The approaching force halted just beyond arrow range, their formation impeccable. Fifty men in matching armor stood in disciplined rows, bearing the green and gold colors of a noble house. Their weapons gleamed in the midday sun—not the mismatched arsenal of bandits but the uniform equipment of a well-trained military unit.

  Their leader urged his horse forward, stopping halfway between his forces and the village gate. He removed his helmet, revealing a hard-featured face with a neatly trimmed beard and a scar running from temple to jaw.

  "I am Captain Dorn, serving Lord Varren of Eastmarch!" he called, his voice carrying easily across the distance. "I come with the authority of my lord to demand justice!"

  Riona stepped forward to the edge of the barricade, her royal purple tabard clearly visible. "I am Captain Riona Blackwood of the Royal Guard. This village and all within it are under Crown protection. Whatever grievance you bring, this is not the way to address it."

  Captain Dorn's expression hardened. "Crown protection?" He laughed without humor. "How convenient for the guilty to hide behind royal authority."

  "State your business clearly," Riona demanded, "or withdraw your forces immediately."

  "My business is with Thaddeus Merrick of the Royal College," Dorn replied. "Hand him over to face Lord Varren's justice, and we'll depart peacefully."

  Murmurs spread among the village defenders. Behind Riona, Elaine watched silently, her expression unreadable.

  "Master Thaddeus is here on official royal business," Riona responded. "Any grievances against him must be brought through proper channels in the capital. What you're doing constitutes treason against the Crown."

  "Treason?" Dorn spat on the ground. "Lord Varren's son is dead because of that man. Where was proper procedure when Thaddeus promised to heal the boy and instead left him to die while he pursued more prestigious patients?"

  The accusation hung in the air. Some of the village defenders exchanged uneasy glances.

  "These are serious allegations," Riona acknowledged, her tone measured. "But this is not how justice works in Aldoria. Withdraw your forces, and I give you my word your lord's grievances will be heard in the capital."

  "We tried that route," Dorn replied bitterly. "For two years, we've sent petitions. For two years, we've been ignored. The College protects its own, especially those with Thaddeus's connections."

  He gestured to his men. "This is the only justice we have left. Deliver Thaddeus, or we'll take him."

  "You and what army?" called one of the village men, his bravado clearly forced.

  Dorn's gaze swept over the makeshift barricade and the nervous defenders. "This one seems sufficient." He turned back to Riona. "You have six royal guards and some farmers with pitchforks. We have fifty trained soldiers."

  "Attacking a royal delegation is punishable by death," Riona warned. "Don't throw your lives away on a vendetta."

  "Our lives were sworn to Lord Varren," Dorn replied. "His son was our future lord. We've made our peace with the consequences."

  His voice hardened. "One last time—deliver Thaddeus Merrick, or we attack. The choice is yours."

  One of the village council members pushed forward to stand beside Riona. "Captain, perhaps we should consider—"

  "We will not," Riona cut him off firmly. "No village under royal protection surrenders visitors to armed threats. The precedent would be disastrous."

  Dorn shook his head. "So you'd sacrifice this entire village to protect one corrupt old man? How many will die today because of his crimes? More children like Lord Varren's son?"

  Tension crackled in the air. The village defenders shifted nervously, some looking back toward their homes and families.

  "Your quarrel is with Thaddeus," Riona said. "Yet you threaten innocent villagers who have nothing to do with your grievance."

  "We have no choice," Dorn replied. "He leaves us no choice."

  "There is always a choice," Riona countered. "You're making yours. I'm making mine."

  Dorn replaced his helmet. "Then the blood is on your hands as well as his." He turned his horse, preparing to rejoin his men and give the order to attack.

  "Wait."

  The single word cut through the tension. All eyes turned as Elaine stepped forward, moving past Riona to approach the barricade. There was something different in her bearing now—a subtle shift in how she carried herself that made several nearby defenders unconsciously step aside.

  "Who are you?" Dorn demanded, turning back.

  "My name is Elaine," she replied, her voice carrying easily despite its softness. "I'm the healer of Riverside."

  "Another College lapdog?" Dorn sneered.

  "I have no affiliation with the Royal College," Elaine said calmly. "But I do have an interest in preventing unnecessary death."

  "Then convince your friends to give us Thaddeus," Dorn suggested. "That's the only way to prevent bloodshed today."

