Descendants of the False Gods

Chapter 15: The Village of Elders

Four years later, in a quiet little mountain village, a thunderous shout rang out:

“Wake up!”

Immediately, a chorus of elderly voices echoed back, grumbling and cursing, filling the village with noise.

At the foot of the mountain, a small gate to the manor creaked open. Two small figures slipped out, closed the gate behind them, and ran toward the village’s Mirror Lake, their silhouettes blending into the morning mist.

After running a lap around the lake, the two figures took another route through the village before circling back.

“Good morning, Grandpa Yan Nine!”

“Hey! Slow down!”

“Good morning, Grandma Yan Seven!”

“Ah! Good! Come by later for some buns!”

“Grandpa Yan Eighteen, off to fish?”

“Come have some for lunch!”

“Good morning, Grandma Yan Five!”

“Don’t wear yourselves out! If that iron brute dares to scold you, tell him Grandma said you could rest!”

Greeting the elders along the way, the two small figures finally returned to the manor. They passed through and ran up the hillside along a narrow trail beside the estate. This was the liveliest time of day in Yan Village.

These two small figures were the treasures of the village—the only two children in the entire settlement.

Apart from the village chief and his brother, the rest of the villagers were all elderly, making this place a true “village of elders.”

Every year, some of the elders passed away, but each year, new ones arrived as well.

Everyone in the village shared the surname “Yan,” but their names were simply numbers.

The elders adored these two children—perhaps because they were cute, perhaps because they were polite, or maybe just because they were the most energetic little lives in a village full of aged souls.

They were twin brothers—one slightly taller, the other a bit shorter—the kind of twins that always got mistaken for each other when apart.

Reaching the cave at the top of the hill, the two little ones were about to sit down for a break when a strict voice rang out:

“Go to Tiger’s Maw Cliff and get your wooden swords. Same rules—one thousand strikes on the wooden stakes!”

Without hesitation, the two small figures dashed into the cave, each grabbing a wooden sword. They positioned themselves in front of two wooden stakes standing near the entrance and began their practice.

“Heh!” “Ha!”

Their strikes were disciplined and precise.

First, they chopped at the head of the stake, then at its arms, and finally, they thrust at its heart. Over and over, a full thousand strikes meant swinging their swords three thousand times.

This three-strike routine was part of their daily training. Over the years, they had become adept at it, though completing a full set still took over an hour.

By the end, both boys leaned on their wooden swords, gasping for air. Before they could speak, a deep voice came from behind them:

“Ten-minute break. Food is on the table. After you eat, clean up after yourselves. I’m heading down the mountain to help some of the grandpas fix a rooftop. When you’re done, go find Second Dad for archery training. Remember! Stay away from the back mountain—there are real wild beasts there!”

With that, the voice’s owner left, heading down the mountain.

“Eat quickly! Let’s finish early today so Second Dad can teach us something new. I’m sick of chopping, slashing, and stabbing after nearly a year of the same drills!” the older brother urged.

“I’m gonna ask Second Dad to teach me how to fix that hand crossbow!” the younger brother had other plans.

The two children, barely taller than their wooden swords, rushed to the small cabin built into the mountainside.

Archery training was even more exhausting than sword practice. They had to maintain a low stance while drawing their bows, and they weren’t allowed to rest until they hit the bullseye a set number of times each day.

When they were too tired to continue, they would collapse onto the ground and pester Second Dad for stories.

Unlike First Dad, who was strict from morning till night, Second Dad was much gentler. He always indulged them, telling them stories about divine beings, sharing news from the outside world, and even teaching them rare and obscure knowledge.

The only downside was that Second Dad was bound to a wheelchair. His legs were weak, so he couldn’t take them out to play.

First Dad, on the other hand, was fierce. He disciplined them from sunrise to sunset. But as the village chief, he also had a lot of responsibilities, constantly busy with village affairs.

Still, despite his strictness, he took good care of them—always making sure they had the best food and drink, looking after every aspect of their lives.

There was also Grandfather, the old village chief. His health wasn’t great, so he spent most of his time resting indoors, but he was the one who spoiled them the most.

Though the twins were mischievous, they always behaved well around the elders, earning the village’s affection. Even when First Dad punished them by withholding meals, they never actually went hungry.

The elders would come up with excuses to visit the village chief, and while talking about trivial matters, they would secretly stuff food into the twins’ hands and pockets. When their pockets were full, they’d leave the food on the table instead, warning the chief:

“This is for the kids! Don’t you dare take it for yourself! If I find out they didn’t eat, you’ll have to answer to me!”

And before leaving, they would always turn back to remind the boys:

“Be good, little ones! Eat it all. If it goes bad, that’d be a waste, and wasting food is a bad habit!”

Thus, the peaceful mountain village thrived, where a pair of young brothers cared for a group of elders, and in return, those elders filled their world with warmth and joy.