The village of Freeacres lay in ruin. Crumbled masonry and still-burning fires, pock-marks of wanton destruction, covered the land the settlement had once proudly claimed as free. Its cherry orchards were ash and cinder, and the chromatic sheep were slaughtered in the field. Scattered across town were corpses of those holding sharp farming implements; those few able-bodied who tried to openly put up a fight, among others.


    The survivors of the attack were gathered together in the center of town, either reduced to tears or utterly petrified by shell shock. Wails and sobs flowed freely from the gathering. It was a siren’s song of misery that cursed the adventurers, holding them in place as they tried and failed to comprehend what had happened.


    Artyom was under no such enchantment.


    “Who came through here, when was this?” asked the man from Earth, stepping forward and addressing Ruba with a loud and commanding voice.


    “They killed so many and burned the whole town down! What are we going to do?” she responded, in between tears.


    “Who did?! And how many hours ago?” Artyom asked again, his voice now booming.


    The authority Artyom’s voice exuded grabbed the reins of Ruba’s tears and halted them long enough to get her to respond. “I-It was an army that came through and did this; three dozen soldiers with weapons and armor! It happened this morning, maybe three hours ago?”


    Army? A short interaction from two days ago came to mind, and Artyom blanched. It couldn’t have been…


    “Three hours?” asked Sae in a hoarse whisper, fists curled into painfully tight balls. He’d finally snapped back. “If we’d woken up earlier and ran, we could’ve gotten here in time.”


    Pireni and Skeya, while still silent, regained enough control of their faculties to react with snarling lips and narrowed eyes respectively.


    “How dare they do this to our friends here. And after all they’ve done for us… We’re going to get them!” shouted Sae.


    “Let’s get them!” shouted Pireni in response.


    All of the pain Skeya felt boiled to the top, and she replied with a resolute nod.


    “No. You’re not,” said Artyom, walking in front of the group.


    They glared at him together, pooling their determination to convince him of how serious they were about this. But rather than facing someone who was merely scared about doing the right thing, they were met with the same frigid glare Skeya experienced the night before.


    “Everyone, that’s an army. Well-trained soldiers who will kill you the moment you show up on their doorstep.”


    “But look at what they did to everyone!” shouted Sae indignantly. “How can we sit back and do nothing?!”


    Artyom’s gaze turned absolute-zero. “They need you to do more than needlessly die! There could be survivors in the rubble, start fishing them out. And what is everyone left going to eat with all the burned-down fields and looted stores? And a pile of ashes and gravel isn’t somewhere they can sleep.”


    The rage in the adventurers’ blood began to chill under their newest member’s stare, and each of them in turn hesitantly nodded.


    “You’re right, we need to help the townspeople first,” said Skeya, managing to find her voice. ”What do we have to do?”


    “Follow my lead,” said Artyom, before turning to address the gathered townsfolk. “Everyone! Things look bad, this is most certainly the worst day of your lives; the worst day you’ll ever experience.”


    The others looked at him with twisted expressions, not sure if he was stating the obvious or mocking them at their lowest.


    “But you’re still alive, and there will be a tomorrow for you. A better tomorrow. The same can’t be said for anyone who stays buried in the rubble. There’s still hope for some of your friends and family, don’t let it go to waste!”


    The crowd started mumbling to themselves, a few of them even looked around madly for the closest ruined building and started to hobble over to them.


    “Get back here! What do you think you’re going to do by yourselves like that? We’re going to split into four teams, each led by one of us adventurers, and we’re going to start searching for survivors and anything useful.”


    The townspeople were silent, drinking in Artyom’s words.


    He turned to his party and continued.


    “Alright, you three. We’re going to each pick out 5 or 6 of the villagers to help sift through the rubble. Try to get at least someone physically strong to help lift stones and logs, and someone lean and small to squeeze through tiny gaps. Sae, you take the North side of town, Pireni East, Skeya South, and I’ll take on the West. I want every building or ash pile checked for anyone who’s still alive, and stripped of anything valuable or edible. People won’t live long buried under their own houses.”


    The three adventurers simply nodded, and they all ran to the survivors. The four of them each picked out a small team from the gathered villagers and set out.


    <hr>


    Stone after stone, log after log, each team dug through house after house. The villagers’ wails quieted and tears dried as their grief was exhausted alongside their bodies. Artyom knew it’d be back when they had a chance to rest, which was why he wasn’t giving them one.


    To that effect, the man from Earth made full use of his magical expertise for the first time on this world. He improved the strength and endurance of all the townsfolk to the point they were able to continue beyond their natural limits, even when their bodies screamed at them to stop. On top of that, Detect Life made each team much more efficient while granting them just a little more hope. That little more distraction from what was lost.