  Elaine studied him for a moment, her gaze unnervingly steady. "You believe your cause is just. Perhaps it is. But your methods ensure that whatever justice you seek will be tainted by innocent blood."

  "Spare me the moralizing, healer," Dorn said dismissively. "Unless you can heal the dead, you have nothing to offer this situation."

  "I'm not offering healing," Elaine replied, something shifting in her tone that made even Riona glance at her with sudden wariness. "I'm offering a warning."

  The subtle change in atmosphere was palpable. Several of Dorn's men shifted uneasily despite their discipline.

  "A warning?" Dorn laughed, though the sound held little humor. "From a village healer?"

  "Leave now," Elaine said simply. "This is your only chance."

  Something in her voice—the absolute certainty, the complete lack of fear—made Dorn study her more carefully. For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered across his face before his expression hardened again.

  "Fifty trained soldiers against one woman?" He shook his head. "Your bravery is admirable but misplaced."

  "This isn't bravery," Elaine replied. "It's mercy. I'm giving you the opportunity to live."

  The audacity of the statement left momentary silence in its wake. Then several of Dorn's men laughed nervously.

  Dorn's expression darkened. "You've had your say, healer. Now stand aside before you get yourself killed along with everyone else foolish enough to protect a murderer."

  Elaine didn't move. "I won't ask again. Leave now, or none of you will leave at all."

  Her voice carried no drama, no emphasis—just quiet certainty that somehow proved more unsettling than any shouted threat.

  Behind her, Riona's hand tightened on her sword hilt, her expression showing conflicting emotions—concern for what might happen, but also something that looked remarkably like anticipation.

  "Enough of this," Dorn snapped, wheeling his horse around. "Prepare to attack!" he called to his men, who immediately shifted into offensive formation.

  Elaine turned to Riona. "Get everyone back from the gate," she said quietly.

  "What are you planning?" Riona asked, though her tone suggested she already had some idea.

  "What's necessary," Elaine replied simply.

  Something in her manner made Riona nod sharply. "Guards, village militia—fall back twenty paces from the barricade!" she ordered.

  The defenders looked confused but followed the command, retreating from the gate while maintaining their weapons at ready.

  "What are you doing, Captain?" one of the royal guards questioned.

  "Giving her space," Riona replied, her eyes never leaving Elaine's back as the healer stood alone before the barricade, facing fifty armed men.

  At the center of the clearing space, Elaine stood perfectly still, watching as Dorn rejoined his formation and prepared to give the attack order. Her posture showed neither fear nor tension—only a strange, almost otherworldly calm that seemed increasingly out of place as the threat of violence grew imminent.

  "Do not do this," she called, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent field. "Walk away and live."

  "Attack!" Dorn shouted in response, and fifty men surged forward as one.

  * * *

  The first soldier reached Elaine ahead of his comrades, confidence evident in his vicious smile. He swung his sword in a practiced arc that would have cleaved through armor and flesh alike.

  Elaine didn't dodge. She raised her palm almost casually, catching the blade with her bare hand.

  The sword stopped as if it had struck stone.

  For one suspended moment, confusion replaced the soldier's confidence. He pushed harder, muscles straining against the impossible resistance of a slender woman's hand.

  Then Elaine closed her fingers around the blade. Metal groaned, then shattered like glass. Before the soldier could process what had happened, Elaine's other hand shot forward, fingers rigid, and punched straight through his breastplate and chest.

  Blood sprayed across her face and clothes as she withdrew her hand, still clutching something dark and pulsing—the man's heart. His body crumpled lifelessly to the ground as she discarded the organ with a simple flick of her wrist.

  The entire exchange had taken less than three seconds.

  Behind the barricade, someone retched. One of the royal guards whispered a prayer. Riona stood frozen, theoretical knowledge of Elaine's capabilities suddenly confronted with horrifying reality.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The attacking formation faltered momentarily, soldiers processing what they had just witnessed. Then discipline reasserted itself, and they charged forward as one.

  Elaine moved.

  She flowed between the soldiers with impossible speed—not quite a blur, but faster than any human had right to be. Each movement was economy itself, no energy wasted on unnecessary flourish. A palm strike shattered a ribcage. Fingers punctured a throat. A kick removed a man's head from his shoulders with such force that it sailed over the barricade and landed among the stunned defenders.

  "Gods preserve us," one of the village men whispered, backing away.

