastating than anticipated. Some houses lay in ruins, while others lacked roofs or portions of their structures. The problem extended beyond the wolf attack, as fire had also taken its toll.
The rain had cleansed away the blood, mixing it with mud and mire. As we traversed the area, we spotted a few houses that had managed to endure. Approaching one, we knocked on the door.
"We are the attendants of Marquess Roswaal L. Mathers," I announced loudly to ensure our presence was known.
After a few moments, the door swung open, revealing a mature-looking woman with fiery orange-red hair, a pale complexion, and an air of seniority. Upon seeing us, she bowed as a sign of respect.
"Thank you so much for saving us last night!" she exclaimed, tears of gratitude streaming down her face.
Inside the dwelling, several people had sought refuge, likely villagers who had been affected by the catastrophe. Surveying the surroundings, I understood why the streets had been deserted. At the very least, the residents of this place possessed compassionate hearts.
The lady welcomed us inside, and we both accepted her invitation. As we entered, the people gathered around to express their gratitude.
"Mr. Marco, truly, if it weren't for you, many more lives would have been lost," a man remarked while firmly gripping my hand.
This man exuded a determined demeanor, his blond hair and robust physique giving him the appearance of an American. Yet, what stood out most was his air of seriousness.
Something about him intrigued me.
A wild idea began to take hold of my mind.
I cleanse my thoughts and respond to the gratitude of all with unwavering determination:
"I did everything within my power, both as a servant and as a human being. I cannot allow such things to transpire if there is anything I can do to prevent it." I offer a smile to all present. "It is a pleasure to see that there are still individuals who are well."
After receiving their thanks, the people extend an invitation for us to sit. Ram obediently complies but shows no inclination to speak. I presume he came solely to assess the damage. As for myself, I must uncover what transpired.
Then they commence recounting the events.
Near nightfall, as darkness began to shroud the village, tragedy struck unexpectedly. Several children vanished in the blink of an eye. Overwhelmed by the situation, the villagers decided to undertake a desperate investigation.
However, before they could act, a horde of monstrous creatures descended upon them.
Chaos gripped the area. In a desperate bid for safety, people sought refuge, but the mabestias had already initiated their onslaught. Fortunately, some of these beasts did not immediately devour their prey. Instead, they cursed them to harness their life force.
Minutes after the attack, one of the houses became an inferno of flames, and the fire spread swiftly, consuming other residences. The blazing house belonged to the blacksmith, who was at work at that precise moment.
"Unfortunately, he did not survive. When it was all over, we found his body amidst the rubble," one of the villagers confesses sorrowfully.
A shiver runs down my spine upon hearing the news. If the blacksmith has perished, it means that more lives were lost than I had anticipated. The community remained in their homes, resisting, and anxiously awaiting our arrival.
"By the way, the girl who came with you..." the man says with fear in his voice, hesitating to mention her name.
"Emilia?" I inquire, seeking to confirm his suspicions.
I observe my surroundings. As I mention Emilia's name, I witness the faces of the people transform into a blend of fear and concern. However, there is a red-haired man who remains impassive, listening to the conversation without displaying any signs of perturbation.
"Yes, her. That lady was our primary savior. She vanquished all the mabestias and, moreover, commenced healing the wounded," I inform them all, attempting to assuage their fears. "I understand there are concerns about her appearance, I comprehend that she is not easy to accept, but I assure you that Emilia is not what you believe."
The people exchange glances, allowing my words to settle in their hearts. After all, it was she who saved them before, who exerted herself to the point of fainting before them.
"We understand, but it is difficult to accept such a thing," comments an elderly man, his wrinkled visage reflecting decades of sorrow and despair.
"I implore you to attempt to set aside your prejudices," I respond with unwavering and resolute voice. "Emilia is not as old as she appears. Her entire life has been marked by unjust treatment simply because she was born different. Yet, all she desires is the well-being of those around her."
My words do not seem sufficient to quell their doubts and fears. At that moment, Ram intervenes.
"Furthermore, we must address the damages caused by the attack. We need information about the victims and the material losses," he adds, steering the conversation towards what we originally came to investigate.
