Disclaimer: I do not own Akame ga Kill and 'Six Paths of Reincarnation' by 'It's Just That Simple'. They belong to their respective owners.
Enjoy.
The village of Serenhollow nestled in a verdant valley, a haven of tranquility where the gentle murmur of the nearby river was the loudest sound most days.
Life flowed at a predictable, comforting pace, marked by the rising and setting sun, the changing seasons, and the rhythm of planting and harvesting.
Chief Baruk, a man etched with the wisdom of years and the gentle weariness of leadership, oversaw this peaceful existence from his humble dwelling at the village center.
Today, however, the usual serenity was about to be shattered, replaced by an encounter that would forever alter Serenhollow's destiny.
A figure emerged from the treeline to the east, casting a long shadow across the sun-drenched fields.
It was a warrior unlike any seen before in Serenhollow, clad in ornate armour, a symphony of dark metal interwoven with gleaming white and accents of regal gold, encased his form, a billowing red cape, the color of dried blood or perhaps a defiant flame, cascaded from his shoulders, lending an aura of both menace and majesty and having winged ornaments, like stylized raptor pinions, flanked a helmet that completely obscured his face, adding to the enigma.
Word spread through the village like wildfire, and soon, Chief Baruk, accompanied by a handful of the braver villagers, cautiously approached the armored figure standing at the edge of their fields.
The warrior stood motionless, an imposing statue of war amidst the peaceful pastoral scene and as they drew closer, the figure finally moved, turning towards them with a smooth, almost unnervingly fluid motion and speak with a voice, surprisingly cheerful and resonant, emanated from within the helmet, shattering the tense silence.
"Greetings, villagers of Serenhollow!" the warrior boomed, his voice echoing slightly within the confines of his helmet. "I am a conqueror, a bringer of order, and a harbinger of a new era! Joyous tidings, for today marks the beginning of your inclusion into my glorious Sovereignty!" He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the entire village. "Henceforth, Serenhollow is under my dominion!"
Baruk's face, already lined with age, seemed to deepen with shock as the villagers behind him gasped, murmurs of disbelief and fear rippling through their small group.
Conqueror?
Sovereignty?
These were words ripped from dusty history books, not the vocabulary of their peaceful valley and as Baruk, mustering his composure, stepped forward, he said, "Sir…" he began, his voice trembling slightly. "We… we are a simple village. We have no quarrels with anyone. We only wish to live in peace."
The warrior chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that did little to ease their anxieties. "Peace is admirable, old man," he said, his tone still jovial, almost unsettlingly so given the gravity of his declaration. "But peace under my rule is even better! And to celebrate this auspicious occasion, I demand a feast! I have brought provisions for a grand celebration – my first conquest deserves nothing less!" He gestured to a series of large, elaborately decorated carriages that had followed him from the treeline, now rumbling into view, laden with crates and barrels, promising an abundance of food and drink that seemed incongruous with the warrior's initial declaration of conquest.
Before Baruk could fully comprehend this bizarre turn of events – a conqueror demanding a celebratory feast – the ground began to tremble once more.
This time, the source of disturbance was not a lone figure but a regiment of soldiers, clad in the familiar, drab grey armor of the Imperial Army.
They marched with rigid discipline, their faces grim and hardened, the Imperial flag snapping proudly in the gentle breeze.
An officer, distinguished by slightly more ornate armor and a cruel sneer, detached himself from the ranks and strode towards Baruk.
"Village Chief," the Captain barked, his voice devoid of warmth. "The Empire demands its due. Taxes are overdue. We are here to collect." He snapped his fingers, and several soldiers stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
Baruk's heart sank.
The Empire's demands were a constant, looming threat, a drain on their already meager resources.
He had been hoping to negotiate an extension, to explain the recent poor harvest. "Captain," Baruk pleaded, his voice strained. "We understand our obligations, but this year has been… difficult. The crops have failed. We ask for leniency, for more time."
The Captain scoffed, his sneer widening. "Leniency? Time? The Empire has no patience for excuses, old man. We are here for the taxes. Produce them, or we will take what we are owed, tenfold." His eyes scanned the village, lingering on the meager dwellings, calculating what could be seized.
Before Baruk could respond, a deep voice cut through the Captain's threats, resonating with authority. "Captain of the… Empire, was it?" the armored warrior stepped forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the Imperial officer. "I believe you have stumbled into my domain. This village, Serenhollow, is under my protection. Your tax demands are… irrelevant."
The Captain blinked, momentarily taken aback by the warrior's sudden intervention. Then, a harsh laugh erupted from his throat. "Yours? Protection? Who are you, some delusional bandit playing dress-up?" He gestured dismissively at the warrior's ornate armour. "Step aside, fool, before you find yourself under Imperial boots."
The warrior remained unmoved, his posture radiating an unsettling calm. "You misunderstand, Captain. I am not asking you to leave. I am informing you. Invading my sovereignty will be met with the full force of my… Sovereign. War, in essence. And I assure you, Captain, war is not something you are prepared for."
The Captain roared with laughter, joined by his soldiers. "War? From you? Against the Empire? You are but one man, clad in gaudy metal. We are the Imperial Army, the mightiest force in the land!" He drew his sword, the polished steel glinting in the sunlight. "I'll deal with you myself."