  Blood fountained with each precise strike. Elaine moved through the attacking force like a farmer harvesting wheat, except her scythe was her bare hands, and her harvest was lives. Limbs were torn from bodies. Spines snapped with audible cracks. Men who had trained their entire lives found their skill meaningless against something that defied human limitation.

  Captain Dorn, witnessing the slaughter from horseback, finally broke from his shock.

  "Fall back!" he screamed. "Retreat!"

  The order came too late. Those nearest to Elaine were already dead. Those in the middle ranks were dying. And those attempting to flee found their escape cut short as Elaine suddenly appeared among them, having bypassed the soldiers still advancing.

  "She's behind us!" someone screamed, the words ending in a wet gurgle as Elaine's hand punched through his sternum.

  A soldier dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

  "You had your chance," Elaine said, her voice carrying above the screams.

  Her hand descended in a simple, efficient strike that collapsed his skull. No quarter given. No hesitation shown.

  Two mounted soldiers spurred their horses to a gallop, racing away from the carnage. Elaine tracked them with her gaze, then picked up a discarded spear. With a fluid motion that betrayed no strain, she hurled it with such force that it impaled both men, the shaft passing through the first rider's back and into the second rider's chest, toppling both from their mounts.

  Riona and the defenders watched in stunned silence as fifty elite soldiers were systematically destroyed by a single woman. The entire battle—if something so one-sided could be called a battle—lasted less than two minutes.

  When it ended, the ground before Riverside's gate had become a charnel house. Dismembered bodies lay scattered across blood-soaked earth. The stench of opened bowels and copper filled the air. And in the center of the carnage stood Elaine, drenched in crimson from head to toe, her expression as calm as if she were tending herbs in her garden.

  Only Captain Dorn remained alive, thrown from his horse during the chaos, his leg clearly broken. He dragged himself backward as Elaine approached, leaving a trail in the bloody mud.

  "What are you?" he gasped, fumbling for his dagger.

  Elaine reached down and plucked the weapon from his grasp with the same ease one might take a toy from a child.

  "Death," she replied simply.

  Dorn laughed, the sound edged with hysteria. "No human does this."

  "Now, you're going to answer some questions," Elaine said, crouching beside him. Her blood-soaked appearance contrasted sharply with her calm, measured voice.

  Behind the barricade, the defenders remained frozen in place, unable to reconcile the gentle village healer with the being that had just massacred fifty men without breaking a sweat. Several had emptied their stomachs. Others stared with expressions ranging from horror to awe.

  Riona approached the gate slowly, hand still on her sword hilt though she now understood with bone-deep certainty how useless the weapon would be against Elaine. She stopped at the edge of the carnage, close enough to hear but maintaining a respectful—or perhaps fearful—distance.

  "Tell me about Lord Varren's grievance with Thaddeus," Elaine said to Dorn. "The complete truth."

  Dorn swallowed, wincing as he shifted his broken leg. "What does it matter now? My men are dead. I'll be executed for treason."

  "It matters because I want to know," Elaine replied, her tone making it clear this wasn't a negotiation.

  The implication hung in the air between them. Dorn glanced around at the butchery surrounding them, then back to Elaine's blood-covered face.

  "Thaddeus was summoned two years ago," he began, voice shaking slightly. "Lord Varren's eldest son, Ellias, had fallen ill with withering fever. Thaddeus examined the boy, claimed he could cure him, and asked for a substantial payment in advance."

  Dorn's face twisted with bitter memory. "After receiving the gold, he provided initial treatment, then claimed he needed rare ingredients from the capital. He left, promising to return within a week."

  "But he didn't return," Elaine guessed.

  "Not until three weeks later, by which time young Lord Ellias was beyond help," Dorn confirmed. "We later learned Thaddeus had been treating the Duke of Westmere's daughter instead—a more politically advantageous patient."

  Riona's expression tightened at this revelation, her eyes moving toward the village where Thaddeus waited in safety.

  "Lord Varren filed formal complaints with both the Royal College and the Crown," Dorn continued. "Every petition was dismissed. Thaddeus claimed he had made no guarantees and that he had fulfilled his obligations to the best of his ability."

  "So Lord Varren decided to take justice into his own hands," Elaine concluded.

  Dorn nodded weakly. "When we received word that Thaddeus would be traveling near our borders with minimal escort, Lord Varren saw his opportunity." He gestured feebly at the carnage around them. "We never expected... this."

  "Few do," Elaine replied quietly.

