Even Satou couldn't suppress a small smile at Grimnir's aggrieved expression. The big hobgoblin looked genuinely hurt by the accusation, his scarred face somehow managing to convey the innocence of a puppy who'd been scolded for no reason.

"I'm not that scary..." Grimnir muttered, but he took a strategic step backward to give the girl some space.

Satou turned his full attention to the terrified lizard-folk girl, his voice deliberately calm and gentle. "Don't be scared. We're not here to hurt you. We're the ones who saved you from those serpent warriors. You're safe now."

The girl's panicked breathing started to slow as her mind caught up with her instinctive fear. Her eyes focused on Satou's face, and recognition flickered there. "You... I saw you. Before I passed out. You killed them so fast..." Her voice was hoarse, strained from screaming.

"What's your name?" Satou asked gently, maintaining that calm, reassuring tone. "And can you tell me what happened here?"

The girl struggled to sit up, wincing at residual pain despite the healing potion's effects. Up close, Satou could see she was young—probably equivalent to a human teenager. Her scales were a vibrant green with yellow patterns, though many were dulled by dirt and dried blood. Her eyes were vertical-slit reptilian pupils in golden irises.

"My name is... Ssyla," she said, the slight hiss in her pronunciation natural to her species' anatomy. "I'm from the Emerald Scale tribe. We... we lived in the valley, just beyond that ridge." She pointed with a shaking hand toward the east.

"And the serpent folk?" Satou prompted. "Why did they attack your people?"

Ssyla's eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking as she spoke. "It wasn't always like this. The serpent folk—the Crimson Fang tribe—they were our neighbors. Our friends. For generations, our peoples lived in peace. We traded with them, celebrated festivals together, even had marriages between our tribes sometimes..."

She took a shuddering breath, wiping at her eyes. "But everything changed three months ago. King Sethrak—the serpent king who'd ruled for decades, who was wise and kind—he died. The official story was natural causes, old age finally catching up with him. But there were rumors... whispers that it wasn't natural. That someone had poisoned him."

"His brother?" Satou guessed, his tactical mind already piecing together a familiar story of succession and betrayal.

Ssyla nodded miserably. "Vexor. Sethrak's younger brother. He'd always been ambitious, always in his brother's shadow. When Sethrak died, Vexor took the throne. At first, things seemed normal. He gave speeches about honoring his brother's legacy, maintaining peace with neighbors, all the right words."

Her voice hardened with anger. "But then, in the middle of the night, they came. No warning. No declaration of war. Just... sudden violence. Serpent warriors we'd known our whole lives, people we'd shared meals with, they were butchering us in our homes. Killing children, elders, anyone they could find."

The girl's hands clenched into fists, her claws extending involuntarily. "We fought back. Of course we did. The Emerald Scale tribe has warriors too, hunters who know the land. We gave as good as we got. The war turned this entire fertile valley into a wasteland. Crops burned, villages destroyed, the river ran red with blood from both sides."

"A stalemate," Grimnir observed, his tactical experience recognizing the pattern.

"Yes. For weeks, neither side could gain the upper hand. Both tribes were being bled dry, losing warriors every day. My father—he was our war chief—he said we just had to hold out. That eventually the serpent folk would realize this war was destroying them too, that they'd come to their senses..."

Ssyla's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "But then everything changed. About two weeks ago, the serpent warriors we captured or killed... they were different. Their eyes were empty. No emotion, no fear, no anger. Just... nothing. And they were stronger. Much stronger. Warriors who'd been evenly matched with ours before were suddenly tearing through our defenses like we were made of paper."

She looked up at Satou, and he could see the trauma in her eyes—the thousand-yard stare of someone who'd seen too much death. "It stopped being a war. It became a slaughter. A mindless, endless slaughter. They didn't even take prisoners anymore. They just killed everyone they found, slowly, methodically, like they were clearing vermin from a field."

Before Satou could respond, a new voice cut through the air—young, feminine, but carrying unmistakable authority and intelligence.

"Black magic."

Everyone turned to see the rest of their party had caught up. Freda stood at the edge of the clearing, her green hair disheveled from running, her emerald eyes wide with horror at the carnage around them. But her expression was analytical, her scholarly mind already processing what she'd heard.

Urgot stood beside her, having apparently ignored Kelvin's order to stay with the carriage once it became clear the situation was serious. Shadow was there too, standing in their characteristic silent vigil in the background, observing but not commenting.

Freda stepped forward, her voice gaining confidence as she explained. "What you're describing—warriors suddenly losing all emotion, becoming stronger, fighting without fear or self-preservation—those are classic signs of black magic corruption. Specifically, a type of forbidden ritual called the Hollow Binding."

She pulled out a small notebook from her robes, flipping through pages covered in cramped handwriting and complex magical diagrams. "Master Morgana made me study historical dark magic practices as part of my training. She said I needed to recognize the signs in case we ever encountered them. The Hollow Binding was used during the War of the First Demon Lord, centuries ago."

Satou's attention sharpened. "The First Demon Lord? I've heard mentions of him, but never the full story."

Freda nodded, her scholarly instincts taking over despite the grim circumstances. "The First Demon Lord nearly brought about the end of the world years ago. He discovered rituals that could corrupt entire armies, turning soldiers into mindless killing machines with enhanced strength and durability. They felt no pain, no fear, no mercy. They just fought until completely destroyed."

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