Overlord: Grand Herald

Enri Emmot 1

Lower Wind Month — Day 24​

Thick, dark smoke infested the air, the skies red with burning huts and wheat fields.

Her body screamed with exhaustion, her legs painful and strained. She could hear the beating of her own heart— like the clackets of the bodhrán in the festive— even through the sound of her running and those of the countless with her.

Some part of her voiced the futility of the act. It whispered to her battered heart about the relentlessness of the death creatures, their exemption from fatigue, and their hatred of the living.

"They would not stop," It told. "The forest is nought but a false haven."

Her arms fastened harder around her little sister whose shakes were like a land tremor, and she ran. She ran to the top of the slope, forcing herself to ignore the many elderly and young who had collapsed under the tremendous effort.

She hated this. She loathed the state those unfeeling creatures had reduced the people of Carne. The callous death and carnage.

Mayhaps they should have fled sooner, when the news came of an undead horde hailing from the east. But the village was their home, thus abandonment had not truly been an option. And despite the burning regret that currently ate at her, Enri had supported the defence of the village.

Its fall would have left many as little more than paupers…and it was not as if they had the resources to even contemplate mass migration.

Yet now, seeing what had become of their village and people, she wished they would have ran. Pride be damned.

Anything was better than this.

Something caught at her leg and brought her to the trampled earth. Exhausted and empty of adrenaline, there was little stopping her from hitting the ground in complete resignation. She barely registered the impact, only the fact that her sister seemed to not have suffered from the fall.

That was good.

"Enri!" She heard her voice, loud and choked with anguish. Nemu shook her from the side, begging for her rise once more. "Get up, Enri. They're going to kill you too if you don't."

Such a reprieve from the smoke scent this squished grass was. And the feel of it was like a soft bed after a hard day in the fields. She wanted to accept its comfort and fall into a dreamless sleep.

But…

Nemu pulled at her dress, tearing it with the action.

Where was her sister getting all this energy? Did she even need to carry her? It was not bitterness that she felt, she was too tired for that, but annoyance was starting to build in her breast.

Defiant, Enri pushed herself to her back. It felt like carrying a bucket full of water after an eighth turn.

What greeted her was a sight that would have been a wonder on most days. The moon hung full in the cloudless sky, big and luminous. It had made the dark free of its usual fright, though there was little good that helped with the moving corpses set to kill them.

Her hazel eyes flickered to Nemu, the child still trying to pull her up. Her eyes were wet with tears, sadness a scarring presence on her face so tender. Few scrapes were on her cheeks too, but the injuries were nothing significant on this day of tormented death.

"Run, Nemu. You can still escape." Was her reply, and even that felt like an effort to say.

Her sister looked betrayed, the expression visible through her sadness and bruised features. "But I…I can't—"

"Damnit, Nemu! You have to run. Do it for Ma and Pa." The mere mention twisted her heart, causing wet warmth to fill her eyes. "Please, Nemu. You can't stay here. I'll try to catch up to you."

The lie seemed to eat at her little sister's spirit, bringing what seemed like devastation to her face. She had ever been a smart girl this sister of hers, and while it had proven to be a boon for the longest time, it seemed this was one of those rare moments it was not.

'Gods willing this doesn't leave scars on your tender heart, Nemu.'

There was bliss in ignorance after all.

Well, it did not matter, so long as she had the energy she could get away from all the danger and escape into the forest's edge. Yes, her sister could still survive this. What came after that could be handled after.

Nemu did manage to get up and run, joining the many other villagers who made for the forest.

Enri laid there, her wool dress torn and her blonde hair sprayed into a mess of tangles with some strands stuck wet to her forehead, "Ma, Pa. I did the best I could." She spoke soft, a brittle smile on her face as she remembered the day's horrid events.

It had not started bright and worry-free. The undead approach had been known for nearly three days, and the discomfort had long festered by then.

However, Enri would admit that she had not been as tense or frightful as the adults were, free from the knowledge and experience of the dangers save for the goblin raiders handled by the hunters each cycle.

Her eyes drew away from the fleeing villagers and into the night's magnificence. It truly was a dream sight, for it to be wasted like this felt like a true shame.

The sound of trampling feet got lesser as time went on, the rot-stench increasing. Approaching!

Enri closed her eyes, resigned but hoping.

In the early dawn, she had watched as her father left for the village's outskirts, his expression resolute and a promise of return on his lips. Her mother had looked broken by it, but Enri thought he was incredible— her father was strong and respected, and he even took his castle-forged sword with him.

Ever was he a warrior despite his chief mantle and farm work. None in Carne were as strong as him, and even though some were stated to be stronger she had never seen them brandish. It was only right that he would fell the accursed undead. Especially with half the village's men fighting by his side…

The howls got louder. The screams and cries of those who fell further behind as they were torn to death by the profane strength of the rotted things.

…Enri remembered how they had killed the dark beast four winters back. It had been large and vicious, and she had witnessed the whole affair through the narrow gaps in the casements. The creature had raged and clawed as numerous ropes clung to it and reduced its thrashings to wiggles and twitches.

The hunters had jumped upon it with wood-carved spears and steel blades, and her father had taken its head with a steady swing.

It had been a tale in her memory, an epic like the heroes of old in their quest for order and justice. The baghast was the demon kings, large and looming and starved for vicious butchery, her father the heroic leader who saw all evil banished.

Brighter was she then, her eyes untainted by the sufferance of the greater evils.

