Chapter 4: Beneath the First Flame

Raizen Valefor stood amid the wreckage of the Nhạn Tribe's camp, his piercing gaze sweeping over the scattered corpses of Shadowfang warriors strewn across the ashen ground of Noctavaria Abyss. A cold wind whipped through the dead forest, carrying the tang of blood and smoke from the crude wooden cannon he'd just toppled in the recent skirmish. His hand gripped the gash on his left arm, blood seeping through his fingers, dripping to the earth where it was swiftly devoured by the ash, leaving behind a strange, spreading crimson stain—a phenomenon he still couldn't fathom. The Nhạn villagers encircled him, their eyes a tangle of fear, suspicion, and a grudging awe for the outsider who'd just pulled them from the jaws of a life-or-death clash.

Selene Kazehana stepped to his side, her steel sword glinting faintly under the pale moonlight piercing the leaden sky. Her dual-colored eyes—blue on the left, blazing red on the right—shone with vigilance, the thin scar across her throat stark as she tilted her head to survey the fallen. Her battered leather armor clung to her frame, the small swallow emblem etched on her left shoulder a proud badge of her tribe. "You did it," she said, her voice low yet tinged with surprise. "But the Shadowfang aren't just this—they're more numerous, and they'll return."

Raizen's lips twitched into a faint smirk, his icy stare meeting hers. "I know," he replied, releasing his wound to inspect the toppled cannon a few steps away. Its wooden barrel was scorched, its iron wheel warped, a pile of round stones scattered beside it—a primitive weapon the Shadowfang Tribe had somehow acquired. He ran his fingers over the rough barrel, the texture grating against his palm. "This isn't Stone Age tech," he muttered, memories of Saigon 2050 surging back—military strategy lectures, engineering blueprints from Thiên Long Tower. "Someone taught them—or they stole it from someone else."

Selene's brow furrowed, her blue eye scanning the cannon. "Drakos Imperium," she said, her tone frigid. "Three moons ago, a group in iron armor came from the North—they carried something like this, but bigger. The Shadowfang scavenged parts from their corpses after the beasts tore them apart."

"Drakos Imperium?" Raizen echoed, a flicker of doubt in his gaze. He recalled the rusted armor shard from the abandoned camp, inscribed with "Solvaria Dominion"—a relic of a lost civilization. But Drakos Imperium, with its late World War I military tech like rifles and basic artillery, was clearly a different beast, far more advanced than this backwater. "So we're not just facing the Shadowfang," he said, voice deep, "but the echoes of a greater empire."

The village elder—Kael Duskwind, a grizzled man with a silver beard—shuffled forward, leaning on a trembling wooden staff, his raspy voice cutting through the villagers' murmurs. "Outsider," he said, eyes brimming with mistrust, "you saved us today—but the Shadowfang outnumber us three to one. They've got wooden cannons, steel spears from Drakos Imperium. How will you conquer them like you claim? Or is this just empty talk to lead us to another grave?"

Raizen turned to him, his expression unwavering. "Not with my strength alone," he replied, voice firm. "With all of yours—and what I know." He pointed at the cannon. "They have this—but I'll give you something stronger. Not just to defeat the Hắc Lang, but to make them kneel and join us."

The villagers fell silent, a few exchanging skeptical glances. A young woman, clutching a small child, spoke up: "You talk well, but we've only got spears and axes—how do we match their cannons?"

Raizen plucked a charred wooden splinter from the cannon, holding it aloft before the crowd.

"Because I'll teach you to turn fire into a weapon," he said, his voice resonating. "And not just weapons—I'll give you sturdy homes, roads that don't flood, a life the Shadowfang can't even dream of. But I need your trust—and your hands."

Before anyone could respond, a deafening blast roared from the distant forest—not the crude thud of Shadowfang cannons, but the shattering clang of metal, paired with a blinding white flash piercing the barren trees. The villagers recoiled in panic, some crying out in terror. Selene raised her sword, her red eye fixed on the light, her voice taut: "Again? What's coming now?"

Raizen froze, his grip tightening on the Solvaria Dominion shard in his pocket. He recognized that glow—the exact moment the Asvaria machine had hurled him here from Saigon 2050. "No way," he whispered, heart pounding. "They're here too?"

From the woods, three figures stumbled into view, their torn clothes unmistakably modern—a crumpled gray suit, a dust-streaked white blouse, a grease-stained tech uniform. Leon Vesper, Seiryu Alvis, Ragnar Kiryuu—his former Thiên Long colleagues—materialized before him, gasping, clutching wounds, their frantic eyes darting over the villagers and Raizen.

"Raizen?" Ragnar croaked, voice hoarse, gripping a broken metal rod from some device he'd carried. "You're alive?"

Raizen strode forward, his gaze cold but tinged with relief. "I am," he answered, tone low. "But what are you doing here? Where's Kael Iscariot?"

Seiryu Alvis, the doctor with disheveled black hair and a stare sharp as a blade, glared at him. "Ask that bastard yourself," she snapped, voice icy. "He fired up the machine right after shoving you in—then tossed us after you. But he's not here this time—just this damned thing!" She jabbed a finger toward the forest, where a massive fragment of the Asvaria machine lay smoldering amid felled trees, its crimson spiral faintly glowing on the twisted metal.

Leon Vesper lingered behind, wiping blood from his brow, his enigmatic smile flickering in the shadows. "What hellhole have we landed in, Raizen?" he asked, voice low with a hint of mockery. "And who are these people? Don't tell me you're playing king in this wasteland."