The elderly man approaches slowly and begins recounting the events. Having not obtained sufficient information from the people present, I will have to wait for others to know more. Helplessness washes over me as I listen to the details.
Thirty-two lives lost, with four individuals missing. That is the total toll of the tragedy. In a village that is home to approximately more than a hundred residents, albeit without an official census, these losses are significant.
Among the deceased is the blacksmith, whose work was vital in providing materials for farmers and other artisans.
Also, the elderly midwife has passed away. While it may seem an insignificant role, her absence leaves a profound void. The remaining victims may not have held prominent roles, but the imbalance and loss are evident.
I will have to meet with Roswaal and take action upon arrival. It is crucial to address this situation promptly and wisely. Furthermore, I need to ascertain the exact number of people remaining in the village, so I will go from house to house with Ram to gather information in the coming hours.
Time moves slowly as we traverse the streets and enter each home, immersing ourselves in the pain and sorrow that envelops the community. Four hours turn into a painful pilgrimage through the shattered corners of this desolate village.
The death toll, fortunately, has not changed. However, of the seventy-two houses that make up this village, half have been consumed by flames, which, fueled by the dense surrounding vegetation, have spread mercilessly.
The village, divided by two roads, has witnessed the left side, from the majestic mansion onwards, fall victim to the disaster.
The relentless advance of the fire has crossed to the other side of the road, menacingly threatening to lay waste to everything in its path. Fortunately, we have arrived in time to combat the flames and salvage what remains.
Nevertheless, the count of affected houses rises to forty-five, thirty-six of them reduced entirely to ashes, and the rest grievously damaged.
It has not been a trivial event. Paradoxically, the fire had managed to drive away the mabestias, creating pockets of relative safety. During my survey of the village, I have counted one hundred seventy-four survivors in this bleak panorama. Approximately twelve percent of the population has perished in this catastrophe.
"The issue lies in the fact that some rather prominent individuals have met their demise," remarks Ram, displaying not a trace of empathy.
"One thing is to think it, and quite another to speak it aloud. If anyone overhears us, it will trigger a cascade of problems," I caution, while she sighs and turns her back.
We decide to gather all the survivors at dusk. Deliberation is imperative regarding the next steps, as many have lost their homes, and the remaining houses cannot accommodate them all. Furthermore, the loss of food and supplies is unimaginable, posing an additional challenge.
"It's a true calamity that has befallen us," I murmur, without a clear understanding of how this will ultimately aid us.
"So, we have thirty-six deceased, and we must account for those who have gone missing as well. That gives us a total of twelve children, fifteen men, and nine women. What should we do?" I inquire, seeking any clue, any guidance during this chaos.
"Our task is simply to gather information and await the arrival of Lord Roswaal," Ram responds, reminding me of our limited role in this tragedy.
The bodies of the victims still lie outside, abandoned as if they were inconsequential. Some have been reduced to ashes by the relentless fire, but we should at least ensure a dignified burial for those who have lost their lives.
"What do you think?" I place my hand on Ram's shoulder, seeking her support amid this overwhelming situation.
"Why should I help? Furthermore, why should I help you?" Ram removes my hand from her shoulder with a gentle yet firm gesture.
"Because we don't know when Roswaal will arrive, leaving the bodies out there will only lead to their decomposition, and that can trigger infections. It will affect both the people who serve Roswaal and yourself. So, pay attention and start chopping trees."
Ram exhales in a burst of fury. In the end, she relents and assists me, alongside other villagers, in crafting coffins for the victims. To my surprise, I discover that this practice is not common in this place. They simply inter people in common graves, without honor or ceremony.
"This is something reserved for the nobility," comments a man as he places the boards on the ground.
From my perspective, there is no reason not to do it. The population is sizable enough to have its cemetery. The bodies will undoubtedly impact the productivity of the land, so it is crucial to prevent direct contamination, especially if they are buried near water sources.
The chemicals released by a cadaver can increase soil acidity and even pollute the water. This could trigger diseases and other severe issues.
