After leaving the fort, Leif trekked through the forest for several hours, looking for a place to sleep. Night had fallen and the air was cool. For the first time, he walked with no orders to follow and no one to serve. He made to follow Althea’s direction, trailing the tree line until he heard the soft rush of a river. The forest was unfamiliar, it kept his senses sharp, so he picked up on the subtle flow of water immediately.


    After several minutes, he finally spotted the first goal of his travels. His fatigue had been mounting, and he knew that this was the perfect place to get some rest. In the morning, he would make his way down the river and into the Kingdom of Valcia.


    When Leif was being candid with himself, he truly did not know what to do. Althea and Bren believed that he could reunite the remnants of Othengard. But was that something he was capable of? He didn’t even know where to begin. Once he made it to the kingdom, he would need to flesh out an entirely new identity in an attempt to disguise his ties with his homeland.


    Would feign as a merchant? A farmer? A sellsword?


    He was only good at one thing. Killing people. Was he good at it? Incredible. Was that helpful in his current scenario? Not really.


    Deep in thought, his eyes scanned the terrain until he spotted an outcrop of boulders nestled against a steep hill. It would do.


    He cleared the ground beneath an overhand, gathering some leaves to use as a pad for his head. He unslung his greatsword and laid down, still in his plate armor. He considered propping his sword against a nearby boulder but cradled it in his arms. The night was full of mystery, and he would be damned if he had to face it without sword in hand.


    Minutes passed, and Leif slipped into a reluctant sleep.


    When he woke, dawn had barely begun to break. He stretched to ease the stiffness in his joints and immediately thought of food. He was prepared to go without for one day, or even two. However, he did not know how long he would need to travel the river before making it into Valcia. If the trip was any longer than that, he would need to find a way to get food.


    Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately enough, food would become the least of his problems within a few short hours.


    Opting to move now and think later, Leif rose to his feet and set off down the river. He was moving as silently as his armor would allow, when he thought that he heard faint shouts in the distance.


    He immediately dropped to one knee and turned toward the source of the distant shouts. He wasn’t sure at first, but after several passing seconds, he was positive.


    There’s a fight up ahead.


    He thought of ignoring it and continuing his path but thought better of it. Not because of some altruistic goal, but because where there were people, there was probably food, supplies and information. All things that he needed. The consideration that it was Valcian scouts also crossed his mind, but the sound of combat led him to disregard that possibility.


    Leif slipped through the trees as he approached a clearing, where armored soldiers were locked in combat with… bandits? He thought.


    Bandits, mercenaries. He couldn’t tell, but there were clearly two sides here and what he assumed were bandits were being defeated quite handily.


    They didn’t possess the firepower to pierce the armor and chainmail of the soldiers, and they themselves didn’t have the same defensive capabilities. They were being repelled rapidly.


    Leif suspected that the things would be over soon, and he wouldn’t need to get involved. Of course, he considered that he might still need to interact with these people to get some help, but he didn’t know how kindly they would take to a disheveled looking warrior after present events.


    The battle was all but decided, and some of the disheveled bandits had already begun to flee. Except for one. His eyes dated through the chaos, calculating, and then he moved.


    Leif’s gaze followed him as he weaved through the bodies, keeping his profile low. He was looking for something. But what?


    He noticed several knights surrounding a girl at the back of the clearing, and a realization came to him.


    Moving fast, the bandit skirted around the edge of the battlefield, slipping past the last of the fighting men. The moment her guards turned to check on the rest of the battle, he lunged.


    The woman let out a sharp yelp as she was seized from behind, a knife pressed firmly against her throat.


    “Not another damn step!” he barked.


    Leif’s eyes narrowed from behind the cover of the trees.


    The, whom he presumed to be a noblewoman, didn’t scream or struggle, just held still and balled her hands into a fist. Her expression was one of frustration, with a tinge of fear.


    The soldiers whirled around and snapped their weapons toward the bandit, but none of them dared move.


    “I said don’t move!”


    His grip tightened on the girl as he pulled her closer, his eyes darting between the knights that encircled home. He reeked of desperation.


    “Drop your weapons! Now! Or I’ll slit her throat where she stands!” he snarled, pressing the blade into her neck enough to draw blood.


    The knights tensed, but did not move. The woman was clearly of import – whether she was a noble or someone of similar standing was unclear, but her life was worth more than the bandit’s.


    One of the soldiers, presumably the captain judging by the expensive-looking armor, took a single step forward. “You’re surrounded and outnumbered. Let her go and you can leave here with your life.”


    “Mercy? That’s rich.” His eyes flicked towards the bodies strewn across the clearing then back to the night. “No. No, I know how this ends. You drop your weapons, or she dies with me.”