  She stood, contemplating the broken man before her. Blood dripped from her clothes, forming small puddles in the already saturated ground. Behind her, the village defenders watched in tense silence, waiting to see what their gentle healer—now revealed as something far more dangerous—would do next.

  "Captain Riona," Elaine called without turning.

  Riona stiffened, then approached carefully, stepping around severed limbs and bisected torsos. "Yes?"

  "Do you have any final questions for this man before he dies?" Elaine asked, her tone as casual as if discussing the weather.

  The clinical detachment in her voice sent a visible shiver through Riona as she looked down at the broken captain.

  "Did Lord Varren send anyone else?" Riona asked after a moment's consideration.

  Dorn shook his head weakly. "This was all of us."

  "Who else knows you came here?"

  "No one outside our household guard," he replied. "Lord Varren wanted no word reaching the capital."

  Riona nodded, then looked to Elaine. "I have nothing else. But must you kill him? He surrendered?"

  "Actions have consequences and I stand by my word. Always."

  Without ceremony or hesitation, Elaine pressed her fingers to Dorn's throat. A quick, precise movement, and the captain's body went limp, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

  Elaine stood, scanning the field of carnage she had created with dispassionate eyes. Blood dripped steadily from her clothes, her hair, her hands—testament to the brutality that had unfolded minutes before.

  "Why?" Riona asked.

  "So that you and Thaddeus might live."

  "No, why this display? Why.." Riona gestured to the carnage all around them.

  "That is what I meant." Elaine gave her a weak smile, "Everyone understands horror. He won't push any further."

  "What are you going to do now?"

  "We need to speak with Thaddeus," Elaine said simply.

  "About his... treatment of Lord Varren's son?" Riona asked, carefully neutral.

  "Yes," Elaine replied. "But first, I need to wash."

  She walked past the stunned defenders, leaving bloody footprints in her wake as she headed toward the river. Not a single person moved to stop her or speak as she passed. Each step was deliberate, unhurried, as if she hadn't just slaughtered fifty men with her bare hands.

  Behind her, she left a field of mangled bodies and a village full of people who would never see their healer the same way again.

  * * *

  The river flowed gently around a bend at the village's edge, water clear and cool beneath the midday sun. Birds continued their songs in nearby trees, oblivious to the carnage that had unfolded a short distance away. This tranquil scene seemed to exist in another world entirely from the blood-soaked gate where fifty bodies lay in various states of dismemberment.

  Elaine walked steadily toward the water, crimson droplets marking her path on sun-dried grass. Her clothing—once the simple dress of a village healer—hung heavy with the blood of those who had threatened Riverside. Her face, hands, and hair were painted with it, drying to a rusty brown in some places while still glistening wetly in others.

  Villagers who had begun emerging from their homes quickly retreated at the sight of her. Doors closed. Children were pulled inside. Even those who had witnessed her protection of the village could not reconcile the gentle healer with the blood-drenched figure now moving toward the river.

  Elaine seemed not to notice their reactions. Her movements remained measured, deliberate, as efficient in this task as they had been during the slaughter. She reached the riverbank and, without hesitation, walked directly into the water. Blood clouded outward from her in swirling tendrils, spreading like crimson smoke before dissipating downstream.

  She submerged herself completely, then resurfaced, water streaming from her hair and face. With methodical precision, she began cleaning herself, rubbing away the evidence of violence with the same careful attention she might use when preparing herbs. Her expression remained neutral throughout, neither troubled by the gore nor satisfied by her victory.

  The sound of tentative footsteps on the riverbank registered, but Elaine continued her washing, giving no indication she had heard. After a moment, a small voice broke the silence.

  "Elaine?"

  Sarah stood at the water's edge, clutching her mother's hand. The girl's face was pale, her eyes wide, but she hadn't hidden away like the others. Mary stood beside her, expression complex—fear mingled with concern, horror with gratitude.

  Elaine paused, then continued cleaning her arms. "You shouldn't be here," she said quietly.

  "We wanted to make sure you were all right," Mary replied, her voice steadier than her expression suggested she felt.

  "I'm unharmed."

  Sarah took a small step forward, though her mother's hand tightened around hers. "There's still blood in your hair," she said, with the practical observation of a child.

  Despite everything, a ghost of a smile touched Elaine's lips. She ducked beneath the water again, running fingers through her hair until the water ran mostly clear.

  When she resurfaced, Mary had moved closer to the edge, though her posture remained tense. "Those men," she began, then faltered.