A wonder of innocence shattered by the unfeeling spawns. No longer was she naive now, forced to flee from her home by the hordes of rotted corpses given life by foul majiks.

Her father died to them, and her mother followed soon after. It would soon be her turn, and she hoped the continuation would end there.

A nearer scream pulled her out of her thoughts, her eyes widening.

They were here.

Under the pale light, she saw a swarm of corpse-walkers emerge, their motions slothful and eerie yet all the while persistent. They held swords in their rotted limbs, old and chipped and red with fresh slaughter. Some stuck within their blades chunks of flesh, while others trailed with them innards that failed true sever.

Enri felt bile rise up her throat, her face losing its flush.

These monsters! These hollow things bereft of mercy or conscience. Her breast bloomed with heat, rage consuming her. Though her limbs screamed with pain and fatigue, she forced them to motion, emboldened by vicious anger.

There she stood, Enri Emmot of Carne, her fist balled and her legs shaky. She faced against the horde of rotfiend and bonekins who moved slow like patient predators…so easy and lax in approach.

They seemed to lock on to her, as if offended by her defiance in the face of their butchery.

"Come at me, you ungodly abominations!" She raged, spittle flying out her mouth splotched with grass sap. "I won't let you slaughter us unchallenged!"

All bluster and no bite— she was little more than a village girl after all— but at least her courage was true and unyielding.

The nearest to her raised its sword, ready to cleave. All she could do was watch it with pure contempt, her movements locked by exhaustion. It swung, and in those few moments before her death, she saw the flow of time slacken…

'Was this what they meant about one's life flashing before their eyes?'

Because the young villager saw nought but the rotted flesh that hung in tatters from the abominable's skeletal frame and its eyes devoid of life as it made for her life.

…and then a hand, clad in a black polished leather glove and unaffected by the lax temporal flow, shot forward to halt the strike in its cleave attempt.

"Well spoke, young miss." The voice came from her right, its resonance deep and fluent like the pedlars from the cities. But there was also something odd about it, a lull most prominent in the speech of the long-ears who would sometimes stray from Tob and pass through their villages.

Enri wanted to turn and look at this saviour of hers, but her neck refused her the necessary movement and freedom.

He took a step forward, the act of the exertion bringing back the flow into normal motion, "Though I hope you will let us handle these abominable things from here on out…"

His gait continued until he stood three steps away from her, his back to her front.

Awe would have been her expression had the tire not taken her exuberance. And although it did not show on her face, her heart thrummed with hope and a hint of trepidation.

Even faced away from her, the villager could see…determined the grace and glory radiated by the man before her. He stood there, clad in a dark tunic sown from a cloth that seemed more silk than cotton and with a stitch no seamstress of Carne could match.

Over it was a brown leather armour polished to a shine that scattered the pale light upon the moon's brilliant kiss.

A large ornate belt edged with white furs was on his torso, a sheath fastened on it right of his hip. And his breeches were a shade of blue and dark separated by a thin line of white trailing from his thighs to the inner parts of his calves. There, a pair of black leather boots unlike anything she had ever seen were worn, a shimmer of the light on them like a night stream.

In his left-hand was a sword thin and long, with unblemished steel throughout its body save for the etched carvings near the hilt of it. Bracers of a similar forge were on his wrists, and a lone pauldron just as identical was on his shoulder.

He looked like a noble hero fresh out the folktales, all the way to his short night hair and his fair countenance. Though Enri did notice that his ears were knifed but short, like an ill-birthed long-ear.

Star struck, she saw him raise his sword hand, the motion causing the night breeze to turn into a raging gust.

And then, with the sword's descent, an utterance of two words cut through the howls of both undead and wind alike as if the world's din had turned craven.

"…Sickle Fury!"

The wind screeched…

The head of the rotfiend before her eyes was cross-cleaved, the upper half of its decayed head falling away and emptying its blood-soaked brain onto the ground so akin to the splatter of day-old gruel.

The unseen attack continue past it and into the others behind, the scene just as gruesome.

Within a span of a handful of seconds, all the swarm in her sight was reduced to little more than regular corpses, the immediate danger banished by a single incomprehensible attack.

Yet, rather than relief and rejoicing, all the villager felt was an overwhelming sense of horrid disgust to the point where her day's meals came gushing out of her mouth.

With her rush fading, the horrendous smell and gruesome carnage left in the wake of the foul creatures' march hit her with full force. Fatigued, nothing prevented her from collapsing into a blind rest.

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Information [Magics]​

Sickle Fury: An advanced wind-aligned technique that unleashes multiple copies of the user's arc-attack in different directions. This is a mass control attack, and has a very steep energy requirement.

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The Saint: And thus we commence with an Arc of interest. Unfortunately, Enri's parents dying is canon. And because the character is a person of interest, I've arranged for things to include her in matters of importance(?). Honestly, the mantle of Chief of Carne before the commencement of the story wasn't particularly important. The OG chief barely has a name.

So, Enri is the chief's daughter here, and Carne is a major village instead of a singular rogue one in the middle of nowhere. I'm sure y'all could guess who's attacking, yeah that's also a person of interest, and one i dared not twist much. Still, I expanded on his history, Chapter 13 is dedicated to him.

Anyway, provide feedback or criticisms. I also have 3 (and soon to be 5) extra chapters on my Pa-treon under the same name. Stop by if you wanna show some love 

Ciao!

P.S: I hate the lack of editorial freedom on Webnovel.