Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

Zairen and his guards rode forward on horseback. Captain Helran led the way, his face tense. Jarnel followed close behind, while Zairen rode last, his expression cold and unreadable.

Helran looked back at Zairen and nodded. "Merek—where's Rael?"

Merek turned in his saddle. "Damn! I thought he was behind us!"

Helran's jaw tightened. "Quiet. Forget it. He must have gotten lost in the chaos." He turned to Zairen. "Master Zairen, we need to move faster. We must reach the back gate."

Zairen nod and said nothing. No pity. No hesitation.

They rode toward the village's back gate. And Zairen saw everything.

The village was no longer peaceful. It was a scene of horror. Mothers held their children tight. Priests prayed to gods who didn't listen. Old men pulled out rusty swords they hadn't touched in years.

People cried. Some screamed. Others stared at the sky, refusing to believe what they heard. Because what they heard wasn't just howls. It was a roar—deep and ancient, like the earth itself had cracked open to unleash wolves.

Thousands of Knight Wolves clawed at the front gates. Zairen watched without flinching.

Hope is a lie, he thought. Death is the only truth. Whether a crying child or a screaming god—death comes for everyone. And he would survive it. That was his way.

Then he saw it—the walls were breaking. Because of the wolves' massive army, cracks were appearing. Soldiers fought relentlessly, but it was futile. For every wolf they killed, ten more appeared. Ten became a hundred, and it kept going.

Zairen looked as some guards took positions, standing firm before the gate. A hundred guards stood ready, but the loud thump thump from the front gate sent shivers of fear through them. As the walls cracked further, soldiers whispered prayers, and villagers armed themselves—whether women, elders, or children, every soul clutched a weapon in trembling hands.

Zairen and his guards pressed toward the back gate. Then they saw the checkpost—a glowing barrier of faint blue light, humming softly like a dying flame. Strange symbols were carved into the ground, flickering with an eerie glow that made the air feel heavy. It wasn't just a wall but a magical shield, built to protect the escape route. Yet its light wavered, as if it could barely hold against the wolves' hunger.

The horses snorted and reared, their eyes wide with panic, refusing to approach the barrier. The shield's magic pulsed with a strange force that spooked them, as if it burned their instincts with an unnatural dread.

Helran stopped hurriedly, his horse bucking wildly as the barrier's glow pulsed. "Master, we have to abandon the horses! The shield's magic drives them mad—it won't let them pass!" They dismounted, the eerie hum of the checkpost clawing at their nerves, and sprinted toward the glowing barrier, its light casting twisted shadows behind them.

Some guards saw Zairen and the others retreating. They sneered, spat, called them cowards. Others begged for help. "Please, my lord—save my daughter!" "Help us! You wear a noble's mark!"

Hands reached out. But no one stopped. Zairen didn't even look.

The crowd moved aside at the sight of Helran's noble crest—parting out of fear and hate. A dying man grabbed Helran's leg. "Please… just let my child through—" Helran kicked him away like garbage.

They reached the rear gate. A line of soldiers guarded it—protecting something valuable. Boats.

The village was separated by a massive river, and these boats, usually used for transporting merchandise, were now the only hope for survival. That was why everyone fled to the back gate.

Merchants and minor nobles were already there, pushing, shouting, offering gold, threats, pleas. But only those with noble marks were allowed through.

The rich survive, Zairen thought. The weak die.

Guards stepped forward, weapons ready. "Names. Proof." Helran threw his sigil at them. A quick look. A nod. They were let through.

Behind them, chaos exploded. People screamed. "My lord! Please! Just my son!" "Save my baby!" "Help us, damn you!" But Zairen kept walking. Unmoved.

A woman tried to follow. A guard struck her with his spear. She fell, weeping. Others tried to force their way in. They were cut down. No mercy. No kindness. Only survival.

Zairen and the others reached the boats—lined up along a wide, dark river. That was why they came here. Wolves feared water. This was their only escape.

By the time Zairen reached the boats, the first one had already left. As the son of late Baron Kaelridge, he was granted immediate entry. But as he stepped onto the boat, it happened.

A sound like bones breaking echoed behind them. The front gate collapsed. The village screamed.

Wolves poured in. Black fur. Red eyes. Claws like knives. Children died first. Mothers wailed as their little ones were dragged into the dark. Men tried to fight—only to be torn apart. Blood covered the village.

The nobles screamed. "Go! Go! Launch the boat!" The remaining merchants and nobles scrambled onto the third boat, shoving others aside in a frenzied stampede.

Soldiers tried to hold the line but were trampled by the desperate crowd. One noble fell and was crushed underfoot. Another screamed as a dagger meant for defense was turned on him.

A mother stole his spot on the boat with her child—but the boat was too full. It tipped over. They all drowned.

One boat remained. The surviving villagers and a few remaining nobles clambered aboard, their screams mingling with the snarls of the wolves. Zairen stood on the third boat, calm as ever.

Behind him, the world burned. Screams. Snarls. A child, half its face gone, crawled toward the river. No one helped.

The last boat moved away. The river carried them to safety.

Zairen looked back. The village—gone. Eaten alive. A peaceful place, now just blood and ruin. And he felt nothing.

The survivors on the boats wept. Some cursed the nobles. Some thanked them. Zairen only watched in silence.

They reached the other side of the river an hour later. The forest was quiet. But silence isn't peace. It's the calm before something worse. Zairen turned around and looked back—the last boat was approaching the shore. Just then, Harlen spoke, his voice tense. "We shouldn't stay here for too long." Marvek nodded quickly. "Yeah… I have a bad feeling about this." Harlen glanced at him. "Same here. Something's not right. Let's move." Without another word, they all turned and began running toward the forest, their steps quick and urgent as the air grew colder behind them.

Captain Helran and marvek run into the trees. Zairen followed. The moon was high. But the shadows felt darker now.

Then Helran froze. He raised his hand. "Wait."

Jarnel whispered, "What is it?"

Helran's face was pale. "Listen…"

They heard it. Soft. Steady. A growl. Not from behind. From ahead.

Suddenly, a piercing howl shattered the silence. Helran's voice cracked with panic. "Run! The wolves are here too!" Everyone bolted, hearts pounding, scrambling in a frenzied dash for survival.