CHAPTER 160: JUST PASSING THROUGH

The Apache soared westward over the ridgelines, its rotors thrumming like the heartbeat of a metal beast against the open sky. Inigo sat focused at the controls, eyes scanning the landscape through his heads-up display. The horizon stretched far ahead—rolling forests, winding rivers, and the occasional distant settlement dotting the valleys like forgotten pearls.

Lyra sat behind no longer clutching the seat with wide eyes. She had grown more comfortable with the rumble of the engine, the sway of the helicopter, and even the way the terrain rushed past beneath them. But when Inigo’s gaze narrowed, she noticed.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning slightly forward.

He tapped a button on his side display, zooming in with the camera pod mounted beneath the nose. Through it, he saw movement—erratic, fast, and wrong. Fire licked at the edges of small wooden houses. Smoke curled skyward, staining the horizon.

"A village," he said. "And it’s under attack."

Lyra pressed her hand to the glass, peering down. "Goblins," she muttered, voice filled with disgust. "Look at the way they move—scattered, reckless."

"Small green figures...," Inigo said, toggling infrared. "Yeah. Not friendly."

Without waiting, he shifted the Apache into a sharp tilt. The machine dipped low, slicing through the sky toward the smoke.

As they approached, the full scene unfolded beneath them. Dozens of goblins poured through the village, torches in hand, crude iron weapons glinting in the firelight. Farmers ran, some dragging children behind them. A few guards fought valiantly near the central well, hopelessly outnumbered.

A cry echoed up from below—raw, desperate.

Lyra clenched her fists. "They’ll kill everyone."

"Not today," Inigo muttered.

He flicked a switch. "Arming Hydra pods."

The targeting reticle snapped to life on his HUD, framing clusters of goblins darting between burning homes.

"Hold tight."

FWOOOSH!

A pair of Hydra rockets screamed from the side of the Apache, trailing smoke and fire as they arced downward.

The explosion rocked the village outskirts. A ball of flame engulfed one mob of goblins, sending limbs and weapons flying. The others screamed, scattering like rats.

Lyra winced at the impact, but she didn’t look away.

"You weren’t lying when you said your world made weapons to fight monsters."

Inigo nodded grimly. "And I’m just getting started."

He switched to the 30mm chain gun, aiming through the helmet-linked targeting system. With a twist of the stick, the gun aligned.

BRRRRT!

A three-second burst carved a trench through the goblin horde, spraying dirt, blood, and fire. The remaining creatures screamed in alarm, now realizing they were being hunted from the sky.

Some tried to flee.

Others raised bows—but they were primitive, useless against the steel dragon hovering above.

Inigo kept circling, sweeping the village perimeter to prevent escape. "Lyra, can you see if anyone’s still fighting back?"

She leaned toward her side panel, eyes scanning the streets below.

"There!" she shouted, pointing. "Near the granary. A boy with a pitchfork—he’s cornered!"

Inigo adjusted his angle. The boy was perhaps twelve, facing down a goblin three times his size. Its crude axe rose high.

Not for long.

BRRRRT!

The chain gun barked again. The goblin was ripped apart mid-swing, vanishing in a spray of green and red.

The boy fell backward, unharmed.

"He’s safe," Lyra said, relief flooding her voice.

The Apache continued its deadly ballet in the sky. Rockets flared, machine gun fire cracked across the wind, and the goblins broke ranks. Some tried to flee into the woods—but a few more rockets turned the treeline into a funeral pyre.

Within five minutes, the goblin force had crumbled.

Bodies lay scattered across the fields, some still twitching.

The fires still burned, but the worst was over.

Inigo pulled up slightly, letting the Apache hover above the smoke. "We’re clear."

He exhaled slowly. "We just saved an entire village."

Lyra watched the figures below emerge from hiding—farmers, mothers, elderly men. Their faces were streaked with soot and ash, but their eyes looked upward with something deeper than fear.

Reverence.

"They think we’re a god," she whispered.

Inigo shook his head. "Just people. With the right tools."

"Still," Lyra said, smiling faintly, "they’ll tell stories about this day."

He didn’t argue.

He activated the broadcast speaker, opening a channel to the villagers below.

"This village is safe. The monsters are gone. Help each other. Keep watch tonight."

Then, lowering altitude, he brought the Apache toward the open field beyond the granary. Dust kicked up as the helicopter settled onto the earth. The rotors slowed but didn’t fully stop.

Lyra and Inigo stepped out into the cool afternoon air, boots crunching against blackened soil.

Villagers cautiously approached, led by a gray-haired woman clutching a wooden cane.

"You... you saved us," she said, her voice trembling.

Inigo nodded. "We saw the smoke. We did what we could."

"You’re not from the kingdom," another man added, eyes wide. "Are you mercenaries?"

Lyra stepped forward. "We are travelers. And protectors, when needed."

Children peeked out from behind barrels and crates. Some pointed at the Apache. Others stared at Inigo’s gear, eyes gleaming with fascination.

"It’s called a helicopter," Inigo explained. "It flies. And it fights."

The old woman bowed low. "We have nothing to offer... but please, stay for the evening. Let us thank you properly."

Inigo glanced to Lyra, who nodded.

"Just one night," he said. "Then we move on."

That evening, the village square became a place of quiet celebration. Bread was shared. Stew was stirred in large pots. Makeshift tables were set with simple dishes, but they were offered with grateful hearts.

Inigo sat near the edge of the crowd, eating slowly. Lyra sat beside him, her bow resting across her lap.

"You were right," she said softly. "This machine... it’s not just for war. It’s for hope."

He looked out over the people laughing, rebuilding, hugging.

"Yeah," he said. "Sometimes that’s enough."

The village elder approached once more. "We rebuilt this place three times," she said. "Bandits, monsters, the frost. But we’ve never seen anything like that—like you. Whatever you are... wherever you came from..."

"We’re just passing through," Inigo said.