The warrior was silent for a moment, a pregnant pause that stretched the tension to breaking point. Then, a blinding flash of light erupted from his gauntlet. When the light subsided, a magnificent spear, crafted from what appeared to be pure, solidified light itself, materialized in his hand. It pulsed with an inner radiance, humming with restrained power.
The Captain's laughter died in his throat. The soldiers around him froze, their bravado evaporating under the sheer presence of the weapon and the warrior who wielded it.
The warrior moved.
It was not a charge, not a rush of adrenaline-fueled fury. It was something far more terrifying: a calculated, precise dance of death. He moved with an almost ethereal grace, the spear a blur of motion in his hands. The Imperial soldiers, trained and disciplined as they were, were simply outmatched, outclassed, and utterly overwhelmed.
His spear moved with impossible speed, each thrust, each parry, each sweeping arc meeting its mark with brutal efficiency. One moment, a soldier was rushing forward, sword raised; the next, he was gasping, the light-spear protruding from his chest, his eyes wide with disbelief. Another soldier attempted to flank him, only to be met by a blindingly fast spin of the spear, the haft slamming into his ribs with bone-crushing force, sending him sprawling.
The warrior's movements were not just fast; they were fluid, economical, and deadly. He flowed through the ranks of soldiers like water through a stream, each movement perfectly timed, each strike flawlessly executed. There was no wasted motion, no frantic swings. It was a masterclass in combat, a breathtakingly brutal display of skill honed to an impossible edge.
Suddenly, with another flash of light, the spear vanished, replaced by a colossal war hammer, its head a massive block of dark metal, runes etched into its surface glowing with an ominous red light. The shift in weapons was seamless, almost instantaneous as the hammer is wielded with the same terrifying precision as the spear, but with an added element of raw, earth-shattering power.
A soldier, foolishly brave or simply too stunned to flee, charged at the warrior, sword held high and the warrior simply swung the hammer, the head whistling through the air as the sound is a sickening, wet thud followed by the crunch of bone and the spray of blood. The soldier was launched backwards, his body a mangled ruin.
The remaining soldiers, witnessing the carnage unfolding before them, began to panic. Discipline crumbled, replaced by a desperate scramble for survival. But there was no escape. The warrior was relentless, a whirlwind of destruction. He slashed with the hammer, cleaving through armor and flesh with contemptuous ease. He smashed shields, shattering them into splinters. He impaled fleeing soldiers with the vicious spikes adorning the hammer's head.
The air filled with the screams of the dying, the clang of metal on metal, and the thunderous impacts of the hammer.
The peaceful fields of Serenhollow became a slaughterhouse, painted crimson with Imperial blood.
The Captain, who had watched in mounting horror as his regiment was systematically annihilated, finally understood the depth of his mistake.
This was no mere bandit.
This was something… else.
Something terrifyingly powerful.
He tried to retreat, to flee the carnage, but it was too late.
The warrior, his armour stained with blood but his movements still fluid and untiring, turned his attention to the Captain.
He strode towards him, the massive hammer dragging lightly on the ground and the Captain, paralyzed by fear, could only watch as the warrior approached and with a final, earth-shaking roar, the warrior raised the hammer high above his head and the Captain closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
The hammer fell.
The ground trembled.
And silence has descended, broken only by the ragged breaths of the terrified villagers.
The field was littered with the bodies of Imperial soldiers, their armour broken, their weapons scattered, their lifeblood soaking into the fertile soil.
The Captain lay crushed beneath a crater of earth and broken armour, a testament to the hammer's devastating power.
The warrior stood amidst the carnage, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, his presence radiating an almost palpable aura of power. He turned to face the villagers, who were huddled together, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
He raised his light-spear high above his head, the radiant weapon illuminating the darkening sky. "Villagers of Serenhollow!" he declared, his voice ringing with newfound authority. "You are now under my protection! The Empire may come, but they will find you defended! This village… is now mine to safeguard!"
As if on cue, a low rumble echoed through the valley, growing louder with each passing second.
The villagers looked up, their eyes widening in disbelief as from behind the eastern mountains, a fleet of colossal ships emerged, blotting out the fading sunlight.
They were sleek, powerful vessels, defying gravity with an impossible grace, their hulls gleaming under the twilight sky.
Dozens of them, an armada of impossible scale, descended towards Serenhollow.
The warrior lowered his spear slightly, his voice resonating with a newfound purpose, a grand ambition. "This land," he proclaimed, gesturing towards the horizon with his spear. "This corrupt Empire… it will all be cleansed! I will conquer this land, not for power, not for glory, but for peace! For prosperity! For a better world! And Serenhollow… Serenhollow will be the first step on that path!"
The villagers, who had moments ago feared this enigmatic conqueror as a tyrant, now looked upon him with a dawning realization.
He was not just a conqueror.
He was a savior.
He had defended them against the Empire's brutality, and now, he promised to liberate them all.
A hesitant cheer rose from the villagers, growing in volume and fervor, echoing across the valley, a testament to the unexpected dawn of a new era, ushered in by a mysterious warrior clad in ornate armor, a warrior who had arrived not just to conquer, but to protect.
Yeah, not exactly to what I hope for yet if you have any ideas, let me know in the comments below.
As always...
Ciao...