    To everyone’s benefit or detriment, there was more than enough work to make people reach their physical limits and collapse, who were then brought alongside the rescued survivors to recover. Other times, the glow of Detect Life would wear off and Artyom didn’t get the chance to tell a team to move to a new building soon enough.


    “O-one of the attackers!” shouted a villager after digging their way into a house.


    Artyom dropped what he was doing, cast a series of combat spells on himself and the nearby villagers, and charged towards the voice.


    Unlike with the Bog Walker, the man from Earth arrived on the scene ready to kill. Magic was gathered in his hand in such a way that seemingly pulled space itself towards it.


    But as he surveyed the scene, the magic in his hand dissipated. And he clutched it in a fist tight enough to restrict blood flow as his face turned ghostly pale.


    There were two bodies inside the house. The first belonged to a man dressed in a very familiar mail of dark, spiky armor. His boots were tightly secured to his body, while his helmet was removed and had fallen to the floor. His pants and the top of his chest piece was partially undone, exposing much of his neck and collar, along with a deep gash running across his trachea.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Artyom came to the realization immediately, but didn’t have it in him to say the words to himself. Before the guilt could properly set in, his gaze went to the other corpse. It was of a woman.


    She was completely naked.


    Her clothes were right next to her and were covered in numerous tears, some inflicted as if being pulled apart, and others by a sharp blade. She held a knife in her hand covered in clotted-over blood, and a sword’s blade in her chest cavity. Otherwise she was untouched.


    “This is supposed to be a Fairytale world…” The low whimper was all Artyom could muster.


    Something snapped within the mind of the man from Earth, and a long familiar numbness filled his senses. This was a war. These were war crimes. It was part and parcel for any conflict in a Gilded world, heralded by the worst kinds of scum in all existence.


    Artyom took a deep breath, ignoring the ash-laden air, and exhaled while looking ahead beyond anything a thousand yards in front of him. He’d never actually left, had he?


    The other villagers, heedless of what was going on in Artyom’s mind, slowly approached and looked at the scene with varying expressions.


    “That’s Spina for you, would always be ready to put up a fight, and she’s put up more than any of us,” said the one who’d shouted for Artyom. “But why is she undressed?”


    The other townsfolk mumbled to themselves in confusion, no more perturbed than they already were from all the death.


    “It is a Fairytale world, they don’t even realize what was about to happen,” thought Artyom to himself.


    Everyone stood in place, the villagers still in the dark and trying to piece together the scene.


    “Cover her up with a blanket and bring her to the other bodies,” said Artyom. “Quit dawdling, my spell shows me two more still alive in your zone!”


    Everyone got back to work, the man from Earth included. Nothing else was on his mind now.


    <hr>


    Sweat dripped from every pore in Artyom’s body, mixing with the ashes and soot that settled on his skin, forming an uncomfortable paste. He didn’t have the luxury to be bothered by it and continued his work back with his group.


    “I found someone!” shouted a young girl who squeezed through a gap in the Western farmhouse. “Oh goddess, it’s- ack” she burst into a fit of coughs. One of the lifters in the group, a bald man with bulging muscles from a lifetime at the forge, grabbed the girl by the feet and pulled her out of the hole while another lady got her some water from a flask.


    The rescue team didn’t wait for her to continue and began to lift the rubble. Ash and dust flew as they quickly tossed the stones and logs to the side to get at whoever was trapped underneath.


    Artyom was the first to go through the passage once enough room was made.


    “Shit. Don’t come in, someone bring me a-”


    A young man ran in before he could process Artyom’s words and immediately went pale.


    On the floor was Chey, the farmer. A large gash ran across his chest that his guts had messily spilled out of, while the scythe he held was covered in dry blood, seemingly not his own.


    “By the godde- mmh,” the young man said as he began to vomit.


    Artyom continued staring at the corpse, and just blinked. “And here I thought Detect Life just wore off, not you.”


    The man from Earth spared no more words for the first man who’d shown him sincere kindness in this world. That was what usually ended up happening to those kinds of people in Gilded worlds, anyway.


    Artyom covered him up with a nearby bedsheet and made sure to roll it in such a way the viscera would not be apparent from underneath it, then turned around and slowly walked out. Several villagers looked at him with hopeful looks, but he slowly shook his head. “Someone better tell Chey’s farmhand that he’s out of a job.”


    Nobody laughed. Artyom was surprised at first, but then realized they merely hadn’t been around nearly enough death to develop gallows humor yet. It was rare for him to encounter anyone on his missions who didn’t get it.


    “I found a barrel filled with wheat,” said the same young man as before, who had gathered back his courage and re-entered the collapsed house. “And one’s filled with fermenting sparkle.”


