NiTN Season 3 Outlines - 5 (Patreon)

Episode 5: "Fury Unleashed"

Overwhelmed by rage, Greg uses his growing powers to track down and destroy the soldiers responsible for the massacre.

A relentless hunt through the woods and a confrontation at another village the men stopped at, with Greg dispatching soldiers using raw power, emboldened by his desire to do Good.

the snow crunched under greg’s boots as he stalked through the forest, his breath coming in ragged puffs. he wasn’t sure what burned more—the cold biting at his skin or the anger surging through his chest. the bolton men had killed innocent villagers, set homes ablaze, and taken his sword.

my sword, greg thought, his fists clenching at the memory. it wasn’t just a weapon. it was his, a part of him in a way he couldn’t explain. and now they had it, dragging it off like some trophy.

ash padded silently beside him, the bear’s glowing eyes cutting through the dim light of the woods. every so often, ash would growl low in his throat, a sound that made greg’s frustration boil over even more.

“they’re not keeping it,” greg muttered, half to himself, half to ash. “i don’t care how far they’ve gone or how many there are. they’re not keeping it.”

they weren’t getting away.

the bolton men had stopped again, this time in a cluster of ramshackle buildings barely large enough to call a village. greg crouched in the shadows of the treeline, watching them.

they were laughing, drinking, dragging supplies from the homes as the few remaining villagers cowered in the corners of their houses.

he scanned the scene, his heart hammering in his chest. his sword wasn’t there—at least, not where he could see it.

probably sent it ahead, greg thought bitterly. the idea of it being far from him made his teeth grind.

“we don’t need the sword,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. “we’ll manage just fine without it.”

ash growled softly, as if in agreement.

greg didn’t wait long. his body moved before his mind caught up, his anger driving him forward.

the first bolton soldier barely had time to react before greg’s fist connected with his face. the man crumpled to the ground, blood spraying across the snow.

another rushed him, sword raised, but greg ducked low, slamming his shoulder into the man’s stomach. the soldier staggered, and greg followed up with a sharp kick to his knee. the joint snapped with a sickening crunch, and the man collapsed, screaming.

“that’s for the village,” greg growled, stepping over him.

a rider charged at him from the side, but ash was there first. the bear leapt, claws raking across the horse’s side. the animal bucked wildly, throwing its rider into the snow. ash growled, smoke curling from his mouth as he lunged again, pinning the man beneath his paws.

“good boy,” greg muttered, throwing a rock at another soldier. it struck with enough force to shatter the man’s helmet, and he collapsed in a heap.

his hands burned with energy, his magic flaring as he cast “igne.” a cone of fire burst from his palms, engulfing two soldiers who had been trying to flank him. their screams echoed briefly before falling silent.

“you’ll pay for that, boy!” one of the soldiers shouted, charging at greg with a spear.

greg sidestepped easily, grabbing the shaft of the spear and snapping it with a sharp twist.

“funny,” greg said, slamming the broken end into the man’s chest. “i was about to say the same to you.”

another soldier stumbled back, his sword trembling in his hand.

“we had orders!” he cried, his voice cracking. “we were just following orders!”

greg’s jaw tightened.

“then you followed them straight into the ground,” he said coldly, raising his hand. “ard!”

the blast of force sent the man flying into a nearby tree, his body crumpling like a ragdoll.

he snow was stained red by the time it was over. greg stood in the center of the village, his chest heaving as he surveyed the carnage.

the bolton men were dead, their bodies scattered among the wreckage. but their words lingered in his mind—the cries, the pleas for mercy, the constant refrain of orders.

he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

“they didn’t care about orders when they burned frostfall,” he muttered to himself. “they didn’t care about orders when they—”

his voice broke off as he noticed the villagers stepping out of their homes, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

“he killed them,” one of them whispered.

“he stopped them,” another said, their tone more awed than afraid.

greg didn’t look at them. he didn’t want to see their gratitude or their fear.

ash padded over to his side, his red eyes glowing faintly as he nudged greg’s arm.

“yeah,” greg muttered, glancing down at the bear. “i know. let’s go.”

he turned and walked away, the whispers of the villagers following him into the woods. behind him, the flames of the bolton men’s camp still burned, and the anger in his chest hadn’t cooled.

Villagers' eager reactions to Greg's merciless vengeance. Rumors of Greg’s fearsome abilities begin to spread faster to nearby villages and among traveling merchants.