Chapter 5: Embers of Defiance

Raizen Valefor stood at the heart of the Kazehana Tribe's camp, his grip tightening on the broken sword, his icy gaze fixed on the Shadowfang warriors emerging at the forest's edge—thirty strong, trailed by two crude wooden cannons, their steel spears glinting beneath the moon. The wind howled through the dead trees of Noctavaria Abyss, blending with the heavy tread of their boots, carrying the faint smoke of prior battles still clinging to the ashen soil. The Kazehana villagers wavered in panic, some clutching wooden spears, their eyes flickering between fear and fragile hope as they looked to him—the outsider who'd felled a smaller Shadowfang band with woven traps.

Selene Kazehana stood beside him, her steel sword raised horizontally, her dual eyes—blue on the left, fiery red on the right—gleaming with vigilance. "They're faster than I expected," she said, her voice low and sharp. "You spoke of conquering them—how, with numbers like this?"

Raizen's lips curled faintly, his stare unwavering as the Shadowfang drew closer. "By proving we're stronger," he replied, "and making them want to join us." He turned to Selene, his tone resolute. "Lure them to the ash pit—I've got something new."

Before she could press further, a thunderous blast erupted from the distant forest—not the dull thud of Shadowfang cannons, but the shattering clang of metal, paired with a blinding white flash cutting through the barren trees. The villagers cried out, recoiling, while Selene raised her sword higher, her red eye locked on the light. "Again?" she muttered, tension threading her voice.

Raizen stiffened, his hand clenching the Solvaria Dominion shard in his pocket. He knew that glow—the precise flare of the Asvaria machine that had flung him here from Neo Saigon 2050. "Impossible," he whispered, pulse hammering. But the Shadowfang were nearly within striking range—no time for distraction.

"Selene, hold them back!" he barked, sprinting toward the camp. He rallied the villagers, his voice urgent: "Grab the crossbows—now!" Five repeating crossbows, crafted by Ragnar Kiryuu from hardwood and vines, stood ready—each capable of firing three bolts in succession, a leap beyond the Shadowfang's stone-tipped spears.

Selene led five Kazehana warriors to the front, her sword slashing through a Shadowfang's leg, crimson blood spilling onto the ash. Raizen positioned himself behind, directing the villagers to fire from fifteen paces. Wooden bolts streaked forth, piercing the leather armor of five Shadowfang warriors, dropping them amid screams. But one cannon sparked to life, launching a massive stone that smashed a nearby tent, sending two villagers scrambling in terror.

"To the ash pit!" Raizen roared, charging forward. He employed a "hit-and-run" tactic from Neo Saigon 2050—strike fast, then retreat—guiding the Shadowfang toward the net trap he'd rigged earlier. Selene mirrored him, her blade carving chaos into their ranks, giving the villagers a chance to yank the cords. The net sprang up, ensnaring eight Shadowfang in the pit, their cries echoing as they thrashed in panic.

Yet treachery flared mid-battle. Two villagers—whisperers who'd traded secrets—severed a corner of the net, opening a path for the Shadowfang to advance. Selene spotted them, her red eye blazing as she swung, her sword slicing through one traitor's throat, blood spraying in a rancid arc. The other bolted toward the enemy, shouting, "He's got crossbows—but we can win!"

Raizen's jaw clenched, his command cutting through: "Target the cannon!" A bolt from a repeating crossbow shot out, lodging in the second cannon's wooden wheel, skewing its aim. The stone veered wide, crashing into a dead tree. The fight ended as Selene rallied the villagers forward, cutting down the remaining foes. The surviving traitor was dragged back, collapsing at Raizen's feet, eyes trembling.

"What did you sell us for?" Raizen demanded, his voice frigid, sword still in hand.

"They promised steel spears," the man stammered. "You're strong—but they're more."

Raizen stared down at him, then faced the villagers. "This is why we need laws," he declared, his voice resounding. "Betrayal brings punishment—but those who stand with me will live better than the Shadowfang ever could."

The skirmish over, Raizen gave the villagers no respite. He gathered them around a smoldering fire, his resolute gaze settling on the newly arrived time-displaced trio. Leon Vesper, Seiryu Alvis, and Ragnar Kiryuu stood beside a jagged shard of the Asvaria machine, their eyes wary yet acknowledging their reliance on him for survival.

"Raizen," Ragnar spoke, hefting a wooden bolt from the crossbow, "these repeaters held off the Shadowfang today—but if they return in force, we'll need more. What about flintlocks?"

"I'm working on it," Raizen replied, eyeing the Asvaria fragment's metal. "First, we need charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter. You refine the crossbows—I'll source crude gunpowder."

Seiryu crossed her arms, her tone icy: "You plan to forge an army from these people? They can't read—how do I teach them medicine in days?"

"Not an army yet," Raizen countered, meeting her stare. "I need them to live. Start with herbal antiseptics—build from there."

Leon stepped in, his enigmatic smile glinting: "You want their loyalty? Strength alone won't cut it—give them laws, structure. I can set up a barter market—wood for hides, stones for food. Don't curse me if they balk, though."

Raizen nodded, his look guarded. "Do it—but don't give me reason to doubt you, Leon."

Over the next two days, the Kazehana camp transformed. Ragnar crafted three more repeating crossbows from hardwood and vines, their precision honed by an Asvaria shard molded into the frames. He guided five young villagers in fitting bolts, his deep voice patient: "Pull this cord—aim steady—release. That's it."

Seiryu established a makeshift infirmary near the camp's heart, brewing antiseptics from local herbs. She tended a villager grazed by a cannon stone, her touch deft despite her cold eyes. "Saved a handful," she told Raizen, "but without teaching them to do it themselves, I'll burn out."

Leon scratched lines in the dirt, erecting a modest trading post mid-camp. He sorted wood, hides, and herbs into piles, explaining: "Work earns goods—wood swaps for hides, stones for rations. They don't get it yet—some squabbled over shares."

Raizen nodded, then climbed a broad stone at the camp's center on the second night. "Listen," he called, his voice echoing. "You survived the Shadowfang today—but I want more for you. Strength, homes, laws—I'll give you these, but I need your trust."

Kaelric Duskwind leaned on his staff, his voice rough: "Fine words, but we know only spears and axes—why trust your odd ways?"

Raizen signaled Ragnar. A bolt flew, punching through a hide ten paces off with a sharp thwack. The villagers gasped, some cheering. "That's strength," he said, "but not all. I'll teach you to read and write, to preserve what I build. I'll set laws—who works, prospers; who betrays, pays." He traced a square in the ash—a house. "Solid homes, roads, bridges—no more fear of storms."

Jace stepped forward, clutching a crossbow bolt, eyes alight. "Teach me this," he said.

Raizen nodded. "Tomorrow, you'll learn—and the written word too."

But from the dark beyond, a deep, guttural roar rolled forth—not Shadowfang, but a greater peril closing in. Raizen turned, sword in hand, his gaze glacial. "Prepare," he said to Selene. "The next fight won't be simple."