    “Toss the sparkle, keep the wheat,” said another. “We can feed the whole village for a day with that, the drink is just dead weight at this point.”


    “Good,” Artyom thought. “They’re learning.”


    <hr>


    It took all of several hours, but the four teams swept through the whole village. They’d found a surprising number of survivors buried in the rubble, but twice as many corpses. Several barrels of food and family heirlooms were gathered on a scavenged cart tied to a pair of mules, ready to be carried to the nearest town and bartered with, all for a chance at survival.


    “Everyone here?” asked Artyom, taking check of all of the villagers.


    The answer was yes, at least out of whoever was still alive.


    All of the corpses were gathered and roughly cremated in individual pyres. Skeya presided over their last rites, which consisted of a quick prayer of hope for the fate of their souls, wishing them a more pleasant afterlife. She didn’t have it in her to light the fires, and ran off before the town blacksmith could do so himself.


    “If it makes you feel any better Skeya,” began Pireni. “You’ll probably level up after all that work.”


    Artyom couldn’t help but smile; a twisted and bitter grin. At least someone had picked it up. All three of them would need it if they wanted to stay in their profession.


    “Now that that’s taken care of, on to the next step,” said Artyom, getting everyone’s attention. “Getting yourselves somewhere safe. What are the nearest towns? Preferably ones with a standing army that can fend off another attack.”


    “There’s two I know of,” began Pireni. “One to the North and one to the West. North is somewhat close but it’s small, but there are even bigger towns a bit further than that. The one in the West is a lot bigger and closer, but it’s all alone.”


    “Hold on, which way did the army come from and go?” asked Artyom. “We don’t want to send the villagers anywhere near them, or towards a town that was already attacked.”


    “Can we even get away from them?” asked Ruba, speaking up from the group. She was free from the worst of the grief and fear while working, but now that she had a moment to catch her breath, the misery had returned with interest. “One of them shouted something about circling back to make sure none of us will call for help!”


    Artyom looked at her with frustration for not mentioning something so important earlier, and accidentally leaked a tinge of magic focused through his will.


    The entire crowd around him immediately stepped back, some of them even beginning to wobble on their feet.


    He quickly turned it off, and realizing that the old woman was now frozen in place, tried to calmly coax the rest of the information out of her instead.


    “I remember, he had black, spiky armor and the most terrible laugh!” she continued, the accidental psychic attack resurfacing a recent dark memory. “They came from the South and ran off to the East, and he said ‘The Dark Lord’s army will be back by sunrise to finish you off after we count our loot! Can’t let anyone get away to squeal.’”


    Everyone began to panic. It wasn’t outright pandemonium, but the hope for a better tomorrow Artyom had promised was practically snuffed out of the wailing crowd.


    “If it’s the Dark Lord, then maybe the hero will come save us?” said Sae loudly. “I heard his television lets him see the whole world, maybe he already knows about the attack and is coming to help!”


    The villagers began to brighten at the words, as if some faith within them had been reignited. They began to chatter amongst themselves.


    “But I heard he’s in California, how far away is that?”


    “He’s been seen around the kingdom, so it can’t be too far away.”


    “Someone told me they saw him up north a while ago in search of something called ‘pizza’.”


    Artyom simply froze once more before slowly reaching into his bag and pulling out his mission dossier. He flipped it open and confirmed his worst fears.


    There really was a kid from Earth here.


    And an enemy that operated like Gilded world scum.


    Both in a Fairytale world.


    “He’s not ready,” said Artyom to himself. “He’ll never be if he’s being trained up in a place like this.”


    The adventurers looked over at him, drawn out of their hopeful conversations.


    Artyom simply turned around and began to walk away from the setting sun. “It’s almost night time, and you all have a very long journey ahead,” he said, addressing the villagers without looking at them. “Rest now. Fill your bellies, get some sleep, and get on the road three hours before sunrise.”


    “What about you, where are you going?” asked Pireni.


    “Evening the odds for the hero. It’ll also cover your escape. If I’m not back by the departure time, leave without me.”


    “Hold on, you’re not-” began Sae.


    “Wait, Artyom!” shouted Skeya, but it was too late.


    A cloud of dust suddenly flew into the air as the man from Earth kicked off the ground in a subsonic sprint across the dirt path.


    The village was soon a distant speck as Artyom followed the trail of hoofprints towards his destination.


    This kid from Earth was way in over his head. Even a Gilded world’s army would try to train up their ‘heros’ to the same standard as their regular troops. What did standards mean for a world otherwise as peaceful as this?


    It meant that kid was going to die if he fought the warband that razed the village of Freeacres.


    That was, unless there was no more warband.