    The noblewoman scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. “You’re an idiot.”


    “Shut your mouth,” the bandit spat back. “You think you’re untouchable? Maybe your father should’ve sent more knights to protect you.”


    Leif’s fingers gravitated toward his greatsword, slowly flexing around the pommel. The fool was too focused on bargaining with the knights to notice him moving. He stepped carefully, deciding that he would interfere, but keeping his approach silent.


    The captain’s voice remained steady. “Think carefully about this, if you kill her there is no outcome where you survive this.”


    Leif kept moving, faster.


    The captain continued. “There’s no escape for you. You’ve lost. But if you let her go, you may yet see another –“


    Leif struck.


    In one swift motion, he lunged from the cover of the trees, wrapping his right arm around the bandit’s neck, yanking him back with brutal force. With his left, he gripped the man’s knife-hand and jerked it away from the noblewoman’s throat.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The moment the blade left her skin, she dived forward. With no immediate threat to anyone’s life, Leif ripped the knife from man’s hands and rammed the pommel into the side of the man’s skull.


    His body went limp instantly and collapsed to a heap at Leif’s feet.


    Leif looked up, and analyzed the party in front of him. Or he went to. Now their blades were pointed at him.


    Fan-fucking-tastic, he thought.


    Raising his hands in surrender, he hoped that approaching the situation peacefully would lead towards the best outcome.


    “You, state your name and purpose.”


    Leif was about to answer the man, but was interrupted by a soft, feminine voice.


    “Sir Bertrand, is this any way to treat the man that just saved my life.”


    Ah, so he is the captain. Sir was a title given to combatants who were in service to nobles in the Kingdom of Valcia. Although, that was also interesting. What was a captain doing this close to Othengard territory?


    “My lady,” Bertrand said carefully, still keeping an eye on Leif, “we cannot be certain of this man’s intentions.”


    “His intention was clear enough to me. He saw an opportunity to strike and took it. A rather fortunate one for me, wouldn’t you say?”


    Bertrand clenched his jaw but didn’t argue.


    She turned to face Leif. “Now tell me – who are you?”


    He hesitated. His name alone wouldn’t mean much to them, he was a nobody, but his origins might. If his assumptions were right, and they truly were a noble Valcian party, the last thing he wanted was to be recognized as a native of Othengard. He’d be left with no choice but to kill them all.


    “Leif,” he said simply. “Just a traveler, passing through.”


    “A traveler in full plate armor, wielding a greatsword, sneaking through a battlefield?” Bertrand’s tone was skeptical.


    Leif shrugged. “Strange times.”


    The noblewoman’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. She turned to Bertrand. “Lower your guard. If he meant harm to us, he would have. And if he’s lying, we’ll deal with it accordingly.”


    Bertrand did not look pleased but he nodded.


    The lady smoothed the fabric of her cloak before stepping forward. “I suppose introductions are in order. I am Lady Arin Ren’Dal.”


    Ren’Dal. So she’s from one of Valcia’s great merchant noble families.


    Arin scrutinized him, waiting to see if her name sparked any reaction. When he didn’t flinch, she smiled faintly.


    Sir Bertrand cleared his throat and spoke up. “My lady, we’ve wasted enough time. We should keep moving before more of these lowlifes show up.”


    Arin nodded but didn’t break eye contact with Leif. “And what about him?”


    Bertrand scowled. “We don’t know who he is, where he’s from, or what he wants.”


    Leif spoke up. “I’d say my actions spoke for themselves.”


    “Perhaps.” Bertrand responded.


    Arin composed herself as Bertrand appeared to grow more antagonistic. “You haven’t answered my question, Leif. Where are you headed?”


    He thought to himself, then answered.


    “South. I’m looking for someone.”


    That was the direction the river traveled, and it was all he had to go on. He hoped it was good enough.


    Arin tilted her head. “How fortunate, then, that we’re headed the same direction.”


    Leif raised a brow. “That so?”


    “The capital,” another knight spoke up before hesitating, glancing at Arin as if unsure whether he should have revealed that. “Lady Arin is bound for Valenheart Academy.”


    Leif gave a slow nod. Valenheart Academy. He had heard of it in passing – a place where mages and knights trained. It naturally attracted powerful individuals. But that information didn’t seem particularly relevant to him. Not yet anyway.


    “The capitals as good a place to start as any,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “I wouldn’t be opposed to traveling with you, assuming that’s what you were suggesting.”


    Bertrand scoffed. “You don’t mind, do you?”


    Arin studied him for a moment and then smiled. “Then it’s settled. You’ll travel with us to the capital.”


