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The barbarians advanced in high spirits, their light steps drumming a carefree rhythm across the earth. Each footfall pressed the ground as if the land itself were a springy floor in a training yard. They talked idly, laughed at nothing, and watched the world with that open curiosity that made even a shoreline feel like a festival street.
A vast forward base rose ahead of them, ugly and functional, a knot of walls and towers hammered together by enemy hands.
“What is that?” one of them asked, tilting his head.
None of them knew it, but the coast they had reached lay just behind the front line. By following the road as their feet pointed, they had wandered straight into a demon outpost. This base guarded a route to another continent, which meant the demons attacked and defended this place with a kind of frantic devotion. Named demons stood at its core, and even those who had risen beyond names and sat with ranks and titles cruised its walls like sharks.
“Who goes there?” A sentry burst from the gate and skidded to a halt. His face stiffened when he saw them. “Ah… ah?”
“These ones are blocking our path,” the scowling barbarian said.
“In this case, is it still self-defense?” the thoughtful barbarian asked, as if he were working out a principle from first terms.
The scowling one nodded without hesitation. “Of course!”
“Oh,” the woman said, delighted.
They smiled as if they had been given a sweet. Then they lifted their axes. Killing intent fell like a hard rain. It pounded across the gate and swallowed the sentry whole.
“Y-you—”
The words never made it out of the demon’s mouth. An axe spun...
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