Raizen studied them, then turned to Selene and the villagers, their eyes wavering between curiosity and doubt. "This is Noctavaria Abyss," he said, voice steady and deep. "A forgotten corner of Asvaria—backward, desolate, but I'll make it our home. And you—if you want to live, help me."

Selene drove her sword into the ground, her dual eyes sizing up the newcomers. "More outsiders like you?" she asked, tone frosty.

"Yes," Raizen nodded,

"but they bring what I need—and what you need." He faced Ragnar.

"You built crossbows and cannons in Thiên Long's labs. Here, I need you to do it again—better than this wooden junk." Ragnar frowned, eyeing the Asvaria wreckage and Hắc Lang cannon.

"I can craft repeating crossbows from wood and vines," he said, sketching in the ash.

"But I'll need charcoal and metal—what does this place have besides dead trees and rocks?"

"I'll find them," Raizen replied, his gaze flicking to the Solvaria shard. "Seiryu—make antiseptics from herbs. These people need to survive war before I can teach them anything."

Seiryu crossed her arms, voice cold: "You want to turn this rabble into an army? They can't even read—how do I teach them basic medicine in days?"

"Start with the basics," Raizen said, meeting her eyes. "Save them first—they'll trust us after."

Leon interjected, voice smooth: "You want their loyalty? Strength isn't enough—you need rules, law. I can set up a barter system—wood for hides, stones for food. But don't blame me if they don't buy it—this backward lot only knows fear."

Raizen shot him a wary glance but nodded. "Do it—but don't make me doubt you again, Leon Vesper."

By the flickering glow of bonfires, Raizen rallied the villagers and his time-displaced team, laying out his plan. He directed Ragnar to gather hardwood and vines from the nearby woods, using an Asvaria metal shard as a mold for repeating crossbows. As Ragnar carved, Raizen knelt, sketching a crude design in the ash—five bolts slotted on a wooden frame, vines taut as makeshift springs. "This is the start," he told Ragnar. "Later, I'll figure out flintlocks—but that takes time and resources."

Ragnar nodded, eyes alight with understanding. "I get it—vine tension instead of gunpowder. With charcoal and sulfur, I could rig crude firebombs first."

"I'll find them," Raizen said, rising to face the villagers watching from a distance. He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the stillness: "You saw me crush the Shadowfang today—but that's not all. I'll teach you to make weapons like this." He hefted a rough crossbow Ragnar had finished, loosing a wooden bolt that punched through a hide ten paces away with a sharp thwack. The villagers gasped, some cheering.

Kael Duskwind hobbled closer, leaning on his staff. "You're strong," he said, a glint of respect in his eyes, "but the Shadowfang won't forgive us. They outnumber us, and they've got cannons. How will you win?"

Raizen met his gaze, then the crowd's. "I don't just want to win," he said, voice resolute. "I want them to join us—not out of fear, but because of what they can't refuse." He turned to Seiryu. "Show them."

Seiryu stepped up, holding a cloth soaked in a herbal brew she'd concocted from leaves near the camp. She knelt beside a wounded young villager from the fight—a deep, festering gash on his shoulder. She cleaned it with the solution, binding it with clean fabric. The villagers watched in silence, eyes widening as the boy's groans faded, his face easing with relief.

"This is medicine," Raizen declared, voice ringing. "Not just weapons—I'll give you ways to survive sickness, war. But I need you to work with me."

A middle-aged man with a wooden spear spoke up: "You talk big—but we live by hunting and gathering. Why trust your strange ways?"

Raizen grabbed a stick, etching a simple square in the dirt—a house. "Because I'll give you solid homes that won't fall in storms," he said. "Roads that don't flood, bridges over streams—and laws so no one's left behind. But I need your wood, your stones, your hands."

Selene stood beside him, her red eye skeptical. "Laws?" she asked, voice sharp. "Like Solvaria Dominion used to enslave our ancestors?"

"No," Raizen shot back, locking eyes with her. "My laws will be fair—who works, eats. I'll teach you to read, write, to record what I do. But if anyone betrays us—like those two who cut the trap ropes today—they'll pay."

The villagers murmured, some nodding, though doubt lingered. Leon stepped forward, voice low: "I've tallied resources—enough wood for five small huts, dozens of stones. A barter market could work—labor for goods. But don't get starry-eyed—they don't grasp 'fairness.'"

"Then teach them," Raizen said, gaze steely. "Start by picking leaders for each group—hunters, builders, gatherers. They'll speak for you, but I'll hear everyone."

But as his words settled, a quiet plot brewed in the shadows. Two villagers—the ones who'd sabotaged the traps earlier—huddled behind a leather tent, whispering. "He's strong," one hissed. "But if the Shadowfang offer more—steel spears, hides—I'll sell news of his weapons."

The other nodded, eyes darting toward Raizen. "We'll be careful—Selene killed one of ours yesterday. But if the Shadowfang win, we'll live better than this dump."

From the distance, heavy footfalls rumbled—not beasts, but men. A larger Shadowfang warband emerged at the forest's edge—thirty strong, hauling two wooden cannons and steel spears glinting under the moon. At their head strode a towering scarred brute, wielding a long steel sword—clearly no makeshift blade.

Raizen rose, clutching his broken sword, his gaze icy as it fixed on the enemy. "Get ready," he said to Selene and his team. "This time, I won't just beat them—I'll claim them."

Selene nodded, her red eye flaring. "You're mad," she said, but her hand tightened on her sword, poised for the next fight.