Chapter 23: A Tale of a Barbarus Native

*Warning: The following sections contain intense content. Those sensitive to such material should skip to Chapter 29. The author struggled with how to modify these sections, so if you're sensitive, please skip ahead.*

*You've been warned thrice! I've done my best.*

*Barbarus.*

Herella was an ordinary woman of Barbarus.

Her early life was a reflection of countless Barbarus girls.

Born in an unnamed village near the domain of Nakre, Herella's earliest memories were of the dim, toxic mists and the relentless fear they brought.

She would wait in her mud-brick room, hoping for the return of her parents.

Her mother, upon returning, would touch her cheek with cracked hands, give her a weary smile, and then turn to prepare their meager meals.

As she grew older, she would, hand in hand with her younger sister, tread the muddy paths of their village, standing at its edge, gazing into the distance, waiting for their parents to return from the fields.

Beyond lay mountains shrouded in toxic mists. Their peaks obscured in the haze. Her parents had once mentioned that the true masters of this world resided there.

Young Herella couldn't understand how these lords could withstand the deadly mists.

When she was old enough to wield a hoe, her parents took her to till their land. She would break the bitter soil, while her sister continued their vigil, watching and waiting.

The village alarm would sound, signaling the approach of night. Filled with a mix of fear and anticipation, she would rush home with her parents.

Days blurred into one another, each marked by toil and the ever-present toxic air.

Once, driven by bravery and curiosity, she ventured to the edge of the fields where the mists grew thick, like tangible walls imprisoning humanity.

Reaching out, Herella cautiously touched the living mist. It burned her fingertips, leaving them blistered and corroded.

Could there truly be life atop those mountains, where the mists were even denser?

She found out that very night.

As the murky dusk settled and the yellow haze began to climb the village walls, the slavers' grotesque constructs tore through what she had believed were impenetrable barriers. These abominations, seemingly stitched together from corpses and animated by dark sorcery, stood at their doorstep, their stitched eyes fixed intently on her family.

One construct, towering over two and a half meters, seemed crudely sewn from body parts. Its black, coarse stitches were exposed, oozing pus where they penetrated the flesh.

It blocked their door, its murky eyes filled with malice, staring at Herella.

Her parents were paralyzed with terror, clutching both her and her sister, trembling.

But it was futile.

She was plucked from their embrace, evaluated, and then discarded—too frail to meet the lords' criteria for their experiments.

Her father was similarly dismissed. Her sister, too.

But her mother was taken.

Despair evident in her eyes, her mother looked to them, a plea for rescue or perhaps a silent wish for them to endure.

But terror had already consumed Herella.

There was no hope.

Facing imminent death, her mother struggled violently against the construct's grip, flailing and striking its massive hand.

Amused, the construct twisted its grotesque face into a cruel smile. With its other hand, it effortlessly snapped her mother's limbs.

Blood sprayed, bones protruded, and the droplets turned gray in the mist.

Her mother screamed.

Convulsed.

Herella blacked out.

When she awoke, only three of them remained.

Life had to go on.

From then on, Herella would take up the farming tools each morning, joining her father in the fields, and each evening, they would rush home at the sound of the alarm.

The village walls, once thought protective, proved futile. The village was as perilous as the wilds, but still, at the sound of the alarm, she would run with the others.

It had become routine.

Returning home, she would touch her sister's face with her cracked hands, smile, and then prepare their meal.

Her mother hadn't taught her to cook. Her father had become a silent shadow in their lives.

The first time she cooked, the porridge boiled over, scalding her hand.

It didn't matter.

She would die.

Like her mother.

It was the way of things.

It truly didn't matter.

When the evening screams began again, Herella clutched her sister, hiding in a cupboard.

Her father had lost his mind.

Perhaps haunted by the memory of their mother's death, he had snapped. This man, in his twenties with graying hair, flung open the door and ran out.

It was a death wish.

Herella wanted to save him, but she couldn't.

Only death awaited.

The village's festering hounds, still feasting on her father's remains, noticed her. Saliva mixed with her father's blood dripped from their maws.

Their fangs targeted her.

Herella wanted to scream, to shout defiance, to tell them she wasn't afraid.

But fear gripped her, crushing her bones, tearing her flesh.

She couldn't move, paralyzed, trembling.

No, I am brave. I am trading my life for my sister's.

I am brave.

Herella was consumed by despair. But as if piercing through all her bravery and pride, those drooling hounds turned their heads and began to run towards...

Towards her home.

No!!!

Her sister!!! Lyesha!! No!!

Herella wanted to run. She needed to save her sister. She had to save her sister!!!

But she couldn't save anyone.

She had lost everything she could rely on. She had no reason to live. Her life was a meaningless void. She had never achieved anything. She was just alive, and then she would die, meaningless and worthless.

It's okay, Herella, everyone dies.

It's okay.

Tears and snot covered her face. Herella felt she was breaking apart, going mad. She knelt down in despair, clutching her face with both hands, her vision obscured by her hands and tears.

Nothing mattered anymore.

She didn't care.

Come eat me. Come tear me apart.

She was useless, without even the courage to protect her sister.

She was tired.

She gave up.

Yet, she didn't hear her sister's screams.

The sound of blades cutting through flesh echoed, the hounds whimpered and howled, and a thud was heard—

Herella couldn't comprehend any of it. She continued to wail in despair.

"Stop crying."

A hand reached out, gently removing hers, carefully wiping away the tears and snot from her face.

"Your sister is alive. Comfort her."

"Don't cry. We've killed those hounds."

Her intense sobbing made it hard for Herella to breathe.

She looked up.

The young man held her sobbing sister in one arm. His gas mask hid his face, but he was smiling.

He was silhouetted against the light, an outline of hope.

The man crouched down, holding a scythe in his other hand.

"You were brave just now, sacrificing yourself to draw the hounds' attention, weren't you?"

"Brave girl, join us. Let's protect our families together."

"By the way, my name is Hades. I'm a Death Guard."

This was the story of Herella before she joined the Death Guard.

This was also the story of how Herella found hope again.

A note from the author: Introducing a Barbarus girl here. I've added a QQ group number in the description. Received a round of recommendation messages!!! Oh, oh, oh! So good! So happy!