  "Would have killed everyone here," Elaine finished for her, finally turning to meet their gaze. "Including you and Sarah."

  "I know," Mary whispered. "I just never imagined..." She gestured vaguely, words failing to capture the disconnect between the woman who had gently healed village children and the being who had torn fifty armed men apart with her bare hands.

  Elaine stood motionless in the waist-deep water. "I understand if you want me to leave."

  "No!" Sarah blurted, surprising both adults. "You protected us. Like you always do." She hesitated, then asked the question that seemed to trouble her most. "But why didn't you tell us you could do... that?"

  "Would you have wanted to know?" Elaine asked gently.

  The question hung in the air between them.

  "How many others have you killed?" Mary asked quietly. "People, I mean."

  "None," Elaine replied, the simple honesty surprising both Mary and Sarah. "Until today. I've fought countless creatures, beasts more dangerous than you can imagine. But never humans."

  "Then why..." Mary trailed off, unable to finish the question.

  "To protect you," Elaine said quietly. "And I gave them a choice. A chance."

  Mary studied Elaine's face, searching for something in her expression. "What are you? Truly?"

  Elaine waded closer to the shore, water streaming from her now-clean clothes. "I'm exactly who I've been these past months. A healer who chose Riverside as her home." She paused. "But before that, I was... something else. Someone who had to fight to survive, for a very long time."

  "You're still our friend," Sarah said with the absolute certainty of youth. "You just have... more parts than we knew about."

  A moment of silence followed this simple observation. Mary's expression softened slightly, though wariness remained in her posture.

  "I brought you clean clothes," she said finally, indicating a bundle she had set on a nearby rock. "I thought you might need them."

  The simple, practical gesture carried more meaning than any words could have conveyed. It was neither complete acceptance nor rejection—just acknowledgment of immediate need.

  "Thank you," Elaine replied, genuine gratitude in her voice.

  "What happens now?" Mary asked. "After what you did to Lord Varren's men..."

  "Now I need to speak with Thaddeus," Elaine said, her tone cooling noticeably. "Captain Dorn said some things about his healing practices that require explanation."

  Mary nodded slowly. "The village is in chaos. People are afraid—of what happened, of what might happen next." She hesitated. "Of you."

  "With good reason," Elaine acknowledged.

  "But they're alive to be afraid," Mary pointed out. "Because of what you did."

  Sarah, who had been watching the conversation carefully, suddenly darted forward and picked up a clean linen cloth from the bundle of clothes. Before either woman could react, she had waded into the shallow water and held it out to Elaine.

  "For your hair," she explained. "It's still dripping."

  The simple, trusting gesture stood in stark contrast to the carnage at the gate. Elaine accepted the cloth with visible care, as if handling something fragile and precious.

  "Thank you, Sarah."

  Mary watched her daughter, torn between the instinct to pull her away from danger and the recognition that Elaine—despite what she had just witnessed—had never been anything but gentle with the village children.

  "James is trying to calm everyone," Mary said. "He told them all to gather in the square while he... while they..." She trailed off, unable to find words for the cleanup being organized at the gate.

  "I'll be there soon," Elaine assured her, beginning to dry her hair.

  Mary nodded, then extended her hand to Sarah. "Come, Sarah. Let's give Elaine privacy to change."

  The girl reluctantly rejoined her mother. As they turned to leave, she looked back over her shoulder. "I still want to be your apprentice," she said firmly. "I'm not afraid."

  A complicated expression crossed Elaine's face—something between gratitude and sadness. "We'll talk about that later," she replied gently.

  Mary led Sarah away, her own expression thoughtful as she processed everything she had seen and heard. Her steps were measured, neither hurrying away in fear nor lingering in complete comfort.

  Alone again, Elaine emerged from the river and reached for the clean clothes. The water behind her ran clear now, all evidence of bloodshed carried downstream and diluted into nothingness. As she changed, she gazed toward the village where smoke rose from chimneys and lives continued—lives she had preserved through violence she had hoped never to use again.

  The peaceful healer and the efficient killer—two aspects of the same being, now fully revealed. The village would never see her the same way again. The question was whether they would see her at all, or if the gates would close to her once the initial shock and gratitude faded.

  She finished dressing and wrung the water from her hair one final time. Whatever came next, she would face it as she had faced everything else in her long existence—with clear eyes and full acceptance of the consequences of her choices.