We make use of an empty plot, and all those who had already recovered joined us in digging the graves. Initially, we were few, but others quickly joined, feeling connected to those who will soon be their neighbors, friends, and family in their final rest.
By sunset, we had finished, thanks to the assistance of some mages with talents in wind and earth. The work became more manageable thanks to their magical gifts. I have always been intrigued by the various magical elements that people possess.
They may not be potent, but having knowledge of their capabilities will aid me in planning for the future.
Once the graves are dug, each of the family members begins the painful process of lowering the bodies into the coffins. The atmosphere is filled with weeping and sobbing, the only sounds that resonate in the air. It is an overwhelming sensation for me, as I never had the opportunity to bid farewell and bury my loved ones.
I hope they can forgive me for not having done so.
I cast my gaze towards the sky, searching for some answer, aware that magic and the supernatural exist in this world.
If there is even the remote possibility that my parents are watching over me from somewhere, if my father has moved on to a better realm and is watching over me in spirit... I close my eyes tightly and clench my fists.
This is not the time for self-pity.
With a deep, resonant tone, I declare with determination:
"On this somber day, we gather to pay tribute to the brave souls who were snatched away amidst tragedy and desolation. Their lives were cruelly cut short by a relentless onslaught of mabestias and the voracious embrace of fire."
Moved by the occasion, individuals interlace their hands, some embrace in an attempt to find solace, while others simply raise their gaze toward the heavens.
"Today, with heavy hearts and tears that blur our vision, we remember those who succumbed to this act of brutality. They were our friends, our neighbors, our loved ones, whose hearts beat in synchrony with the pulse of this village. They were noble souls, whose laughter and smiles illuminated our days, and whose love and kindness nourished our community.
I did not personally know them, but I can sense in my being that they were not wicked individuals. In this village, everyone seemed to care for and love one another.
Ram gazes at me in astonishment at my words. Without giving her time to react, I take her hand, joining us all in a gesture of solidarity. She observes me, aware that this is not a moment for self-importance.
"May their spirits rest in peace, while we, the survivors, unite in solidarity, embracing the memory of those we loved and pledging that we will never allow the fire of tragedy to consume our determination and love for this village."
Several people fall to their knees, their wails becoming frantic and despairing. Men cast the final handfuls of soil, distancing those families from their most cherished beings.
"We pay homage to the fallen. We mourn their loss. And we commit to keeping their flame alive in our hearts, promising to build a better future in their honor."
I release Ram's hand, symbolizing the end of the tribute.
The sunset looms over us, casting the surroundings in shades of orange. Despite the morning's rain, the afternoon proves warm. Even in the midst of what has occurred, we must all move forward, we must all take action simply because we are still alive.
After a while, a summons resounds in every corner of the village, urging everyone to gather in the main square. There, we would make decisions about our future while awaiting Roswaal's arrival.
In my view, his delay is disquieting.
Almost all the inhabitants congregated in the square, except for those still recovering. It is evident that the place was teeming with people. A small wooden platform rises in the center, while everyone eagerly awaits what is about to transpire, desperate to know the fate that awaits them.
Emotions surged in the atmosphere, bestowing upon it an oppressive weight. Desperation, sorrow, anger, and fear were palpable on the faces, all mingling in an emotional whirlwind. People yearned for their marquis to arrive and save them, but instead, chaos unfolded.
Ram urged me to ascend the platform and speak, arguing that it was I who personally rescued several individuals, and this would inspire their confidence in me. However, I knew I wasn't the one who saved them at all.
It was Emilia, with her powers, who prevented dozens of people from meeting their demise.
She is the true heroine of this tale; I merely fulfilled my duty.
I advanced toward the platform, gazing upon all those faces that did not avert their eyes from me. I felt the tension in the air, but I could not allow people to continue waiting indefinitely. Night was fast approaching, and many of them did not even have a place to rest.
I cleared my throat, ready to raise my voice, but at that very moment, I spotted in the distance a figure approaching at breakneck speed. Draped in her billowing white attire, Emilia made her way through the desperate crowd, striving to reach us.