It’s a bright and sunny day, the sun casting its rays on a picturesque land vibrant with color and bloom. Gently rolling hills, whose spring grass waved with the wind. Freshly plowed fields with only the tiniest of bud peeking out from the soil. Only the barest hint of chills being a reminder of the latest winter past.

  The contrast between the appearance of the world and the lives of those who reside within couldn’t be more… and that’s on a good day, which were few and far in between.

  And bad days are coming, if the small group of soldiers making their way to the nearby village have a say in the matter. Though calling them soldiers might be a stretch: while most held pikes or some sort quite a few were holding farming implements and other such nonsense, more akin to slightly better fed peasants than warriors.

  It’s a sight that Alex has grown to loathe over the years, for as if the gods themselves are making a mockery of the existence of those who live in this world. A world as beautiful as it is miserable…

  … but it is all of their own doing isn’t it? The problems of man, created by his fellow men. To rail against the heavens for their own depravity is an abdication of responsibility.

  And he will not do that. He will take accountability for the inhumanity of his fellow man. Even if it means to commit more of that inhumanity.

  After all, for what else is this little group of pikemen, this hastily raised rabble, but to burn down defenseless buildings and destroy properties? It is war, specifically small war, fighting dirty and dishonorably.

  Setting things ablaze. They’re really good at it. It’s said that the child who grew up cast out by the community will burn down the town to feel its warmth… and there were many such castouts. Traditional fodder for the sports of kings, or examples to keep the rest of society in line.

  And now they’re here to burn it all down.

  As they continued treading through the fields they were spotted by the odd peasant here and there, yet none of them sounded the alarm, or reacted much at all. Just occasionally stare at them with listless eyes before going back to their work, work whose fruits of it will go up in smoke soon. Whether their indifference being their faith in the might of their lords or despair at their incoming suffering it matters not. For it’s all death and damnation anyways.

  Soon they came upon their target, a smattering of hovels huddled around akin to a pack of hobos, only missing the collection of gnats and other flying buzzards due to being too early in the season. In a world of vibrant colors they somehow stood out in particular in how drab and colorless they are: awash in hues of browns and grays, clumps of dirt and twigs too useless for any life to cling on them. Husks ready to be burnt.

  Quickly the touches were brought out along with other riffraffs, and soon they were lit and thrown at the hovels. The fires, though, took their time to spread, as if itself too mired in the misery around it to lighten up. It was enough time for those within them to flee: the old, the infirm, the younglings too little to walk yet carried by their mothers. Occasionally cries of anguish and pain pierced through even the crackling of the growing flames, but not that many: there’s not much left for an already broken people.

  They gave no chase, as agreed upon in the days before. It was not out of charity or compassion, but rather out of cruelty: for in this world the living long envy the dead, and so they, now deprived of what little worldly possessions they had, will suffer greatly. Even though it will be by their own lord who will mete out savage punishments to those peasants does not mean they [these soldiers… raiders?] themselves are absolved of their guilt. After all, they knew the consequences of their actions… if anything Alex was betting on such consequences.

  And still they continued their grim task, fueled by their hatred and discontent, once directionless, now directed at the targets at hand. It took a while, but finally the hovels were alight, the flames greedily licking the alright fragile structures.

  And the warmth, it’s comforting, if in its own sickening way. The warmth fueled by the suffering of others, of those who themselves were more victims than perpetrators of the miseries of this world.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  But lighting things ablaze was not the end, in fact it was merely the opening move. With the inhabitants flushed out, the looting began. Not that there’s much to be looted: after all, the peasantry wasn’t even worth the dirt they’re farming. But nevertheless they continued, picking up and pocketing worthless knick knacks only valuable in comparison to the lives of peasants. For the troops it’s a familiar action, giving them the comfort that they’re doing something normal, and not treachery of the highest order.

  As the fires continued to burn and the pickings were finished they waited at a short distance, the crackling of flames periodically punctured by the screaming of the peasants as they were cut down by the local lord and his retinue, who seemed to have finally noticed the interlopers making a mess of his domains.

  Such is the way of the world.

  As the sounds of the final bleating of the hapless became louder Alex quickly herded the soldiers into a formation, all the while summoning a card that gives them additional vision with the xp that they have gathered from their pillaging. Soon they saw them: armored knights on their massive steeds, finally galloping towards them after getting bored of slaughtering their own.

  The little band of pikemen braced themselves-

  -and they were promptly obliterated, the knights plowing through them like a hot knife through butter. Soon they’re all dead, the mangled bodies strewn around like discarded ragdolls. Alex himself was knocked off of his feet, and as he gathered his wits about again he noticed the point of a lance at his neck. He didn’t even bother to look up at who’s holding the lance.

  “Any last words, you filthy traitor?” The lord of the local manor asked. “Ready to plead for your worthless life?” Not that he would even contemplate doing so, although surely the king would want the traitor alive for a public execution, just like with all the previous traitors…

  Alex finally tilted his head up a bit. “No.” He replied. “Look behind you.” He managed to crack a smile without warmth.

  “As if I’d be fooled by-” The lord began before one of the knights tapped his shoulder and motioned him to look. As he turned his face quickly contorted into a visage of shock as he saw the billowing smoke from the location of his manor house.

  “It happens.” Alex muttered as he summoned another card, finally having the xp from the havoc that the other group of troops were doing as they ransacked and lit ablaze the manor house and its surroundings. He immediately felt some of his strength returning as the card activated its effects.

  Still not enough to beat the knights in front of him… but enough to buy even more time. And time, is what he needs.

  Even as he got his arse kicked for the second time in as many hours.

  …...

  By the time the other group of soldiers got back to the smoldering ruins of the former village they managed to find Alex alive- if barely. Though that’s hardly surprising: He got his ass kicked plenty of times when fighting the demon hordes back then as well. What matters is that he always gets back up, in the same old fashion.

  As he got back up for the second time that day Alex noticed a new figure among that group of pikemen: a tall-ish person shrouded in a dark red hood, wearing a yellow plague mask.

  “And you are the man of the hour?” The newcomer asked dismissively in an eerie voice as he made some weird hand gestures. Yet for all that Alex could feel his health returning rapidly.

  “What did you just do- wait, who are you again?” Alex finally asked as he got his bearings back. The stranger made some inhuman sounds that might pass for a snort in another time and place.

  “The great witch hunter winged doom Омич, at your service.” The figure said in that same eerie voice.

  “Oh right, that vision card also summons one of your freaks.” Alex shook his head, before realizing something else about that card. “Wait a minute, that’s a team card. How many of you freaks are running around?” Омич stared at him in mild confusion, while the others simply shrugged, being far more used to their leader’s antics. “Never mind.” He muttered as he shook his head.

  “Well not that you seemed to have possessed your marbles again, do you wish to confess your sins?” Омич asked nonchalantly. Alex stared at him in disbelief at the sudden turn of the conversation, which Омич didn’t completely catch on. “After all, confession is good for the soul.”

  “Oh right, your kind technically do that kind of service too.” Alex muttered as he waved off the thought of doing that. “Save that for when I’m hanging from a rope.” He joked, though the words came out without a shred of humor attached.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Омич said in an equally humorless tone.

  “Well, now that we got what we came for,” Alex said as he straightened out his tunic and looked at the rest of the assembled crowd, “we should make haste out of this place.”

  The men nodded in agreement, and the motley little group of newly slightly enriched war criminals soon left what used to be a village, but now a smoldering grave filled with the bodies of innocents.

  Small war indeed.