At the northern edge of the Hyfelt Kingdom lay the barony-level fiefdom of Vindia. At the furthest corner of that land rested an unassuming village known as Farville. Semi-isolated and now desolated, it had once been home to farmers and animal herders.
Not anymore.
They were all dead, slain by the hands of a beastmen tribe.
And now, by either the will of the Divine or an ironic twist of fate, this forgotten village was about to become the site of the first battle of many yet to come.
----
Beneath the shade of pine trees and falling winter snow, Ulrick Erikson, chieftain of the Hundred Leopards Tribe, stood at the edge of the forest, his gaze fixed upon the village not far ahead.
He was a burly beastman, as large as a bear, as tall as a moose, and standing as proudly as a great stag. His body was covered in white fur marked with black spots, and he wore armor made of moose hide, adorned with countless amulets and talismans blessed by his tribe's shaman.
Around him stood a hundred hardened beastmen warriors, ready to intimidate and annihilate anything in their path.
Born under the guidance of the Beast Constellation, Ulrick had known from the beginning that he was destined for greatness. Bigger, stronger, and smarter than all his peers, he rose quickly.
Within ten years, he became his tribe's champion. Within another ten, he raided, plundered, and murdered his way into supremacy, conquering four snow leopard tribes and uniting them into one.
The Tribe of a Hundred Leopards.
A thousand strong in number, with a hundred of handpicked elite warriors, Ulrick claimed dominance over the region. Albino goblin tribes, frost kobold clans, snow fox tribes, all bent the knee and paid tribute to his strength.
He had even slain a frost wyvern, forging its bones into the greatsword he now wielded.
And now, it was time to raise the stakes.
This winter, he would force the civilized humans to bow and join his list of tributaries. If they were smart, they would submit. Their lands were rich hunting grounds, ripe for exploitation every winter.
This year, Ulrick felt it in his bones. The humans would either surrender or die. And being civilized folk, they would surely choose life.
The internal clock in his mind began to tick.
Tick.Tock.
Until it rang.
"Forward!" he roared.
A hundred battle-hardened snow leopard beastmen surged forward toward the village. From afar, faint torchlight and campfires glimmered through the snowfall, clear signs of habitation.
He smiled as he marched, savoring the thought of tribute. Snow fell heavier with every step, forming a white veil around them. Perfect conditions. This environment favored him and his warriors.
But as they reached the outskirts of the village, something felt wrong.
There were no diplomats. No messengers. No signs of surrender.
Only silence.
And then, through the snowfall, a silhouette appeared.
A long wall.
One that had not existed a month ago.
That could only mean one thing.
These fools had chosen resistance.
"Charge!" Ulrick roared in fury.
They surged forward.
*Shick!*
Pain exploded through his foot. He looked down to see a metal spike, a caltrop, buried deep in his flesh. At the same time, sharpened wooden stakes flew from behind the wall, one grazing his face.
Around him, his warriors suffered the same fate. Caltrops pierced feet. Stakes punctured flesh. Nothing immediately fatal, but chaos erupted. The brittle wooden stakes shattered on impact, making it impossible to throw back.
"Damn you, humans!!!" Ulrick roared in anger.
Ignoring the pain, he pressed on.
More obstacles followed.
Stones rained down from above. Palisades blocked paths ahead. Pitfall traps swallowed warriors whole. The battlefield dissolved into chaos beneath the heavy snowfall, visibility reduced to nothing but confusion.
Finally, he reached the wall.
Turns out, It was not a wall at all.
It was a long line of wagons forming a barricade from one corner of the village to the other, far too long to be flanked. Thick, multilayered pine planks reinforced the outward-facing side, pierced with triangular embrasures. Spears stabbed through them in organized, rhythmic patterns, while farming flails swung relentlessly from above, crushing the skulls of those who tried to force their way in. Every possible gap in the line was further reinforced with door-sized wooden pavise shields, too thick and massive to be broken through directly.
"Jump over it!" Ulrick commanded with a roar-like voice.
Immediately, Several of his warriors which are jumping specialist leapt, agile hunters soaring above the barricade.
They were impaled mid-air like a fish getting harpoons.
A forest of iron tipped pikes and heavy halberds rose instantly, skewering them before they could even land on their feet.
Ulrick reevaluated the situation, as the situation is now at the crossroad of victory and defeat.
Charging at the wall was death. Jumping above it was also death. Flanking it will take too much time to be effectively accomplish.
Then he saw it.
The gap between the wagon wheels and the ground below.
An obvious weak point, overlook by the defender.
"Go prone!" he shouted. "Crawl under the wagons!" he command his warriors.
He dropped to the ground himself, crawling forward toward the apparent weakness.
But there was no gap nor weak point to be exploit at all.
It's a trap.
Behind the wagons waited a long trench full of war scythe bearers, which blades ready to sever legs of those who stand outside the wagon wall, and spear wielders poised to strike at those who crawl belows the them.
One of them met his eyes.
An unassuming young man.
His gaze burned with vengeance. A wool scarf hung from his neck.
"For my mother!" the man screamed, driving his spear into Ulrick's skull.
"And this for my sister!" he roared, wrenching it free and striking again.
Ulrick was helpless, trapped beneath the wagon, unable to retreat, unable to dodge nor parry the spear tip.
"And this for Spark!" the man cried, plunging the spear through Ulrick's eye socket.
Darkness swallowed everything, as the world of Ol'Aetes swallows another victim.
The chieftain of the Hundred Leopards fell amidst the chaos of the battlefield without glory nor glamour.