Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead-Chapter 353 Training By Fire

He was wrong, so wrong, the tall one, who all knights and soldiers referred to, gave orders to his men the instant it was learned that only a single tribe resided on this small island, all spoke in a strange language to one another, simply hearing their words was enough to bring pain.

They were not simply there to kill them, first, they began by gathering everyone in one spot, surrounding from all sides, spears preventing any hope of running away, anyone that dared to resist, or even raise their voices was severely beaten for everyone to see, their twitching, bruised bodies thrown atop all.

A few cut down trees and tore down habitations, fashioned simple pillars, planting them into the ground, those who had previously opposed them, alongside the strongest men of the tribe, were taken from the mass, tightly tied in place, where they were set to experience their final anguish.

First, their leader ordered for some of the archers to step forward, raising his right hand straight up, palm and fingers aligned, they each knocked an arrow, the arrowtips were blunt, speaking words that the locals could understand.

"Liver" and so the archers all drew fire upon the liver, their aim was perfect, and so was their coordination, to prevent wasting any of their projectiles, they all let go of their bowstrings at slightly different timings, barely noticeable.

Each of them striking the skin and battering the organ below, none piercing.

The leader raised his hand once more, the archers stepping back, leaving place for others.

"Pancreas" the blunt arrows fell once more.

"Left kidney" and again.

"Right kidney" and again.

And again, and again, all organs were targeted, but the archers did not pull back with all of their strength, the arrows were not simply blunt, built to inflict as little damage as possible, well, little was all in perspective.

The man was untied, sprawling to the ground, one soldier stepped forward, lifting this man up by the hair, strands caught in between the plates of his gauntlets, pulled down by the weight of his own strengthless body, barely even conscious, his neck was extended to the utmost possible, allowing for one of the two knight to walk up, and cleanly behead him.

The soldier holding the disembodied head, swung it at the rest of the captive, splashing them with warm blood, throwing it in the crowd, all took their positions again, a moment of pause, and it was time to switch up.

The strong men of this lonely island tribe were taken up first, used as living training dummies for the soldiers to train in the handling of their weapons, all were made to bear witness to the atrocities, the leader of the savages from the beyond the sea gave orders after orders, seemingly telling his men to make sure not to strike fatal blows until they were clearly told to do so.

Swords of all kinds, axes, spears, shields, obscure weaponry, this stranger's soldiers were many in numbers, and despite wearing the same armour, different castes were trained in very different types of arms.

And clearly, he was using the strong men of the island to further hone his own men's skills, and they did not hesitate to strike defenceless people, mere civilians, no one on this island was a proper warrior, there were so few of them, there was only one tribe, they never communicated with any other intelligent life, as a soldier battered one of theirs with just fists and what was worn upon them, they wanted to look away, to scream, but the blades of spears were close, close enough to caress the sides of their necks.

Points just up against the jugular, if they caused a fuss, or refused to be witnesses to the horrors, they were stricken.

They could only watch, no details lost upon them, those soldiers bore no resemblance to anything they knew, they dressed in black, armour and clothes, incredibly well-equipped, their numbers suggested that they were foot soldiers of some sort, or perhaps a militia, that would explain why they all wore chest plates, and expensive pieces of equipment that would usually be forgotten on such lowly servants, such as all gear that went upon the legs.

Wearing some sort of small cloak upon the shoulders, only covering a small portion of the upper back, a discoloured grey upon which a black sun was depicted.

Upon the front of their chest plates, an insignia carved upon it with pale cold, depicting a magnificent tree, their heads, covered by a veil of what appeared to be mail, falling upon their shoulders and a bit below.

The armour of the knight's was not quite as dark, the same insignia on the chest, the design of their visors imitating that of their leaders, although the helm they wore took more from a frog-mouth design.

An order was given, and the man being beaten was untied, all had been beheaded until then, but the leader gave a new order, he had always said the same thing before, not this time, no knight stepped in to finish the job, this soldier was given permission to slay this man himself, grabbing his head from both side, with little to no resistance, the neck snapped on the first attempt.

Not stopping there, twisting the neck around, and around, tying it into a knot, until finally, it gave in, ripping it off the shoulders, the head was thrown with the rest.

There were no one with any sort of strength in their bodies left to train upon, so it was now time for the rest, starting with the elders, one by one, they hung from trees, lined up, a soldiers pulling down on their legs to tighten the noose and make sure they could not, somehow, escape. Enjoy new tales from novelbuddy

The only old man left was the chief, self-proclaimed seer, his visions had not told him of the arrival of slaughterers.

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Then, came the time for the young, the soldiers forced the women to dig a large pit, and then to bury their children, younger siblings and alike, even grabbing upon their hands on the shovels to strike those that attempted to climb out, there was no struggling against them.

Being the last one left, the women were directed to a home that had not been destroyed, forced inside, barricaded from the outside, bringing something out of satchels, the soldiers laid what looked like charcoal all around, throwing it on top of the roof.

Following this, they reached for something else, roundish objects with small ropes attached, within, something was moving, in unison, under the directive of their leader, they threw it at the habitation.

All erupting with a black flame, sparks of crimson, foetid green, pale silver and red flying all around as the makeshift bombs exploded, waves of ghostly and spectral air, a blinding light flashing for a brief instant, these bombs were still unstable, but worked nonetheless.

The black flame consumed the home and those within, their cries only serving as further fuel for it, their flesh, their minds, their souls, all that they were was burned away.

Although needing some refinements still, this was what he had aspired to create.

This was it, the flame that would be bestowed upon his legion.

Loimosfire, as his soldiers called it.