    Bertrand bristled, but Arin ignored him and turned on her heel, motioning for the group to move. Leif adjusted his greatsword and fell into step with them, all too aware of the wary glances being cast his way. He had gained passage, but trust? Not quite yet.


    It had been days since he joined their party. The journey had been quiet, save for the occasional tension between him and the knights, Bertrand chief among them. He clearly opposed Leif joining their group. Not that Leif let it get to him; he didn’t join them to make friends. He kept to himself and offered little beyond necessity.


    Until the second attack came.


    It was supposed to be a routine camp setup for the night. The knights had fallen into their usual rotations, fires were being prepared, and Leif was scouting the perimeter with a cadet named Jenson when he caught the first sign of movement.


    He raised the alarm, and the knights reacted quickly. But it wasn’t enough. The enemy had the advantage of positioning, numbers, and the element of surprise.


    Leif, however, did not hesitate. His greatsword cut through the first assailant before they even realized he was there. He moved through the battlefield like a whirlwind. Each swing and parry were executed with perfect efficiency.


    In his offense, he noticed that Arin stepped forward and traced her fingers through the air. A faint glow pulsed from fingers has she muttered a phrase. Shortly after, a spark ignited in her palm and she hurled a burst of fire at an attacker’s chest.


    This was the first time that Leif had seen a mage in person, but he had little time to watch.


    He ducked a sword swing, using his momentum to slam his elbow into his attacker’s gut before driving his blade through the man’s tibs.


    Another opponent charged him. Leif pivoted, parrying a flurry of blows before disarming his attacker. He followed that up with a wide swing of his sword that parted the man’s head from his shoulders.


    The tide had turned, and within a few more minutes the surviving attackers retreated into the night.


    Lowering his blade, Leif surveyed the aftermath. Blood stained his armor, but his breath was steady despite the heavy huffs and puffs of his temporary allies surrounding him.


    Outside the frame of his vision, Arin was watching him with intent.


    The last of the enemy had fled. The knights were regrouping, checking for wounded and ensuring that none of their own had been lost.


    Arin let out a slow breath, observing their camp. She turned her gaze towards Leif.


    He sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning the blood from his greatsword. He had been like that since the fight ended – not excited for the victory, or mourning any of their losses, just caring for his blade.


    Arin was born to a noble merchant family, but she had still witnessed knights training from her childhood. She knew what someone powerful looked like.


    He was raw lethality. His brawling style cared not for chivalry or honor, but to cut down his enemy in the most efficient way possible. Watching how he weaved elbows and kicks into his offense intrigued her.


    That was when Bertrand approached, looking as though he’d swallowed something bitter.


    He stood beside her for a long moment, arms crossed, watching the same thing she was.


    But Bertrand was not looking at just Leif. His gaze swept the camp, taking in the wounded and bodies that littered the ground.


    “This shouldn’t have happened,” he muttered.


    Arin raised a brow. “Meaning?”


    “We should’ve handled that better. They caught us off guard, took down one of ours before we even knew what was happening. We’re trained for this, my lady. And yet, if he – “ Bertrand jerked his chin toward Leif “- hadn’t been here, we might’ve taken heavier losses.”


    Arin folded her hands in her lap, her expression unchanged. “So you’re saying he was an asset.”


    Bertrand’s frown deepened as he seemed to understand where Arin was going with this. He hesitated, but he was an honest man.


    “I… won’t deny that he fought well. But that doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know where he comes from.”


    “I don’t care where he comes from.”


    Bertrand turned to Arin fully, incredulous.” You can’t be serious.”


    She met his gaze. “Wealth does not ensure power, Bertrand. The Ren’Dal family understands this better than most. We thrive because we make investments – and Leif might be one worth making.”


    Bertrand remained silent, so she continued.


    “He’s an unknown, yes. But right now, he’s our unknown. If someone like him is wandering without a banner, that’s an opportunity.”


    Bertrand unfolded his arms. “And if he refuses?”


    “We just need to make sure the benefits are enticing enough.”


    She tapped her fingers against her wrist in thought before speaking again. “Say Bertrand, do you think Leif would be interested in enrolling into Valenheart Academy?”


    Bertrand’s jaw tightened. “Lady Ren’Dal…”


    “Think about it.” She cut him off.


    Bertrand was silent for a long moment. Then, reluctantly, he said, “It won’t be easy. I don’t know him, but he doesn’t seem like the trustworthy type.”


    “Which is why we don’t make it about trust,” Arin replied smoothly. “We’ll make it about opportunity.”


    “And if he still has no interest?” Bertrand said.


    Arin’s fingers continued drumming against her wrist. “Then we make him interested.”


    Bertrand’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean… you don’t plan to manipulate him?”


    Arin laughed softly. “Oh, Bertrand. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘persuade.’”