《Sagas of Blood and Tears》 Chapter 1-Eve of War (1)
Chapter 2-Eve of War (2)
May it shine as brightly as our daughter, she thought. It was a gift from the king before his departure for war, placed upon her finger before their daughter''s green eyes. As she watched the farmers flooding into the city from the outskirts, a twinge of pain struck her heart. What difference is there between us and them? Salt, we all must die eventually, mustn''t we? Had someone fallen here? He dismissed the thought. "Thank you." The handmaiden responded with a smile. "It should have been me... I should have been the one to suffer!" Her crying intensified, tears flowing uncontrollably. Chapter 3-Eve of War (3)
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Chapter 4-Eve of War (4)
She¡¯s four, the little rascal. ¡°You saw her not too long ago. Must your memory be as fickle as spring weather?¡± For Daisy and Emmy¡­ I¡¯d face a thousand cunning foxes. ¡°For wife and child, sometimes a man must sacrifice his earthly treasures.¡± If not for those farmers, what would fill that bloated armor of yours? Karl scoffed inwardly. Taylor, meanwhile, remained silent, his gaze fixed upon his black mare¡¯s flowing mane. Chapter 5-Eve of War (5)
Titles¡­? What titles? Does he mean our lands¡­ if we still had any¡­ Karl hesitated. How many years has it been since I last announced my full title to anyone? I am noble-born, yes - but that was another life. Very well, let him know. What worse could come of it? The worst has already come and gone. Surrendering his resistance, he began to speak. "Our family''s holdings lie in Morowe..." He¡¯s covering for me. His companion''s words carried hidden meaning. If it ever ends¡­ and if I live to see it. His eyes clouded with sorrow. "I''ve been dwelling on those plans so much, it slipped from my tongue." To remind myself of what I¡¯ve lost. I can''t bear to speak of this anymore... Every mention of the past sets my mind ablaze with pain... Karl began breathing heavily, his left hand clutching his head. Taylor watched his companion with understanding eyes, for he too knew such anguish. He, too, had tasted that terror. Chapter 6-Eve of War (6)
Elves of the Trees'' will serve us well in this fight." Chapter 7-Eve of War (7)
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It saw me... Terror seized his limbs, sending tremors through his entire body. Chapter 8-Eve of War (8)
Chapter 9-Eve of War (9)
Chapter 10-Eve of War (10)
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I understand murdered kin, burning homes, scorched fields. I understand more than any of you. He watched Taylor follow their captain while his own feet refused to move.
Chapter 11- Initial Skirmish (1)
Salman, Historian, The Annals of Godma, Volume II, Chapter 2: Initial Skirmish
Have the bullfrogs fallen silent too...? His unease deepened, a sense of foreboding spreading like a shadow across the land. Finally, he ordered the knights to slow their pace, hoping to remain vigilant for any danger.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Chapter 12- Initial Skirmish (2)
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Chapter 13- Initial Skirmish (3) Carl kept his gaze fixed ahead, eyes piercing the darkness like arrows. Corslin had retreated to the squad''s left flank, his face burning red as a baboon''s hindquarters, the flush refusing to fade even as they rode on. He seemed to have forgotten how to blink. "We''ve been riding for hours to finally see farmland," said a knight beside him, torch held high. "But something''s wrong with these fields." Carl took the torch, guiding his horse toward a patch of farmland to his right. "All burned... utterly destroyed," he whispered. The vast fields before them lay ravaged by flame, their charred surface reflecting the night sky like a dark mirror. The knights gathering behind Carl gasped at the sight. "By the Triad of Destiny!" Bechi cried out. "What manner of destruction is this? And look - it''s not just this field!" He raised his torch, illuminating another expanse of scorched earth, this one somehow darker, more absolute in its desolation. "The Cynthians did this themselves," Carl said to the other knights, gesturing toward a wooden hut by the fields, its thick redwood bearing the scars of flame. "We''ve heard tales of Cynthian resilience, but this..." His pale gray eyes reflected a mix of admiration and concern. "They''d rather destroy what they cherish than let it fall to enemy hands. This shows what kind of army we face." A heavy silence followed Carl''s words. He dismounted to examine the soil and inspect the hut. These marks aren''t fresh, he thought. They''ve abandoned this place for some time. The evidence suggested the enemy wasn''t nearby¡ªat least for now. "Mount up," he ordered, his spirits lifting slightly. "We need to increase our pace." As he approached his brown horse, he noticed its nervous glancing. Only then did he realize that his earlier preoccupation had prevented him from properly assessing his vanguard squad. Yet Carl''s memory was sharp as a blade - from the moment of his appointment as captain, he''d memorized every face and name: Piatt, Tolled, Mano, Corslin - that "Troll Boy," he smiled to himself, continuing his mental roll call. Even chattering Simon was here... How strange it all seemed. He shook his head with a quiet laugh and mounted his horse. But as he prepared to lead the group back to the main road, he froze. "Tyler!?" His eyes widened as he scanned the group. "Where''s Tyler!?" The vanguard knights exchanged glances in the torchlight. No one had seen Tyler. Carl rode through the group like a man possessed, checking each knight one by one, nearly dragging some from their saddles. Nineteen, including himself. Tyler was missing. "Before we reached these fields," he shouted, "who was riding with Tyler, son of Ternence?" "I... I was," Simon of Elselar''s voice wavered. Carl leaped from his horse, striding to Simon and pulling him down. "Then where is he!?" Carl''s grip tightened on Simon''s collar as if he could tear through the polished armor. "If he was with you, why are you alone now!?" "Please, let me explain, Carl, son of Cornell!" Simon broke free. "I rode with Tyler, son of Ternence, but his black mare kept balking. He told me to continue while he dismounted to lead her." Simon turned, pointing back along their path. "He shouldn''t be far¡ªperhaps two hundred yards back. We should easily see... damn!"This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. All eyes followed Simon''s gesture. Someone raised a torch higher. The road stretched empty before them, bare as fresh parchment. "Gods above... he couldn''t have..." Carl''s voice trembled as his mind raced through every brutal possibility. "We''re turning back!" he shouted, hysteria edging into his voice. "Everyone alert! We find Tyler, son of Ternence!" The squad erupted in confusion. "That''s hardly protocol, is it?" Bechi''s smile carried malice. "Our orders are to scout for enemy activity, not retrieve stragglers." His grin widened. "Perhaps he simply needed solitude? Our captain can be rather... dull." Carl, son of Cornell, stood caught between fear, grief, and fury. His hand moved to his sword hilt, ready to strike, but before he could draw, Bechi''s voice cut off abruptly, replaced by the thud of a falling body. Carl turned toward the sound, unsurprised. The black arrow protruding from Bechi''s throat told the whole story. He drew a sharp breath, the cold air freezing his words. Only when more knights began falling did reality snap back into focus. He shoved Simon aside and sprinted for his horse. "Retreat!" he roared. "It''s an ambush!" His horse whinnied in terror as chaos erupted around them. Carl fought his reins, struggling to control his mount as silent arrows continued their deadly work. This time he caught it - a pattern of knocks, two short, one long. Damn them! They''ve been watching all along! "Fall back!" Carl spurred his horse forward, taking the lead. "Fall back! Stay on the road!" The surviving knights finally responded, their mounts thundering after him. Hoofbeats echoed in chaos. Carl counted the riders near him - far fewer than had gathered by the burnt fields moments ago. Gods! He cursed himself. The fields - they were part of the trap! The formation began to break. Knights veered off the road, their terrified mounts no longer under control. Those who maintained the path lived; those who strayed vanished into darkness. "Hold the road!" Carl shouted to those still with him. "They''re on both flanks! Stay together!" His chest heaved with each breath. Though his horse did the running, he''d never felt such exhaustion. Will I die here? The thought intruded. But will it be me first, or you, Tyler? Movement ahead forced his attention back. Dark figures emerged from fields, trees, and huts, converging with unnatural precision. Carl whipped his head around. Are there more riders? Something felt wrong - their numbers seemed to have grown. Impossible. Then understanding struck like ice in his veins. The new riders moved with military precision, maintaining perfect intervals. Black cloaks rippled in the night wind, seeming to drink in the torchlight. Their movements flowed like water as they drew and fired. These cloaked riders had infiltrated their group, forming a deadly circle around them. Carl understood their strategy too late - again. The trap closed like a noose. "They''re surrounding us!" he shouted as bowstrings sang. "Keep low! And¡ª" he watched the trailing fire of arrows. "Douse the torches!" Knights hurled their torches to the ground. Horses stumbled and shied from the flames, adding to the chaos. The cloaked riders reformed behind them, maintaining their deadly formation. A command rang out in Cynthian, followed by the whisper of arrows taking flight. Even pressed flat against his mount, Carl felt death''s cold fingers brush past. The enemy commander was already calling for another volley. We''re nothing but targets... He gritted his teeth. Though the darkness had hurt their accuracy, each volley still claimed lives. I must get them out... And find Tyler. "What do we do?!" The cry beside him cut like a whip. Carl turned to find Corslin, the "Troll Boy," his voice stripped of all its usual humor and warmth, replaced by raw terror. "They''ll kill us all!" "Reinforcements¡ªwe need reinforcements!" Carl slowed slightly to match Corslin''s pace. But we''re trapped prey... His mind raced. Please! Triad of Destiny! Show us a path! In his desperation, memory flared like blue flame. "The signal torch!" he called to Corslin. "Before we left, who carried the blue signal torch!?" Hope flickered fragile as a candle. If that knight already lay dead in the fields... "Thank the gods!" Corslin''s words rekindled hope. "Carl, son of Cornell, I have it!" Carl''s relief rushed out like a held breath. "But¡ª" Corslin''s next words extinguished that brief flame. "We threw away all our torches. How can we light it now?" Chapter 14- Initial Skirmish (4)
because you''ll need both hands.
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Come on!
Chapter 15- Initial Skirmish (5)
Such strength... inhuman... Carl watched his opponent as Stellan''s blade swept up in a vicious slash. Though Carl blocked again, his arms screamed in protest, muscles refusing to obey. I can''t match his blade... his strength is overwhelming. Carl''s mind raced. I must attack or die.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Saved! He gasped. In such moments, even the smallest reprieve felt like salvation.
Chapter 16- Initial Skirmish (6)
Her vision swam in mist. Through the haze, she glimpsed dancing dust motes, darting shadows, and flashes of ethereal blue.
Then came the voices¡ªunfamiliar shouts first, followed by a response that made her heart leap.
It was her father''s voice.
He smiled. If even that carefree Simon can show such courage, what excuse have I for surrender?
"Thank you, Simon of Elselar!" Carl''s shout carried across the battlefield, but Simon couldn''t reply¡ªhe was already locked in deadly combat with the archer.
Simon wielded his broadsword with both hands, the massive blade matching his frame. He brought it down with crushing force toward Lannord. The archer, too close to draw steel, raised his yew bow vertically as a desperate shield. Simon''s momentum carried through, splitting the bow like kindling. But what happened next defied belief. The broadsword, which should have continued its deadly arc, stopped dead in mid-swing. For one impossible moment, Simon saw what had halted his mighty blade: a single thumb.
Surely this is madness. Cold sweat traced Simon''s spine. A finger stopped my full strike!?
In the next heartbeat, Lannord casually flicked the broadsword aside. His iron sword whispered from its sheath like death''s own breath.
Simon''s heart filled with regret.
Carl had found his warrior''s spirit again. Sword gripped tight, he faced Stellan. Their long chase had emptied the cloaked riders'' quivers, and now steel sang against steel all around them.
I flee no more, he vowed. Life or death, the choice will be mine.
Seeing Carl''s renewed resolve, Stellan''s terrible smile returned, chilling as a midwinter wind.
They spurred their mounts forward, thundering toward each other. Stellan struck first, his blade a silver arc in the darkness. Carl twisted aside with equal speed, letting death whisper past his ear. At this intimate range, the cloaked rider''s attacks came faster still. Where before Carl would have raised his sword in a futile block, now he leveled his blade at chest height and thrust forward like a viper''s strike.
The cloaked rider''s surprise showed in his desperate parry, forced to redirect his slash mid-swing. Carl withdrew and struck again instantly. "Lord Carl, when space denies you the slash, trust in the thrust," Stuart''s lessons echoed in his mind. "Every swordsman''s first lesson is the point."If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The battle shifted like tide. Carl pressed forward, his thrusts a storm of steel while Stellan scrambled to defend. Each strike came faster, more merciless, more deadly than the last. Carl''s blade carried all his fury for Corslin''s murder.
Stellan''s patience snapped like dry timber. Weary of endless defense but trapped like a sailor before the tempest, he roared, "To hell with this!" and abandoned his guard.
Carl, deaf to the foreign tongue, seized his chance and lunged. But Stellan hadn''t broken¡ªwith his left hand, he swept his dark green cloak before him like a shield.
It ends here. Carl thought. No cloth can turn steel. This is a dying man''s last desperate act.
"Die!" Carl''s voice carried authority he''d never known. "This blade bears the honor of Corslin Silian and his house!" Steel flashed in the night.
But the expected resistance of pierced flesh never came.
His sword stopped dead against the cloak. It hung there, trapped between advance and retreat. All Carl''s hope and fury, concentrated in that perfect thrust, shattered against mere fabric.
Stellan struck instantly. His blade swept toward Carl''s sword hand, seeking to claim it as he had claimed the boy''s. Carl jerked back with desperate speed, but not fast enough¡ªhis steel sword went spinning into darkness.
In mere heartbeats, Carl plummeted from triumph to despair. This time, the hopelessness carried a bitter taste of irony.
He had nothing left. Even his mount wheezed beneath him, stride faltering.
He was utterly defenseless.
At the end of his solitary battle, Stellan spoke.
Though the words came slow and thick, Carl recognized his own tongue: the language of Godma.
The message needed no translation.
"Die."
Simon tried to charge forward, to save his friend from the executioner''s blade. But he couldn''t break free.
His duel with Lannord had stretched eternally, neither gaining advantage. Yet Simon sensed his opponent was merely playing, wielding his sword with casual, mocking grace. Each of Simon''s attacks met empty air while Lannord''s battered iron sword danced with impossible life, humming with power in his grip. Simon''s strikes found only air; Lannord''s made his bones sing with pain.
Thrust, slash, cut, and strike¡ªSimon had exhausted his repertoire without landing a single blow.
I cannot win. The truth settled like lead in his gut. This is the gap between us¡ªthis is the gods'' cruel jest. His opponent didn''t merely use his sword; he filled it with overwhelming force. Gods above, I must retreat.
He sheathed his blade and spurred his mount forward, desperate to escape. That''s when he saw Carl, disarmed and helpless.
And the cloaked rider preparing the killing stroke.
"Carl, son of Cornell!" Simon''s cry tore from his throat. He would kill that rider, save his friend. Even if it meant taking death''s blow himself.
"Do not interfere." A voice like winter frost pulled Simon back. Lannord spoke, and though Simon couldn''t understand Cynthian, the meaning was clear. In that same instant, Lannord''s iron sword fell like lightning. It was his first true attack of their duel¡ªand would be the last.
There was nowhere to run. Chapter 17- Initial Skirmish (7)
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Chapter 18- Initial Skirmish (8)
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Chapter 19- Initial Skirmish (9)
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I must save Carl from this trap.
You appear at the final moment to save me. Such strange workings of destiny.
If the boy fights on despite his broken arm, what then? He lifted his visor to wipe sweat from his eyes. Kill him? Or keep my oath?
If we''d met in a tavern, we might have found a translator, shared ale and women for the night.He lowered his visor and raised his sword. But we meet as enemies, so what use are words? And... He eyed that miraculously healed arm. What manner of thing are you?
Chapter 20- Initial Skirmish (10)
"You''re all going to die anyway, so why cling so desperately to life?" Stellan''s words dripped with mockery.
Tyler answered with steel, drawing his short sword in one fluid motion.
They rode three abreast now - Carl and Stellan flanking Tyler, who rode between them, a shield against Stellan''s fury. Not content merely to protect Carl, he pressed Cherry closer to Stellan''s mount, forcing the cloaked rider to give ground. Cherry whinnied encouragement to Carl''s chestnut mare, and gradually the mare found her courage again, matching her companion''s determined stride.
Tyler, son of Ternence, struck first, his blade a silver arc in the darkness. After barely deflecting two strikes, Stellan realized this swordsman fought with far more aggression than Carl. They exchanged a flurry of blows, Tyler testing, probing, searching for weakness. Though he lacked the raw power of the previous rider, his movements flowed like quicksilver. This will not be easy, Tyler thought.
Stellan veered left, Tyler following close behind, both seeking space to reset their deadly dance. Whoever maintains the attack will claim victory, Tyler knew.
They charged as one, tactics aligned in deadly purpose. The moment range allowed, Stellan unleashed two devastating cuts. The first swept down from high left; Tyler ducked beneath its whistling path. The second reversed course in a horizontal sweep that Tyler evaded by clasping his horse''s neck and throwing himself backward. Both strikes missed their mark, but claimed two of Tyler''s tri-colored plumes as trophy.
Stellan''s twin assault left him briefly exposed. Tyler seized his chance, short sword darting for flesh. But Stellan had no intention of dodging - a simple wrist-flick turned the thrust aside. Tyler recovered, leaning forward for another cut. The instant his arm rose, Stellan''s guard was set. He reads my movements, Tyler realized, impressed despite himself at such skill in one so young. But even the keenest eyes can miss what they don''t expect. As his downward slash began, Tyler''s wrist twisted, transforming the cut into a lightning thrust at Stellan''s unprotected face. Victory comes through change.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"Tyler! The cloak!"
His blade stopped dead against dark green fabric that moved like living shadow, once again denying death''s touch. Pain lanced through Tyler''s wrist as he withdrew, crimson already staining the brown leather of his gauntlet.
"Oh? Still attached, is it?" Stellan''s mocking smile never wavered. Tyler assessed the damage with a warrior''s clarity. Another exchange like that and the blood loss will finish me. Without hesitation, he switched his sword to his left hand. Stellan backed his mount slightly, as if granting a moment''s reprieve.
"Carl!" Tyler called sharply. "Your sword!"
Tyler''s cloak swept aside, revealing his longsword''s hilt. The silver monkey pommel caught the moonlight, its clever face seeming to wink at Carl. Steel sang free of its sheath, its surface etched with ancient words:
"I watch over you from above, as you look up at me from below." The Wynlers'' family creed.
Stellan glanced between Tyler and the sword in Carl''s grip, sighing in exasperation.
"Two against one? Have knights no honor anymore?"
Pain and exhaustion wracked his entire frame.
Dents marred his left shoulder and chest plate; cuts scored his right arm and left leg. His helmet had been torn away entirely, blood painting crimson trails down his face.
Such was the cost of barely surviving Lannord''s onslaught.
Simon''s vision swam, every movement sending fresh agony through his battered body. He could no longer dodge the cloaked rider''s attacks - only block or endure their crushing force.
"Accept your fate," Lannord''s patience had worn thin. "You cannot save them. You cannot save yourself. Death comes for you all - why resist?"
Though the words were foreign, their meaning was clear. Simon raised his trembling sword, voice shaking with it. "I fear not death, nor have I forgotten my oath." He tore off his ruined helmet, freeing blood-matted hair, and spat a crimson stream into the night sky.
"I will guard their backs until my last breath."
"So be it," Lannord replied with grim finality. "Then die as befits a knight." Chapter 21- Initial Skirmish (11) Two against one. Yet even so, victory''s scales trembled in precarious balance. Tyler led the charge, while Carl held his mount back, creating a deadly triangle of steel and strategy. This arrangement gave each man room to strike, while allowing their battle-weary horses precious moments to catch their breath. Their attacks wove together in lethal harmony. Tyler, forced to wield his blade left-handed, fought against muscle memory that yearned for his familiar right-handed grip. Carl, meanwhile, executed precise thrusts with his longsword, carefully timing each strike to avoid endangering his friend. Sweat drenched Stellan''s form, droplets clinging to his eyelashes, yet he dared not spare a moment to wipe them away. His entire being focused on reading the deadly dance of his opponents. He flowed like water - ducking beneath Carl''s thrust, deflecting Tyler''s slash, then launching a sudden counter at Carl. As his target recoiled, Stellan''s arm whipped around to parry Tyler''s opportunistic strike. The cloaked rider shifted seamlessly between two-handed sword work and his trademark blade-and-cloak style, offense and defense becoming one fluid motion. As the duel stretched on, the two knights'' breathing grew increasingly labored, yet Stellan remained unnaturally composed. Despite the sweat that soaked him, he radiated only joy, showing no hint of fatigue. To watching eyes, it seemed as if his heart barely beat at all. His strength appeared limitless, like some bottomless well of power. How can he not tire? Tyler''s lungs burned for air. Dozens of exchanges with two armored knights, yet Stellan hadn''t drawn a single heavy breath. Sharp pain lanced through Tyler''s right hand with each unconscious attempt to grasp his sword two-handed. Around them, the sounds of battle - shouts, screams, the terrible thud of bodies hitting earth - served as a constant reminder of time''s merciless march. The blood loss grows worse... Dizziness reached for him with grey fingers, leaving only one choice: risk everything on one desperate gambit. Tyler''s blood-slicked right hand moved painfully across his shield, searching until his fingers found the ancient scar carved by steel. "Carl!" he called out. "Like ten years ago¡ªunderstand!?" Carl understood all too well. Those life-or-death moments were carved into his mind deeper than any physical scar. A decade past, they had been mere boys of thirteen or fourteen, Tyler''s exceptional swordsmanship already marking him for knighthood. That fateful day found them sparring in the Wynlers'' palace yard, as they had countless times before. Sir Stuart, their sword master, had dozed on the stone steps, offering occasional drowsy guidance. A stable boy''s corpse landed at their feet, shattering their peaceful training session. The palace, once serene, erupted like a startled child - screams, prayers, and death cries echoing through its halls. Reality dawned quickly: Godma''s forces had breached the palace walls, and their fathers had fallen defending the city. Stuart tossed them steel swords, urging them to flee, but three Godman soldiers had already entered the yard. Combat was inevitable. Their master had hoped to hold all three, buying the young lords time to escape. He engaged two of the soldiers, his blade a blur of steel. The third - a leering, toothless drunkard - advanced on the boys. He saw only Carl; Tyler had melted into the shadows by the steps. The brute approached slowly, savoring Carl''s trembling retreat, his mocking laughter echoing off stone walls. When Carl''s back met cold stone, he knew death approached. He could only watch, helpless, as the soldier raised his war axe to split him in two. Then Tyler rewrote fate. He burst from shadow, his family-crested oak shield catching the killing blow. Splinters rained like autumn leaves. Tyler''s shout awakened something in Carl - like a mechanism suddenly triggered - and his sword found the enemy''s face. The drunk couldn''t defend, his axe trapped in broken wood, as steel pierced his left eye.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Their first taste of killing. What followed they preferred to forget. They ran through corridors past corpses wearing familiar faces. Together they cut down several foes before parting at the main hall: Tyler to join the palace guards, Carl to race toward his estate where flames already danced. Carl raised his sword now, positioning himself for Tyler''s gambit. I must make him see an opening. Tyler swung wildly, his blade far from Stellan''s reach. The exaggerated motion nearly unseated him. Seeing Tyler''s apparent vulnerability, the cloaked rider raised his sword high, ready to deliver the killing stroke. Life and death balanced on a knife''s edge. Tyler wrenched his shield forward, gripping it reversed to meet the blow. Steel met ancient scar, the shield''s metal core barely preventing it from splitting. Splinters showered Tyler''s form, but he felt nothing through the consuming agony of his injured right hand absorbing Stellan''s inhuman strength. Through gritted teeth, fighting the weakness of blood loss, he shouted, "Carl!! Now!!" Carl launched himself upward, both hands gripping his sword as he drove it at Stellan''s exposed throat. With the cloaked rider''s blade trapped in the shield''s metal core - just as that drunken soldier''s axe had been trapped a decade ago - Carl''s strike carried speed and power to match his first kill. Surely no cloak could save Stellan this time. He was half right. The green cloak made no move to block his attack - because Stellan didn''t need it. Instead, a dagger materialized in his hand, turning Carl''s death blow aside. The weapon was unlike any dagger they''d seen - short-hilted, leather-wrapped, with a spearpoint pommel and a blade as thin and jagged as captured lightning. "Curious about this?" Stellan''s arrogance had transformed into something darker, crueler. "My uncle''s gift. He told me, ''This blade was made for torturing humans. It lets you savor every drop of their lifeblood.''" His lips twisted into a savage smile. "Such a shame. You almost had me." Now, only frustration and despair filled Carl and Tyler''s eyes as they faced the true nature of their foe. Chapter 22- Initial Skirmish (12)
Come then!
almost sending Tyler tumbling from his saddle. Catching sight of the approaching reinforcements, Stellan drew his lightning-shaped dagger with fluid grace. Devalosfang''s steel sword traced twin arcs through the air, a perfect defense against the cloaked rider''s lightning strike. Then he was past Stellan, his true quarry being Simon of Elsra.
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What do you cry out? Devalosfang mused. "Return my friend"? "I''ll have your blood"? How touching. But sadly, you''ll have no time left for mourning.
This must end swiftly. "Three blades!" he called to the two knights before him. Carl and Tyler instantly grasped their leader''s intent, and all three converged on Stellan at once. With only two hands to counter three attacks from different angles, he momentarily faltered. But Stellan''s composure returned quickly as he assessed his situation. He knew he could block two attacks, leaving the third for his green cloak to defend against. After split-second calculation, he chose to counter Devalosfang and Tyler''s strikes.
Chapter 23- Initial Skirmish (13)
How pathetic you''ve become, Lannord. Unhorsed like some common footman. He began dragging himself toward the roadside. Is this how my first battle ends? His eyes traced the wounds already beginning to seal themselves. At least I won''t be branded a deserter.
The smell of blood and decay filled the air.
His mount must be spent, Lannord reasoned. The knight, moved by either curiosity or misplaced compassion, slowed his tired horse, hesitating as he tried to make out the figure by the roadside.
Cursed thing - why now? Time was slipping away like sand, that scent growing stronger. After one final sweep of his surroundings confirmed all other riders were ahead, he made his move.
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Retreat? Stellan''s thoughts froze to ice. After such humiliation, you expect me to simply leave?
Using the old man''s words against me? He spat bile, burning eyes fixed on Carl''s retreating form before yanking his reins to rejoin the withdrawal. Chapter 24- Initial Skirmish (14) The cloaked riders'' retreat had devolved into chaos, and despite standing orders, the reinforcement knights yearned to press their advantage. Battle cries tangled in the air as they raised their swords, eager to chase down their fleeing prey. "Cease pursuit! Knights!" Devalosfang''s voice cut through the clamor. "Our people are rescued! Do not pursue the fight!" The pursuing knights reined in their mounts with visible reluctance, their curses mingling with the clash of frustrated weapons. "Save your breath - they wouldn''t understand anyway," the squad leader remarked as he approached with Carl and Tyler in tow. "We need to recross the river immediately. Keep your pace slow - Carl''s mount has already raced through heaven and hell. It has little strength remaining." As he led his men into a measured trot, his voice steadied. "Now we talk." Devalosfang''s tone had regained its characteristic cool, though the chaos of recent combat still echoed in his bearing. "First tell me - how many did we save?" Silence stretched like a drawn bow, heavy with imminent truth. "Four, Captain. We rescued four brothers." "Three," came the correction from a knight whose mount bore a second, motionless burden. "If we don''t count the dead. Kova fell - they took half his sword hand." "Then three it is," the squad leader''s voice carried the weight of fresh grief. Carl''s eyes fixed anxiously on Simon''s weakened form. O gods above, you''ve claimed enough today. Spare him, at least. The gods seemed to heed his prayer - the dreaded words remained unspoken, the count of survivors unchanged at three. "Bring what remains of Kova back intact," Devalosfang said, brushing dirt from his long hair. "Now, tell me everything that happened." As Carl began recounting what felt like ancient history, Devalosfang felt the burning gaze of another survivor upon his back.
"You''re insane, Stellan. You fool! You almost gave us away," Lannord hung back deliberately, making his rebuke easier to deliver. "Insane? Please, Lannord. You''d have done the same - torn them to pieces..." Stellan pressed his hand against his right eye, unable to stem the blood seeping between his fingers. "If you hadn''t interfered with those pretty family words, I''d have slaughtered them all." "Then thank me, you fool. If I hadn''t stopped you, your entire bloodline would have been purged." Lannord noticed his voice had risen too high, drawing glances from the riders ahead. "Next time you lose control like that, I''ll have the Duke chain you in your chambers."This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Stellan lowered his hand from his eye. Save for some swelling and redness, it looked perfectly normal - even the vicious scar had vanished as if erased by magic. His cold, furious gaze fixed on Lannord. "I advise you not to provoke me further, Lannord. I am not to be trifled with." With that, he spurred his mount forward. Lannord embraced Moar''s neck gently, releasing a weary sigh. "You''re not to be trifled with, nor am I. But humans - humans are the ones we dare not cross."
Firelight flickered like scattered stars in the night wind, accompanied by the rise and fall of hushed conversations. "So they lay in wait - in fields, woods, and abandoned houses - timing their attack perfectly?" Eoch asked, gazing across the river. They stood at the water''s edge, where wind and current played as they detailed the ambush at Ronnar to the knight commander. Earlier, Eoch had ordered the vanguard to make camp on The Doby Stream''s southern bank, the day''s events forcing him to abandon any thought of crossing. Soldiers huddled around campfires, taking what comfort they could from flame and food. Few spoke, and those who did kept their voices low - their first battle''s bitter defeat had struck deep at their spirits. Tyler stared at Devalosfang''s back, lost in thought, until Carl''s gentle tug at his sleeve reminded him of the knight commander''s question. Flustered, he answered, "Yes, sir. My horse was spooked and difficult to control, so I had to lead her on foot. That''s when I noticed something strange about the nearby fields and went to investigate. The crops were already burned, but there were tracks in the ash." Tyler strained to recall the details. "Both human and horse prints. They led to a nearby cabin, so I went to check." "Hmph. Brave of you. Lucky they didn''t turn you into a pincushion or mince you into sausage," Eoch kicked a stone into the river without ceremony. "Indeed, sir. I didn''t realize how foolish I''d been until I''d already opened the door. Fortunately, the cabin was empty - no chance of becoming either pincushion or sausage." He glanced at Carl, who offered an encouraging smile. "Once I collected myself, I searched thoroughly and found something interesting." "What? Don''t keep me waiting - I''m not in the mood for suspense." "Recently extinguished torches and flint, sir. That''s when I knew we were being ambushed. But by the time I got back to my horse, Carl and the others were already engaged." "If you''d discovered it sooner, or managed to sound an alarm, we might not have lost seventeen brothers. But... no matter. It''s not your fault." The knight commander kicked another stone. "Who carried the Green Torch?" "Corslin. The troll boy," Carl answered softly. "The Triad preserve us! Not him..." Eoch sank down by the riverbank. "So young, so promising - now dead in this cursed soil. And a Silian child, no less, with half his family back in Kree. What possessed me to let him join the vanguard? What will I tell Raveirmom - or the Emperor?" "Duke Silian serves as Davidow''s minister and knows Duke Dear well," Devalosfang explained quietly to the others. "Still, you three are fortunate," Eoch said, lying back against the bank. "If big-mouth Simon pulls through, you''ll be known as the Three Survivors." "What do you mean by that?" Carl asked, sensing something amiss. Chapter 25- Initial Skirmish (15) "Do you know why the other support units returned before you?" Eoch''s eyes bore into Carl. "Because by the time they arrived at the scene, our people had already been slaughtered!" Ravens took wing from the treetops, their dark shapes scattering against the sky. "You mean none survived except these three?!" At last, Devalosfang''s composure cracked like thin ice. "I should thank you, Devalosfang, for bringing me three living men and one corpse," Eoch pushed himself up, gathering stones from the riverbank. "The others brought me only fragments¡ªpieces of what were once whole men. Do you understand?" The stones skipped across the water''s surface, each splash a tiny explosion of frustration. "Had I known, I would have led the main force myself to carve those Black Riders to pieces, just as they did to our men... Curse them all!" His fist struck the earth with a thunderous crack. "It''s not so simple, sir," Tyler ventured carefully. I can''t be certain it was him. There are more pressing matters now. Perhaps I should consult Carl first. "We don''t know their numbers in the outskirts. Rushing in would be foolish. And their cloaks..." "What about their cloaks?" "Well... they''re unlike any normal cape or mantle. The material is... peculiar. Beyond muffling movement and melding with darkness, they seem to..." "Act as shields against blade strikes," Carl finished. "Cloaks?" Eoch wheeled around, his face a mask of disbelief. "Shields against swords? What a delightful fairy tale you''ve spun to amuse me. Perhaps you should wrap your heads in these magical cloaks so I might hack you to pieces myself." Another stone plunged into the depths, the river''s ripples seeming to mock him. "Why this silence?! Don''t tell me it''s actually true?!" Tyler''s voice carried no trace of jest. "It appears so. I can''t speak for all the Black Riders, but the one Carl and I faced - my blade couldn''t pierce his cloak." "Nor mine," Carl added. "And you?" Eoch''s gaze cut to Devalosfang. "Don''t tell me even your ''wife'' couldn''t slice through their cloaks." He nodded at Devalosfang''s sword. Devalosfang inclined his head. "It pains me to confirm it, sir. Though not from today''s battle."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "You''ve encountered these cloaks before?" "Indeed. If you''ll permit me, sir." Devalosfang settled beside Eoch, the others following suit along the riverbank. "It was shortly after my marriage to Josephine. We were walking in Vellabuchlon Forest, as was our custom. The sun was warm but gentle, the autumn breeze cool but kind. Everything was perfect - until it wasn''t. As we picnicked beneath a banyan tree, a bandit appeared." "The bandit wore a mask, like those used by dwarven mercenaries, though he was unmistakably human. I hadn''t noticed his cloak at first - he charged at us with an axe the moment he appeared. I quickly positioned Josephine behind me and drew my sword. Whether by chance or fate, he stumbled on our picnic blanket mid-charge and lost his balance. My blade struck true." "I bet that dwarf bandit was fine," Eoch muttered with contempt. "He wasn''t a dwarf, sir, but you''re correct - he was unharmed," Devalosfang began toying with the stones at his feet. "When he fell, his cloak pulled taut behind him, and my sword struck it directly, but couldn''t penetrate." "Oh?" Eoch''s eyebrow arched. "So even your ''wife'' proved ineffective?" His eyes lingered on Devalosfang''s sword. "Correct." A shadow of grief crossed Devalosfang''s eyes at the mention of ''wife.'' "What happened next? Did you keep the cloak? Don''t tell me you used it as a picnic blanket." A stone skipped across the water. "The bandit was clearly rattled, making him easy to subdue. We questioned him for over a month, starting with basic inquiries about his identity and motives, eventually progressing to threats about turning his fingers into crispy sausages for his dinner. Though initially tight-lipped about the cloak''s origin, perhaps fearing the loss of his fingers, he finally revealed he had stolen it from a merchant at the Gotena Free Market." "The Gotena Free Market?" Eoch asked. "Yes, sir, that very market where the crowds alone could trample you. Following the bandit''s description, we found the merchant - a peculiar sight indeed. He wore a velvet hat with more feathers than a rooster''s tail, silk garments covered in worm-like embroidery, and limbs so padded they resembled giant chicken legs. Standing was the only way to distinguish his arms from his feet." "A half-elf," Tyler commented. "Only half-elves would dress like that." "Though nobles and bards sometimes dress similarly, you''re right, Tyler. Only half-elves dress so ostentatiously, desperate to announce their lineage and status. When he saw us approach, I felt his eyes fixed on my sword and coin purse. ''How may I serve you, esteemed sir?'' he said, rubbing his hands together, eyes bright as torches. But at the mention of the black cloak, his face fell to the ground. ''Never heard of such a thing, my apologies,'' he said, lifting the canvas on his cart. ''But I have other fine wares - like this cloak, which accompanied the war god Okado in battle! Far superior to any green cloak!'' Then he pulled out the supposed war god''s cloak." "Utter nonsense," Eoch spat, his contempt palpable. "Okado never used a cloak - let alone a tattered one. He often went into battle wearing barely anything at all. Even the dullest noble brat in Godma, still drooling and crying for his wet nurse at sixteen, knows that much." Chapter 26- Initial Skirmish (16) "That is exactly why there is only one myth about Okado. And that half-elf merchant''s so-called cloak was scarcely better than my picnic cloth." Devalosfang Dear''s voice carried a hint of mockery. "''A green cloak? No, I distinctly said black cloak. I know that cloak was in your possession, so you might as well tell the truth.'' The smile he had worn crumbled away like autumn leaves, leaving his mouth gaping wide enough to swallow his own limbs. ''I truly have no idea what you''re referring to, sir,'' he stammered, clinging to his pretense. But my men possessed less patience - one kept tapping a steady rhythm on his sword hilt. As you know, elves and half-elves are exquisitely sensitive to rhythm, so his resistance quickly crumbled. ''Yes, sir. That cloak was mine, but it was stolen days ago. I swear by all the gods.'' His composure had utterly vanished, hands trembling against his chest. Of course, I knew he spoke truth. I even knew who had taken the cloak - though I kept that knowledge to myself. Later, when I asked about the cloak''s origins, his answer proved most unexpected." "Don''t tell me that cloak was stolen too?" Carl Clawyn blurted. Devalosfang regarded him with surprise. "I didn''t realize you were a sorcerer, Carl, capable of reading minds. He admitted quickly enough that yes, the cloak had been stolen. But what truly surprised me wasn''t how he acquired it - it was where. Time to test your powers, Carl. Can you guess where that half-elf obtained the cloak?" Carl shook his head. "That''s hardly fair, Captain. It must be somewhere I''ve never heard of." "Not just you - I''d wager most in Godma have never heard the name. He told me the cloak was stolen from Perithorio Anaktoro." For a moment, only bullfrogs broke the silence. Carl pondered, then looked to Tyler, who shook his head, equally mystified. "Perithorio Anaktoro... that name rings faint bells," Eoch Oberna mused, searching his memory. "When we first reached Crivi, we captured villagers to question about the roads north of Cynthia and the Kulen Mountain. One mentioned this name... though where exactly escapes me." His face darkened. "Damn it all! This memory makes my blood boil. The Friez family never could tell interrogation from slaughter. Of our hundred captured villagers, barely ten would speak with us, yet they beheaded the other ninety in front of everyone. Once they start killing, not even the Emperor''s command can halt them. We barely asked three questions before they butchered the rest. Curse them! With more knowledge of the north, perhaps tonight''s losses..." He exhaled heavily.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "''Mad Butchers'' Friez - their blood runs with madness," Devalosfang said. "But let us return to the cloak. Through further inquiry, we learned Perithorio Anaktoro is a forest north of the Kulen Mountain, in northern Duviliel." "Far north then. No wonder I''ve never heard of it. But why steal a cloak from a forest? Was some army or noble camping there?" Carl asked. "Congratulations on being completely wrong," Devalosfang chuckled like a schoolboy. "The forest''s name is ancient tongue. In our speech, it means ''Forest of Elves.''" "Forest of Elves?! You mean elves live there?!" Tyler''s voice rose sharply. "Impossible. The half-elves I''ve met swear most elves dwell in their kingdom, Illuvi¦Ëofer, the ''Flowered Hills.'' There can''t be an elven forest..." Eoch smirked. "Let me guess - these half-elves shared their wisdom in a brothel?" Tyler''s neck flushed. "Well..." Devalosfang patted his shoulder. "It seems half-elves aren''t skilled liars in bed. According to our merchant, some elves still dwell in this continent''s forests. They''re called Sylvan Elves." "Sylvan Elves!" Eoch exclaimed. "Like those legendary creatures that appear as trees until you pass, then sprout faces and whip you with branches?" "Those are Dryads, sir," Carl laughed, reminded of his daughter''s endless curiosity. Eoch waved dismissively. "Aren''t they all the same?" Devalosfang shook his head. "To my knowledge, Sylvan Elves and Dryads are entirely different creatures, sir." The others leaned closer, like children at storytime. "Sylvan Elves are kin to other elves, perhaps distant cousins. Their settlement in Perithorio Anaktoro predates our records. Tales paint them differently: some say they''re green-skinned and near naked, dwelling in great oaks. Others claim they match Illuvi¦Ëofer''s High Elves, with porcelain skin and otherworldly beauty. Some say they wear leaves; others describe green-dyed leather like hunters. But all agree they merge with trees and command wood-magic beyond even Druids'' power. Some say they control Dryads to redden trespassers'' backsides like baboons." Eoch touched his iron backside reflexively. "With such tales, has anyone actually seen them?" "If so, it''s rare to find record," Devalosfang explained. "Few dare enter Perithorio Anaktoro, and those with ill intent likely lose their memories. They despise human trespassers - any humanoid really. In foul moods, they chase off even sunbathing gnomes, let alone dwarves. Their archery is legendary - they can shoot a feather from your helmet at two hundred yards, Tyler." Tyler mimicked drawing a bow. "That''s with plain spruce bows. Give them a whalebone bow from the Free Market or passing merchant, they''ll plant arrows in your backside from five hundred yards." Chapter 27- Initial Skirmish (17) "Enough about backsides," Eoch stood up abruptly, hands hovering protectively over his posterior. "I swear I''ll never turn my back on those green freaks." His words drew scattered laughter across the riverbank. "Some Sylvan Elves are proficient not only with bows, but also with scimitars, favoring the Arad and Cezar in particular. Intelligence on them is otherwise scarce. However, we''ve received no reports of them harming humans. Perhaps they possess the same benevolent nature as the Elves of Illuvi¦Ëofer." "So to be clear - the half-elf stole this cloak from that forest, and it belonged to one of the Sylvan Elves. I assume that''s all the information that beggar could provide?" "Just so, my lord. His pretty mouth yielded nothing more." Devalosfang rose, brushing dirt from his clothes. "If the cloaks these Black Riders wear are indeed like the one I encountered years ago, it''s not difficult to imagine what dealings Cynthia might have with our charming Sylvan Elves." "That reminds me, my lord," Tyler turned to Devalosfang. "Since you mention confiscating such a cloak - where is it now?" "Yes, you haven''t told us about that," Eoch added. "Don''t tell me you used that cursed thing as a new picnic blanket." Devalosfang sighed heavily. "It seems that particular dream will remain unfulfilled. We lost the cloak." Silence fell as they waited for him to continue. "To be cautious, we didn''t carry the mysterious cloak while questioning witnesses. Instead, we secured it in the tower under constant guard. But when we returned to the castle, we found the sentry - who should have been standing vigilant - fast asleep, embracing his spear like a lover. His face was a mess of drool and snot. The cloak, naturally, had vanished." "Hah, the idiot was likely drugged," Eoch scoffed, retrieving his discarded gryphon helmet. Carl folded his arms thoughtfully. "I suspect magic - or perhaps witchcraft." The speculation died instantly. Devalosfang eyed Carl suspiciously. "Honestly, I''m starting to think you''re a sorcerer yourself, Carl. You''re right again." He adjusted his once-white cloak, now battle-stained and grimy. "Waking that guard proved challenging - we finally roused him in a fountain. Through his fractured memories, we learned of a woman in snow-white appearing the night before our return. We questioned every guard, especially those at the main gate and drawbridge - none had seen her. The room housing the cloak sat atop the main keep, behind twenty-foot walls. She must have flown - how else could she have appeared so high?"Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "A portal, perhaps?" Three heads turned to Carl. "Oh... just a thought," Carl quickly looked away, withering under their scrutiny. "I''ve only heard that some magic-users can create portals." "Quite knowledgeable for a youngster. Either you''ve bedded many witches, or there''s a magic academy diploma hidden under your mattress," Eoch''s words dripped with sarcasm. "It was indeed a portal - one of the ''doorless gates,''" Devalosfang continued. "We found traces before the tower room. The Villian Magic Academy''s headmaster examined them personally. Asked about tracking the runes, he merely shook his head. ''My lord, with respect, magical tracking isn''t like having a hound sniff your posterior to determine where you relieved yourself. It demands time, effort, and immense magical power - and a tracker of considerable skill.'' He sighed deeply. ''Though if you commanded it, I could trace any mage or sorceress within Godma''s borders - not beyond. I could determine where they began their journey, if not their identity. But this... this exceeds my abilities. I suspect we''re dealing with something beyond human.''" His words carried the weight of certainty. "Elves!" Eoch and Tyler exclaimed together, as Carl whispered, "Sylvan Elves." The captain nodded. "One or the other, certainly. After the headmaster''s departure, we questioned our spear-hugging guard further. She appeared from thin air, he said. ''Miss, who are you? Why are you here?'' He''d raised his spear, but her beauty stripped away all resistance. ''Me? You speak to me, good guard?'' She glided closer. ''I am but a white swan, seeking my black feathers.'' Rising to her toes, she encircled his neck. ''You''re a good man, who kept my precious garment safe when I couldn''t fly. You deserve reward.'' Her pale fingers danced across his stubble. ''Name your wish.''" "''I wish... a kiss... my lady...'' He trembled, thoroughly enchanted. ''Unless... unless you''re unwilling? Forgive my presumption!'' He began to kneel, but she caught his chin. ''Silly man. Of course I''m willing.'' She raised his face to hers. ''You''ve earned this kiss, my gallant knight. Remember this feeling always. Now, goodnight.'' Then she kissed him." "Well? And?" They leaned forward eagerly. "What else could happen?" The captain laughed mirthlessly. "He spent the night embracing his spear." Eoch snorted. "So nothing remains but the kiss?" "The kiss, the white dress, her teasing words, and two pointed ears," Devalosfang gestured above his head. "That tells us enough," Carl murmured, watching firelight dance on the water before gazing into the darkness across the river. "If Celas''s moonlight shone brighter tonight, we might see those same ears among our Black Riders." Chapter 28- Initial Skirmish (18) "That''s impossible," Tyler declared with unwavering conviction. "The Elves have maintained their neutrality since time immemorial. Even without sworn oaths, they''ve never meddled in human conflicts. They might offer aid to Cynthia, but they would never send their own kind to war. Their noble principles forbid such actions." "Times change," Eoch dismissed with a wave, striding toward his tent. His pavilion stood apart, draped in golden silk with ornate tassels swaying in the night breeze. A royal gryphon of pure gold perched atop it, gleaming in the firelight. At his approaching footsteps, the tent flap lifted, and a black-haired girl emerged. She was young - fifteen at most - with a frame to match her tender years. One small breast slipped free of her garments, the flickering firelight painting shadows across its curve. "In times of war, royalty seeks gain and commoners mere survival. Threaten either, and even the noblest Elves might stoop to baseness. Besides, those aiding Cynthia could be Sylvan Elves, not necessarily the High Elves of Illuvi¦Ëofer." The girl''s smile blazed bright. "That''s enough for tonight. Time for rest - if I have any strength left for sleep." He smiled back at her eager hands reaching for his trousers. "Inside, Ali. Not here." She tugged at his armor, but the iron plates refused to yield. "Let me remove my armor first, won''t you?" He stroked her midnight hair as she kneaded his groin in response. "You impatient minx," Eoch laughed, sweeping her into his arms. Ignoring her soft fists against his chest, he carried her within. "That girl could be his daughter," Tyler murmured. Devalosfang shrugged heavily. "Nothing to be done. She''s the youngest among the camp followers." "Some men have such tastes. Though she''s nearly of age," Carl said, clasping Tyler''s shoulder. "I find myself wondering what Amy will look like at that age. Will she have such bright, dark eyes?" "Even the brightest eyes grow dim in these times of war," Tyler sighed. "Carl, if you''d seen that girl''s gaze, you''d know her eyes have already lost their light. Her soul is riddled with wounds - wounds we put there." He gestured downward. "Power breeds profit, profit sparks war, war threatens survival, and for survival, they turn to this. I wonder, if Lord Eoch had a daughter, would he still take that young girl into his tent?"If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Devalosfang yanked him away before he could finish. They strode far from Eoch''s tent before he stopped, voice barely above a whisper: "Mind your tongue, Tyler. Gods damn it, don''t you know? Eoch does have a daughter!" Tyler fell silent. Carl caught up, breathless. "My lord, I''ve never heard the captain mention a daughter." "Gods preserve us. Of course he wouldn''t, Tyler Wynlers. Who speaks freely of a dead child?" Ravens settled back on their branches, wings rustling in the dark. Gods above! Tyler thought. What have my loose lips done? "By the Gods, listen closely, both of you," Devalosfang''s voice dropped even lower. "He had a daughter - legitimate, born of his wife, no bastard child. Fourteen years past, before Godma''s unification, came the ''Bloodline Rebellion.'' You know it - Emperor William hanged five hundred souls for that uprising. The Oberna house, Eoch''s family, was implicated. They were branded traitors. Only their generations of service to Godma''s emperors saved them. Duke Eoch faced treason charges but escaped execution for exile to the frontier. Remember, the empire waged war under crushing debt then. Those newly conquered borderlands were wastelands where people starved in the streets. His wife, refusing such shame, took her life the night before their exile." "So Eoch, stripped of title and rights, struggled through chaos with his daughter alone." "What followed needs little imagination. His daughter chose as many poor girls did then - becoming a camp follower. Don''t think Eoch chose this - she did. Forgive me calling her just ''his daughter'' - I never learned her name. She was fifteen when she shouldered that patched bag and left with the army. That bag carried all her father''s hopes and dreams away forever." "She sent money home regularly, to her lonely father in the frontier. Banks didn''t exist in those wasteland towns - only dead dwarves and empty purses remained. To ensure her heavy Glens reached home, she sold herself to countless men, just so the caravan would carry her father''s money home. The old gods showed some mercy - the caravan leader forbade his men from robbing her purse. That''s how Eoch survived among beggars so long, outliving even his child." "My lord, I had no idea..." "There''s much you don''t know, Tyler. Much none know," Devalosfang continued softly. "Even she didn''t know she''d die two years later at the Battle of Prayer Bridge." "Prayer Bridge," Carl mused. "The far east, the Battle of the Bridgehead on Kolova''s border." Chapter 29- Initial Skirmish (19) They were strolling idly now, the river water lapping against the muddy banks, accompanying their steps. "Yes, that damned Battle of Prayer Bridge." The squad leader kicked a stone into the dark waters with savage force. "Thanks to that cursed Blackwater and Prayer Bridge, we lost nearly two thousand men in a single day." "According to the records, it was Godma''s worst defeat since beginning its southern conquest," Tyler ventured, glancing at Carl for confirmation. "Indeed. Without Duke Dear''s reinforcements, Godma might never have conquered Kolova at all." "Raveirmom''s aid came just in time," the squad leader agreed, his voice tight. "Had he arrived even moments later, I wouldn''t be standing here talking to you now." The strained silence shattered with the raucous squabble of two soldiers arguing over dice, their voices laced with colorful oaths. One swore the die had five sides, the other countered that he''d shoved the sixth up his arse. "So you were there, my lord," Tyler said quietly. "That explains your familiarity with Lord Eoch''s daughter''s story." "She wasn''t well-known then - just whispers and rumors. Never learned her name. Eoch never spoke of her. A shame, really." "But my lord, if you fought at Prayer Bridge, you must have witnessed the bloodbath in the Blackwater. They say the casualties were staggering." The squad leader picked his steps carefully, as if phantom hands might reach from the water to drag him under. "You were children then. Your knowledge of Prayer Bridge comes from minstrels'' songs and old women''s tales. The reality was far bloodier than any ballad dares tell. Nearly fifteen hundred men died on that bridge and in those waters. Of the five hundred who survived that, two hundred starved, and another two hundred fell to Kolova blades." Tyler shuddered. "Less than a hundred survived..." Devalosfang''s silence was answer enough. "Fifteen hundred dead at one bridge..." Carl whispered. "You think that number impossible. It''s an underestimate, if anything." The squad leader quickened his pace, as if trying to outrun the memories. "Prayer Bridge was no mere stone crossing like those spanning the paltry Doby. It was Kolova''s lifeline to the outside world - three hundred feet long, seventy wide. Such grandeur, such intricate carvings - no work of Kolova savages, but a remnant of when ancient elves dwelled there. Wide enough for hundreds of mounted knights in full armor. That''s what doomed us in the end." A young knight from the Seventh Squad frolicked by the water with a camp follower, playfully threatening to toss her in. Seeing Devalosfang approach, he hastily straightened, nodding respectfully. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there."We reached the western bank of the Blackwater ahead of schedule," the squad leader acknowledged the salute, his grim expression making the young knight fidget. "The weather was perfect, deceptively beautiful. Everything seemed right - except for those dark waters. Later we realized the gods were playing their cruel jest." "The village was abandoned, offering no resistance. We sent scouts along both banks and across the river. They left together, returned together, all intact. Reported nothing but some wooden stakes beneath the bridge - a detail we foolishly dismissed. We were relieved. The Blackwater, unlike the Doby, was an abyss, its depths concealing mysteries darker than any tomb. None of us wanted to trust those rickety boats. I was lucky - still a commander''s squire then, not among the first to cross." "When hooves first struck stone, there was even joy. That solid bridge promised safety. Instead, it delivered death." "The bridge crowded with horses and men. That''s when death reached up from below. Kolova warriors burst from the water, their painted arms glistening as they clawed at the stonework. With the first terrified horse''s scream, hell erupted around us." "They climbed up to attack from both sides?" "Far worse, Carl. Far, far worse." The squad leader''s fingers clenched and unclenched. "Those wooden stakes? Breathing tubes! The Blackwater runs slow there, and Kolovas, being coastal people, swim like fish. They waited underwater until we packed the bridge tight, then struck! Had they attacked as you suggest, we might have won - armored knights against savages with crude spears and painted leather. But they were cleverer. They targeted the horses, making them bleed and panic, throwing riders into the black water. Those lucky enough to land on stone were dragged into the depths." "And in the water, armor becomes a coffin," Tyler said softly, understanding dawning. "So those who fell..." "All perished. In that lightless water, their protection became their prison. The screams, the desperate cries, the thrashing of drowning men - it drove the remaining knights mad with terror. They pressed together, each trying to flee, only trapping more in the middle where savages could pick them off like ripe fruit." "Some fought through to the eastern shore, most without horses - and many died under their own mounts'' hooves in the panic. Just as they thought they''d escaped, the gods revealed their second jest." Chapter 30- Initial Skirmish (20) ? "The knights who struggled free thought to aid their trapped brothers. But before their blades cleared leather, death found them. From the eastern bank, savages poured forth, like the ghostly horde of a long-forgotten drowning. Most bore short bows - not the great war bows of armies, but the compact weapons of hunters: light, swift, and lethal. Some even wielded crossbows! Rising from the waters like vengeful spirits, they formed an impenetrable net, crushing any hope of escape eastward. The survivors were driven back onto the bridge, adding fresh chaos to the already hellish scene. The western bank proved no haven; there too, archers emerged from the river''s depths, catching the fleeing knights completely off guard. "How many did they number?" Carl''s voice was barely a whisper. "Five, perhaps six hundred men trapped on that bridge. Though I wasn''t among the first crossing, terror froze my blood all the same. We yearned to aid our brothers, but stood helpless. When the western savages charged, we could barely defend ourselves." "Fifteen hundred lives lost? Impossible!" "There lies the bitter truth, Carl. Our original plan called for immediate retreat, to await reinforcements. But Sir Lindsay, our commander, would have none of it. ''We cannot retreat, Del,'' he declared. ''Abandon this fight, and our spirit dies here. Yield Prayer Bridge now, and we lose it forever. No - we must take it with one decisive stroke.'' My protests fell on deaf ears." "They say Sir Lindsay was newly appointed? Young?" "Yes, barely my age - I was his squire then. But his hunger for glory outstripped all others." The squad leader''s voice carried ancient grief. "He ordered a final assault to seize Prayer Bridge. ''Final'' indeed - our cavalry was already decimated, knights vanishing beneath the Blackwater''s surface one by one. He commanded us to shed our armor, the better to fight in the river. Mounted men plunged into those inky waters, battling an endless tide of emerging savages. Infantry charged across the bridge, now carpeted with horse corpses, crushing against the climbing savages. By Oris''s hell! Even now, the memory chills my marrow. I cut down savage after savage from horseback, surrounded by floating heads. My mount''s swimming grace kept me from joining my brothers in the depths. But that mercy proved brief. Oris''s third jest was yet to come."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "Ah!" Carl drew a sharp breath. "This must be the horror the bards sing of - ''The River Monster''? One version claims... was it this beast that took Lord Eoch''s daughter?" "A monster claimed her, yes - but that tale comes later. My horse screamed - a sound I''d never heard from any beast. Then we began to sink, The Blackwater turned darker still as my horse''s blood spread around us like an expanding shadow. The saddle dragged me under, death''s fingers at my throat. Light armor saved me from the depths. I thrashed wildly, breaking surface in three thundering heartbeats. I thought escaping the black water would free me from terror. Instead, what I saw made fear''s grip tighten like a noose." A slaughtered elk lay riverside, its split belly baring ribs white as moon-bleached bone in the darkness. Devalosfang knelt, wrenched free a rib, and hurled it riverward with all his might. "I saw my mount then, and two knights beside. But no chestnut stallion remained - only gleaming bones in the current." The rib must have reached the far bank; no splash marked its landing.
They threaded through the forest. Since Stellan''s departure from Lannord''s side, melancholy had settled over him like evening mist. "We''ve arrived." A rider murmured to the brooding Lannord. They''d reached their camp - the Shadowgreen Knights'' headquarters - west of Cynthia''s capital, sheltered in Weimar Forest. Campfires flickered through the trees, but dense spruce and oak masked their light like storm clouds veiling stars. Shadowgreen Knights clustered around the fires, voices low. They looked up as Lannord''s group approached. "Victory is ours, brothers," Lothar announced to a man gnawing duck meat. "Aye, congratulations. A grand triumph for us all," Duck-leg grinned, strings of half-raw duck clung to his gapped teeth. Lothar dismounted, snatched another leg from the spit. "Your losses?" He spat out the raw meat instantly. "Barely a scratch, Lothar," Duck-leg laughed, claiming the discarded food. "Two of Yeben''s men took minor wounds. Plofile lost his horse''s head. Ha! Wish it''d been his own!" "The Godma men? Any captives?" Lothar abandoned all thought of the duck. Duck-leg waggled his meat. "None... all ended up like this bird here." "Damn. Three slipped our net." He spat blood-taste from his mouth. "My error... didn''t expect reinforcements. Should''ve had them all." "Oh? The Queen will be pleased to hear that." Duck-leg''s grin widened. "The victory, I mean. Save that scowl for the Southerners, Lothar. Speaking of which - where''s that noble pup?" He gestured with greasy duck toward Lannord. "Wasn''t there another hot-blooded brat? Not dead, is he?" "No sir, he lives," Lannord rode closer. The cursed horse remained, but its rider had vanished. "Probably watering the trees somewhere." Chapter 31- Initial Skirmish (21) "Pissing himself, is he? Look at your pampered noble princelings, Lothar, sneaking off to water the trees! What, scared we''ll catch a glimpse of their little peckers?" Duck-leg roared with laughter, his voice echoing through the surrounding tents. Oh, I wouldn''t be so sure, Lannord thought, a smirk playing on his lips. His cock might be bigger than yours and those two duck legs combined. "That smirk of yours..." Lothar squinted suspiciously. "You two are always together. You''re not... you know... with him... er¡ª" His unfinished insinuation sent the camp into hysteria. The riders howled with laughter while Duck-leg sprayed half-chewed meat everywhere. Lannord felt heat rise to his cheeks, though he blamed it on the firelight. "I''ll go find him," he muttered, turning away. "Look at these delicate noble flowers, Lothar!" Duck-leg wheezed, doubled over. "Next he''ll be sneaking into the woods for a tumble with the other one! Ha! Nobles and their fancy ways. But me? I''d sooner rut with a goat than some prissy noble b¡ª" The legless roast duck struck his face mid-sentence, searing flesh meeting flesh as he howled in pain. "That legless drake''s more your style," Lannord''s voice cut like winter frost as he strode toward the forest. "So it truly was a monster?" Carl leaned forward, eyes wide. "The bards spoke true then - something dark lurks in the Blackwater." "Not Drowned Ghouls, though," Tyler shook his head. "Those creatures avoid deep water, preferring the shallows. They hunt fish, not healthy horses. To devour a mount so quickly, it must have been..." "Piranhas?" "Hah..." Devalosfang''s laugh held no warmth. "Though they shared some traits with piranhas, you''d gladly leap into a pool of those after seeing what I saw." His hands traced shapes in the air. "I only glimpsed their true form when dragged under. The chaos was beyond description - drowning knights screaming into the murk. In mere seconds, three men became floating bones. When something grabbed me, I thought death had come."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. "But it was Sir Lindsay pulling me down, not the beasts. His face - gods, even corpses looked more alive. He screamed something, but I saw only bubbles. Soon my face matched his bloodless mask." "It glided behind him, a shadow in shadow. The water was filthy, but I saw it clearly when it struck - massive red-black eyes, armor-plate scales, fins twisted like a nightmare''s wings. The size of a bloody warhorse, by the gods! Dwarfed even the largest piranha I''d ever heard of. And it... smiled at us. That grin haunts my dreams still. Then its jaws gaped wide - three rows of scythe-teeth top and bottom. Two bites reduced Sir Lindsay to bones." "I spent my last breath and strength driving my sword into its maw. The blade pierced through, and after some thrashing, it died. But even dying, the beast snapped my sword in two!" The squad leader''s breath hitched. "I don''t remember reaching shore. I just swam toward the crowds, knowing those demon-fish preferred isolated prey... I survived by sacrificing my brothers. When I finally crawled ashore, I purged my soul along with my stomach." "Gods above!" Carl exclaimed, his voice trembling. "Such horrors exist? But... the Kolova savages? How did they escape such a beast?" "May Oris drag them screaming to her hell and fuck them all to death!" Devalosfang spat. "We learned too late - they wore pouches of morrowweed, broadleaf plantain, and obsidian powder. Those demon-fish have snake-eyes, useless things. They hunt by taste. Those pouches'' scent made the beasts ignore the savages and feast on us instead." His tongue rasped against dry lips. "It was their territory," Tyler said softly. Just as Monowe was once ours... "And Oris doesn''t drag men to hell for ravishing," Carl attempted a laugh. "She''s the death goddess. Proper ladies don''t force themselves on men, least of all savages¡ª" A deep moan cut him short. A soldier lay sprawled on a straw mat, a bear-like woman astride him, each thunderous joining drawing whimpers from his thin frame. "Well," Carl amended hastily, "she''s hardly a proper lady." They approached the main camp now, where fires burned brighter. Soldiers and camp followers bathed together, some washing away battle''s filth, others finding solace in each other''s arms. "I knew we''d lost without looking back. The Battle of Prayer Bridge ended in slaughter. Fewer than five hundred survived - green boys, wounded men, and camp followers. Surrounded in that dead village, we could barely resist. When supplies failed, so did we." "Then they butchered you," Tyler said, his voice as cold as the Blackwater. Just as you did to us, no doubt. "They questioned us first. Futile - neither side knew the other''s tongue. That became their excuse. They killed everyone - soldiers, camp followers, all. And that girl, Lord Eoch''s daughter... she died last. Died worst of all." "Wait," Carl''s face darkened. "Didn''t you say a monster killed her?" "Yes. And that''s true." Devalosfang''s smile held centuries of sorrow. "But there are many kinds of monsters in this world." His voice turned hollow. "And the worst of them all... are men." Chapter 32- Initial Skirmish (22) She helped him remove his armor and prepared a clean shirt for him with practiced hands. "I heard the battle today was fierce, my lord." "Fierce?" Eoch snapped, straightening his shirt. "We were butchered, Ali. Slaughtered." The black-haired woman''s fingertips fluttered to her lips. "Heavens above! That''s... most unexpected. How many did we lose?" "Nearly a hundred men." The Royal Knights Commander sank into a sturdy wooden chair, defeat heavy in his sigh. "Elite warriors, every damn one of them." The black-haired courtesan knelt gracefully beside Eoch, her delicate hands settling over his battle-worn ones. "War is beyond Ali''s understanding. I can only mourn them and offer prayers for their souls." I still don''t even understand why he gave me this name. She squeezed his palm gently. "Ali knows only how to ease my lord''s weariness," the courtesan smiled seductively, "with my body." "Sit down, Ali." Eoch gently moved away the hands that sought to undress him. "Just talk with me." "You are strange indeed, my lord." Ali''s expression mixed amusement with vexation. "For several nights now, you''ve purchased my time yet haven''t touched me. We talk, or read, or simply sit in silence. Why won''t you take me, my lord?" Ali tensed, aware she''d overstepped by questioning the Royal Knights Commander thus. Yet the words continued to flow. The courtesan settled into another chair, awaiting his response. "Very well." Eoch paused momentarily. "I purchase your time precisely for that - your time. Nothing more." "Forgive me," the courtesan tucked a wayward strand behind her ear, "but I don''t quite follow." "I..." Eoch spoke as if each word were a shard of glass in his throat. "I buy your time... so no other man can have you. With coin, with power. Does that make it clear, Ali?" The courtesan tilted her head, comprehension dawning slowly as nebulous emotions stirred within. "My lord, surely you don''t..." "It''s not what you think." Eoch cut her off sharply. "I do care for you, Ali, but not in that way." Black-haired Ali''s shoulders slumped slightly. "In that case," she ventured boldly, "you could purchase me outright, my lord. Once freed, I need never be a camp follower again." How far would Lord Eoch go for me? Let me see... She quickly amended her words: "Oh, forgive my foolish thoughts... Please forget I spoke, my lord!" "I''ve considered that path, Ali." The knight commander''s profile looked haggard in the candlelight. "But it won''t do."Stolen novel; please report. "Why not?" she pressed eagerly. "Because you belong to the Marquis of Brennoria." His fists clenched. "The Marquis doesn''t appreciate others coveting his women." I''ve long yearned to escape that fat bastard''s control. "But you''re the Knights Commander, my lord!" The black-haired courtesan deliberately provoked him. "Surely there are few women in this world beyond your reach." The Royal Knights Commander shook his head slightly. "Not with the Marquis of Brennoria. I won''t risk any quarrel with him. He''s Emperor William''s chosen regent for Cynthia, once we claim it." Boundless disappointment settled over the black-haired courtesan. "I see." She shrugged. "I''m grateful enough that you buy my time, my lord. That alone brings me joy." Ali forced a smile, though Eoch failed to notice. "But Ali still wonders about my lord''s affection..." She studied his face carefully. "What kind is it, exactly?" Eoch merely stared ahead, his eyes unfocused. "My lord?" "Let''s continue last night''s story," Eoch turned slightly. "Where did I leave off?" The black-haired girl knew she''d get no answer from him now. "You spoke of her pregnancy." "Ah, yes." Eoch smiled, lost in memory rather than present reality. "She was pregnant." He drew a deep breath. "My sweet daughter, Ali, was pregnant, and then..."
The playful night wind danced beneath the full moon, darting between campfires and teasing the shy flames to dance with him. Trout leaped from the river, eager to join their revelry. Three shadows stretched and shrank, taking strange shapes in the interplay of fire and wind. This news had struck them speechless. "She was with child?" Tyler could barely credit his ears. "Lord Eoch''s daughter was pregnant then?" "And had been for some time," Devalosfang smoothed his wind-ruffled hair. "She conceived during the campaign. Before we reached Bridgehead Town, the village witch claimed ten months along, while our army physician said eight. Either way, her belly was so swollen you''d think it might burst. ''He''ll be a strong boy,'' she''d tell the soldiers, though she couldn''t name the father. Even heavy with child, she performed her duties. Later, the supply captain, showing mercy, let her use her mouth or backside for the same price. She was grateful - she knew if pregnancy kept her from working, her traitor-branded father would starve. That girl worked endlessly, right until her final moment." "They say... those savages do terrible things to female captives..." "Rape then murder. That was mercy compared to what they did to her. The other camp followers died easily by comparison..." The squad leader bit his lip, momentarily unable to continue. "She was the last questioned that day. They dragged her by her black hair, forcing her to walk. Ready to birth any moment, each step was agony. When she wouldn''t walk, they kicked her belly. When she couldn''t answer their questions, they''d press her belly-down and spin her like a top. They''d laugh each time her waters leaked. But how could that girl understand their savage tongue!?" Devalosfang''s spittle flew in his rage. "She was just a girl! A sweet black-haired girl! A girl with big dark eyes..." His voice faded as his sword hand whitened on the hilt. "She just looked at me, letting her tears fall in the dirt. She was already dead. She lay there, her belly caved in... The savages had stomped her... stomped her belly flat." Carl turned away, hand clamped over his mouth to hold back vomit. Tyler''s fists clenched like stone. "They butchered her right in front of me... and I just stood there... frozen..." He sank to his haunches, his hands covering his face. "I couldn''t... I didn''t save her." Chapter 33- Initial Skirmish (23) Tyler''s hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "I couldn''t save my family either," he murmured, low enough for only Devalosfang to hear. The squad leader rose to his feet, his joints creaking with remembered terror. "After nightfall, they left her corpse there, a broken puppet in the darkness. Had dawn found me there, I would have joined that girl in death. But that moment never came." Carl knelt by the river, splashing water on his face. "I hope they made those savages pay." "What came was far worse than mere revenge," the squad leader''s voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "Duke Dear''s army didn''t arrive until the third morning. By then, the savages who held us were already dead. They had faced... retribution from the depths of hell itself." "The bards never speak of this part." The squad leader shrugged. "If they did, their listeners would die of fright. Oris and her hell inspire fear in all." The death goddess Oris and Okado, the war god, were the most dreaded of all ancient deities. Legend spoke of Okado''s invincible path through war, slaying countless beings, while his sister Oris would cast their souls into hell like refuse. In elven mythology, the siblings worked in perfect harmony - even the mighty Titans couldn''t escape their grasp. "I thought those demon-fish had shown me the depths of horror. But I never imagined something could inspire such primal terror. We survivors came to call it the ''Messenger of Oris.''" "It emerged in the dead of night. I was bound to a post, her corpse lying before me. Though I tried countless times to look away, my body refused to move. The hours crawled by like years, and even the dream god denied me peace. Through my haze, I saw it crawl forth - a babe, slowly emerging from her violated body." Devalosfang''s throat worked convulsively. "In the dying firelight, I could only see it was drenched in blood, a peculiar crimson hue. The umbilical cord still wrapped its neck, hampering its movements. It pulled at the cord, trying to free itself. Once it had loosened the cord slightly, it began to scream." "The cry was hoarse, thick with death. It screamed directly at me, and I saw its perfectly aligned teeth and long, toothed tongue. That sound woke every living thing nearby - the savages, the crows in the trees - but they couldn''t flee. They simply fell, stiff as boards. The savages came with spears and cleavers to investigate. By then, another sound had joined the chorus - the howls of ghouls. When the savages beheld the massive alpha ghoul and its pack, they froze like stakes in the ground. The savages'' time to scream had come, but the ghouls gave them little chance. Their heads were torn off in the blink of an eye. The slaughter lasted half the night, ending only when the east began to pale. Not one of our captors survived. Before leaving, the alpha ghoul approached the corpse-child and swallowed it whole. Only after their departure did we dare to breathe again."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "The ghouls didn''t attack you? Strange," Tyler mused. "Ghouls usually prefer the dead. Though I suppose they''re not above a living meal if they''re hungry enough." "Whatever their reason, they didn''t count us among the dead, thank the gods." Devalosfang seemed to stiffen at the memory, his very mouth rigid with tension. "After they''d gone, we finally dared tend to the aftermath. We buried the slain soldiers and camp followers in a deep pit, marking it with crude stone monuments that stand there still. The Kolova savages we burned, fearing their stench might draw the ghouls back. None dared set foot on Prayer Bridge. Only at dawn the next day, after joining Raveirmom''s main force, did we cross Prayer Bridge and march on Kolova." "The Kolova campaign proved easier than expected - our forces swiftly routed the savages. Throughout the journey home, I carried one thing with me: a purse heavy with copper coins, some silver, and Godma glens. She''d clutched it until death - her final earnings. I felt duty-bound to return it to her father, though I knew neither her name nor his identity. She rarely spoke of her father or herself, and those supply troops who might have known had died at savage hands. Even I couldn''t explain why I swore that oath before her gravestone." The squad leader briefly considered seeking wine at his tent before continuing, but thought better of it, merely wetting his lips. "By our return to Godma, the Oberna family''s name was cleared of treason. Lord Eoch had found proof of his family''s manipulation amid his hunger and disease. Naturally, he regained his ducal title and lands, becoming Commander of the Royal Knights - Emperor William''s gift, for the Emperor never forgets either favor or fault. On our triumphant return, he awaited us early at the palace''s victory arch. Duke Dear had other duties, so I led the procession." "Where is my daughter?" he demanded, pulling me aside. "Your... daughter?" I recalled no nobleman''s daughter among our expedition. "She... her name was..." He hesitated, "Ali, with waterfall-black hair and matching dark eyes..." His words dissolved into tears, "She... she would have been... a camp follower..." "In that moment, everything became clear - who she was, who he was. I couldn''t find words to tell him of the past, nor offer comfort. I could only produce that blood-stained purse, still warm - perhaps from my touch, perhaps from hers. Lord Eoch stared at it for an eternity. Then he turned that same gaze on me... His sword cleared its sheath as he sought my life. The Knight Commander swung wildly, each strike laden with grief and despair. It took eight soldiers to restrain him. When he couldn''t reach me, he turned the blade on himself. I knocked him unconscious myself, and I watched over him until he woke. Ali was all he murmured in his delirium." Chapter 34- Initial Skirmish (24) He heaved a deep sigh, letting the evening breeze sweep away its bitterness - a weight finally lifted from his shoulders. "I can''t even fathom why I''m telling you all this... I''d convinced myself I''d buried her memory long ago." "Because my damned words dredged up your buried memories," Tyler Wynlers said, disgusted with himself. Carl pulled on his gloves and clapped both Tyler and Devalosfang on their shoulders. "That''s all in the past now. Let time do its work. ''Those who soar above cannot stumble on stones below.'' It''s growing late - we should check on our dear Fat Simon. Care to join us, my lord?" "Not this time," the squad leader waved them off. "I visited him before your report to Lord Eoch. The medic says it''s mostly surface wounds, nothing serious. ''Simon''s face is thicker than Nira''s armor'' - isn''t that what you always say?" He chuckled - his first genuine laugh of the evening. "I have to check on the armory. Give Simon my best - and tell him I hope his gut doesn''t grow as thick as his hide!" Their shared laughter melted into the night. "The armory, you say? Then we''ll walk together for a while." Carl set off without waiting for a response, still grinning. Devalosfang moved to leave but noticed Tyler hadn''t stirred. "I know there''s something on your mind." The faint smile on the squad leader''s face began to fade. "But now isn''t the time." "I... I''m not sure," Tyler faltered, unable to grasp his own thoughts or find the words. "I understand. We''ll have our moment to discuss this." Devalosfang left Tyler standing alone. "But right now, your duty is to visit Big-Mouth Simon with Carl, Tyler Wynlers." Perhaps you''re right. Tyler followed after them. We''ll have our chance. A chance to let our swords do the talking. Carl still led the way, chuckling, pretending not to notice the battlefield behind them.
He walked through the woods. Thick oak branches blocked out the sky, while the fires behind him gradually dimmed. Though darkness surrounded him, his bright orange eyes cut through the gloom with ease. This is like wading through shit. The recent downpour had saturated Wymar Forest''s soil, and with every step, Lannord felt mud seeping into his boots. Revolting. After hurling the legless duck into the officer''s face, he''d stormed into the forest without a backward glance. The insult rankled, but worry for his friend drove him forward. Where has that fool gone? He knew Stellan''s temperament well enough to fear what such humiliation might drive him to do. He wanted to call out, but knew better. Shouting would only draw soldiers, and besides, he could track Stellan''s scent from afar - though Stellan could do the same. Goria, watch over him. Keep him from bloodshed.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. A horse materialized through the gloom. That scent... yes, Stellan''s black stallion. The beast seemed to sense his presence, pawing the ground nervously. "Hey there, friend," Lannord offered a brief greeting. "Seen where that hotheaded master of yours has run off to?" The black horse blinked rapidly, nostrils flaring. "Oh really... he abandoned you and fled?" Lannord stroked its mane while gently caressing its face. "Yes... I know how hot-headed he is... indeed, this is how he gets when anger takes him. You say he ran? I see... then he''ll leave no tracks... troublesome." An owl gripped a branch overhead, its massive eyes studying them as it tilted its head. Lannord caught its stare. "No spying, little troublemaker." He turned to face it. "Go hunt your field mice. Unless you want me to lure them out for you?" The owl hooted twice softly before taking wing. "Rejected again," he muttered, patting the black horse''s flank. "These little ones never warm up to me." A blood-curdling howl tore through the forest. Stellan''s horse startled, ready to bolt. "Easy now, steady. Little Black? May I call you that?" His soothing voice worked its magic, and the horse calmed under his spell. That fool... surely causing more trouble. He mounted Little Black. "Come, let''s find that mad master of yours." Under Lannord''s guidance, Little Black trotted forward but soon lost direction. Focus... Lannord closed his eyes, sharpening his sense of smell. "Blood... yes, blood-scent, Little Black. What kind... I can only tell it isn''t human..." The black horse tossed its head, mane dancing in the moonlight. "It''s coming from there, isn''t it?" He pointed northwest, and the horse seemed to agree. "Let''s hurry then," he urged. "With luck, he''s satisfied himself with whatever poor beast he''s found." As Little Black cantered on, Lannord weighed his options. Their fathers had opposed them becoming apprentice knights, wearing green cloaks to join the border guard. Despite his promises that elven cloaks would protect them and that he''d watch over Stellan, both dukes remained unconvinced. "It''s not your safety that concerns me, Lannord," his father had said, his tone gentle but absolute. "I fear you - or Stellan - might lose control and do something irreparable." Stellan''s father had sat silent nearby, his stern expression deepening his furrowed brow. "Son, understand this. Once exposed, you either flee or die." "What if we fight back?" He''d longed to ask this, but never found the moment. Why run? Why bow to humans? He couldn''t grasp it, but Stellan''s father''s words crushed his defiance. "You speak of resistance, Lannord?" His first words since arriving. "You wouldn''t need thousands of human soldiers. Five well-armed knights and two pikemen could finish you, child." Lannord tried to object, but the duke pressed on. "Critical injuries are hard to heal, even for someone like your father. And you, barely balanced on two feet..." He''s right, Lannord thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. I wouldn''t last a minute against Devalosfang, let alone five knights. The memory of the Captain''s effortless skill with a blade stung. Chapter 35- Initial Skirmish (25) He dozed on horseback until Little Black turned and nudged him awake. "Hmm... made it?" Lannord blinked away his drowsiness to find a large pond before him. A circular clearing separated the water from the surrounding trees. The pond was murky, turning even the pure moonlight to an iron-gray sheen. The smell of blood is strong... This should be a good watering hole. But something''s scared everything off. Little Black sensed something and started forward. "Found you at last, you fool." A massive black bear lay by the water, its throat torn open in a savage gash. Blood still trickled steadily into the pond, staining the water crimson as the beast''s life ebbed away. Stellan reclined against the bear''s bulk, staring listlessly at the night sky''s reflection. Blood stained his mouth. "Bear blood, then," Lannord said, letting Little Black drink before settling beside his friend. "My nose should have known better." He smiled, his mood lifting slightly. "Though you''ll choose different prey next time, I''m sure." After all, Stellan had only slaughtered a bear taking its rest by the water, not some hapless farmer lost in the woods. "Wolves," Stellan replied without turning. "Next time I''ll fill a whole bath with wolf pack blood." "Stellan, you know butchering animals won''t calm your rage or ease your pain." Lannord tried to soothe him, but Stellan cut him off sharply. "Don''t lecture me! You''re the damned ''friend of animals,'' not me!" His breath came in harsh pants. "I''ll do whatever I please!" Lannord sighed, hurt. "If you''re still brooding over that defeat, I understand." He lay back by the water, hands behind his head. "That warrior - the one who knocked you... no, knocked me from my horse - he was formidable." Lannord shifted uncomfortably, wanting to talk but not worsen things, his words coming out almost like a monologue. "He marked me up worse than you." He almost showed his scars before remembering they''d all healed. Damn, I should have controlled my appetite, he thought, striking the ground in frustration. His clumsy attempt at comfort yielded unexpected results. "His swordplay... was exceptional." Lannord noticed Stellan leaning against the bear''s head, his fury replaced by exhaustion. "I used to be so confident... in everything." He slowly withdrew his hand from behind the bear, patting its bulk. "Sorry, bear." Then his gaze returned to the water, and silence fell. Only Little Black''s lapping disturbed the water''s surface, the ripples breaking apart the reflected stars. From different vantage points, they gazed at the same sky.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. But was it the same sky? Perhaps he had his answer.
They walked the riverbank together. Devalosfang had gone, though the quartermaster''s expression upon seeing him lingered in their minds. They still had ground to cover before reaching Simon''s recovery chamber. Both unconsciously slowed their pace, savoring this moment alone. "Carl." Tyler broke the silence. "You need to explain what you told Lord Eoch in your report." Footsteps ceased. Though Carl had sensed this coming, he hadn''t expected Tyler to actually broach it. Taking advantage of having his back turned, his mouth worked silently as he searched for words. "You swore an oath to me, Carl Clawyn. Before the Triad of Destiny, you swore to never touch black magic again." "That wasn''t black magic, Tyler Wynlers." He kept his back turned but made his voice sound innocent yet firm. "Whether tree spirits, sleep spells, or portals - these things touch upon magic, yes, but they''re fundamentally different from black arts. My knowledge barely scratches the surface. You needn''t overreact..." "Barely scratches the surface?" Tyler''s laugh was bitter. "Then why don''t I just conjure a sleep spell for those Black Riders? Why not open twenty portals and send them all home?" His voice dripped contempt. "Carl - or should I say ''Earl Clawyn''? Your oath ten years ago should have kept you from all such powers, whether magic or its dark kin." He remembered that black leather tome, its pages dense with ancient script and cryptic runes. Remembering how he''d torn it from Carl''s grasp, how his friend had wept, his tone softened. "If my words won''t reach you, remember the mage''s warning. ''Magic can take life, but never create it.'' That''s what Vivret, that renowned mage in Godma, told you. You burned that book of black magic before him." Watching the black tome consumed by blue flames, Carl had sobbed uncontrollably. Tyler had only watched, like a spectator at an execution, as his friend screamed himself hoarse before wiping away tears to swear his trembling oath to the Triad. "I suffered too, back then," he finally admitted, after ten years of silence meant to keep them both strong. "I wished they could return - Father, Mother, Sister, Sir Stuart, even Captain Red. But they can''t. They''re driftwood in the river, unable to fight the current. They''re dust in time''s wind, buried with ''Earl Clawyn,'' ''Marquess Wynlers,'' and that boy who burst out ''I''ll marry you!'' the first time he saw my sister." Carl flinched from these words, especially from his dearest friend. "Then what should I do?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Can''t I find some comfort in these possibilities?" And those stories Vivret told me in secret. "Besides, while magic can''t create life, perhaps it can rekindle what once was. Those-" "Those are necromancers!" Tyler roared. "Users of black magic! They torture dead souls to drag them from hell! And those spirits never find peace! They become wraiths or wraith-food!" His spittle sent crabs scuttling for their holes. "I''ve had those thoughts too! Dreamed of becoming one, of stealing our loved ones back from Oris! But-" Chapter 36- Initial Skirmish (26) "You never went through with it in the end." Carl wasn''t sure if the look he gave Tyler was too contemptuous. "You''re always like this... Tyler. Whether it was when we practiced swordplay as children, the day the Godma forces stormed the palace, or when we discussed bribing the governor in the vineyards... you always hesitate when it comes to making decisions. True, most of the time you''re right - you always manage to make the better choice." Or rather, you always make your choice after I''ve already acted. His lips twisted bitterly. "But you know I''m not like you. Compared to you, I lack your calm and patience. If it were the old me, when I thought you had died in the skirmish at Ronnar just now, I would have learned black magic without hesitation. Even with no aptitude for magic, I would have fought to become a necromancer, just to bring you¡ªand them¡ªback." Even if the chance was infinitesimal. "But that was the old me, the one who could only sob at the graves of loved ones." He sighed. "All these years with you have changed me in ways I never noticed. In the direst moments of battle, the first faces in my mind are my family¡ªDaisy, Amy, and you, Tyler Wynlers. I no longer pin my hopes on those black flames that defy ethics and morality. My hope lies with you, the living. The dead are buried, with only their headstones standing eternal in the past. I made an oath, and I will keep it. You know what kind of man I am." He met Tyler''s gaze, which had lost some of its certainty. "Let this topic die with the night. May it fade with the darkness, never to return." Carl quickened his pace, eager to leave Tyler behind. Though he had forced a mask of acceptance moments ago, he wasn''t sure if his resolve would hold. Don''t follow me, please. He prayed silently. But those familiar footsteps started up again. Oh, gods above, no one knows me better than Tyler. In truth, Tyler hadn''t meant to condemn Carl; he only wanted to warn him, to prevent him from repeating the mistakes of ten years past. He pondered for a moment, weighing his words. Finally, he steeled himself. "Carl, I think we should discuss something else." "About what?" Finally, it''s over. "About," a weighted pause, "our squad leader. Devalosfang Dear."
She tucked the blanket around her. "The young lady has fallen asleep, madam." Amy''s pale cheeks burned crimson. "She''s burning up again..." Elisa''s hand ghosted over Amy''s forehead. So hot... Her eyes traced the silver hair dampened with sweat, ...it took so much effort to bring the fever down.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Daisy leaned against the foot of the bed, her gaze vacant. Her swollen eyes made the dark circles beneath them even more pronounced, her barely rising chest the only sign of life. "Madam, it''s late. Let me escort you back to rest." Seeing no response, Elisa touched her shoulder again. "Madam?" "Ah? Oh!..." Daisy blinked, surfacing from her daze. "You''re right, it is late." She tried to stand but nearly stumbled into the dressing table. Daisy squeezed Amy''s hand as the latter steadied her. "I''m fine, don''t worry for me." She offered her personal maid a gentle smile. "You should rest. I''ll watch over Amy..." Her knees buckled beneath her. The maid moved swiftly, catching her under the arms. Daisy knelt half-collapsed against Elisa''s chest, the soft contact drawing forth a wave of sorrow. Tears spilled unbidden from her eyes. "You''re the one who needs rest." Elisa mimicked the tone Daisy had used earlier when ordering her to bed, helping her up slowly. "Your body is so weak now; you need proper sleep." As Daisy tried to protest, Elisa pressed a finger to her lips. "Please, hear me out first, madam." She attempted a pout. "You must take care of yourself. Tomorrow brings the vineyard workers, the steward''s red-inked ledgers, those cunning wine merchants, and perhaps... even that person claiming to be the governor''s messenger." That''s what worries me most. "So you must rest now. Leave Miss Amy to me." She lowered her finger from her lady''s lips. "You... you exasperate me, Elisa," she said, a faint laugh in her voice. "Sometimes I wonder if you''re Lady Wynlers." She bent and kissed Elisa''s forehead. "Truly, you''re more a daughter to me than a maid." "And I wouldn''t dare dream of having a mother like you." She nestled into the embrace. "Yes... parents are chosen by the gods; we cannot hope to change that." She forced ice into her voice. "You will never be my daughter, and I will never be your mother. Your mother was Sfinna, who entrusted you to me with her dying breath. I swore to keep you by my side and care for you, and I cannot break that oath. Those who break their vows are cursed by the gods, dragged to hell by Oris, beyond even the Triad of Destiny''s salvation." She coughed several times. "Now rest. No more fussing. That''s an order. Now, help me to¡ª" She managed one step before her strength failed entirely. She began to fall. This time, Elisa didn''t merely support her. She slipped her arms around Daisy and lifted her in a princess carry. Poor lady, light as a leaf. Daisy blinked her brown eyes. "Oh? Ah... I''m just tired. Take me to the desk and bring me The Monowe Herb Compendium..." "I''ll carry you to your room, lay you in bed, tuck you in, kiss your cheek, and bid you good night." Tears traced down her face. "Please, let me be your daughter. Just for tonight." Daisy sighed silently, then nodded in surrender. "Just for now." Her eyes closed as sleep claimed her. The candlelight dimmed as Elisa carried her carefully from the room. I will protect you. My lord, my lady, my young miss. No matter the cost. Chapter 37- Initial Skirmish (27) "Try to act natural when we get back to camp. Don''t arouse any suspicions," Lannord drawled, lounging atop his horse while Stellan trudged alongside. He''d flatly refused to sully his boots in the sodden earth any longer. "Must you repeat that same tiresome warning every few minutes?" Stellan grumbled, pressing ahead with determined strides. "You''re neither my servant nor my handmaid, so spare me your endless fretting." "Maybe your father intended me for your handmaid all along." Little Black whinnied twice. "See there? Even Little Black agrees." "Enough of that. Stop trying to deceive me with your supposed ''animal connection.''" His crimson eyes caught a flicker of firelight, and he swiftly altered their hue. "I plan to feast properly, in honor of that little bear''s spirit." The Shadowgreen Knights were still savoring their evening meal. "Well, well, if it isn''t our little pair returned!" Duck-leg was first to spot them, his words drawing scattered laughter from his men. "Hey, Lothar." Lannord ignored the others, directing his greeting solely to Lothar. "Lost your way, did you?" he asked Stellan, who acknowledged with a nod. "This forest is a terrifying maze - even I can''t claim to know every path within its depths. Haven''t eaten yet, I take it?" He brushed some leaves from Stellan''s shoulder. "Come along, we''ve saved plenty of choice morsels for you both." "Oh my? From what I observed, they''ve already had their fill in the forest," Duck-leg sneered, obscenely working a blood-streaked duck leg between his lips. "No, pardon me - I should say they''ve had their fill of drink. Hahaha!" "That roasted duck clearly hasn''t satisfied your appetite," Lannord remarked dryly. "How observant, my lord," Duck-leg rose to his feet, drawing out the word ''lord'' with exaggerated deference. "Unlike some, I''m no beast - I''d never consume raw meat. That''s better suited to your... tastes." He shot a pointed look at Lothar. "You wretch - you knew it wasn''t cooked through?" Lothar''s memory flashed to that bloodied duck leg. "What? My lord, surely you can''t blame me! I never forced you to eat it. You were the one devouring it like some starved creature. What else could I do? But fear not - given the circumstances, I can certainly understand such bestial behavior. Wouldn''t you agree?" Veins bulged at Lothar''s temples as he audibly swallowed. "Enough talk. Nature calls - time for a little excursion into the woods." Duck-leg grabbed his crotch with a vulgar gesture. "Now if only I had a pretty little lordling to pleasure me. A mouth would suffice." His raucous laughter mingled with his men''s as he vanished into the forest alone.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. "You will, bitch," Stellan spat, shrugging off Lothar''s hand and stalking toward his tent. Lannord followed close behind. He''d expected his friend to object, but instead heard rare words of agreement. "I think he will indeed." Lannord''s icy tone sent chills down Stellan''s spine. He turned to meet his companion''s gaze. Beast''s eyes glowed yellow in the darkness. The sight made his blood surge. "Let''s give him a proper celebration," Lannord growled, his voice thick with animal menace. "Why not? It''s been far too long since we hunted together." Stellan''s reply came as a high-pitched screech. Both men''s faces split into savage, predatory grins.
"Lord Devalosfang?" The question wasn''t unexpected - Tyler had seemed troubled about their squad leader since leaving the battlefield. "What about him?" "I don''t know quite how to explain this..." Tyler said, walking slightly behind Carl. "What did you make of his swordsmanship?" "During the fight with the Black Riders, you mean?" Carl considered. "Swift and powerful, every movement graceful yet purposeful. Even mounted, he moves like he''s dancing..." Wait, he thought, dancing? He remembered another describing swordplay that way. Ten years ago, when Monowe fell and they parted ways in Tyler''s palace. Later, during Tyler''s account, he''d mentioned a knight whose blade-work resembled a dance. That same knight had killed Sir Reid, the Wynlers family''s captain of the guard, in single combat. "Surely you don''t mean..." "That''s exactly what I mean." Tyler''s tone brooked no argument. "I could never forget that distinctive style. Though his face was hidden behind a helmet then, the swordplay is identical. He must have been a captain or knight even then. He offered Sir Reid the chance to surrender the palace. When Reid refused, that dancing knight killed him in their duel." "I remember you were hiding nearby, only fleeing after Reid fell." Just like during the training ground assault - classic Tyler tactics, Carl thought wryly. "Sir Reid concealed me there. I suppose I could have struck from behind, but it was an honorable duel between knights. None expected Sir Reid to fall to him. Later, I realized fleeing the palace was a mistake... perhaps dying by that knight''s blade would have been better." After escaping, when Tyler witnessed his sister''s fate in the garden, his world shattered forever. "So you''re convinced our squad leader is the same knight who stormed the palace a decade ago." Carl continued forward. "But your only evidence is their similar fighting styles. That seems rather tenuous to me - others might share such dance-like swordsmanship. Though I''ll grant I''ve never seen its like elsewhere..." They reached Simon''s tent, where two spearmen stood guard, their expressions shifting subtly at Carl''s approach. "But there''s no way to prove it now." You could confront him directly, but none of us would welcome the outcome. "You''re the one who said we should let the past rest. Perhaps it''s best not to dig too deeply. At least for now..." He glanced at the guards. "He seems an honorable knight." A stout guard greeted them, his voice oily and ingratiating. "Here to visit Lord Simon?" Carl nodded, signaling the end of their previous discussion. "We appreciate your concern. How fares Simon?" "Nothing serious, we think. The physician agrees," said the scar-faced guard. "Though... perhaps best not to disturb him now. For... reasons we all understand." He exchanged a lewd look with his fellow guard, who responded with a knowing snicker. Chapter 38- Initial Skirmish (28) "So, our esteemed Lord Simon is otherwise engaged." Tyler''s grave expression melted away, though Carl knew the earlier doubt still lingered in his mind. "You two should rest. Lord Carl and I need a word with Simon." "Hold on there, my lord. Lord Devalosfang''s orders were¡ª" The scar-faced guard interrupted. "They''re with the Captain, you idiot. Let ''em in. Gives us a chance to grab a few drinks and find some whores. What''s not to like?" Maggot shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever. If there''s trouble, it''ll just mean two more heads rolling. Go ahead, my lords." With that, he and his companion departed. Carl pushed aside the tent flap, Tyler close behind. For a wounded man''s quarters, Simon''s tent was remarkably opulent. It sprawled twice the size of others, liberally dotted with tallow candles. The luxurious double bed, desk, and wardrobe - all premium goods from Elnya or Illuvi¦Ëofer - spoke of wealth. Must be the squad captain''s own tent, given up for Simon''s recovery. Tyler''s widened eyes confirmed Carl''s suspicion. They searched through the flickering candlelight before finally locating Simon in the tent''s darkest corner, supine on the bed. A woman was moving rhythmically on top of him. Gasps, moans. Gasps, screams. "Simon..." Carl chose his moment carefully. The woman shrieked anew at the sight of unexpected visitors. She scrambled off Simon, their entangled blanket sliding away. "Gods damn it!" she cursed, panic and anger flashing as her eyes darted between Carl and Tyler. Her two hands proved inadequate coverage - though perhaps she deliberately exposed her brown nipples and the wild thatch below. Fat Simon propped himself up, his face souring like curdled milk, clearly vexed at the interruption. Yet recognition brought a broad smile. "Well! If it isn''t Carl, Cornell''s son, and Tyler, Ternence''s boy!" The woman, realizing these intruders were Simon''s friends, softened though remained wary. "Oh... my lords, I didn''t know they were your friends..." "Well, now you do, don''t you?" Simon pried her shielding hands away. "Come now, why so shy? Let the good lords have a proper look." Unshielded, her white breasts danced in the shifting light. "My lord¡ª" the brown-haired woman purred, "You didn''t say anything about three... if these lords want in, one silver coin ain''t gonna cut it..." "Oh, don''t you worry about that. Lord Simon''s got enough coin in that gut of his to buy the whole damn brothel, not just three of you," Tyler quipped, crossing his arms as he leaned against the tent post. "Though you should mind your health, my lord," Carl added. "We came worried about your wounds, though clearly our concern was misplaced." He gestured at Simon''s bloodied bandages. "Still, being recently wounded, perhaps moderate your... vigorous activities with camp women."Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Simon''s laughter turned quickly to coughing, darkening his bandages further. "I truly appreciate your concern. And I was genuinely relieved to learn you both were safe." He patted his chest, staining his hand red. "But Lord Carl, you''ve one thing wrong. This woman''s no camp follower - she''s our wine server." Simon squeezed her buttocks with his bloody hand, drawing out a moan. "Tonight''s battle was a bit rough, but... a man''s gotta live, right? I swear by the Triad of Destiny, I''ll avenge our fallen brothers with enemy blood." He clenched his bloodied fist over his heart. "Did you need something? I can send her for more wine." "Unnecessary." Carl waved dismissively, turning to leave. "You''ve had enough wine - I can see your drunkenness through the blood on your face. Hah! Earlier the squad captain sent his blessing: ''May your belly be half as thick as your face!'' Now I rather hope your belly grows as thin as those bandages, letting all that wine pour out to properly honor our fallen brothers." He made a face at Simon before sweeping out. Simon and Tyler burst out laughing, while the wine server looked utterly bewildered. "My lord? Oh... haha." She joined in nervously, clearly not understanding the jest. Tyler coughed twice, preparing to follow Carl. At the tent''s entrance, he turned back to Simon: "Thanks for your help tonight. Should we fight together again, I''ll gladly trust you at my back. Until then, enjoy yourself." He glanced at the brown-haired woman. "Please take good care of Lord Simon. Good night." The wine server blushed deeply. Outside, both guards had succumbed to Crimson Sunset wine, huddled together beneath a fir tree, snoring. Hearing approaching steps, Maggot stirred first. Clearly over-served, his first waking act was to relieve himself, using Scarface''s lolling head as a chamber pot. A dark yellow stream arced through the air. "Don''t do that, Maggot," Carl frowned. "I doubt he''ll appreciate a hair-washing during his rest." "Oh... no worry, my lord. Scarface never washes anyway." Maggot turned, grinning with wine-purpled teeth. Scarface kept rolling in dreams, his nose occasionally twitching at the acrid scent. "He''ll never notice." With that, Maggot emptied his remaining Crimson Sunset over Scarface''s head. Just then, Tyler emerged from the tent, barely containing his mirth at the scene. "Quite the optimist," he said, pinching his nose. "Everyone knows camp Crimson Sunset is swill - weak color, worse taste and bouquet. And your piss reeks so strongly it''s choking me from here. How could that poor wine possibly mask your deed? Come morning, when Scarface finds his head soaked in your waters, he might just report to the squad captain about your midnight hair-washing service!" Chapter 39- Initial Skirmish (29) "Lord Devalosfang might think your head''s even dirtier than Scarface''s and chop it off," they added. The threat of beheading deflated Maggot like a punctured wineskin. "That ain''t right! I gave Scarface a free wash... I deserve a medal, not a chopping block...ah, hell..." He grumbled, then launched into a slurred song: "O Orelliano, brave and fair! What sorrow dims your noble air? You fought to save your people''s grace, Till kinsmen''s treachery sealed your fate! Your eyes still shine with defiant light, Sharper than steel, than flames more bright! Your tale shall echo through the years, Your song pierce execution''s wall of spears!" He finished the last line with an attempted falsetto - if one could dignify it with the term ''singing.'' Then Maggot upended the wine bottle over his head, running his fingers through his tangled curls. His swollen tongue darted out to catch the wine dripping from his nose. Soon enough, he collapsed alongside his filthy wine cup into a pool of mingled yellow and purple-red. "''The Execution Dawn'', eh? Fancy. Though his singing was so bad I thought it was the bloody ''Dusk of Execution.''" Tyler watched with amusement as Carl debated between rousing the pair and retreating from the stench. "Leave them be. They''re far beyond waking." "Now I see why the Captain gave up his tent. Top-notch security detail," Carl said sarcastically. "Why not real soldiers? Hell, even mercenaries would be an improvement over these drunken louts." "We can hardly help it - we''re just the vanguard. Numbers are thin." Tyler examined the wound on his right hand, wincing slightly. "The night stretches before us, my friend. Why not share some wine, honor our fallen brothers, and celebrate our survival?" Carl''s lips curved into a smile. "Why not indeed?"
He stood on the terrace, surveying the kingdom beneath the night sky. The city''s lights burned dimmer than usual, though the streets teemed with more bodies. Thousands of farmers had flooded the capital, leaving only charred homes and scorched earth for the Godma forces. Though we''ve harvested all the outlying grain into the royal granaries, he mused, feeding seven hundred thousand souls will strain our resources. Earlier, many court officials had urged the queen to meet the Godma forces in open battle. But the Royal Twelve Knights, led by Rhones Lord, had firmly rejected the notion. "And what shall we fight with?" he''d asked, standing at the queen''s side, noting her pale, trembling neck in his peripheral vision. "You know our forces number roughly eighty thousand. Even if we begin conscription and training immediately, we''d barely reach ninety thousand in a month - no more." A knight in brilliant golden armor, bearing a battle axe, tried to interject, but Rhones Lord cut him off without hesitation. "I know your mind, Lord Loyes. True, our army once exceeded a hundred thousand - I won''t dispute that. But that was before Cynthia fractured, when the capital still boasted four gates. Now, ninety thousand suffice to hold the kingdom. But meeting them in open battle? That''s another matter entirely." He glanced at the queen, fearing his presumption might anger her. But her profile remained ice-cold, unchanging. "Two months past, during the siege of Crividsylvan, a goblin messenger brought intelligence," he continued, still watching the queen carefully. "It reported Godma''s forces at roughly a hundred thousand. King Salt''s relief force to Crivi confirmed this number. Sir Kevon, you concur?"This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. "I do, my lord." Sir Kevon, though short, was powerfully built. Three scars crossed his face, one splitting his goatee from his sideburns. Legend claimed arrows from the Crivi siege marked him thus, though Rhones Lord maintained a whore''s nails cut deeper than arrowheads. "They''re well-drilled, masters of formation and tactics. Most we faced were cavalry, suggesting their total force might exceed a hundred thousand." "Troubling indeed," Archmage Hamilton remarked from the left walkway, his waist-length white beard setting him apart. "With favorable terrain - though we''ve little enough here - and our familiarity with the land, ninety thousand elite troops might match their hundred thousand. But if their numbers exceed that, as Sir Kevon suggests, direct confrontation would be suicidal." The queen maintained her silence, though her gaze grew weary. She was afraid. Rhones Lord, noting Claire''s faltering spirit, seized a moment when all eyes fixed on the white-haired archmage to brush her delicate hand. She shot him a reproachful glance but seemed to steady. "What then shall we do?" a thunderous voice cut through the murmurs, silencing all discussion. The speaker, broad and stout in dark green lacquered armor, sat upon a mahogany bench carved with Seven Seas Kingdoms motifs. "Perhaps, Your Majesty, I might fetch my father? He commands nearly five thousand men." The queen pursed her lips as the archmage continued: "Indeed, Lord Little Pip, your father''s aid is essential. Yet I concur with Sir Rhones Lord - we must avoid direct battle. Our capital garrison numbers seventy thousand. Add Baron Grace''s two thousand from Hilltop Fort, your father Grand Pip''s five thousand, plus new conscripts, and we approach ninety thousand." He turned to the queen. "Your Majesty, I propose we consolidate all forces within the capital''s regular army. Harvest all outlying grain into city granaries. Abandon the suburbs if needed, but hold the city proper. Despite its vast walls, with our trebuchets, ballistae, archers, and civilian volunteers as sentries, we could endure a year or more." Chapter 40- Initial Skirmish (30)
Patience.He reminded himself. Snit had made his point: a Royal Knight''s place was to protect the Queen, not offer unsolicited advice. He would hold his tongue. Rhones Lord glanced at the Queen beside him, then to Garrilard and Pawasid at her right. Seeing no reaction from any of them, he caught Archmage Hamilton''s eye, passing him the burden of explanation. She''d been trembling on the throne.)Rhones Lord watched a group of dwarves playing with a human girl in the street. How could he blame her? She''d been a carefree queen consort, not a ruler facing war. The moonlight offered a moment''s peace. If she''d accepted the Godma envoy''s terms... what then? Exile? Or perhaps we''d have kept our lands and titles. No, not her. Stubborn since childhood, she never yielded, even in sword practice. How could she surrender the kingdom? Still, refusing to hear their terms... unwise. But she''s young... Sharp mind, that one, even if his limbs haven''t caught up. Was bringing the bird really necessary?"Very well, Vito. Release it before it makes good on its threats." The boy instantly complied, terrified. "No way ¨C she''s a girl!" Chapter 41- Initial Skirmish (31) "Wait ''til you tangle with a real she-devil." The raven hopped onto Rhones Lord''s shoulder, claws digging into his armor. As he untied the message, it squawked, "Corn! Corn! No corn, fuck you!" "Never said I wouldn''t feed you, friend." (Who in the seven hells trained this bird?) The letter quickly answered his question. (Ah, from the Green Knights.) His eyes darted across the page. (Finally, some good news.) "Very well." He folded the letter and turned to the boy. "Thank you for the delivery. You may go." "Go? Fuck you, go." Ignoring the threats screeched in his ear, he added, "And next time, try not dragging the raven around¡ªmight speed up that promotion to scholar. Now take it back and feed it proper corn." "I don''t think Archmage Hamilton has any corn left..." The boy''s eyes widened. "Then breadcrumbs, meat scraps, whatever you have. Wood shavings if you must." He thrust the squawking raven into the boy''s hands. Vito bowed and scrambled towards the stairs. "I said, no one''s chasing you..." Too late. A clatter of limbs and a muffled yelp echoed from below. (What now?) Rhones Lord studied the crumpled parchment. The Queen had ordered all messages to go through him first, protocol be damned. The Archmage hadn''t objected. (Time to see Claire. At least I have an excuse.) He headed for the Queen''s chambers. Giant stone columns lined his path, their carved faces watching his progress. One glance sideways revealed the kingdom sprawled beneath the night sky¡ªthis balcony had always drawn noble ladies seeking romantic vistas. He passed several guards, exchanging silent nods. (They must wonder why I visit the Queen''s chambers at this hour.)Dismissing the thought, he reached the corridor to her rooms. Two tall guards in white armor flanked the passage, faces carved from stone, eyes fixed ahead. Seeing the commander of the Royal Twelve Knights, they lowered their spears until the tips kissed the floor. These knights earned their white armor through trials, swearing fealty not to the Crown directly, but to one of the Royal Twelve ¨C a sign of the monarch''s trust. The Twelve, in turn, swore allegiance to the King, ensuring the White Knights would follow royal commands, while remaining ultimately bound to their Knight. To prevent any one Knight from amassing too much power, Cynthia''s monarchs limited each of the Twelve to a mere twelve White Knights, selecting only the most loyal and capable warriors.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. "Allen, Ullen. Report." "All quiet, my lord," replied Allen, the leaner twin. "None but handmaids since Her Majesty retired this afternoon," Ullen added. "Well done." Rhones Lord gestured them to ease. "Finch and Ailer relieve you at dawn. Until then, your axes and honor guard her." "We stand until sunrise," they answered as one. Past the twins, Rhones Lord entered the Queen''s gallery. Chandeliers hung in golden chains, bathing the corridor and chambers in warm light. (If only these lights could illuminate our future¡ªboth realm and heart.) A handmaid emerged from the Queen''s chamber. "Oh! Lord Rhones!" She dropped into a quick curtsy, flaxen hair neatly tied back enhancing her youthful charm. "Have you come with news for Her Majesty at this hour?" He nodded. "You''re... ah, Miss Blancheless. How fares the Queen?" Color touched her cheeks at his recognition. "Well... poorly, I fear. Abed since lunch, barely touched her dinner¡ªjust cold cuts, no hot food. Wouldn''t even take her evening bath, just waved us away. Even sent me out, which never happens." "...And the Princess?" "With her wet nurse." Gray eyes met his, oddly captivating. "Come to think of it, Her Majesty hasn''t visited today..." Something in the maid''s manner stirred old memories. He looked away. "I see. The Queen sent you on an errand?" "Yes." She nodded. "For tea." "Tea?"£¨ Why tea, of all things?£© "Are you sure that''s right? It''ll keep her awake." She bit her lip. "I thought the same, but she insisted." (She hasn''t recovered.) His jaw tightened. (I must see her.) "Forget the tea. Find a scholar or doctor¡ªget her something for sleep instead." The maid agreed without question. (She worries for her Queen too.) He watched her graceful departure with approval. (Clever and dutiful, like Claire in her youth.) When he entered, the Queen lay in bed, white velvet covers draped to hide the curves beneath her lace nightgown. He closed the door and lit several candles. "Mmm..." rustled from the bed. "Blancheless?" "She''s fetching your tea, Claire." His voice brought her upright. "Oh... Rhones." He said nothing, studying the bedside ornaments. A metal knight caught his eye¡ªa gift from traveling dwarven merchants when she was a girl in Duviliel, sparking her love of all things knightly. As her father''s squire, he''d become one of those fascinations. They''d spent countless afternoons sparring, then inventing excuses to escape her father''s wrath. (Like mist in morning sun.) He sighed softly. Chapter 42- Initial Skirmish (32)
(Neither have you, Claire.) The knight silently sat back on the bed''s edge. During their sword practice days, whenever Rhones Lord stormed off in anger, Claire would always catch his arm and coax him back. "Why tea?" He gently brushed the hair from her forehead. (At least, not nearly as much as I do.) Chapter 43- Initial Skirmish (33)
(Not that she''ll need it anytime soon.) The thought of the creamy aroma crossed his mind again. "However..." Blancheless said as she handed over the tray, "Did I come too late? After all, both you and Her Majesty have already had your milk, haven''t you?" (That girl... damn her!) He wiped the milky residue from his mouth, placing the silver tray on the table. (This could''ve been considered treason, yet she speaks of it so casually!) (Not a queen now, just a frightened child.) He thought, stroking her smooth back. (Too bitter?) the knight wondered. "No, just too sweet," the Queen said softly. (Playing the dragon so soon?) Tyler studied his opponent''s hand intently. (My Dwarf Queen was meant to draw out his heavy hitters, but he falls for such an obvious trap?) He examined the Riftjaw Dragon card again. "Brother, this is the genuine Riftjaw Dragon," Carl laughed. "You think I drew it myself?" Chapter 44- Initial Skirmish (34)
(Gods, they''re exquisite.) Tyler stood transfixed. (I''ve never seen such beauty in any woman.) He remained entranced until Night Queen perfume tickled his nose. Two shapely legs stood mere inches away. (Even their voices are like music.) Tyler looked up to find one half-elf smiling down at him. Up close, they were nearly identical, though the one addressing him stood taller. He scrambled up, realizing she matched his height. "Yes, miss. What brings you to us?" (Ah, of course.) Tyler had wondered at half-elves in camp, forgetting prostitution was the typical trade for their women. Though not his first encounter with half-elves, he felt nervous, remembering how his last such night had nearly emptied his purse. "Ah... I see, miss. But with respect - I don''t recall requesting your services?" Chapter 45- Initial Skirmish (35) Treni, still standing, jutted her chin defiantly. "That''s right! Such refined tastes you gentlemen have! But if you think we''re leaving, think again. We couldn''t even if we wanted to. Sir Devalosfang has paid good coin for our company tonight. We''re yours until dawn!" She dropped to the ground with theatrical stubbornness. "Unless you plan to beat me, I''m not budging." Tyler had never struck a woman, let alone a half-elf. He shot a desperate look at his companion. "Rest easy," Carl said smoothly to Teresa. "The squad leader won''t mind. We''ll sort out the payment." But Teresa''s face darkened. "We''ve been punished before," she murmured. "Another night, another squad leader''s orders to entertain some officer. He finished too quick¡ªcouldn''t manage more than two thrusts before wilting. The squad leader decided we''d failed our duty, had us strung up and flogged. Said next time, he''d let the whole camp have us until we died." She turned halfway, lifting her shirt to let firelight paint the dark welts across her skin. "We''re half-elves, yes, and we charge more than your common camp follower. But our clients are nobles, high-ranking officers. A flicker of displeasure, a misplaced word, and we''re punished. Sometimes it''s just a few welts, a split lip. Other times... it''s ending up face-down in a ditch. So please, sirs, don''t turn us out." Carl gaped at the marks, like cracks spreading across a tea-stained shell. Wordlessly, Treni raised her own shirt, revealing a stomach latticed with scars. "That officer might have seemed honorable, but we can''t risk such torture again..." "Then stay and talk with us, share some wine?" Carl''s voice gentled, as if coaxing spooked deer. "That''s companionship too, isn''t it?" "Talk? We can do that." Treni''s smile held relief. "Just talking, truly? When the officer paid so handsomely?" "This is no simple task, ladies." Carl made space for them, pouring deep red wine. "If you''d care for some," he offered the glass to the half-elf. Teresa squealed in delight, catching it reverently in both hands. "Ah, Kante Cards you''re playing!" Treni surveyed the scattered cards. "Oh my, things look grim for you, Tyler." "Because my opponent fights dirty." Tyler sulked beside Treni, jabbing the fire with a stick. "And what sense does it make for dwarves to beat Titan Giants? Who dreamed up these rules?" "Don''t you know, sir? Elves invented Kante Cards." Teresa savored a long drink of Crimson Sunset, sighing contentedly. "Two famous scholars created it, so they must have made the rules. What were their names... Sam and Tom?" Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "What?" Treni frowned. "Wasn''t it Fetelios and Fetelfis? Mother told me so." "You''re mistaken, Treni. Those two just painted the cards. It was Sam and Tom, definitely." "No, you''re wrong, Teresa. I remember clearly¡ªMother told me with a smile..." The sisters launched into spirited debate, leaving the men without a word in edgewise. Carl sipped wine, amused, while Tyler cut in, "Ladies, ladies, whoever made it was clearly addled. Probably thought dwarves could hack off giants'' legs." Treni burst out laughing. "Hack off their legs? You''ve clearly never seen a giant! Even the shortest were 180 feet tall. Those dwarves would be better off offering pedicures." Carl and Tyler roared with laughter. "Pedicures! You''ve got wit, miss. But don''t act like you''ve seen giants yourself. They''re long extinct¡ªif they ever existed," Carl chuckled. "Though we don''t even know your names yet." "I''m Treni, sir. This is Teresa," she stroked Teresa''s hair, earning an irritated swat. "We''re twins." "No wonder you''re so alike." Tyler studied Treni''s profile, noticing her ears¡ªpointed, but lacking the extreme length of pure elves. The half-elf mark. He remembered another half-elf woman, her ears similarly distinct. He reached tentatively, watching Treni''s reaction. When she didn''t object, he gently traced the elegant curve. "So Treni''s the elder?" Carl asked. "Wrong again, Sir Carl!" Treni leaned into Tyler''s touch, cheeks flushing. She reached for Teresa''s hair again. "She''s older, but I''m half a head taller! Poor tiny Teresa." "Sure, sure, but my breasts are bigger," Teresa preened, thrusting out her chest proudly. Carl frowned, wondering if his daughter would one day have such conversations. He remembered little Amy''s innocent questions: "Why are Mommy''s boobs bigger than mine?" He''d gently stroke her sun-kissed hair, murmuring, "Because you''re still growing, little one." "Will mine be bigger than Mommy''s when I''m big?" "Oh yes, darling, much bigger." "How much bigger?"... A child''s curiosity was a bottomless pit. More often than not, Daisy had to step in and change the subject. The thought of his daughter brought fresh grief. He might never see her grow up. "How old are you?" he blurted, then winced at his rudeness. "Just turned eighteen. Sister''s two years younger." Teresa glanced at Treni for confirmation. "Want to know a secret? When my parents married, Mother was six times my age." Both men leaned forward. "So your mother was an elf?" "Yes, and beautiful¡ªmore than either of us," Treni said proudly. "A hundred years is barely grown for an elf. I found her diary once. They were so happy then." "And...?" "It didn''t last. They''re gone now." Chapter 46- Initial Skirmish (36) Tyler wanted to apologize, but seeing no opening in the conversation, he and Carl settled in to listen. Both men found themselves drawn into the tale. "Our father sold us as whores. And our mother killed herself because of it," Teresa said simply. The stark brevity hung in the air, but soon the sisters began to elaborate. "Your father... he truly sold you to Godma''s army?" Tyler asked. "The brothel first claimed us, then the army, after our homeland crumbled. Aeton, that was our country, nestled between Elnya and Paripha." Treni''s gaze drifted into the flickering firelight. "You ask if our father could bear to sell us? Sir, you clearly know little of half-elf lives." (True enough, I don''t. Even my last encounter with a half-elf left too much unspoken,) Tyler mused. "Back then, Godma was conquering Aeton. Paripha cowered in neutrality, fearing Godma''s might. Elnya had already bent the knee as a duchy. Aeton was caught between them like a sweet pie, ready to be devoured. Though war never touched our little village, its shadow made life harsh. One July day, Father lost heavily gambling at the tavern and drowned himself in drink. That money was all we had left. Then he overheard some lecher saying: ''A pretty half-elf girl fetches good coin - twins would be worth even more.'' And just like that, we were sold." The younger sister sipped her beer as her elder continued, "We were barely seven or eight. The brothel owner bought us without a second thought, paying Father copper that wouldn''t buy decent cider. But Father practically danced away to gamble with those coins. Then Mother - our beautiful, gentle mother - came to plead for us. ''My lovely lady, your daughters were sold to me legally. Unless you can match their price, they''re my property now.'' I can still see us, held on either side of that fat brothel owner, watching Mother''s helpless face. ''Though, I''ve never had an elf working my house. Set that precedent, and you can stay with your girls.'' His words earned him Mother''s slap. He didn''t even flinch, just had her shown out. When talking failed, she went wild, trying to snatch us away." "Fat owner called for help right away," Treni picked up the thread. "I thought they''d kill her. But he wasn''t as cruel as some. ''See the lady out, but don''t harm her,'' he ordered. As they dragged her to the door, she suddenly grabbed the frame and smashed her head against it. Everyone froze - nobody expected that. She was like a raging bull then, no one could hold her, no words reached her. Until I started crying. She turned to look at me, then at my sister." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. "After that, she walked out on her own. No one dared touch her," the elder sister squeezed her sibling''s hand. "Later, the owner told us she''d taken her own life at home." "Hanging?" Tyler remembered his wife Cherry''s dark jest: "If I can''t bear another child, I might as well hang myself." "Gods, no. Such crude ends are for humans," the younger sister shook her head. "Elves would never dishonor life so. She used Moonfire Blossom pollen in water. The poison smells sweet, leaves no trace, brings no pain. It''s how elves choose to leave this world." "I know it well," Tyler said, folding his arms. "The Moonfire Blossom, unique to Illuvi¦Ëofer, the Flower Sea Hills. Two petals, one the color of blood, the other of a twilight sky, earning it the name ''Crown of Flowers.'' But its pollen yields Whisperdust, a poison favored by elves who cannot bear to watch their human loves wither and fade while they themselves remain untouched by time." "My, aren''t you knowledgeable, sir," Treni smiled, her hand finding Tyler''s thigh. "Did some half-elf beauty teach you this between the sheets? Was she pretty?" (Must it have been a half-elf? Why not an elf?) "Not as pretty as you," he answered honestly, earning her smile. "Mother said she''d likely follow Father the same way. Elves say, ''If today marks my end, let me leave in beauty.'' Most achieve this - their bodies never decay. Father followed her soon enough, beaten to death in some tavern. That same leering patron who''d suggested selling us brought word to the owner. I hated that man''s thieving eyes on us. The owner showed one last kindness, burying them together," Teresa''s laugh held no mirth. "We visit often. It''s darkly funny - Father''s bones beside Mother''s perfect form." "I wonder if she smiled at the end? She smiled so much in those early days," Treni''s eyes glistened at the memory. Silence fell. Tyler noticed then how quiet Carl had been. He''d dozed off against Teresa''s shoulder, wine cup still half-full. (Overdid it again, you fool.) Tyler smiled fondly. (Not even good wine, worse than my home brew. But here I am, drowning sorrows too. War ages you in an instant, body and soul.) Teresa stuck out her tongue at her sister and Carl, gently easing his head onto her lap. His sleep deepened. "Surely when your mother bore you twins, she knew perfect joy." Treni crawled over, making to rest her head in Tyler''s lap. He allowed it, fingers returning to her ear. "Yes, few elf-human unions bear fruit," Teresa said softly. "I understand that yearning - I''ve dreamed of motherhood myself. We desperately want children, any man''s seed would do. Sir, do you know why most half-elf girls become whores?" Chapter 47- Initial Skirmish (37) "Because we want to bear children." Teresa''s eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! How did you know?" Treni leaned forward, her voice sharp. "Ah, my lord, you must have bedded quite a few half-elf girls. You scoundrel! What happened to being faithful to your wife? All lies, it seems." She made to pull away. But Tyler drew her back into his embrace. "That''s not true, Miss Treni. It happened only once, and for good reason." "Oh? Do tell. Let''s see if this reason meets my approval," Treni''s lips curved into a teasing smile. (Gods, this is difficult to explain.) "I... I have a wife, but she couldn''t conceive. Seeing her try so hard, I began to wonder if I was the problem... so... I sought out a half-elf girl..." "Ah, I see," the younger sister''s eyes narrowed as she prodded his chest. "Thought if you could get a half-elf with child, you''d know you weren''t the problem, didn''t you?" "You misunderstand, Miss," Tyler protested, suddenly defensive. Teresa pressed a finger to her lips, urging silence. "I just heard tell that half-elves were so damn fertile, they could get a stone pregnant!" "Hmph," Teresa''s laugh held no mirth. "What a clever jest. But do they realize we''re as barren as those same mules?" "They likely don''t," Tyler said, stroking her cheek. (Like silk beneath my fingers. Truly, they are the Creator''s finest work.) "Forgive my bluntness, but the world sees half-elves as vile, tainted fruits of forbidden love. They think you''re just gaudy creatures in fancy dress, all dramatic gestures and no substance." Treni rolled onto her stomach, chin propped on her hands, elbows resting on Tyler''s thigh. "You call that blunt?" She kicked her feet idly in the air. "I once had a Godma soldier toss me onto a garbage heap after he''d finished with me, called me ''trash beneath trash.'' Your words sound almost kind in comparison." "Let''s return to your tale, my lord," Teresa steered them back. "What happened? Did your lady conceive?" "No, sadly." "Don''t be so gloomy," the younger sister cupped Tyler''s face. "Why not try with me tonight? Perhaps I''ll be round with child come morning." She burst into laughter at his horrified expression. "Oh my! Such shock! You look so mature and gallant, yet inside you''re like some blushing virgin." Treni could barely contain her mirth. "I jest, my lord, only jest." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Her mockery stirred Tyler''s pride. He seized Treni, fingers grazing her cheeks. "Oh? A pity. I usually take pretty girls at their word." He drew her close until their breaths mingled. "Perhaps I should see what screams this ''virgin'' can wring from you. Maybe you''ll bear my firstborn by dawn." His hands found the ties of her silk blouse, baring snow-white shoulders to the firelight. "Well? Continue," she challenged, eyes locked with his. "Come on then, make me scream. Strip me bare." Their noses touched as Tyler wavered. "What are you waiting for? Be rough, ravish me. Ha! Stop playing the brute - it doesn''t suit you at all." As Tyler opened his mouth to respond, she wound her arms around his neck and claimed his lips. "But that''s why I like you," she whispered between hungry kisses. "You''re gentle. That''s what draws me to you." Tyler found himself responding, unbidden. (Her lips are soft as petals... sweet as honey.) he mused between gentle nips. (She melts against me like morning frost, carrying the faintest hint of flowers. Is this divine temptation? Or are they avatars of the Triad of Destiny?) His tongue sought hers. (No, just two mortal women...) Each brush of her silk-soft tongue sent lightning through his body. (I''m betraying Cherry with these kisses, yet why does my heart race with joy? This is wrong, so wrong, but why do I crave more?) Reason fled before desire. Tyler moved with purpose, stripping away her garments, pressing her to the earth. She lay before him in only a thin white shift, black lace visible beneath. Breathing heavily, he reached for the matching undergarment, but her hand stayed his. "Remember your vows, Lord Tyler," Treni''s face grew serious. "Remember your wife." "You tempted me first," he countered fiercely. "Yes, maybe I am cheap. I''ve lured men to my bed for a few coins, even those with wives waiting for them. Those who offer themselves freely... they''re beneath even my contempt. But you, Lord Tyler, you''re different. My heart led me to kiss you. And you''ve shown me how much you love her. So let this be your line, and mine." She sat up, brushing his lips softly. "Unless you command it, I won''t cross this line. I pray you won''t either." Tyler''s emotions warred within him as his passion drained away. He collapsed beside Treni like a discarded cloak. She settled next to him, both gazing at the star-strewn sky. "I envy her," she whispered. "Is she beautiful?" "Not as beautiful as you," he answered honestly. "Still I envy her. Envy that she has such a husband." "So you wish to be my wife?" "Of course, isn''t it obvious?" She playfully struck his chest. "What girl hasn''t dreamed of her knight? Especially one so gentle and true." She turned to study his profile. "Why not take my sister as well? We could both serve you, bear children faster." All three shared a laugh. "Could you two flirt more quietly?" Teresa smiled tenderly, gesturing to Carl. He mumbled in his sleep, turning to nestle against her belly. "Are you tired, my lord?" Treni asked, noting Tyler''s closed eyes. The night had waned, most soldiers who''d sought pleasure with the camp followers had departed, save a few still sporting in the woods. "No, just thinking," Tyler replied. "If you''re weary, rest. My tent is yours, if you wish." "And where will you sleep?" (With you, if I could.) He smirked. "By rights, the wooden bench. But if you don''t mind, then perhaps..." Chapter 48- Initial Skirmish (38) "You wicked man, I knew you wanted to share my bed." She playfully swung at his face. "But I won''t let you have your way." "So you''d condemn me to a chair?" Tyler grumbled. "Never," she flashed him a radiant smile. "We''ll sleep right here under the stars. And if sleep eludes us, we can count them together." "As you wish, my lady," he said dryly. "But do cover yourself first." "I think not." She pouted with wicked delight. "I want to test your resolve. Besides, the fire keeps me warm enough." "You take such pleasure in defying men, don''t you?" "Not by design," her voice grew soft. "But every woman carries a spark of rebellion in her heart, expressed in her own way." Tyler''s thoughts turned suddenly to his sister, another woman who had dared to defy men. Her fate had been cruel. He caught her murmuring to herself. "What are you doing?" "Counting stars," she said, pointing skyward with childlike wonder. "Elves believe the dead become stars. I''m searching for my parents. Look," she indicated two bright points of light, "there''s Mother, and there''s Father." "How can you be sure?" "Woman''s intuition!" She stuck out her tongue impishly. "Fine, I''m guessing. Don''t you dare laugh." But he couldn''t help himself. They dissolved into laughter and playful banter. At length, silence fell. Teresa remained as she was, now deep in slumber. Treni too had drifted off, her small breasts rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. Tyler gazed at an unnamed star and closed his eyes. (Sister, if you''ve become a star, surely you''re the brightest in the heavens.)
Candlelight wavered uncertainly. The chamber was dark, not merely from poor light but from the blackened walls themselves. She sat beside the bed, staring vacantly at the vineyard beyond the window. (Three months now, isn''t it?)Her mind drifted to Tyler''s departure for war, and she had sat thus until deep night without marking time''s passage. Cold bacon and black bread lay forgotten on the wooden table; she had no appetite. Cherry Wynlers caressed her slightly swollen belly. "You''re three months along too, little one," she smiled tenderly. "I haven''t chosen your name yet. That''s for your father and me to decide when he returns, isn''t it? He doesn''t even know you exist." She patted her belly, humming The Dream of Spring Dawn. "Pray your father comes home safe, won''t you, little one?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Silence answered. This once-proud palace, half-charred by flames, stood empty of life. Had Duke Tyler Wynlers not sworn fealty to the Godma army that day, he and his wife might have joined the corpses in the streets. Cherry Hall''s father, Marquis Mes, had served as warning enough. He''d sworn to resist until his last breath - and so he had, dying last of all his line. Cherry, betrothed to Tyler in childhood, had survived through that connection alone. Nobility to commonfolk in the space of a heartbeat. The young couple were left this fire-scarred Wynlers Palace and a modest vineyard. The servants had fled, none wishing to remain. Better to curry favor with the Godma newcomers than serve fallen masters. Besides, the Wynlers could barely afford their vineyard workers, let alone household staff. (Perhaps some fresh air would do me good.) She draped a worn fur coat over her shoulders and made for the side door. The evening breeze kissed her face, drawing forth a smile. Cherry settled on the doorstep, savoring the night wind''s gentle caress. Soon she found herself lost in the star-strewn sky. Occasional meteors blazed across the heavens, each one reminding her of Tyler. (Tyler, if you were a shooting star, you''d outshine them all.)
Blood pooled steadily. He lay face-down in the mud, aware of nothing but searing agony. A wolf sniffed at his head while a giant bat swung lazily from a thick branch above. As death approached, he recalled what had brought him here. He remembered mocking those young noble knights, remembered the sweet relief of emptying his bladder. He died. No - in his final moment, he clung to the memory of life''s greatest pleasure. That half-roasted duck.
The east began to pale, but darkness still held sway. Teresa curled around Carl in sleep. Treni slumbered deeply, but Tyler remained wakeful. He might have counted stars until dawn, but footsteps drew his attention. "Captain," he sat up in greeting. Devalosfang gestured for silence, but too late. Treni stirred and woke. "Captain Devalosfang," she scrambled to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "I''ll wake my sister..." "Leave her be, miss," the captain halted her. "I need only speak with Lord Tyler-" His gaze fixed on her intently. "What is it? Is something amiss with my face, my lord?" "There is something amiss, but not with your face," he indicated the whip marks on her body. "Who did this?" "Oh, these? They''re..." She hurriedly tugged down her camisole. "Don''t tell me you scratched yourself or tripped over a rock. Tell me the truth. Who did this?" Devalosfang''s order lashed out like a whip. "Lord Milankai," her sister answered, sitting up while covering Carl''s ears. "He punished us for failing to please Lord Misslanfin." "Misslanfin?!" The captain''s fury blazed. "Everyone knows Misslanfin''s impotent!" He spat in disgust. "Milankai clearly sought excuse to harm you. And with such brutality!" Teresa pressed Carl''s ears tighter. "I''ll have his apology now." The younger sister clutched his arm in terror. "Please, my lord, I beg you. Better to let it lie. He''s a lord, we''re mere camp whores. If he apologizes, we''ll never escape the whispers. We couldn''t show our faces here again." Her voice broke. "They''re just surface wounds, nothing grave. Please don''t trouble yourself over us." "She speaks truth, Captain Devalosfang," Tyler said, gently pulling Treni''s hand from the captain''s arm. (If this spreads, it could mean their deaths.) "Just keep them from Lord Milankai''s path. Since they''re not badly hurt, best leave it be. Let women settle women''s affairs." (Though I doubt they can escape Milankai''s reach.) "Hmph, women''s affairs?" Devalosfang sneered. "Such negligence gets people killed. Stay with Tyler and Carl - Milankai should think twice then. Or if you prefer, both sisters could keep company with me." Chapter 49- Initial Skirmish (39) "That would be even worse," Teresa said firmly. "Half-elves may serve as camp whores, but to be someone''s mistress - that crosses a line. Though I appreciate your concern, my lord, such an arrangement would only stain your reputation." "Who said anything about mistresses?" Carl mumbled in his sleep, making Teresa start. "Keep being camp whores, just serve us exclusively..." His words dissolved into snores. "That''s still a no-go, Lord Carl," Treni insisted. "It''d ruin us in the trade. This life''s a snake pit, and gossip spreads like wildfire. If word gets out we''re sweet on high-ranking officers, we''re dead meat. No one would touch us with a ten-foot pole. And how do we explain that to the madam?" The captain stood with folded arms, weighing matters. "There''s something you should know," he said gravely. "Lord Milankai harbors a deep hatred for elves and half-elves. I don''t know why. I cannot predict what he might do to you both. But tonight he ordered a gallows built, with two nooses already hanging." Fear flickered in her water-blue eyes. "Give them time to consider, my lord," Tyler said. "Let them think until dawn. Whatever they choose then, we''ll honor it." Treni pondered this solemnly, answering with a nod. "Very well, we''ll give the ladies some space. You had something to discuss with me?" With that, he and Devalosfang departed. After they left, Treni plopped down, chin on her knees, looking at her sister. "So, life or death, huh?"
They reached the river again. "I''ve never liked rivers," Devalosfang said, studying his reflection in the dark water. "But the view here is pleasant, and we''ll have no unwanted ears." With their long hair and similar builds, the two men might have been brothers in the darkness. Tyler''s hand found his sword hilt unbidden. "No need to draw steel again," the captain said, flexing his hands. "My blade only seeks enemies, save once. I''ve no wish to cross swords with you. Besides, I know your question. Yes, I defeated Sir Reid ten years past. That great axe of his - I remember it well. As I remember you, Tyler Wynlers." Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. (I despise this answer. Every word of it.) Tyler remained silent. "I saw you from the start. A fine hiding place, that cabinet, but shadows betrayed you." "Yet you didn''t kill me. Didn''t even alert your men," Tyler said, ice in his voice. "How old were you then? Fourteen? Fifteen?" Devalosfang sighed. "What honor in killing a child? The Bridge Battle was my first true fight. Before that, I was like all young men - proud, reckless, thirsting for glory. We dreamed of being heroes from the ballads, returning triumphant to waiting lovers. After Kolova, those dreaming boys died, leaving only shells. I was one, but kept one rule: spare the unarmed, the young, the women where possible. Others mock such principles, my old comrades most of all. Though I couldn''t always keep it, my conscience is clearer for trying." (What''s the point of these words?) Tyler contained his rage. "Or did my value as the Wynlers heir buy my life?" Devalosfang laughed sharply. "Tyler, perhaps you truly have a lord''s mind. Pity my foolish men never thought so. They wanted only blood and tears. As we marched on Fulloren, they grew restless at my ''weakness.'' Worse, we fought alongside House Friez against Monowe, and their savagery infected my troops." The captain drew suddenly, Tyler matching him. But Devalosfang merely knelt by the water, cleaning his blade. "They planned to slaughter your family, then burn the palace. Thus the killing began, with House Friez - the ''Savage Slaughterers'' - leading the charge. I''d ordered my men to spare the unarmed, but their discontent grew. I barely convinced them to let me duel Sir Reid. Had they found you then, I couldn''t have held them back. Blood would have flowed freely." "You think that stopped the blood from flowing?" Tyler sheathed his sword. (That blood''s still trapped in those stones, burned in by the flames.) "At least Sir Reid''s guards lived. As did you." He polished his blue-gleaming steel. "Truth be told, I meant to find you, negotiate privately, secure your fealty. That might have spared lives. But you fled at Sir Reid''s fall. Friez''s men were in the garden then. Had they caught you..." "Yet I surrendered anyway." When Tyler escaped the palace, enemy forces had ringed the garden. Men fought through flower beds, none noticing their new-made duke. Then he saw three Godma soldiers try to force his sister in a gazebo. When she fought back, they butchered her. Terror-stricken Tyler, courage fled, wandered the maze-like gardens until colliding with a retreating Godma soldier who took him captive. "Fortune favored you - he was one of mine. Otherwise..." Devalosfang cut the air with his blade. "Speared through, wasn''t it?" Tyler''s tone froze the captain mid-swing. "You said your sword seeks only enemies, save once. Your rule to spare the innocent, though imperfect." His body coiled tight, grip threatening to snap his sword hilt. "Your ''one exception'' - or should I say ''countless exceptions'' - was your men murdering my sister. Isn''t that right?" Chapter 50- Initial Skirmish (40) Devalosfang fell silent for a moment. "Your sister... was she ''The Girl on the Pike''?" he mused. ''The Girl on the Pike'' was what Godma soldiers called her - a girl who, on the day Monowe fell, was impaled naked upon a pike and paraded through the streets by their troops. "''The Girl on the Pike?'' Is that what you called her?" Tyler''s spittle flew with his rage. "Was it ''cause she tried to grab your spears to defend herself? Or ''cause you stuck her on one? I saw that beast hoist her up with one hand, dangle her over the pike, then ram that steel right through her!" Tears frosted the tip of his nose. "You know what they said, the bastards? One asks, ''Why''d you kill her so fast? She''s a bloody noble - we could''ve had a few goes first.'' The other laughs, ''She didn''t want my cock, tried to grab our spears instead. So I gave the stuck-up bitch what she wanted - a real spear up her cunt!''" Tears struck earth. "There''s your knightly honor! Your precious principles!" Devalosfang listened in silence, then whispered, "I am truly sorry about your sister. But I must be clear - those weren''t my men. They were all with me in the palace then." He rose, pointing his steel sword beneath a tree. "Look there. You''ll see who''s responsible." Tyler''s words died in his throat. Five naked corpses lay jumbled beneath the tree, all young women in their prime. Three with slit throats, one with entrails dragged across the ground, the last separated from her head. A massive wolfhound strained at its leash on the opposite tree, just close enough to savor the scent of death. "The work of the three Friez shits. Luda Friez, the oldest, was the softest - just slit their throats while he fucked ''em. Wenloff Friez, the second, liked to chop off their heads and see if he could ram his cock through the neck hole. If it didn''t fit, he''d kill the whore in a rage. Then there was Margo Friez - ''Mad Margo'' - the worst of the lot. He''d rip their guts out while he was at it. If they lived, he''d strangle them with their own entrails. As for the dog? It doesn''t get to eat ''til it''s good and hungry." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Tyler fought down bile rising in his throat. "And the Duke had a fourth son, of course. But that''s another tale." "Let me tell you what comes next. You have two choices. First: take up arms against House Friez. Those who killed your sister are dead, true. Though Friez men stand seven feet tall like bulls, you''re skilled enough - with surprise, you might kill two before falling. Carl loses his dearest friend. Second: bottle that rage. Save it for battle. In war''s chaos, who notices a blade in the back?" Devalosfang''s lips curled. "You mean... kill fellow soldiers on the battlefield?!" Tyler gaped in horror. "Oh? You still call those monsters comrades?" The captain sneered. "I''ve done it myself. Days after taking Monowe, I caught a Friez man about to rape a washerwoman. His throat opened before his breeches fell. No witnesses - save her." "Killing allies... is the gravest sin. In any age, those who murder their own are cursed." Tyler weighted each word. "I never pretended to be a hero. We''re all damned." He leveled his blade at Tyler. "Walk onto a battlefield, you walk into a corner of hell. Every life we steal, their blood and tears seep into our steel. Their souls latch onto our blades, weighing us down with each swing. Before you strike, ask yourself: ''Can I carry the weight of another soul?'' Take a life, bear its burden. Once steel drinks blood, we''re all caught in this curse of blood and tears." "I... I never..." Tyler drew his sword, dried blood staining the steel. "I never thought of it that way." "Most don''t. That''s why they revel in killing. By the time they understand, it''s far too late." Dawn''s first light crept over the horizon. "When I saw ''Tyler Wynlers'' on the expedition roster, I knew you - the young duke from before. You and Carl weren''t meant to be chosen. Two useless Offick boys were slated instead - good only for eating and farting. But I chose you both. You know why." His hand fell heavy on Tyler''s shoulder. "Watch over Carl. He lacks your cunning. Both of you - survive. Return to wives and children with gold, land, and glory." Devalosfang turned away, leaving Tyler rooted in place. "About that ''one exception'' you asked after?" He spoke without turning. "My wife. Josephine Dear." His steps halted. "I killed her myself." The sun blazed proud in crimson robes. Chapter 51- The Courier（1） "A single unremarkable letter can alter the tide of battle in mere moments." ¡ªSalman, historian, The Annals of Godma, Volume II, Chapter 3: The Courier
The sky stretched clear and endless above. The Godma forces had rested since dawn, stirring only after noon passed. Two hundred riders formed the second reconnaissance wave, crossing the river in hopes that daylight would reveal the Cynthians'' secrets. Across vast plains and scattered woods, steel sang against steel, while screams and battle cries provided a grim chorus. By dusk, scattered cavalry limped back to Eoch and his commanders, bearing only one bitter report: "Our losses were grievous." From the second foray, merely five wounded knights returned. "They materialized from nowhere," one knight gasped from his stretcher to Eoch. "Tree shadows, wheat fields, abandoned houses - anywhere that offered cover held their warriors. Arrows seemed to rain from the very air." He coughed bloody phlegm, three shafts protruding from his flesh, though none struck vital points. Shortly after his report, blood loss claimed him. The other knights offered little more insight. "Their cloaks... they melded with the trees, the crops perhaps. I cannot say, my lord," said one knight, his right hand severed - fortunately, he favored his left. "They must employ some manner of concealment magic." This earned a caustic laugh from Eoch. "Perhaps I''ll conjure you a new arm while I''m at it." Nevertheless, whispers of "Cynthian sorcery" spread through the ranks like wildfire, with Big Mouth Simon fanning the flames. He regaled all who''d listen with tales of uncanny sights - red-eyed bats hanging inverted from branches in the night. Others joined in, speaking of strange wolves in the forest, their eyes blazing like lanterns, watching unblinking. Soon every beast imaginable joined the tales: smirking serpents, laughing wildcats, tree-climbing ravens, even flying earthworms - though that last stretched credibility too far. The rumors grew wilder still: "Cynthians turn invisible at will," "Cynthian flesh turns aside steel," even "Cynthians shift shapes like druids of old." Eoch and his officers tried to stomp out the rumors, but it was like pissing on a bonfire. The third and fourth scouting parties came back with nothing but bloody noses, and every screw-up drove morale deeper into the dirt. Five days passed without gain. To preserve strength and stem losses, the Godma forces withdrew to the Doby Stream''s southern bank, abandoning further probes. This retreat only deepened the army''s discontent. Young soldiers grumbled at lost glory, while veterans brooded in silence. Yet salvation arrived on the seventh day, as reinforcements from Crivi began trickling in. The first wave brought three thousand - one thousand horse, two thousand foot - with promises of more to follow. With fresh strength, Eoch could finally act. Through sleepless nights they planned, dispatching larger scouting parties into every contested region. The tenth day saw five thousand more arrive, their presence breathing new life into the camp. At last, numbers favored them. The Godma forces began mapping the land in earnest - marking each region''s breadth, noting every hill and hollow, counting enemy strongholds and garrisons. Slowly but surely, they advanced. Knights led the river crossing, followed by ranks of footmen. Though progress came in fits and starts, they pressed forward. Some of the lads, after spending half the day wading through the river, came out with trout stuck to their arses like unwanted hitchhikers. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Yet victory remained distant. At their current pace, securing Cynthia''s sprawling outskirts would consume a month at least. Their supplies depended entirely on reinforcements, and even should they take the outskirts, the city proper loomed insurmountable. Already provisions ran low, while more mouths arrived daily from Crivi. The Cynthians could wage a war of attrition, their city stores lasting a year or more. But the Godma forces, freezing and starving outside the walls, had no such luxury. Winter''s arrival would spell their doom. So they prayed and waited - for one person''s coming. On the twenty-seventh day, their prayers found answer.
She drew a deep breath. "Your Majesty?" her lady-in-waiting whispered. "If you''re unwell, perhaps you should forgo court today?" Claire pressed her forehead, forcing steady breaths. "I''m fine," she said through chattering teeth. "We proceed." Blancheless watched the queen with concern but signaled the guards to open the doors. "Her Majesty, Queen of Cynthia and Princess of Dovirel!" she proclaimed. Guards lining the carpet struck their axe-hafts thrice against stone in perfect unison. The assembled nobility dropped to one knee. "Long live the Queen!" "I thank you all for attending despite your pressing duties. Your presence honors me." Supported by her maid, Claire ascended the throne. Her fingers immediately sought the carved lion''s mouth in the armrest, as if the throne might reject her claim. Rhones Lord and Sir Pawasid stood sentinel at her sides. Seeing her settled, Blancheless melted into the shadows. (Bless me, Salt,) the queen prayed silently. (This day proves crucial. I must not fail.) "You shine like the morning star, Your Majesty," Sir Kevon offered with a broad smile. "You''re too kind, Sir Kevon," the queen returned his smile. "Your Majesty," Archmage Hamilton stepped forward. "Today''s matters of state prove more intricate than usual. Might I preside over our meeting?" "By all means, dear Archmage," Claire nearly sagged with relief. "You have my thanks, Your Majesty." The Archmage cleared his throat. "First, this morning Duke Grand Pip of Halfhill Fort arrived at Phyal with his remaining forces. This adds three thousand five hundred warriors to our cause." "We are deeply grateful to Duke Grand Pip for honoring his oath and rushing to our aid in this dark hour," she recited mechanically. (I don''t recognize him.) Panic fluttered in her chest. (I''ll pretend the crowd obscures him.) Chapter 52- The Courier（2） "I am here, Your Majesty." A voice like a great bronze bell filled the Hall of Glory. Grand Pip stood resplendent in armor glazed dark green, matching his son''s. Both sets were remnants of the time when House Berlid ruled Halfhill Fort, along with the massive sword "Bonecrusher" now slung across the back of "Black Bear" Grand Pip Berlid. He strode to the red carpet and dropped to one knee. "Save for a small garrison at Halfhill Fort, I''ve brought all our forces to serve Your Majesty. At your word, they''ll charge into the deepest hells themselves." "Of that I have no doubt, Lord Grand Pip," the Queen smiled. "You must be worn to the bone after that ride from Halfhill Fort. After the session, please, make yourself at home in the West Palace. The view of the Lunes River is something to behold." "The old man left yesterday afternoon. Should''ve been here by nightfall, but he took the scenic route - said he was afraid the Child Ghouls would give him a boot in the arse!" Laughter rippled through the court. Even Grand Pip looked torn between anger and amusement. "You little rascal, mocking your old man now? Who used to wet his pants at the mere mention of Child Ghouls?" He stepped forward and swept his son into a bear hug. "Gods, boy, your voice has grown even louder." (A father and son, reunited at last,) Claire thought, watching them with quiet satisfaction. Little Pip had left home upon reaching manhood, moving to the city. Once they''d met every other year, but with monsters plaguing East Kuren Mountain lately, Grand Pip rarely ventured down. Three years had passed since their last meeting. "How touching, this reunion." The words, nearly lost in the laughter, came from a man lounging in a modest chair, arms crossed. Beside him sat Duke Snyth - they could have been twins, both lean and sharp-eyed, sharing the same sardonic drawl. "Well, with Lord Grand Pip''s five thousand, I guess there''s bugger-all for my two thousand greenhorns to do." "You mistake the matter, Lord Grace," Archmage Hamilton stroked his white beard. "These are desperate times - we need every sword. Your elite forces will only sharpen our blade." (Another one with that mocking tone,) the Queen mused, though she preferred it to the booming voices. "Who commands Hilltop Fort now?" "My son, Your Majesty," Grace bowed. Rhones Lord whispered swiftly in the Queen''s ear. "Ah, Lord Penlico," she smiled. "It has been so long since I saw him last." (Truth be told, I''ve never seen him at all.) If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "I left that useless boy some men. The rest I brought here." Grace''s fingers drummed rhythmically. "What moves do we make next?" The Archmage returned to his seat. "Forgive me, my lords. These old bones protest long standing." Once seated, he waved away his staff. "To plan our next step, we must know where we stand." He nodded to a knight at his side, who stepped forward. "The Shadowgreen Knight presents himself to Your Majesty." The knight, wrapped in dark green, knelt. "Ah, Sir Lothar." (Him I do remember.) The Queen smiled warmly. "Rise, please. Tell us how the war progresses." "By your command, Majesty." Rising, he resumed his place. "We''ve won small victories. At first, our Shadowgreen Knights held the enemy completely - they couldn''t even cross the Doby Stream. But now things grow dire. Godma''s reinforcements arrive daily. By our count, they numbered eighty thousand as of last night." "And more come," Sir Kevon added. "Indeed. Their reinforcements continue flowing in. Using their numbers, they gnaw at our outskirts. They''ve taken half of Ronnar, a quarter of Sida. Soon they''ll control all our suburbs - even Wafflo, right at our gates." "Let me lead the charge, Majesty," Grand Pip declared. "Give me a month, I''ll send them running home like whipped dogs." "Direct confrontation serves us ill, Lord Grand Pip," Baron Grace propped his chin on his fist. "Did you not hear? They number eighty thousand. We might as well march our entire army outside the walls - we''d die slightly slower that way." Archmage Hamilton ignored the barb. "Sir Lothar, what forces remain outside our walls?" "Fewer than a thousand Shadowgreen Knights," Lothar''s face darkened. "That''s why I''m here. We need more men to face their growing numbers." "I understand your situation, Sir Lothar," the Queen forced a smile. "But last time you stood before us, you also requested reinforcements. I gave you five hundred then. To send more now means drawing from our regular army - no small matter." "Take my men, Your Majesty!" Grand Pip boomed. "Lothar, lad, just say the word!" Lothar bowed in gratitude. "Ah, then we thank you, Lord Grand Pip," the Queen kept smiling. (At least they show sense.) "Still, relying solely on Shadowgreen Knights to harass the enemy isn''t enough. We must prepare for siege," the Archmage said. "What becomes of their cloaks when they fall?" "They burn themselves away." Lothar looked proud. "The dryads'' magic ensures it. When the wearer dies, the cloak ignites. The enemy won''t claim our green cloaks." "Good." The Archmage twisted his beard. "If those fell into enemy hands, our dryad alliance might falter." He turned to the Queen. "Majesty, one last piece of news remains. I fear it brings no comfort." "Speak freely, dear Archmage," the Queen said. "You haven''t been secretly negotiating with Godma, have you?" Chapter 53- The Courier（3） Laughter rippled through the hall. "Such wit, Your Majesty," Archmage Hamilton smiled. "Though not all rulers share your humor. Our envoy to Duviliel has returned. King Richard has declined our proposed alliance." "Impossible!" Rhones Lord''s voice thundered. The Queen''s face drained of color, and she swayed slightly. Blancheless tensed, ready to steady her. "What... what is the meaning of this?" "King Richard offered no explanation," the Archmage''s head bowed. "He merely muttered hollow excuses. Despite our envoy''s repeated entreaties, he remained unmoved." "That son of a bitch!" Sir Kevon bellowed. "Richard''s just as rotten as his ancestors - a pack of backstabbing bastards!" "Silence!" The Queen''s voice cracked like a whip. "I will not hear King Richard or his line slandered. His ancestors are King Salt''s ancestors. Would you dare call King Salt treacherous?" Sir Kevon''s face flamed red as he mumbled, "Your pardon, Majesty." "King Richard''s refusal defies reason," Duke Snit''s reedy voice pierced the silence. "An alliance serves both kingdoms, with no drawback. When war comes, we bear the first blow. Yet perhaps his refusal stems from..." "A better alliance elsewhere," the Queen''s words silenced the room. (You think I''m daft, do you?) "Your Majesty''s wisdom shines," Duke Snit shifted to face her fully. "And this mystery ally must hold some power over King Richard, forcing him from our side." "To what end?" she pressed. "That remains in shadow." "And the rest?" Her gaze swept the hall. "What thoughts have you?" Not a whisper answered. (Gods damn it all.) Claire pressed her fingers to her temples. Today she wore not her crown of authority but a silver circlet, its central amethyst commanding attention. "Without Duviliel''s aid, what hope have we of victory?" Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. "If the city walls hold, they cannot win." "And if they fall?" Her voice remained steady through iron will alone. "The chances grow... slim." "How slim?" Her fingers whitened on the throne''s arms. Silence answered. "The Seven Seas Kingdoms...?" Claire asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Anything back from Lord Ktiton?" Still silence reigned. (By all the gods!) She closed her eyes, breathing deep. (Sister, you mean to watch me fall.) "Shall we end here?" Rhones Lord''s concern colored his words. "No... I endure." She exhaled softly. "What else requires attention?" Whispers stirred. "One final matter, Your Majesty," Archmage Hamilton rose, leaning on his staff. "Please, remain seated, Archmage." "Ha! Standing pains me, yet sitting torments me more." The Archmage''s laugh carried a grimace. "Your Majesty recalls our Chief Court Mage, Lady Dunston?" "Indeed," Claire''s brow furrowed. (That flame-haired girl, fresh from her studies. So young-looking, her true age a mystery.) (Though what sorceress ever reveals her years?) "What of her? Does she not teach at Saint Asini? I see our mages rarely - even advisors need not attend court unless magic demands it. Has something occurred?" "Yes, though nothing grave. The academy''s new headmaster says she departed in mid-March, just before Godma seized Crivi." "The new headmaster... a man, I hear?" "Indeed. Rather shy fellow. Most unprecedented," the Archmage noted. "He says Lady Monica left upon receiving a letter. A colleague invited her to Brigar. The headmaster too was invited but declined, citing duties. Since Crivi''s fall, we''ve tried reaching her. No success." "You suggest..." "We fear misfortune may have found her..." The Queen''s breath caught. "The headmaster''s thoughts? Surely their mages could aid the search?" "He seemed untroubled. ''Monica, when she wishes to vanish, vanishes completely,'' he assured us. ''Her friend invited her - no cause for concern. She''ll return when ready.''" "...Your thoughts?" Claire asked. "If the headmaster shows such faith, perhaps we needn''t fret," the Archmage''s shoulders lifted helplessly. "Should we require magical aid, Saint Asini houses many capable mages." "We have no other court mages?" "We do, Majesty," the Archmage replied swiftly. "Beyond Lady Dunston, several serve. As mentioned, they teach at Saint Asini." "Very well. Should magic be needed, I expect their immediate aid. And may that girl remember her path home." She hoped fervently. The throne''s carved lion bit into her palm. "Any further matters?" Seeing none, she turned to Rhones Lord. "Enough. I tire." The knight''s glance signaled Blancheless. "Court stands adjourned. Bid Her Majesty farewell." The herald''s voice soared clear and strong. "Long life to the Queen. Health to Her Majesty," the court bowed. As guards sealed the doors, she fled, hand pressed to mouth. This time, her retching lasted longer. Chapter 54- The Courier（4） The sun hung mercilessly overhead, beating down at high noon. Its brilliant rays transformed the emerald sea to crystal, though he had no eye for such beauty. Bilatra Keep clung to the water''s edge, with sheer cliffs marking the island''s end. (This climb is more knackering than wrestling a kraken!) He sent a pebble skittering with a frustrated kick. (What kind of half-wit king plonks his castle in the arse-end of nowhere?) Cursing with every step, he finally conquered the summit. "My wretched knees," he groaned, massaging his thighs. "Perhaps I''d be better off as a merman after all." Bilatra Keep loomed before him, imposing and ancient. Built in 2272 of the Era of Conflicts by the first Sea King, Bilatra Laren Ctiton, it stood as testament to hard-won victory. After dozens of bloody struggles, the mainland settlers had finally established order in these lands. Bilatra, having vanquished his rivals, claimed Shahani Island and crowned himself King of the Seven Seas. The fortress that bore his name had weathered nearly eight centuries, requiring over fifty restorations throughout its history. "Sea King, my arse. More like Mountain Goat," Wally Laren Ctiton would often scoff at anything on the island. "Crude, tasteless, utterly devoid of refinement, and sickeningly ugly" - and those were his good opinions of the ancestral pile. "Prince Wally!" the guard grinned with his few remaining teeth. "What wind blows you to Bilatra Keep today?" "Certainly not the draft whistling through your gums," Wally retorted, flashing his perfect teeth as the guard roared with laughter. "My father''s inside, I presume? Let''s hope he hasn''t decided on a whim to attempt a three-hundred-foot dive." He mimed the plunge with theatrical flair. "Ha! You do care for the old man," the guard chuckled. "If he had, I''d be calling you King already." Wally bowed his head in mock solemnity, and the guard pantomimed placing a crown upon it. "It''s not his shattering bones that would concern me," Wally smirked, "but rather the fright he''d give those naked maidens swimming below." Both erupted in raucous laughter. "Go see your father, Highness," the guard said, straining to push open the massive door. "Let''s pray we don''t hear a splash later." He watched the prince saunter away. Wally knew exactly where to find his father. As Solomon Laren Ctiton aged, he rarely strayed from his study, dividing his time between dusty tomes and silent contemplation of the sea from his terrace. "Father," Wally offered an exaggerated bow. "What relief to find you still among the living." Solomon remained fixed on his book, ignoring the greeting. "Your Highness," a man in flowing robes bowed deeply. "Ah, Lord Crowley," Wally drawled. "The eunuch with no bollocks. Beg pardon - I only have eyes for proper blokes." Crowley merely smiled thinly. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "My son," King Solomon slammed his book shut. "Were you to shed your frivolous arrogance, you might actually outlive me." "How touching, Father, this concern," Wally stepped closer, lowering his voice. "At least I won''t wither away waiting for death to find me." Tension thickened the air. "Your Highness," Crowley interjected, "might I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?" "Why, to check on my beloved father, of course!" Wally dropped dramatically to one knee, seizing the king''s hand and pressing it to his cheek. "To see you still breathing brings me such comfort." King Solomon barked a laugh. "Were I to die today, my son, I suspect you''d celebrate." Wally chuckled in response: "You know me too well, Father." The laughter dissolved into violent coughing. Crowley rushed forward with a handkerchief that quickly bloomed crimson. "Mind your health, Father," Wally released the king''s hand. "Dying of mirth would be terribly ironic." Solomon fought to regain his breath. "Fool boy..." He leaned heavily on Crowley''s arm to stand. "I know why you''ve come. My answer is no." "Oh?" Wally''s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he studied the old man. "So you divine my purpose already? I never realized you knew me so intimately." "From the moment your mother pushed you screaming into this world, I knew exactly what kind of worm I was dealing with." With Crowley''s assistance, the king shuffled to a massive stone basin. At its center lay a pool of seawater that seemed to plunge into infinite depths. "Armor, sword, gilt oar¡ªthis is how one visits a king? I can smell your foul intentions before you even part your lips, Wally." The prince''s laughter rebounded off the stone walls. "Still such a cutting tongue at your age. It almost makes me reluctant to leave you, Father." He flung open a window, letting salt-laden air crash against his face. "Since you already know my purpose, wisdom dictates you simply agree." "Agree? To send my son marching to his death?" Crowley placed a stool by the basin for the king. "You cannot save Cynthia. Leading troops there ensures only your demise." "How can you be so certain? Unlike you, I don''t need help to stand or a cane to walk." The king sighed, grief etching deeper lines into his weathered face. "The Water Mirror. I witnessed Cynthia''s fall in its depths. Duviliel has refused aid." "But you didn''t witness my death." "The Water Mirror reveals not all things. Its visions invite interpretation, and each gazer sees differently. Yet some truths remain fixed, immutable." The king''s voice carried a desperate edge, hoping against hope to sway his headstrong son. "And how do you know your vision is truth?" Wally rounded on his father, eyes flashing. "Let me tell you what I saw in the Water Mirror: a cavalry charging into Cynthia''s heart at the crucial moment, standing with Queen Claire against those southern dogs. I lead that charge, and Siv reunites with her sister." "You cannot risk everything for a woman!" The king''s fist crashed down on the stone, sending ripples dancing across the water. "She may be your wife, but she''s not worth the sacrifice of your life! Your mother is gone¡ªif you perish as well, where shall I find an heir? Who will rule Shahani? Who will maintain the Seven Seas'' fragile peace? Your brother and sister both rest in watery graves because of youthful impetuousness!" "I am not them." (Though I do this for a woman, it certainly isn''t Siv.) "I will help Siv safeguard her sister''s realm." "You prove even more foolish," Solomon growled, his beard quivering with rage. He motioned for Crowley to bring his book, then tore out a page with swollen fingers that moved with surprising dexterity, folding it into a paper vessel. "I pray this final effort might help you pierce the sea fog that clouds your judgment." Chapter 55- The Courier（5） The paper boat, placed upon the water''s surface, began its slow drift across the mirror-calm expanse, encountering no resistance. Halfway through its journey, the stillness shattered. The water stirred and bubbled like a boiling hot spring, countless bubbles breaking the surface as the fragile vessel lurched drunkenly from side to side. Then it began to sink, ensnared by watery tendrils that resembled octopus arms, wrapping tightly around the craft and dragging it into the depths. Once the paper boat vanished, consumed by the waters, the surface returned to perfect tranquility. "And what exactly does this prove?" Prince Wally''s face had blanched, his earlier composure crumbling. "It was merely a flimsy paper boat that was swallowed. Our warships are crafted from the finest cedar and oak, some even reinforced with Spiral Narwhal Bone. They''re far mightier than anything you could imagine." "I''ve said all I care to say," Solomon gestured wearily for Crowley to help him rise. "Always maintain reverence for nature." At the threshold, he left his son with one final warning. "For it is far more terrifying than you could ever comprehend."
Devalosfang leaned against the rough bark of a tree, firelight dancing across his blade as he examined it repeatedly. (Why did I tell him about that?) The polished steel reflected his increasingly unkempt beard, yet all he saw was his wife''s flowing ebony hair. "Josephine..." he whispered, a pensive sigh escaping his lips as her image blurred in his mind''s eye. For nearly a month, the Godma army''s advance had been mediocre at best. Initial reinforcements and enemy retreats had buoyed their spirits, but the deeper they penetrated enemy territory, the more confounding their campaign became. Though Cynthia''s outskirts presented open terrain with scattered woodlands, the Cynthians consistently exploited both landscape and timing to their advantage. As Godma forces pressed forward, Cynthia''s cavalry studiously avoided direct confrontation, instead employing guerrilla tactics and ambushes that left the invaders reeling. Despite recent victories in several skirmishes, the Godma forces remained, in many ways, at a strategic disadvantage. His wife, his sword, and the cold light of the moon¡ªthese were Devalosfang''s sole companions in this moment. He awaited news from scouts dispatched earlier, though he feared they had already met a grim fate. That morning''s encounter had seen Cynthia''s Cloaked Knights emerging from both flanks of the Godma vanguard in a brazen assault. The unexpected attack had thrown his forces into disarray. Though they had eventually repelled the enemy, the Cynthians had achieved their objective: the five-thousand-strong Godma force had been cleaved in two, with over two thousand men losing contact with the main force during their impetuous pursuit. A "Fragile Breach" now existed, and failure on either side would devastate the other. Devalosfang counted himself fortunate to be stationed with the rear contingent¡ªthose two thousand headstrong young soldiers had likely ridden to their doom. Hoofbeats approached¡ªhis men returning. The sub-commander sprang up like a drawn bowstring suddenly released, but the knights'' grim expressions told him all he needed to know. "How many survivors do you estimate?" he asked, though their answers offered little comfort. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. He cursed vehemently, his fist crashing against the unyielding tree trunk. As if by sorcery, the camp behind him erupted into commotion. Whispers swelled to shouts in the span of heartbeats. "What''s happening?" Devalosfang felt his heart clench. (If the enemy has infiltrated our rear, then tonight shall be my last beneath the moon''s gaze.) Yet the knights at his back showed no alarm. "What do you see?" the sub-commander called out, bracing for calamity. "A vast force approaches our rear lines..." reported the knight whose helmet bore a steel eagle. "Our men have seized their weapons. They''re... jubilant." (The Triad of Destiny has pronounced my fate''s end.) His heart plummeted, yet he felt an odd serenity wash over him. "Come, knights," he said, gripping his sword and gazing upon it one final time with profound affection. "Let us spill our blood and join our two thousand brothers in eternal slumber." "Really? You think your blood is worth spilling here?" A voice, both familiar and alien, cut through the darkness. "Not yet. This land isn''t ready for you, or for those two thousand." Devalosfang stiffened, recognition dawning as he identified the voice''s owner. Duke Raveirmom emerged from the shadows astride his midnight steed, Eoch riding at his side. "Raveirmom... Your Grace," the sub-commander bowed respectfully. "We anticipated your arrival at a later hour." "Intelligence that reaches you can reach Cynthian ears just as readily. Deceive yourself first, and others will follow." Raveirmom approached Devalosfang, clasping his shoulder firmly. "I''ve recovered those two thousand lost men of yours. Perhaps one or two are missing¡ªI lacked the patience to count." Their eyes met, and in Raveirmom''s steely gray irises, Devalosfang glimpsed something inscrutable. "But that matters little," Raveirmom continued, gesturing behind him where the campfires now blazed with renewed vigor. "I''ve brought twenty thousand more." The shouting, then, had been cries of elation.
Candlelight stretched the shadows of stone columns long and thin across the walls, like spiderwebs woven across the chamber. King Richard slumped over the long table, staring at the intricately detailed map that, to his bleary eyes, looked as inviting as his own pillow. (Pillow... bed...) The young king struggled to keep his eyes open, not wanting to seem weary in front of the old friend who''d been keeping him company for days. His silent companion remained motionless on the table, showing no sign of displeasure. Finally, Richard could resist no longer and collapsed backward. The sound of man and chair colliding echoed throughout the Pillars Hall. A head peered cautiously from between columns. "Your Majesty? Are you seeking sleep again?" "No... I''m quite well." The king''s hand waved feebly, only to be caught in another''s grip. Richard bolted upright in alarm, but relaxed upon recognizing Einington Vis Avifesh beside him. The ancient goblin, having survived more than a century, had witnessed several dynasties rise and fall¡ªincluding kings who had unwittingly slipped into their final slumber. "Haven''t I instructed you, Einington? Walk as a goblin should," Richard grumbled. He had never understood how Einington moved with such stealth¡ªa trait typically associated with halflings, while goblin feet normally slapped noisily against the ground. "Permit me to escort you to your chambers," the elderly goblin replied, unperturbed by the king''s irritation. With Richard''s tacit consent, he helped the monarch to his feet¡ªno simple task despite Einington''s larger-than-average stature for his kind. After all, Richard was a full-grown human, and a goblin who had seen more than 150 winters was well into the twilight of his life. Chapter 56- The Courier（6） The stone columns of the Pillars Hall stretched into infinity. "It is said the Godma army approaches Cynthia''s heart. Will you not decide to act?" "I... I want to save Claire. But... but King Royce wishes me to hold my forces for now." "King Royce''s domain is Brigar." (And he''s stuttering again.) "But Duviliel, the very ground beneath our feet, belongs to you alone. And Queen Claire of Cynthia is your sister by blood. You should act according to your own conscience." The shadows in the Pillars Hall seemed to sprawl without end. "I... I understand that. But... sigh. There are many factors I must weigh. Decisions made by a crown must be... must be thoroughly considered." "Prudence is indeed necessary." (But his intentions may not be entirely pure.) "I know... know what you''re thinking, Einington. After... after I attend the Seven Kings'' Council, I shall take action." "You may need to assert your position more forcefully. So..." "I will endeavor to remain calm at the council and speak as clearly as possible." The Pillars Hall stretched on and on. "...Footsteps, Einington. Make some bloody noise when you walk." "Tap, tap, tap." "Oh, spare me. I marvel that my predecessor didn''t have you hanged." "We''ve arrived. Allow me to assist you down the stairs." The night sky above the Pillars Hall was a boundless void.
Raveirmom listened in silence as Devalosfang delivered his report. Around them, high-spirited soldiers marched, brandishing an array of mismatched weapons and bellowing disjointed victory songs. A hastily constructed gallows caught his eye. "Del," he said, nodding toward the swaying corpses. "What manner of men hang there?" Devalosfang followed his gaze. "Camp followers, some troublemakers from the ranks, and a few prisoners." "And those two?" Raveirmom gestured toward two slender figures, their necks freshly broken. "They have the look of elves." "Half-elves only, Your Grace," the sub-commander replied, his tone tightening. "Camp followers as well." "Get those bodies down. Now," the Duke snapped, his voice like ice. "You know damn well we can''t have elven corpses lying around. We''re already skating on thin ice with Illuvi¦Ëofer. I don''t need any more headaches. Who''s responsible for this?" "Likely Milankai..." Devalosfang nodded in agreement. "His cruelty toward camp followers is legendary." He barked orders to bury the half-elven corpses without delay. "Continue your report, Del." "...This is all the intelligence we''ve gathered thus far." "...Take me to them." You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. "Who?" Devalosfang asked, his voice cutting through the camp noise. "Those who have crossed swords with the Cloaked Knights." "There''s one right here, Your Grace," called a soldier seated by the campfire. He had but one hand, while a serving girl poured wine for him continuously. "Is that so?" Raveirmom crouched beside him. "A steep price to pay." "It happened in an instant. Their ambush came like lightning," the man said, raising his stump for inspection. "And these cloaks?" "Like a demon''s trick, Your Grace." Raveirmom examined the wound with a practiced eye. "It heals well." "Aye, the surgeons say the same. Woman!" he snapped at the girl beside him. "Are your eyes painted on? Can you not see Lord Raveirmom?" The maid startled, spilling wine across the ground. "That''s unnecessary," the duke said, his tone gentler than before. "Which division do you serve?" "Second Division of the Royal Knights, Hylen Martin, at your service." "The Martins of Hobok. Would you prefer to continue fighting on the front, or take a position in the rear guard?" Raveirmom''s gray eyes betrayed no emotion in the firelight. "Well..." Martin hesitated briefly. "The truth is, though my right hand is gone, I''ve always favored my left. Which means," he seized a cup with his remaining hand, "I can still send plenty more Cynthians crying to hell." "They should be running there," Raveirmom remarked, lifting a cup himself. Both men erupted in laughter. Devalosfang watched with surprise. The Duke of Dear had always been somber and reserved, from childhood to manhood. "You shall have the rewards and honor you''ve earned, Hylen Martin of Hobok," Raveirmom declared, rising to his feet. "Del, show me to the others." The drunken revelry had subsided, allowing their conversation to flow more freely. Devalosfang guided Raveirmom to question those who had faced the Cloaked Knights in combat, including Carl and Tyler. Though initially reluctant to revisit the battle, they soon found themselves drawn into casual conversation by Raveirmom''s subtle charisma, revealing everything he sought to know. Details about the cloaks, Simon''s account of bat-like creatures, the troll at the bridge¡ªRaveirmom absorbed it all, deepening his understanding of intelligence he had already received. After departing from Carl and Tyler, Raveirmom and Devalosfang entered a wooden cabin where officers had been playing dice and Kante Cards. They sprang to attention immediately. "The quarters have been prepared for your use, Your Grace," one announced. Raveirmom nodded dismissal. As they filed out, he called, "Leave the wine and dice," to a young knight who was hastily stuffing gaming pieces into his breeches. Seated at the rough-hewn table, Devalosfang poured beer into a large, stained mug. "Have you forgotten that your elder brother doesn''t favor beer?" Raveirmom asked, rolling the dice between his fingers. "I''m no longer your cupbearer. This is for myself," Devalosfang replied, drinking deeply of the cold brew. "Unlike some, I don''t deny myself life''s pleasures." "When did I become an ascetic in your eyes?" Raveirmom poured himself a glass of red wine instead. "I simply prefer these crimson jewels." He held the bottle to the candlelight, examining its contents. A fly bobbed lazily in the liquid. "......" "They worship you," the sub-commander observed, moving to the window. "To them, you are the embodiment of hope." Raveirmom tossed the dice into the air. "In what respect?" "In every respect," Devalosfang answered, refilling his mug. "Many in our ranks believe only you can breach the city walls." "Me? And how would I accomplish such a feat? Dig tunnels with my bare hands? Perhaps spit at the gates or politely knock?" "Tunneling is an ancient strategy," Devalosfang chuckled. "But as for spitting and knocking, I wouldn''t stake our victory on either." "Tunnels might have worked for the old southern kingdoms. But Cynthia''s different - different country, different times." Raveirmom eyed the fly-specked wine, stalling for time. "The Brigarians tried to tunnel under Cynthia''s walls once, but not a single tunnel ever made it inside. They never said why. Now, most southern kingdoms use goblins as messengers and scouts - I bet the northerners do too. Those little bastards would sniff out our tunnels in a heartbeat. It''d be a waste of time and men. No, tunnels are a dead end." Chapter 57- The Courier（7） "You always find a way. No matter how many battles we''ve faced, you always manage to turn the tide." "Hearing your praise does bring me some comfort." He contemplated for a moment before decisively pushing away the red wine. "I think we need to talk." The dice tumbled across the table. Devalosfang trapped the dice under his palm. "Before that, tell me about the current situation in Crividsylvan." "Crivi?" The duke arched an eyebrow. "Taken a fancy to some local girl? I thought after Josephine, you''d sworn off marriage entirely." "Enough games, Raveirmom. I never intended to remarry." "Suit yourself," Raveirmom shot back, throwing his brother''s words back at him. "Davidow has dispatched Duke Duke to govern Crivi." "A duke? Is he planning to convert Crivi into a duchy? Or simply annex it as a province?" "Either is possible," his elder brother replied with calculated indifference. "Continue. What else should I know?" "Too many trivialities to enumerate." The duke felt a flicker of impatience but maintained his composure. "The dwarves have been raising quite the ruckus." "Dwarves?" Devalosfang flicked the dice back across the table. "Banking Guild or Lumber Guild?" "Both. They''ve formed an alliance. After seizing power, Duke Duke first requisitioned bank deposits, then hired farmers to fell vast swathes of forest. He claims it''s for rebuilding Crivi, but few are convinced. If you witnessed so-called ''reconstruction materials'' transformed into catapults and siege engines before your eyes, you''d join the protests too." "So the Lumber Guild dwarves are disgruntled as well?" "Naturally." Raveirmom set the dice spinning rapidly. "He employed no dwarves yet ravages their forests indiscriminately. They''d love nothing more than to drive us all out." "Those lumber merchants already swim in gold." "The wealthy always dance with bankers," his brother remarked. "More troubling still, Duke Duke has begun taxing them." "Taxing? Surely not¡ª" "The Humanoid Species Tax. That proposed ''Humanoid Tax Act'' has become a primary clause in the Humanoid Act." Devalosfang let out a bitter laugh. "It seems Duke Duke has quite the ''fondness'' for dwarves." "He''s always loathed dwarves. In fact, he despises all humanoid species. When their family''s goblin emerged from below stairs, he shrieked like a pig at slaughter." Raveirmom reclaimed the dice. "Let''s set Crivi aside for now. Our present circumstances demand greater attention." Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Devalosfang pushed away his fifth cup of ale. "What strategy have you devised?" "Before discussing strategies, we must analyze the situation. That''s a strategist''s most fundamental skill." He set the dice spinning once more. "Quiz time, Del. Tell me, what has allowed us to seize most of Cynthia''s outskirts? Terrain advantage, tactical superiority, or sheer numbers?" "Numbers," his brother replied, transfixed by the whirling dice. "Good. Next," Raveirmom locked eyes with his brother, "without our overwhelming force, could we have captured those territories?" "Clearly not." The dice began to wobble. "And why?" He noticed his brother''s gaze growing distant. "Everything, Raveirmom. Apart from numerical superiority, we''re disadvantaged in every aspect." The dice halted, six pips facing upward. "It seems everything remains within their control." "That''s the crux," Raveirmom said, lifting the dice by its edges and launching it into another dance. "The Cynthians appear to anticipate our every move. This is far more significant than those cloaks everyone fixates upon." "You''re suggesting a traitor moves among us." Devalosfang''s attention was once again captured by the spinning dice. "I must remind you, Raveirmom, this conflict bears no resemblance to past southern squabbles. We share virtually no history with Cynthia, and no one in our ranks has Cynthian connections¡ªCrividsylvan''s conscription hasn''t even commenced." "That''s the obvious conclusion, and I''ve considered the issue you raise. But there''s a critical flaw in that reasoning." Raveirmom leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "If our spy were human, how could they relay information to the enemy so swiftly and accurately? If carrier pigeons or ravens were flying between camps, our men would surely have noticed." "Not human?" The dice wobbled precariously. "Then what manner of creature?" "Bats." Devalosfang slammed his fist on the table. "You jest!" The dice, jarred by the impact, settled again on six. But he knew his brother never made pointless jokes. "You''re suggesting... you believe those..." He fumbled for words. "Those unconfirmed species are aiding them?" "Steady yourself, brother. It could also be wolves, snakes, mountain cats, or similar beasts. More precisely, I suspect shapeshifters." Raveirmom gestured for his brother to sit. "We often dismiss what we haven''t witnessed as nonexistent." He reclined in his chair. "How many years have passed since your birth? And how many non-human creatures have you encountered? Dwarves, goblins, halflings, cats, dogs, dragons, and those relatively harmless Child Ghouls¡ªwhat else have your eyes beheld?" He studied his brother''s profile. "Before the Battle of the Bridgehead, had you ever glimpsed what lurks beneath the Blackwater River?" Devalosfang fell silent. "I''m more inclined to suspect goblins," he muttered eventually. "That possibility is largely eliminated." Raveirmom crossed to the wooden window, opened it, surveyed the surroundings, but left it ajar. "En route here, I dispatched goblins to reconnoiter. This region contains no tunnels used by their kind." "Goblins can conceal their passages with earth-magic after traversing them." The duke returned to his seat. "True enough. But to goblin eyes, disguises crafted by their kin are transparent." "Fellow goblins might shield one another!" The sub-commander''s tone carried a hint of frustration. "I won''t deny that possibility. But they understand the consequences all too well." "...Warlocks." He slumped back. (I feel like an absolute fool.) "...That possibility warrants consideration as well." Raveirmom steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Speaking of warlocks, I''ve acquired an intriguing piece of intelligence." He observed his brother''s shifting expression. "The advisor-level mages and warlocks from the northern kingdoms¡ªtheir most gifted practitioners¡ªare currently assembled in Brigar. This, naturally, includes Cynthia''s finest." Chapter 58- The Courier（8） His brother''s stunned expression brought him satisfaction. "...You say the mages have been gathered? To what purpose?" "That remains unclear. Supposedly just a routine gathering? That''s all Doruni would share with me. But I suspect something more complex at work." He retrieved the dice with practiced fingers. "A congregation of mages and warlocks on this scale¡ªthere''s no precedent for it, at least not in the South. If the King of Brigar issued the summons, his motives cannot be innocent." "So you find it unlikely that the mages orchestrated this themselves?" His brother avoided meeting his gaze. "Indeed. And let us not forget, we have our own arcane practitioners." "Lostya?" Devalosfang recalled the cold, raven-haired woman whose diminutive stature belied her razor-sharp tongue. "What of Ash, Julia, and Aurelia¡ªhave they joined us?" "Hardly," Raveirmom replied with thinly veiled mockery. "You won''t see them until the palace falls. Female warlocks would never sacrifice their precious dignity to squat in the wilderness chewing on hardtack. Julia informed me that telepathic communication has severe range limitations and remains vulnerable to magical eavesdropping." "This is¡ª" "Their assessment, Del, not my conjecture," his brother said, setting the dice into a dizzying spin. "Let the cursed mages be damned. Now, one final question." He locked eyes with his brother. "Tell me, when this die stops spinning, which face will turn skyward?" "..." His brother glanced from him to the dice and back again. (What game is he playing at?) But he swallowed the question. "Five," he ventured, choosing arbitrarily. "Your reasoning?" "How in the nine hells should I know?" the sub-commander erupted. "It landed on six twice before, so logic dictates a different number now. What are you driving at? What''s your grand strategy?!" "My thoughts? I believe it will show six again," Raveirmom replied, smiling calmly at his brother''s mounting frustration as the die gradually slowed. The face showing six pointed toward the beer mug. Devalosfang remained motionless and silent. He failed to see the purpose of this charade. "You won, Raveirmom. So what? What''s the big lesson here?" His brother''s impassive smile only stoked his irritation. "Or is this merely entertainment at my expense?" The duke inclined his head slightly, gesturing for him to examine the result more carefully. "You grow more cryptic with each passing year, brother." As Devalosfang rose to his feet, he froze suddenly, as if struck by lightning. The uppermost face also showed six. He grasped his brother''s ruse immediately. "You conniving¡ª" Raveirmom''s laughter filled the room as he tossed another die onto the table. "This is what our young knight tried to pocket." He pointed to the die resting on the table, every face bearing six dots. "And this," he said, retrieving the die he had just thrown, "is an honest one." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "You knew from the beginning?" His brother nodded. "I knew the moment it caught my eye. But this little game wasn''t about punishing a cheating knight, Del." He flicked the honest die skyward. "Rather, since someone desired to ''watch,'' I thought I''d give them something worth seeing." As the die reached its apex and began to descend, a massive shadow swooped through the open window. Devalosfang''s sword cleared its scabbard on instinct, but the intruder''s speed outmatched his reflexes. The dark silhouette crashed onto the wooden table, scattering cups and bottles in all directions. The sub-commander''s blade was pinned beneath a powerful talon. "Aethelwing," Devalosfang breathed, recognizing the creature instantly. A colossal striped white wyvern dominated the table, its weight causing the wooden legs to groan in protest. Its head, tail, and the leading edges of its wings were snow-white, adorned with elongated, symmetrical stripes, while inky black plumage covered the remainder of its frame. The striped white wyvern is renowned as the world''s largest avian species, with adults standing between 1.58 and 1.82 meters tall and wingspans ranging from 5.7 to 6.6 meters. The largest variant, the "White Wyvern-Heigel," has produced specimens with wingspans reaching 7.82 meters. An enraged striped white wyvern can hold its own against smaller dragon species such as Scale Dragons and Halberd Dragons, or even juvenile members of larger breeds. Aethelwing belonged to the formidable "White Wyvern-Heigel" lineage. It regarded Devalosfang imperiously before releasing his blade. "To think it''s grown to such proportions..." the sub-commander muttered as he sheathed his sword. "Aethelwing," Raveirmom''s voice softened with affection as he extended his right hand. The magnificent bird nuzzled against his palm, dropping the captured die into his waiting fingers. Devalosfang sank back into his seat. "Very well, I see you''re not merely posturing." He observed Aethelwing and Raveirmom, struck by the realization that they resembled blood brothers more than he and Raveirmom ever had. "Enlighten me, then. What grand design have you conceived?" Raveirmom maintained his composed demeanor while Aethelwing beat its massive wings, churning the air into a tempest.
Reef Keep was modest in size, dwarfed by the sprawling Bilatra Keep. Yet it boasted an unrivaled advantage: its intimate proximity to the sea. Siv Grace had been frail and sickly since infancy, the antithesis of her vibrant, effervescent sister. Her existence, while undeniably privileged, demanded unwavering compliance. By the exacting standards of noble daughters, she was exemplary¡ªexceeding expectations even for one bearing the title "Princess of Duviliel." For as long as memory served, her parents had lavished their affection on her brother. Even between daughters, her healthy, radiant, perpetually smiling sister commanded greater favor. She comprehended neither her parents'' reasoning nor her own aspirations. Her sister Claire had wed into Cynthia, separated only by a mountain range, while she had traversed the ocean to Shahani, adrift like a glass bottle on endless waves. Yet she longed not to disappoint her parents, to spare her royal father the burden of that familiar disheartened gaze. (Because I am a girl. £©She often soothed herself with this thought. £¨Because I am a frail, inarticulate, taciturn girl whose every attempt at smiling is dismissed as artifice.) "Such thoughts make bearing it easier," she whispered, submerging her head beneath the cinnamon-scented bathwater. Thus she could avoid seeing the handmaidens stationed around the chamber. The maidens of the Seven Seas Kingdoms were born and raised frolicking in salt water, their bronze skin a badge of heritage. Her alabaster complexion only emphasized her otherness. "...Where is Siv?" Fragments of conversation reached her ears. "...I see..." Wally''s voice. She watched the languid rise of bubbles, each appearing ready to burst at the slightest touch. "Lydia!" Siv emerged from the water, cinnamon essence cascading down her silver tresses. "Help me dress." The young handmaiden approached with measured steps, her neck adorned with three crescent pendants crafted from Spiral Narwhal Bone. "My lady, Prince Wally seeks your company." "I''m aware." A violent shiver coursed through her as cold air met wet skin. "That''s precisely why I require your assistance..." Chapter 59- The Courier（9） "No need for ''please,'' Your Highness. We''re not worthy of such kindness." The handmaiden spoke with an expressionless face, the crescent pendants swaying rhythmically against her collarbone. "You should bask more often in sunlight or bathe in the salt waters." The sea-blue towel whispered across every inch of skin. "Your flesh is too pale, my lady," she remarked as the cloth brushed over Siv''s breast. "White is an ill-favored color. Bones are white¡ªharbingers of decay. Spiral Narwhals are white¡ªomens of calamity. In essence," she draped the purple robe over Siv''s shoulders, "white is annihilation." "I know..." The queen''s voice was brittle and faint. (I am the embodiment of misfortune.) The handmaiden accompanied her to the threshold. "Prince Wally." Lydia bowed low, though her sidelong glance carried veiled intent. "The queen has completed her bath." "Very well. You may withdraw." Wally stood with hands clasped behind his back, facing away from them. Once the maid''s footsteps faded, he turned. "Siv." "W-Wally... Prince Wally." She wavered, uncertain whether to meet his gaze. "Wally, or husband." He seized her hand, causing her to shrink instinctively from his touch. "Two years have passed, yet you still stumble over my name. Is such foolishness not beneath you?" Ignoring her feeble resistance, he pulled her roughly into his embrace. "Cinnamon," he murmured, inhaling her fragrance with unconcealed hunger. "I... I am rather foolish..." Her words remained barely audible. (I am utterly foolish.) She chastised herself silently. Siv had never been surprised by her marriage to a distant island prince. She''d abandoned all hope of a joyful life like her sister''s¡ªthe handsome knight of her childhood memories or Cynthia''s kind-hearted, curly-haired king were never destinies meant for her. Yet her husband continually bewildered her. Wally might be considered the perfect spouse, but his very perfection disturbed her most. She possessed none of her sister''s virtues, nor could she match Claire''s beauty. Such a flawless partner seemed as substantial as a colorful soap bubble floating before her eyes. "How fares your health today? Has the coughing worsened?" The prince pressed her delicate fingers against his cheek. "I feel well enough. The cold seems to have relented." "Splendid news, my ethereal elf." Wally''s lips brushed her knuckles. "Come, I wish to show you something remarkable." They traversed a corridor of shadows, the rhythmic crash of waves against stone reverberating from their right. "Where are we bound?" The queen lifted her robe slightly, following her husband''s silhouette up the stairway. "To the horizon," came his terse reply. "..." She couldn''t imagine how far they might truly venture, but dared not ask again. Before a perfect husband, one must never repeat a question¡ªsuch behavior betrayed dullness, unworthiness of an ideal match. She ascended three flights of stairs in his wake, turned right, and emerged onto a vast platform. Beyond stretched a lengthy wooden bridge, extending into the darkness. "You are dismissed for now." Wally addressed the pair of sentries. "You there." He delivered a sharp kick to a guard dozing against the wall. "Are you deaf? The Godma forces are attacking!" "Mmm..." The guard wiped drool from his chin. "Wha...? G-Godma!?" He leapt to attention, eyes wild with panic. "Sound the alarm! Alert the Sea King! Godma raiders are¡ª" "No need for alarms. The battle has concluded." Wally clamped his hand over the man''s mouth. "I''ve disposed of every invader myself." "All of them... Your Highness?" The muffled voice leaked between his fingers. "Indeed. There were merely a hundred thousand or so¡ªa trifling effort on my part. Now," he grasped the guard''s collar, "remove yourself from my sight." The guard stumbled backward and tumbled down the staircase. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. "...Tsk." Wally regarded her with genuine surprise. "Did you just laugh?" "Ah... yes." Her lips curved upward. "How magnificent, my radiant goddess." He reclaimed her hand. "Come, we approach our destination." They stood upon the wooden bridge''s center span, where fierce sea winds seemed capable of dispersing even moonlight itself, leaving souls exposed. Siv clutched her robe tightly, yet her body betrayed her with violent coughing. The prince encircled her shoulders with his arm. "Look," he commanded, gesturing toward the infinite darkness. "What do you perceive?" The queen drew ragged breaths, wrestling her cough into submission. "...The sea?" The ocean stretched beyond comprehension. "More than that." He urged her slightly forward. "Look deeper." "Hmm..." Siv narrowed her eyes in concentration. "...The moon?" The celestial orb hung unreachable above. "No, still incorrect." He pushed her forward again, her toes nearly at the bridge''s edge. "Your vision fails you. You must observe more keenly." "...Forgive me, I cannot¡ª" Everything changed in a heartbeat. Vertigo overwhelmed her as her perspective plummeted downward at terrifying speed. Moon, sea, jagged rocks, wooden planks¡ªall flashed before her eyes in a fraction of a second. Her center of gravity shifted forward, heels lifting from the boards, followed by the balls of her feet, then her toes. She was falling. She had no time to scream. She remembered wanting to cry out her sister''s name. A powerful grip seized Siv''s right wrist, leaving most of her body suspended over the abyss. In the next instant, she was yanked back into a crushing embrace. "There now, you''re safe," Wally''s voice slithered into her ear. "A close encounter with fate, wouldn''t you agree?" His arms tightened around her. "But you need never fear. While I stand beside you, no harm shall befall you." Her heartbeat thundered through her skull, drowning out even the roaring waves below. Though her body had returned to solid ground, her spirit remained suspended over the precipice. She remembered with perfect clarity¡ªshe had not stumbled, nor had her footing faltered. What she''d felt was a distinct force¡ªa deliberate push from behind. (Could it be... could he have truly...) "Once more." The prince guided her toward the bridge''s edge again, though with less obvious force. "Now what do you see before you?" She remained mute, paralyzed. "Fear nothing, Siv," he murmured reassuringly. "So long as I hold you, you cannot fall." She forced herself to banish the terrible suspicion. The queen steeled herself and gazed outward, her pupils contracting against the darkness. Moonlight spilled across the restless waters, transforming waves into sheets of pristine alabaster. "What vision greets you?" She inhaled deeply. "Death." "Pardon? What was that?" The howling wind scattered her whispered confession. "No matter. I see your eyes serve you as poorly as your mind." He gripped her shoulders firmly. "Yonder lies Cynthia," he breathed against her ear, "yonder waits your sister." A different shock jolted through her, striking directly at her heart. (Cynthia? Sister?) Siv''s mind emptied of all else, every previous thought swept into nothingness. "You speak of... my sister?" Her voice quavered with sudden emotion. "Indeed." He straightened, observing her transformation. "Truly?!" The queen whirled to face him, her features illuminated with unexpected joy. "You consent to lead forces to Claire''s rescue?!" "A prince''s word is inviolable." He beheld her radiant smile with undisguised satisfaction. "I would summon the world''s most exquisite poetry to kindle your happiness, but never would I offer falsehood." His lips claimed hers. She returned his kiss with unprecedented fervor, her actions suffused with gratitude and exhilaration. She surrendered to his warmth, their tangled tongues elevating her to a fleeting paradise. (He actually agreed.) Siv caught his upper lip between her teeth, a soft moan escaping her. (He actually consented to my impulsive, selfish demand.) She shuddered with pleasure as he suckled her lower lip. (The first true request I''ve made in all my years. He agreed! Praise be to Goria! Oh¡ªperhaps I should thank the God of Ocean instead? Ah, such distinctions matter not. This man loves me¡ªthat alone suffices.) "Enough for now." The prince broke their contact, moonlight illuminating the gossamer strand of saliva still connecting them. "Let us depart." "To where?" The question left her lips before she could reconsider its foolishness. "First to our chambers." The prince swept her into his arms like a bride. "And thereafter, to Cynthia." The moonlight transformed the churning sea into a canvas of blinding white. Chapter 60- The Courier（10） (Strange.) Stellan sat cross-legged by the tree trunk, his eyes closed in feigned meditation. (What are they planning?) "Spotted something intriguing?" Lannord approached with an easy smile, balancing two cups in his hands. "You look like you just ate something nasty." "Possibly worse." Stellan accepted the cup, taking several deep draughts of Crimson Sunset. "Their reinforcements have nearly all arrived. The latest officer brought close to twenty thousand men." "They''ve always maintained numerical superiority; hardly cause for alarm." Lannord settled beside him, savoring his own wine. "What else has darkened your countenance?" Stellan drained his glass in one swift motion. "They''ve dispatched messengers to carry critical documents back to Crividsylvan." "Goblins?" "Humans." "Even so, no reason for concern." Lannord slid down the tree trunk until he lay flat upon the ground. "Unless... you didn''t glimpse the contents of these missives?" His companion shook his head. "It''s the composition of their party that troubles me." "Elaborate." "Three humans," Stellan said, studying Lannord''s relaxed posture. "Two heavily armed¡ªostensibly guarding the third messenger, yet they themselves also carry dispatches. But what truly confounds me is..." Lannord waited, offering no prompting. "A massive hunting falcon accompanies them, Lannord." Stellan''s eyes began to glow crimson. "I cannot fathom its purpose, but it bears documents and its size is... brother, it''s unnaturally enormous."
Kendrick Mackenzie sat astride his horse, mind adrift in distant thoughts. "Are you even listening to me?" He wasn''t. "What did you say? Repeat yourself, lad." "Looking to start something, old man?" Raymond Noytra''s face contorted with displeasure. "Swagger all you want¡ªyou''re still just a glorified mailman." "For thirty-seven years and counting," the veteran added dryly. "Such distinction," Raymond sneered with mock admiration. "A goblin could deliver letters for a century and still not match your self-importance." "Conserve your energy, boy." Old Mackenzie didn''t deign to look at him, having no intention of engaging further. "Emulate your companion. He possesses what you sorely lack¡ªcomposure and discretion." Ivan Northes was indeed the picture of silence. Fully armed, he wore an ill-fitting hood pulled low over his features. "Ah, I''d nearly forgotten this one existed," Raymond goaded, maneuvering his mount closer. "Father Northes, what phantoms haunt you today?" The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "You haunt me¡ªyour stench is appalling," Ivan replied, wordlessly widening the gap between them, prompting a raucous laugh from Raymond. "Silence, you fool!" Mackenzie barked. "Would you have your braying summon every predator in these woods?" "What danger could possibly lurk here?" Raymond scoffed. "We may be entering the forest, but this remains firmly our territory. I fail to comprehend your needless caution." He spat contemptuously at a squirrel perched on a nearby branch, sending it scurrying away. "Do they always address you thus, Ivan?" the old man inquired softly. "I''ve grown accustomed to it," Ivan responded, adjusting the quiver strapped across his back. "He relishes the paternal role." Their hushed exchange reached Raymond''s keen ears, and he couldn''t resist interjecting. "He seizes every opportunity for excessive concern. Waking you at dawn, insisting on morning drills, then interrupting practice to demand rest, even dictating your bathing schedule. Hells, he surpasses even my mother''s nagging." "You acquit yourself admirably, Ivan," Mackenzie observed. "These two would indeed benefit from frequent bathing. They reek worse than swine." The forest canopy grew increasingly dense, forming a second firmament that permitted only occasional silver shafts of moonlight to penetrate. The trio proceeded at a measured pace, occasionally disturbing birds that hastily departed, unwilling to linger in the presence of the far larger and more formidable avian that soared above them. "You mentioned serving as a courier for thirty-seven years. Where have your duties primarily taken you?" Ivan attempted casual conversation to ease the tension. "Countless places, boy," the old man replied, his vigilant gaze ceaselessly scanning their surroundings. "Royal couriers serve wherever the crown dictates¡ªthe entire realm becomes our workplace." "What''s the greatest distance you''ve covered in a single journey?" Raymond inquired. "From Porivies to Kretonia." "That spans nearly the entire empire!" Ivan exclaimed. Mackenzie nodded. "A red-sealed dispatch¡ªroyal correspondence for Kretonia''s governor. I happened to be in the vicinity, so the assignment fell to me. I''d intended to depart Kretonia forthwith, but my insufferable wife insisted I procure cosmetics for her. What do I know of such frivolities? In the end, I returned empty-handed and exhausted three horses in the process." "How long did the journey require?" "Nearly five months," the old man sighed heavily. "Labor strikes plagued every region, even among the trolls. A new edict mandated that trolls pay the Humanoid Species Tax. Absolute nonsense, in my estimation. How do trolls remotely resemble humans? Beyond their barely intelligible speech, I perceive no similarities whatsoever. Every bridge stood barricaded, forcing reliance on ferries for river crossings." "The ferrymen didn''t participate in these strikes?" "Quite the contrary¡ªthey were jubilant," Mackenzie snorted. "With bridges closed, passengers flocked to their vessels. Everyone from nursing infants to decrepit old men with twisted legs stood ready with poles, soliciting fares. They demanded fifty glens from me¡ªdoubled when my horse was included. Damnable extortion! In ordinary times, twenty glens would find no takers, yet suddenly they gouged with impunity. I had no choice but to reveal my status as a royal courier." "With what result?" Raymond asked, genuinely intrigued. "The price doubled again." Raymond couldn''t suppress his laughter, though notably subdued from before. "The entire purpose of those absurd regulations was to benefit humans exclusively¡ªhence their implementation. The situation escalated until troll guilds categorically refused to relinquish their title as ''Bridge Guardians'' to human control. Eventually, compromise became inevitable." "The trolls retained their guardian status and continued collecting tolls, but surrendered a percentage of their earnings to human authorities¡ªthe Godma Labor Act of 462," Ivan added with scholarly precision. "Thank providence all expenses were reimbursable; otherwise, I might have joined the trolls in their protest. I''m impressed by your historical knowledge," Mackenzie remarked with genuine appreciation. Chapter 61- The Courier（11） Raymond displayed the gray silk shawl draped over his left shoulder, a subtle emblem of status. "Can''t help our distinction¡ªwe''re the elite corps, after all." A sudden gesture from Mackenzie froze them both mid-stride. In one fluid motion, Ivan had an arrow nocked and drawn, while Raymond''s longsword gleamed in the dim light. "Look ahead," Old Mackenzie lowered his hand and pointed forward. "The branch." A human corpse hung suspended from a tree limb before them, as if the bough had impaled it through the torso. "Don''t do that again, old man," Raymond complained, sliding his blade back into its sheath. "He wasn''t hanged," Ivan observed as he advanced cautiously. "Let''s establish his identity first," Raymond suggested, reaching for a torch, but the old courier stopped him with a firm grip. "Ivan," Mackenzie directed quietly, "get him down first." Ivan Northes pulled back his hood and selected a cedar arrow from his quiver. The shaft flew from his Narwhal Bone Bow with deadly precision, striking the corpse''s head with barely a whisper. The body dropped with unsettling lightness, making scarcely a sound as it crumpled to the forest floor. "One of our own," Raymond muttered, turning the body over. "A courier." From the man''s pack, he extracted a metallic badge that caught the moonlight. "Royal courier, but the dispatches are missing." He shook the empty leather satchel for emphasis. "Now perhaps you comprehend our vulnerability," Old Mackenzie dragged the corpse into a patch of filtered moonlight. "Dead for some time, yet strangely light." His weathered fingers probed the neck. "Wounds here. Not of human design." Under the silvery illumination, the cause of death revealed itself¡ªtwo deep punctures in the neck, like bottomless wells in the pale flesh. "No human weapon leaves such marks," Ivan concurred. "The surrounding tissue is desiccated, completely drained." He examined the withered remains. "He bled out, that''s for sure." "The peculiarity lies in what''s absent," Raymond noted, crouching beside them. "If some predator did this, why is the body intact? Hunger clearly wasn''t the motive." A realization struck him. "What of his weapon?" "Still on his person." Ivan extracted a dagger from the corpse''s belt¡ªits hilt fashioned of fine steel overlaid with gold and adorned with intricate engravings. "Examine the blade carefully," Raymond instructed. Moonlight danced along the polished metal, almost blinding. "No blood stains the edge, but..." "Scratch marks and wood fragments instead?" Ivan nodded silently. "Fascinating. Old man," Raymond turned to Mackenzie, "Our colleague fled pursuit, using his blade to scale the tree." "Astute observation, young man," the veteran courier acknowledged, gazing upward. "Yet it fails to explain his arboreal demise." "Those neck wounds indicate he was ultimately caught," Ivan said, rising to his feet and studying the tree''s contours. "Logic presents only two scenarios: either another predator ambushed him in the branches, or his pursuer possessed climbing abilities. However," his fingers traced the bark''s surface, "beyond the knife marks, there''s no additional evidence." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Old Mackenzie listened to their methodical analysis with quiet appreciation. (As expected of the elite unit¡ªvastly superior to those dullards from before.) "Good thinking, but we don''t have time to chat," the old man cautioned. "Duke Dear commanded us to deliver these dispatches to Crivi with utmost haste. We shouldn''t linger..." "Just a moment longer," Ivan insisted. "What manner of creature dwells in trees and preys upon humans? Your thoughts, Raymond?" "...Child Ghouls are accomplished climbers and leave minimal traces. But they only..." "Only attack when provoked or denied their games," Old Mackenzie interjected. "The bane of every courier''s existence¡ªchild-sized specters that, once encountered, require considerable effort to shake off." "Impossible that Child Ghouls caused this," Ivan declared with certainty. "They''re incapable of inflicting wounds of this nature..." A sudden rustling from the nearby undergrowth silenced them. Old Mackenzie was still turning to draw his dagger when Ivan had already trained his bow on the disturbance, arrow at full tension. The creature burst forth¡ªa Long-eared Lynx, its distinctive tufts so elongated they nearly brushed the ground like elegant tassels. Violet eyes glimmered with eerie intelligence, seeming to appraise the deceased courier with unnatural interest. The three men stood motionless. Mackenzie''s hand hovered over his weapon while Ivan''s aim remained unwavering, the arrowhead perfectly aligned with the beast''s skull¡ªa shot he could deliver in the space between heartbeats. Yet he held. The Long-eared Lynx advanced no further. Its magnificent ear tufts bristled upright, as if detecting some distant signal beyond human perception. With a low, guttural growl, it pivoted abruptly and vanished into the darkness. Ivan lowered his bow gradually. "Long-eared Lynxes possess extraordinary auditory sensitivity, particularly to subsonic frequencies. It detected something we cannot." Raymond swung himself onto his mount. "The old man''s caution is warranted. This place holds danger." Old Mackenzie solemnly arranged the corpse at the tree''s base, removing the courier''s insignia with reverent hands. "I''ll safeguard this until it can be returned to command. Your service will be remembered, brother." He traced the Sacred Sword Triangle across his chest. "May the Triad guide your spirit to peaceful harbors." Resuming their journey, the trio adopted a measured trot. "When we reach Borna Plain, we''ll need to accelerate," Old Mackenzie reminded them. The plain served as a natural boundary, bisecting the East Wymar Forest while simultaneously marking the frontier of Godma''s influence¡ªbeyond it lay territory where aid would be scarce or nonexistent. "We should identify what killed our fellow courier," Ivan pressed. "This was no random misfortune." "And the missing dispatches," the old man added, unconsciously tightening his grip on the pouch concealed beneath his cloak. "What non-human entity would slay a man, then... appropriate his correspondence?" "Difficult to accept, yet," Ivan reasoned, "maybe the enemy killed him and made it look like an animal attack." A sonorous rumbling reached their ears. Mackenzie''s hand shot up in warning. "Something slumbers ahead. Proceed with caution," he whispered. They guided their mounts with painstaking care, minimizing the percussion of hooves against soil. Beside the path lay a dragon''s lair, its occupant nestled contentedly in its warm sanctuary. "Riftjaw Dragon¡ªunderdeveloped dentition, juvenile specimen," Raymond observed clinically. Only when the dragon''s rhythmic breathing faded behind them did the couriers resume their pace. "A question has been troubling me, young men," Old Mackenzie said, removing his hood to reveal his weathered features. "Why would Duke Dear assign elite soldiers as mere messengers?" He gestured toward them meaningfully. "You aren''t simply escorts¡ªyou yourselves carry dispatches. Yet these aren''t even red-priority communications." "We received no explanation," Ivan admitted, extracting a cylindrical container from his satchel¡ªa wooden tube approximately a foot in length, sealed with a slightly wider cap. "This is bullshit," Raymond grumbled. "We just got to camp, our asses are killing us, and now we''re mailmen. Makes no sense." His eyes narrowed at the container in Ivan''s hands. "Handle that with care. Remember Raveirmom''s warning¡ªincorrect opening procedures will trigger the letter''s self-destruction." Chapter 62- The Courier（12） "Press the lid, three rotations counterclockwise. I remember the protocol, Raymond. We both graduated from the Military Academy¡ªand my marks exceeded yours," Ivan Northes replied, securing the wooden cylinder in his pouch. "I suspect all three letters contain identical information." Old Mackenzie''s face registered alarm. "How could you possibly know that?" "Elementary," Raymond smirked. "Raveirmom''s exact words were: ''Guard these dispatches with your lives, but should mortal peril arise, destroy them precisely as instructed.''" "What''s wrong with that?" "It''s the latter clause that reveals his intent," Ivan elaborated. "''Should mortal peril arise''¡ªwhen he spoke those words, both his inflection and countenance shifted markedly. He emphasized ''destroy'' with unusual intensity. This suggests he anticipated we would encounter significant danger. Hence two elite knights accompany you, each carrying identical messages." The old courier absorbed this reasoning, his weathered mind processing the implications. "Raveirmom''s cunning runs deep," Raymond observed. "But if we''re discussing threats, I''d prefer common bandits to whatever creature punctured that poor bastard''s throat." "Your assessment errs, young man," Old Mackenzie cautioned. "Throughout my courier career, humans have proven far more terrible than any beast. You''d be wiser to hope for animal encounters... or better still, no encounters whatsoever." "You misunderstand, old timer." Raymond''s palm caressed his sword hilt with practiced familiarity. "Humans are easier to kill, right, Papa Northes?" "Maintain vigilance regardless," Ivan replied, his gaze scanning the darkened forest. "Borna Plain remains distant. At our current pace, dawn will find us still beneath these boughs." "That presents no disadvantage," Old Mackenzie countered. "Forest encampment offers superior concealment compared to open plains. Come morning, we''ll accelerate across the exposed terrain, minimizing ambush vulnerability. The strategy is sound." "Presuming we survive until daybreak," Ivan added soberly. "Hypothetically," the old courier ventured, "should beast aggression materialize, what tactics would you employ? Has your training covered such contingencies?" "The response varies with the predator," Raymond replied, drawing his steel blade with a distinctive whisper of metal against leather. Ivan observed the motion with peripheral awareness. "For feline threats like our earlier visitor, steel suffices," he demonstrated with a controlled arc of his sword. "Against ghouls or an awakened dragon, strategic withdrawal becomes imperative. Ultimately though, I trust she''ll intervene if necessary." "She?" the others inquired simultaneously. Raymond''s blade pointed skyward. "That big bird, Raveirmom''s pet."
High above, she maintained her vigil, circling through night currents. Her vision rivaled any owl''s, emerald irises tracking every movement below. The densest canopy provided no concealment from her predatory gaze. She adjusted her flight path fractionally, maintaining perfect alignment with the couriers'' progress. Occasionally, she voiced her impatience¡ªsharp, staccato cries betraying frustration at her quarry''s absence. Or perhaps, at prey rightfully hers. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"I found them," Lannord announced, eyes opening to find Stellan pacing agitatedly before him. "Their scent trail is distinct. Shall we coordinate our assault?" "I¡ªI can''t achieve proper concentration," Stellan groaned, clutching his temples. "That accursed raptor scattered them. I''m struggling to maintain control." "Most inconvenient," Lannord sighed. "Very well, I shall proceed alone. Should you regain your focus, provide immediate support. That bird''s capabilities remain an unknown variable." "Yes, yes, I understand," Stellan gestured dismissively. "Make haste¡ªdon''t allow them to extend their lead." Lannord assumed a cross-legged position, spine aligned precisely against rough bark. His hands crossed naturally, resting between his thighs. After one measured inhalation, his eyelids descended. (He''s initiating the link connection.) Stellan observed silently. "Damn these creatures!" he cursed aloud. "Let me in your heads!"
The previously dormant forest stirred to wakefulness. Underbrush swayed with unnatural rhythm, expressing silent displeasure at unwelcome intrusion. "Movement approaching," Ivan signaled immediate halt. "Audio indicates multiple entities." Old Mackenzie acted without hesitation. "Blindfold the horses¡ªquickly." "A brigand troop would be welcome," Raymond Noytra muttered, sword sliding free with practiced efficiency. "Old man," he instructed Mackenzie, "maintain weapon readiness and position yourself between us. Remain passive unless engagement becomes unavoidable." The veteran courier extracted a gold-hilted dagger, his grip betraying years of experience. Their adversaries materialized from shadow. Distant amber pinpoints flickered into existence among the trees. Closer, emerging from foliage and woodland margin, yellow-eyed predators advanced into visibility. "Wolf pack," Raymond identified softly. The canine predators converged from all directions, each step deliberate and synchronized. The alpha specimen exceeded its packmates in size, issuing intermittent low-frequency growls that the subordinates echoed in haunting harmony. "Dire wolves," Ivan Northes confirmed, his bowstring taut, arrow aligned with the alpha''s vital organs. "I''m uncertain whether this improves or worsens our predicament." "What ambiguity exists?" Old Mackenzie hissed. "These beasts dwarf ordinary gray wolves! How could this possibly constitute improvement?" "Their anatomical structure¡ªshorter limbs relative to body mass¡ªinhibits sustained pursuit," Raymond explained clinically. (Two, four, six...) Ivan calculated methodically. "By the gods, no fewer than twenty-three specimens..." His voice reflected controlled disbelief. "Raymond, neutralize the eastern flank and ensure Mackenzie''s protection. I''ll attempt alpha elimination. Any perimeter breach becomes our immediate exfiltration point." "Acknowledged," Raymond raised his blade to guard position. Another growl. The circle contracted further. "Don''t miss, Papa Northes," Raymond flexed his sword hand. "When have I ever failed?" Ivan replied, drawing his bowstring to full tension.
From her aerial vantage, she perceived every detail with crystalline clarity¡ªno forest activity eluded her hunter''s gaze. Aethelwing observed the wolves'' encirclement maneuver with detached interest, withholding intervention. The couriers'' predicament warranted no assistance; they possessed sufficient resources for survival. Moreover, her attention had shifted to a more significant concern. She maintained her circling pattern, scanning for movement patterns that broke the forest''s natural rhythm. Abruptly, she executed a sharp aerial pivot, wings locking into stationary hover. Aethelwing unleashed a piercing battle cry that shattered the night''s silence. Her anticipated opponent had finally manifested, instantly dispelling the frustration of prolonged vigilance. Far eastward, emerging from forest depths, dark silhouettes launched upward in unnatural formation. Aethelwing''s pupils contracted to predatory focus, her nictitating membrane flickering rapidly to maintain optimal visual acuity. Crimson-Eyed Bats surged skyward in uncountable multitudes, an undulating wave of darkness that threatened to engulf everything in its path.
Lothar conducted his routine perimeter assessment with growing resignation. The reinforcements requisitioned from Lord Grand Pip had dwindled to insignificance¡ªhalf sacrificed in legitimate combat, the remainder evaporating during successive strategic withdrawals. (Fucking deserters.) He expelled saliva contemptuously, his silent curse carried away by the night wind. Chapter 63- The Courier（13） He found himself recalling Benny Youngs, the man who''d taunted him and his unit with that duck leg. (Went for a piss in the woods and got himself killed. Genitals ripped clean off, and they''re telling me it was an animal attack?) He scratched the back of his head. (What kind of beast eats that? Hope those deserters don''t run into it.) Not far from camp, two figures reclined against a pine trunk. (More deserters?) Anger flared hot in Lothar''s chest. (Deserters should all die, damn them.) As he approached, their features became disturbingly familiar. (What in blazes are they doing here, and why are they...?) Stellan nestled against Lannord''s chest, sleeping with peaceful abandon. Lannord''s right arm encircled Stellan''s waist, every inch the devoted guardian. "Godsdamn it," Lothar muttered, shaking his head. "So he was right after all. Nobles and their peculiar... proclivities."
Ivan Northes'' pupils contracted to pinpoints, his bow unwavering as bedrock. (Come on, alpha. Make your move.) His silent prayer hung in the still air. (Don''t be a coward.) He held his breath. The alpha''s burning gaze bored into him. He held his breath. Then the forest erupted into chaos. It began with the alpha''s growl¡ªshorter, sharper, more urgent than before. The two flanking Dire Wolves lunged toward Ivan while the remainder of the pack hung back, poised for the second assault wave. The female was fiercer than the male, leaping at Ivan''s throat. Ivan''s eyes locked on, and her movements seemed to slow. (One.)His arrow punched through her open maw, the steel tip erupting from the back of her skull. Her death wail ended abruptly as she crashed to earth. The sight of his dying mate drove the male into frenzy, accelerating his charge. Before he could leap, a second arrow cored through his cranium, pinning his twitching form to the forest floor. (Two.) The pack retreated several paces, while the alpha remained unmoved, calculating. Ivan had already nocked his third arrow when movement flashed in his peripheral vision¡ªa severed wolf head spinning through the air. "Two," came Raymond''s voice, sharp with satisfaction. Ivan''s ebony stallion tossed its head nervously. The pack tensed visibly, muscles coiling beneath matted fur. Ivan withdrew two arrows from his quiver in one fluid motion. Another growl from the alpha signaled the second wave. Three Dire Wolves charged from separate vectors. The center wolf advanced most rapidly¡ªand perished most swiftly. Ivan''s cedar arrow pierced its right eye, stopping it mid-stride and sending it tumbling. Draw, aim. The rightmost wolf prepared to spring. Release. This time the arrow struck just above the beast''s left hind leg, embedding deeply before it could leap. It howled but completed its jump regardless. Momentary panic seized Ivan. (This one''s larger than the others.) He frantically nocked a third arrow, targeting the wolf''s head. The beast seemed to lose all vitality mid-flight, collapsing heavily across the haunches of Ivan''s stallion. The horse lurched forward under the impact. Only then did Ivan remember the third wolf. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
She accelerated into the night. Swarms of Crimson-Eyed Bats pursued her, their discordant shrieks assaulting her sensitive hearing. The cacophony didn''t emanate solely from behind¡ªit erupted from the woodlands on both flanks as well. Aethelwing beat her massive wings with powerful strokes, propelling herself forward with explosive speed. After gliding some distance, she banked to assess her surroundings, believing she''d outpaced her pursuers. What met her gaze was a writhing tapestry of ruby-red eyes and frantically beating wings¡ªfar from escaping them, they''d closed the gap further. The airspace above was now completely choked with Crimson-Eyed Bats. Without hesitation, Aethelwing folded her wings tightly against her body and plummeted earthward. Her dive reached fifty-seven miles per hour¡ªthe maximum velocity possible at such limited altitude. The bat swarm followed, cascading after her in a grotesque black waterfall against the night sky. Bats lacked her diving proficiency, allowing Aethelwing to create separation and seize momentary advantage. Mere feet from plunging into the forest canopy, she unfurled her wings with a thunderous snap, skimming over the treetops and climbing sharply. Her pursuers, tenacious despite their limitations, executed awkward aerial maneuvers to match her course correction. The distance between predator and prey diminished once more, but Aethelwing remained focused on her strategy. Crimson-Eyed Bats ranked among the swiftest of their kind, capable of ninety-three miles per hour in optimal conditions. She continued her vertical ascent, watching as the previously clear night sky darkened with the silhouettes of countless enemies. She screeched in defiant fury, her powerful wings beating against the resistant air. Her objective: create sufficient separation for the swarm to congregate beneath her position. Left with no alternatives, Aethelwing initiated a second dive, this one from greater height and achieving even more terrifying velocity. Within heartbeats, the sinister dark sea of bats fell behind her plummeting form. The magnificent raptor leveled out just above the treetops, her passage generating such powerful air currents that leaves spiraled skyward in her wake. She climbed again, carrying this vegetal confetti with her as the bat shrieks intensified behind her. Aethelwing glanced backward, noting her tireless pursuers still giving chase. She released a piercing cry; the distance was now tactically sufficient. After climbing steeply for several more seconds, Aethelwing executed a precision aerial maneuver, banking sharply into a tight circle that positioned her face-to-face with the oncoming swarm. The bats had now consolidated directly beneath her. Aethelwing parted her pale yellow beak, tilting her head slightly upward. Between her mandibles rested a multi-faceted crystalline stone, jagged and ancient. The stone began emitting an ethereal blue luminescence, illuminating the atmospheric particles surrounding it. The radiance intensified exponentially, engulfing first Aethelwing herself, then the swarming Crimson-Eyed Bats below, until finally the entire night sky blazed with otherworldly cerulean light.
"The horses¡ªprotect the horses!" Ivan Northes shouted, twisting in his saddle while desperately grasping for another arrow. In his focus on the immediate threats, he''d forgotten the third wolf, which had likewise disregarded him in favor of his mount. "They''re targeting our mounts!" Too late for warnings. The Dire Wolf had positioned itself directly before Ivan''s stallion, the animal''s dark head obscuring the archer''s line of sight. Ivan leaned precariously from the saddle, but the wolf had already launched itself upward. Before Ivan could drive his heels into the stallion''s flanks, the horse¡ªinstinctively reacting to the lunging predator¡ªreared in terror and sidestepped violently. The wolf''s attack missed its primary target but connected with Ivan''s quiver instead. Its powerful jaws clamped around a cluster of arrows, nearly tearing the entire quiver from his back. With savage efficiency, the wolf splintered the wooden shafts between its teeth, spitting the fragments to the forest floor before reorienting toward Ivan. The archer stared in momentary shock at his destroyed ammunition. With no time to nock one of his few remaining arrows, he drew the short sword sheathed across his back. Undeterred by the moonlight glinting off the blade, the wolf lunged for Ivan''s right arm, jaws agape. To prevent his wrist from being severed, Ivan reflexively released his grip on the sword after driving it into the wolf''s lower jaw. The beast shook the blade free with contemptuous ease, the superficial wound insufficient to deter its attack. (This is the end,) Ivan thought, his fingers grasping futilely at his depleted quiver. (I can''t stop it from ripping my throat out.) Chapter 64- The Courier（14） It failed again. A blur of movement collided with the Dire Wolf mid-leap, sending both forms tumbling across the forest floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs. Old Mackenzie drove his dagger deep into the wolf''s belly with savage determination. Agonizing pain sent the wounded beast into a frenzy of thrashing and snarling. "Now! Now!" Old Mackenzie bore down on the hilt, using his entire weight to pin the creature. "Kill the damn thing!" An arrow whistled through the air, striking the wolf''s skull with deadly precision. The creature convulsed briefly, released a final wheezing breath, then went still. "Back off!" Old Mackenzie held his dagger out, stepping back. He felt eyes on him, like they could melt him. "Ivan, right flank!" Raymond Noytra bellowed. Three wolves converged on him simultaneously. The swordsman had dispatched the first attacker with a clean strike, but the second beast ignored his throat in favor of clamping its massive jaws around his steel blade. Raymond''s attempts to dislodge it proved futile; the frenzied Dire Wolf only bit down harder as the edges lacerated its mouth, blood spilling over metal. The third wolf, sensing opportunity, launched itself toward Raymond''s exposed throat. To the right. Ivan pivoted, catching only a glimpse of Raymond''s back. Within a heartbeat, twin amber orbs materialized in his field of vision. The archer loosed two arrows in perfect synchronicity, extinguishing those predatory lights instantly. The wolf crashed to earth between their three mounts, causing the horses to shy forward in alarm. "Mount up! Now!" Ivan Northes urged the old courier. Raymond remained half-slouched in his saddle, locked in a brutal contest of strength with the wolf that refused to release his sword. The Dire Wolf''s raw power was overwhelming¡ªmoments away from dragging the elite knight from horseback. "Down!" Raymond Noytra commanded. Ivan flattened against his saddle while Old Mackenzie, mid-mount, ducked instinctively. With both hands clenched white-knuckled around the sword hilt, Raymond torqued his entire body, hurling the wolf backward like a trebuchet stone. The beast finally released its grip, sailing through the air before its spine connected with an ancient oak trunk with a sickening crack. It collapsed in a lifeless heap. A lightning bolt of pain shot through Raymond''s lower back. "Damn it all¡ªthrew out my back." The alpha bared its gleaming ivory fangs, each twice the size of a common gray wolf''s. Its guttural, staccato growls summoned the remaining pack members into a tightening circle. Its eyes promised that the next assault would be the final one. "Full frontal charge incoming," Ivan Northes reached instinctively for his quiver. Ice flooded his veins as his fingers met near-emptiness. (Only three arrows remain.) Emerald radiance suddenly suffused the forest canopy. Every eye turned skyward involuntarily, glimpsing ethereal shafts of green light spearing through the foliage. The unearthly illumination fractured the wolves'' formation, many cowering and whimpering in primitive fear. "Now''s our chance!" Ivan Northes drove his heels into his mount''s flanks. The black stallion, previously stoic, reared with a thunderous whinny before launching into a headlong gallop. The others followed close behind, kicking up clouds of disturbed earth in their wake. The alpha stood defiant amidst the chaos. It howled¡ªa commanding, primeval sound¡ªattempting to rally its scattered forces. Judging by the continued exodus of its subordinates, the effort proved largely ineffectual. In the end, only two loyalists remained beside their leader. The alpha''s lips curled back in a grotesque snarl, rumbling communication emanating from deep in its throat as it conferred with its remaining allies. Three votes of affirmation. The alpha led its diminished hunting party in relentless pursuit of the couriers'' escape route. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Both predator and observer believed completion of their mission remained possible.
The arcane conflagration ignited in that precise moment. Azure flames erupted from her beak, a concentrated pillar of primal energy that cleaved through the living ocean of bats. The Crimson-Eyed Bats scattered in panic, forming a rotating vortex around the periphery of the inferno as they continued their ascent. The brilliant blue magical fire possessed an almost sentient quality, its concentrated beam fracturing into hungry tendrils that consumed everything they touched. Countless bats vanished upon contact with these ethereal flames, leaving no residue behind¡ªno ashes, no smoke. They simply ceased to exist, as if their very essence had been erased from reality. The surviving bats abandoned direct confrontation, instead choosing to circulate beneath Aethelwing before rising to attack from her vulnerable rear. The striped white wyvern maintained constant visual contact, her head pivoting with fluid precision to track their movements. Another cluster incinerated instantly. The remaining swarm hesitated at the periphery, torn between continuing their assault and avoiding certain annihilation. The night sky had transformed into a cerulean sea of otherworldly fire. The Belonis Stone was approaching exhaustion. The magical flames began to fluctuate erratically, resembling a banner caught in tempestuous winds. The Crimson-Eyed Bats renewed their strident screeching, reorganizing just beyond the fire''s diminishing reach. Then, abruptly, the flames extinguished completely. The bats surged forward with redoubled ferocity, their collective shriek a deafening wall of sound. They moved as if the deadly blue fire had never existed, converging in an undulating black mass that continuously reformed and shifted. Aethelwing''s throat convulsed spasmodically, producing only a hoarse, labored croak. The magnificent raptor appeared overwhelmingly outnumbered¡ªlike a lone elephant confronting a million ants. Yet she remained unperturbed. She waited with predator''s patience for the swarm to enter optimal range, her massive wings beating methodically to maintain her aerial position. (They''ve reached the threshold.) The striped white wyvern angled her head downward, parting her beak slightly. Another stone¡ªthis one jagged and multi-faceted¡ªdropped from her maw. The Crimson-Eyed Bats continued their headlong charge, heedless of danger, like suicidal zealots. The crystalline stone descended to the level of Aethelwing''s chest, achieving perfect alignment with the advancing horde. The stone began emitting a pulsing radiance, surrounded by a nimbus of pale violet particulate matter. With precise timing, Aethelwing beat her wings powerfully toward the glowing artifact. The resulting gale struck the bat swarm with apocalyptic force¡ªnot merely wind, but countless invisible blades of air. The concentrated pressure didn''t simply disperse the bats; it dismembered them wholesale. Thousands of Crimson-Eyed Bats disintegrated into black confetti, scattered remnants drifting into the depths of the forest below. Trees caught in the magical tempest splintered instantly, transformed into wooden shrapnel that mingled with the verdant debris of shredded foliage. The Winters Stone vanished without trace, its power utterly spent. Aethelwing released a triumphal screech as she soared into higher altitude. For her, the world contracted to its purest elements: only moonlight and the infinite tapestry of stars.
Stellan bolted upright from Lannord''s chest with a strangled cry. Clutching his temples, he found himself drenched in frigid sweat. (Cold... unbearably cold...) He stared at his outstretched hands in horror. The glacial sensation lingered in his fingertips like phantom limbs. "Finally awake, are we?" Lothar drawled, supporting his chin with evident boredom. Stellan startled again. "What in hell are you doing there?!" "Oh, I was just..." The Shadowgreen Knight looked for the right words. "Watching your... noble games." "Games?" "Indeed. Fascinating, really." Lothar rose to his feet, undisguised amusement in his voice. "Not content with merely cuddling while unconscious, you both delivered quite the vocal performance." He began an exaggerated imitation. "Lannord here alternated between guttural growls and these delightful ''Wooo~ Ahhh~'' sounds. While you," he continued with a disconcerting smile, "you produced the most remarkable hissing¡ªprecisely like a viper preparing to strike." Lothar attempted to reproduce the sound several times. "Can''t quite capture it," he shrugged. "You''re well, I presume?" "Perfectly," Stellan replied tersely, fingers surreptitiously seeking the hilt of his weapon. "We''re fine." Lannord, however, contradicted this assertion spectacularly. Without warning, he collapsed face-first onto the earth. The Shadowgreen Knight stumbled backward in alarm. "Hmm... hmm..." The prone figure emitted inhuman snarls, teeth bared in feral aggression. Lannord''s limbs contorted unnaturally, his spine arching in a way that suggested imminent pouncing. "He certainly doesn''t appear fine!" Lothar exclaimed, gesturing frantically. "What in damnation is happening to him?!" Chapter 65- The Courier（15） "He''s... he''s just..." Stellan racked his brain for an excuse. (This moment is critical,) he thought while soothingly patting Lannord''s back. (A fatal error here, and I''ll have no choice but to kill him.) Lannord''s growling intensified, growing more rapid by the second. (Stay steady!) "He''s dreaming, Lothar." The Shadowgreen Knight frowned skeptically. "Dreaming? I think not. What manner of dream transforms a man into... this?" A thin strand of saliva dripped from Lannord''s chin, pooling on the ground beneath him. "It''s a beautiful dream. A particularly sweet dream," Stellan tried to force a note of sincerity into his voice. "I seriously doubt that," Lothar''s frown deepened. "What ''sweet dream'' could possibly turn someone into... a dog?" "You''re as sharp as ever, Lothar," Stellan replied smoothly. "He''s dreaming he''s a dog, plain and simple." "What?!" Lothar''s eyes widened in disbelief. "You''re telling me... in his dream, he''s a dog?" "Exactly that!" Though Stellan''s mind whirled in chaos, it was time to commit to the tale. "It stems from a childhood story of his." The Shadowgreen Knight nodded attentively, like a village child enraptured by an elder''s fireside tale. (Forgive me, Lannord. I haven''t the faintest idea what absurdity I''m about to concoct.) "It was a dark and stormy morning... no, wait, evening." (You worthless idiot.) He silently berated himself. "The young protagonist... I mean, young Lannord..." "Enough," Lothar interrupted with impatience. "Get to the relevant part." (What a disastrous beginning.) Adjusting his posture, Stellan scrambled for a new thread. "Our young Lannord was pursuing the girl he adored up a mountainside, but nightfall descended swiftly, and he lost his way." "Hold on," Lothar interjected. "What became of the girl? Don''t tell me she perished?" "Could you possibly allow me to finish?" Stellan snapped, irritation evident. "Where I come from, inconsiderate listeners like yourself would be beaten senseless." Lothar raised his hands in surrender. "Very well. I shall maintain silence and behave like a proper gentleman." "They were engaged in a game of hide-and-seek. The girl ascended the mountain path, laughing and teasing as she went. Little Lannord pursued with equal mirth, following her swift footsteps..." "How utterly clich¨¦d," Lothar muttered. Stellan''s hand closed around his lightning-shaped dagger. "Fine, fine! Continue," the knight hastily backpedaled, gesturing for him to proceed. "That evening, the moon hung enormous and perfectly round, just as tonight. Its silvery light bathed the girl in an ethereal glow, transforming her into a goddess whose radiance brought love and joy to the otherwise desolate forest..." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "Spare me the flowery descriptions. Alright! Calm yourself¡ªlower the blade. I merely offered a suggestion." "A narrow path wound up the mountainside, coiling like a venomous serpent intent on claiming its prey. The girl ran barefoot, her steps crushing fallen leaves and disturbing the earthen path, carried by the night breeze and moonlight until she vanished beyond the path''s bend." Lothar remained silent, his expression skeptical. (Not entirely awful thus far,) Stellan encouraged himself internally. "Little Lannord pursued, dead branches and withered leaves beneath his feet releasing mournful whispers at his passing. Yet when he rounded the bend, awaiting him was not his goddess-like beloved, but a terrifying dog." Stellan nodded with self-satisfaction. "Yes, an immense beast with flame-like eyes and limbs as powerful as a warhorse. Each breath from its nostrils seemed capable of igniting the very air." "And this dog was...?" "The monstrous hound fixed its gaze upon little Lannord without wavering. Though terrified, the boy knew his beloved waited just beyond. With no alternatives, he attempted to edge forward carefully. To his astonishment, the beast spoke: ''Halt, child! Your beloved is now my captive! If you wish to see her again, you must defeat me in combat! Otherwise, return whence you came!''" "Wait, just wait," Lothar interrupted as Stellan descended into barely suppressed laughter. "This dog could speak? What breed of dog possesses such abilities?" "Ah, well..." (What breed indeed...) Stellan''s brow furrowed as he desperately sought a believable answer. (Without specifics, my tale lacks credibility. Yet I can''t think of anything appropriate...) Seeing Stellan deep in contemplation, Lothar leaned forward with increasing suspicion. (Retreat is impossible now.) Stellan steeled himself. Having disliked canines since childhood, his knowledge of dog breeds was virtually nonexistent. (I''ll resort to whatever breed noblemen typically favor.) "You''re completely clueless, aren''t you?" Lothar asked accusingly. "Silence, Lothar." (No more stalling. Whatever comes to mind.) He recalled a breed mentioned in noble circles. "It was a ferocious beast, truly terrifying." As Lothar opened his mouth to interject again, Stellan hurriedly continued. "The creature was... a Chihuahua." A profound silence fell between them. "So..." Lothar rested his chin on his palm thoughtfully. "This monstrous beast was a Chihuahua? That name sounds positively... adorable?" Clearly, the breed meant nothing to him. "Adorable? You think so?" Stellan hadn''t anticipated this reaction. "Well, you know how deceptive names can be. Consider Maria, the spinster daughter of Marquis Bossini¡ªher name suggests grace and beauty, yet she..." "Enough about Maria," Lothar cut in firmly. "Let''s continue with your tale. What befell young Lannord next?" (What happened next? Gods, where am I going with this?) Stellan''s features contorted with concentration. Soon, however, a confident smile returned. (Perfect. This will be magnificent.) "Yes, I recall now." "Though frightened beyond measure, the hope of reuniting with his beloved filled little Lannord with extraordinary courage. ''I fear you not!'' he declared boldly, seizing a fallen branch and assuming a swordsman''s stance. ''I shall vanquish you, foul beast! I shall rescue my betrothed!''" "What a valiant young hero," Lothar remarked with genuine approval. "Indeed," Stellan nodded emphatically. "He braced himself for the beast''s attack. Astonishingly, the creature made no aggressive move. Instead, it erupted in laughter. ''Ha ha ha...''" "Kindly omit the laughter," Lothar requested dryly. Stellan''s expression flattened. "...After its amusement subsided, the beast proclaimed: ''Your courage is truly admirable, Lannord. You are unquestionably a man worthy of lifelong devotion.''" "And why would¡ª" Lothar began. "''How do you know my name?!'' Little Lannord demanded, stepping forward with growing boldness." "The creature is¡ª" Lothar tried again. "''Reveal your identity!'' Lannord shouted, hurling his branch at the beast. ''Aah!'' the creature cried out in pain. ''How could you strike me so, Lannord? Is this how you treat a lady? How you treat your own betrothed?!''" Chapter 66- The Courier（16） Lothar: "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Stellan: "''What does this mean?'' Little Lannord gaped, his eyes wide as saucers, mouth hanging open. ''You''re my... fianc¨¦e?'' The poor boy looked as though he''d witnessed a specter materializing before him. ''Indeed I am, your beloved betrothed¡ªthe very one you''ve been pursuing through these mountains!'' declared the monstrous hound as it attempted to approach. ''You lie!'' the boy cried out in terror, hurling yet another branch with a primal shout. ''Ah! Please cease this cruelty!'' The beast''s eyes welled with tears. ''Simply because my form has grown hideous, your affection curdles into revulsion! A man''s devotion is as inconstant as the shifting breeze, his vows as ephemeral as autumn foliage! Your every word and deed erodes the sacred bond between us! These branches wound my flesh, but your callous words are talons that shred my very heart!'' Crystalline tears cascaded down its muzzle. ''Have you no trust remaining? Has your love withered completely? If so, I beg you¡ªdissolve our engagement and grant me the mercy of departure!''" "That''s one hell of a lovesick pup," Lothar remarked with genuine appreciation. "''Where shall you go?'' Little Lannord demanded, his voice carrying through the mountain air. ''My destination concerns you no longer!'' replied the beast, tears glistening as it turned away. ''You have forsaken our mutual trust and abandoned your love for me. Even if you knew my path, what purpose would such knowledge serve? I turn from you now, facing toward uncertain horizons. Who can divine what waits beyond fate''s mysterious corners? When I round this bend, what destiny awaits? Should it be a precipice, I shall plummet into the unfathomable abyss, surrendering to Oris''s eternal embrace. Should it be a celestial stairway, I shall ascend through tempests and cloudbanks to paradise. What choice shall you make?'' the creature asked, its voice softening. ''Will you follow me into the depths, or ascend to hallowed realms?''" Lothar swallowed audibly, entranced. "''Oh! My thoughts are in such disarray!'' Little Lannord wailed, clutching his head in anguish. ''I yearn to follow you, yet I hesitate so. What course should I take?'' The beast continued with measured gravity: ''Poor wayward lamb! If trust for me dwells within you, release the branch from your right hand. If love for me resides in your heart, unclench your left hand as well, allowing these deadened twigs to fall away. Only then may you gather up the treasures of love and trust!''" "''I trust you, my betrothed!'' Little Lannord''s own eyes brimmed with heartfelt tears. ''I love you, my divine goddess! I would pursue you to the very edges of creation!'' The boy raised his arms skyward in jubilant proclamation. And thus, in perfect contentment and joy, they embraced one another." Lothar dabbed discreetly at the corner of his eye. "What a profoundly moving tale. But... how precisely does this relate to Lannord dreaming he''s transformed into a dog?" Stellan brushed nonexistent dust from his doublet. "That brings us to the story''s pivotal revelation. Following their... embrace, Little Lannord declared, ''Your trial of me is complete. Now, my beloved, I implore you¡ªreturn to your true form!'' But the fearsome hound''s expression grew troubled. ''In truth... this is my genuine form.''" Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Lothar''s eyes glazed over. "The beast attempted explanation. ''You see¡ª'' Little Lannord interrupted hastily, ''I understand completely. You were born a ravishing maiden of incomparable beauty. One fateful day, while gathering lilies of the valley upon this mountain, you encountered a malevolent mountain witch. Consumed by jealousy of your exquisite features, she placed a terrible curse upon you, declaring: "One day you shall return to this mountain to reunite with your beloved. But from that moment forth, you shall be transformed into a hideous beast¡ªa reviled Chihuahua." That''s the tale you meant to tell, isn''t it? Fear not, I accept this truth.'' The boy spoke with profound emotion. ''Well... not precisely so.''" "Lannord: The boy''s jaw fell slack with astonishment. The beast continued its narrative: ''In actuality, I entered this world as an unsightly, ferocious Chihuahua. My parents and I dwelled among nobility as their pets. My progenitors found contentment in such an existence, but I yearned for more. I coveted the role of caretaker, ruler, master. So I beseeched the divine, saying, "Elevate me to a higher, more powerful form of being!" The deity contemplated my request momentarily before responding, "If such is your desire, humanity represents your optimal choice."''" "That''s one way to put it," the Shadowgreen Knight nodded. "''Why not elevate me to elfkind? Or perhaps dwarven status?'' I inquired. ''The answer is elementary,'' the god replied, extending three fingers. ''Elves refrain from indiscriminate slaughter, yet humans indulge freely. Elves abstain from oppressing their fellow beings, while humans excel at such pursuits. As for dwarves¡ªwell, at minimum they possess sufficient honor never to withhold rightfully earned wages, yet humans consider such practices commonplace. Know this, young one,'' the deity continued, resting a divine hand upon my sturdy shoulder, ''no creature surpasses humanity in nobility and splendor. Their very existence epitomizes perfection. To bear human identity is to wield the very symbol of omnipotence. Humans nurture all beings, govern all realms, and exercise dominion over all creation. Even I, alongside every living entity, exist beneath humanity''s magnanimous benediction.''" "''Then transform me into a human!'' I exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm. ''Patience, patience, my child,'' cautioned the deity with solemn earnestness. ''You must comprehend that despite any transformation, your essence remains eternally that of a Chihuahua. This constitutes an immutable cosmic principle. From the moment a soul infuses a physical vessel, its fundamental nature becomes irrevocably established. Cats emerge as cats, dogs as dogs, and humans as humans. Well... presently unalterable, at least. Who can prophesy what innovations humanity might devise in future epochs? Therefore, even my considerable powers permit only a temporary human transformation. Do you consent to these terms?''" "''I nodded with unbridled eagerness. "Must I sacrifice something in exchange?" I ventured. "Love, kindness, sincerity," enumerated the deity without hesitation. "Surrender these qualities unto me¡ªhumans find scant application for such attributes." With that, I immediately relinquished love, kindness, and sincerity from my being. In that transformative instant, I attained human form.''" Lothar blinked repeatedly, utterly captivated by the unfolding tale. "''Yet the anticipated jubilation eluded me entirely. "I sense an absence within¡ªas though some vital component of my being has vanished," I confessed to the deity. "Such disorientation is merely transitory, a natural consequence of your newfound humanity," the god assured me with a knowing smile. "Within human society, adaptation occurs rapidly. All humans navigate similar adjustments. Now I must depart, child, lest they accuse me of neglecting their countless supplications. Such demanding work." As the deity ascended the celestial staircase, I called out desperately, "Wait! When shall I revert to my Chihuahuan form?" Without turning back, the deity offered one final enigmatic pronouncement: "When you recover that which you have surrendered, that moment shall come."''" Chapter 67- The Courier（17） "''So,'' Little Lannord said, ''you''ve recovered what you lost and returned to your original form. That''s what you mean?'' The monstrous dog nodded silently. ''Then tell me,'' it asked, gazing deeply into the boy''s eyes. ''Even though I can no longer become human, will you still love me?'' To everyone''s surprise, the boy shook his head. ''My dear lady, you were never human to begin with. Why aspire to become what you are not? Must you abandon even your true identity? Remember who you are, as I shall remember who I am. Love itself may be noble, but romance between us is mere folly. Two beings of different species are destined never to share true love. My answer is this: I no longer love you. More precisely, from my position, I cannot love you.''" Lothar''s jaw quivered. "How utterly cruel." "''Is that so...'' The beast lowered its eyelids, a strange beauty radiating through its melancholy. ''Thank you, Lannord. Thank you for once loving me wholeheartedly, and thank you for your brutal honesty. Now the time has come for our parting.'' The dog placed its forelegs atop Little Lannord''s hands. ''Let us say our farewells here. I shall continue forward into the unknown, while you return to your life down the mountain path. Farewell, my once-beloved.'' She turned away." "The boy seized her paw. ''Do not despair, my love. You may have lost my earthly affection, but you''ve gained something far greater. Though reality forbids our union, in dreams, we may still wander together.'' She turned to him, surprise evident in her eyes. ''Dreams?'' ''Yes,'' Little Lannord nodded solemnly. ''Dreams are the most wondrous creations in existence. They represent the boundless limits of imagination, the very manifestation of consciousness. In dreams, we shed our decaying flesh and exist as pure thought¡ªliberated thought. In dreams, we become gods, we embody fate, we transform into goddesses, we echo the ancient past. In dreams, we are simultaneously human, canine, everything, and nothing. Dreams exist as both truth and falsehood, with no definitive boundary between them¡ªjust as night and dawn blur into one another. Now, give me your answer.''" "''I too have dreamed,'' she replied, her voice brightening. ''If that is your wish, then I consent wholeheartedly.'' ''My dear lady,'' he responded tenderly, ''there exists no separate wishes¡ªneither mine nor yours. All wishes flow together, all souls remain connected. Though our thoughts may be individual, they belong to us both.'' He kissed her." A profound silence fell between them. "And that concludes my tale." (Did I embellish too much?) Stellan observed his audience''s reaction with careful scrutiny. Lannord began growling again, his fingers clawing deep furrows into the earth. Lothar exhaled wearily. "So even dream-lovers fight?" "What?" Stellan took a moment to comprehend. "Oh... certainly, a touch of conflict adds... certain excitement." Lothar rose to his feet with another sigh. (Surely not... was my story that awful, that unconvincing?) Stellan sighed internally, his hand instinctively reaching behind him for his dagger. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "I''ve never encountered a tale quite like that," Lothar remarked tersely. "One final question¡ªwhat breed of dog is Lannord in his dream?" The metaphorical weight on Stellan''s chest lifted as he released his grip on the dagger. "Let me consider..." (What breed should I choose this time?) Images of noblemen''s prized canines flashed through his mind. "Ah... I believe... a poodle?"
The trees stood like disciplined sentinels, watching impassively as the riders thundered past, offering not even the courtesy of acknowledgment. Three black horses wove through the forest, sometimes diverging, sometimes converging, but maintaining one constant: they moved at maximum speed. "Father Northes!" Raymond Noytra pulled alongside the lead rider. "Do you believe the wolves will overtake us?" "Use your eyes, Raymond," Ivan Northes replied icily. "Eyes are for seeing, not just staring ahead." "My eyes inform me this forest is as dark as dog excrement," Raymond countered. "Whatever lurks behind remains invisible to me." "Then direct your gaze upward, young man," Old McKenzie urged as his mount caught up. "Is that great hawk still following our trail?" "Perhaps you should interrogate the leaves," Raymond retorted irritably. The courier party had maintained a full gallop for nearly two minutes, covering approximately 1.2 miles, yet their three warhorses continued breathing steadily. Raymond positioned himself at the rear, constantly vigilant of their backtrail; Old McKenzie remained in the middle position as the protected asset; Ivan led the formation, eyes fixed ahead, guiding their escape. Among the thundering hoofbeats, foreign sounds intruded. Raymond instinctively glanced backward, perceiving faint lights emerging from the darkness. "They''re coming." The wolf pack materialized into view. "Only three," Old McKenzie reported to Ivan. "Maintain maximum speed; disregard them momentarily," Ivan Northes commanded. "We''ve nearly reached the two-mile mark. Their endurance and velocity should prove inferior to our mounts. Another two miles should force their retreat." "I wouldn''t wager on that assessment," Raymond grimly observed. "They''re moving with unnatural speed." The Dire Wolves'' labored breathing grew increasingly audible as they closed the distance. "Weren''t Dire Wolves reputed to be inefficient runners?" Old McKenzie questioned. "They''re outpacing our horses!" "That''s impossible." Ivan clenched his jaw, driving his heels into his mount''s flanks. The black horse whinnied sharply, its stride quickening further. "Their supposed running limitations apply only in comparison to ordinary wolves. Even the swiftest gray wolf cannot outrun military-bred black horses, much less their short-legged cousins." "Employ your vision, dear Father," Raymond advised while deftly avoiding an oncoming tree. "Evidence refutes theory. I can already detect their foul lupine stench." Ivan Northes finally turned to verify this incredulous claim. The alpha wolf maintained the lead position, flanked by two females. The gap between the lead wolf and Raymond''s mount diminished steadily, their bestial scent visibly disturbing the horses. "Steady now, Black Rose," Raymond murmured, stroking his mount''s neck. "Accelerate¡ªdanger approaches from behind." "They will perish," Ivan declared suddenly. "Who? The wolves?" Old McKenzie bellowed. "Indeed. These three Dire Wolves will expire before this pursuit concludes. They''re pushing far beyond their physical capabilities. Most peculiar," Ivan frowned deeply. "They''re sustaining themselves purely through willpower. Ordinary wolves never tax themselves to such extremes. This behavior pattern is aberrant, almost as if¡ª" Chapter 68- The Courier（18） "Humans," Old McKenzie finished for him. "I''ve heard tales of ancient couriers who, bereft of horses, delivered messages on foot, traversing twenty-six miles in a single, willpower-fueled journey. And as you noted, their bodies invariably failed them afterward¡ªthe price of exceeding mortal limits." "I''m more worried we''ll be wolf chow before any of that happens," Raymond miming a dramatic gag. "This isn''t open plains; wolves thrive in woodland pursuit. These beasts close the gap with every heartbeat. Papa Northes, the moment of decision is upon us." He turned to Ivan Northes, eyes glinting. "Engage or accelerate our flight?" (I have only three arrows remaining. At our current pace, they''ll eventually overtake us.) Ivan glanced at his near-empty quiver. (If my aim holds true...) "No," he muttered through gritted teeth, "an elite knight never misses." He signaled for combat engagement. "Understood." Raymond Noytra spurred his black mount forward, assuming the vanguard position. "What exactly is this strategy?" Old McKenzie shouted above the thundering hooves. "Simple¡ªkill and continue," Ivan replied tersely. They swiftly exchanged positions, Raymond advancing to the front line. Ivan gradually decreased his pace, ensuring all three Dire Wolves entered his bow''s effective range. Old McKenzie watched him with undisguised anxiety. "Everything rides on your skill now, lad." The archer extracted an arrow and, despite the jarring rhythm of horseback, nocked it with practiced precision. "The old man should know better than to doubt," Raymond ducked beneath an overhanging branch. "I''ve never witnessed him fail." (Remain steady.) Ivan drew the bowstring taut, aligning his sight with the alpha wolf''s form. (The target presents clearly. I will not miss. Absolutely will not...) "Branch overhead!" Old McKenzie bellowed suddenly. Ivan instinctively bent low, evading the reaching limbs. But in that crucial moment, the arrow released prematurely, flying from his grasp. The projectile pierced the earth mere inches before the lead wolf''s paws. Startled by the sudden intrusion, the beast leapt sideways, momentarily frozen before resuming its charge with renewed fury, fangs bared in menace. Without hesitation, Ivan reached for his second arrow. The wolves, now alerted to the threat, abandoned their tight formation, dispersing to utilize the undergrowth as tactical cover. (Which target demands priority?) His bow tracked left and right, seeking optimal positioning. (Only two arrows remain...) For the first time in memory, he felt the cold grip of uncertainty. "Your confidence wavers." Ivan snapped his head around, startled to find Raymond Noytra had fallen back beside him. "What possible reason brings you here?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Get back to McKenzie!" "I''ve reassessed our priorities. Your survival guarantees ours," Raymond replied, a sardonic half-smile playing across his lips. "Exchange positions. Take the vanguard." "You''ll assume rearguard duties?" Ivan Northes asked, disbelief evident in his tone. "With what strategy in mind? Armed only with a longsword, you''ll need to allow them within striking distance..." "And you possess merely two arrows¡ªprecious resources that might preserve our lives later, but not in this moment. In our current predicament, archery proves inefficient and prone to error. Your previous shot demonstrated this reality all too clearly." "But¡ª" Ivan attempted to protest. "No objections, Ivan Northes. Command falls to me now. Exchange positions; you''ll lead from the front." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Confronted with his companion''s unwavering resolve, Ivan relented reluctantly. "Very well," he sighed, resignation evident. "May the Triad of Destiny be with you." Raymond Noytra''s laughter burst forth, unexpectedly bright amid their peril. "Rest assured, I''ve always maintained excellent relations with those three exquisite ladies." Ivan remained grim-faced. He urged his mount forward, and they executed the tactical shift with fluid precision. "One can only hope."
He watched Lothar depart. Stellan noted a certain melancholy in the knight''s retreating silhouette, but more pressing matters occupied his thoughts. (Thank every deity I managed that deception.) Relief flooded through him as Lannord continued his bestial sprawl across the forest floor. "Forever my burden to bear," he muttered, hauling Lannord back toward the pine''s protective shadow. His companion''s claws slashed wildly, requiring substantial effort to subdue. "Now for my own narrative," Stellan murmured to himself. He settled beside Lannord''s prone form, his back against the rough bark. "In all honesty, were you embracing me earlier?" he inquired, receiving only a guttural growl in response. "Such deviant tendencies. Yet... I find myself intrigued." Lannord swiped at him with unexpected ferocity. Stellan allowed his eyelids to fall, surrendering once more to that familiar darkness. (The endless sky... pale moonlight... whispering winds... and... the flames... viridescent flames.) The image of the great hawk materialized in his consciousness. (I shall annihilate you, diminutive avian.) Excitement surged through him with such intensity that his teeth pierced his lower lip, dark crimson essence beading along the wound. (Await my arrival, beloved adversary. I shall reduce you to an existence of perpetual suffering.) Elsewhere, a bat''s eyes flickered open.
Raymond Noytra had established considerable distance between himself and his companions, while the wolf pack closed to dangerous proximity. The alpha, recognizing its quarry had changed, directed the two females to converge from opposing flanks. "Truly remarkable. Two miles traversed and still your pace quickens." Raymond unsheathed his steel blade, moonlight cascading along its length, causing momentary hesitation among the predators. "This weapon has tasted the lifeblood of countless pack-brothers." He executed an elegant flourish, the blade seemed to dance in the moonlight. The alpha detected the metallic scent of blood permeating the steel, nostrils flaring as it displayed its formidable dentition in naked aggression. "Well then," Raymond pivoted partially toward his pursuers. "Which among you claims the honor of first blood?" The alpha committed to initial engagement. It accelerated, angling toward Raymond''s left flank. The female wolves maintained precise distance behind the black stallion. (They refuse coordinated assault?) Raymond observed the approaching alpha, a predatory smile playing across his features. (Cocky bastards.) Gripping his sword with practiced familiarity, he elevated the blade into a high guard position, the hilt aligned with his right ear. His peripheral vision remained vigilant, monitoring the wolves behind to prevent ambush. The alpha entered striking range, creating mutual vulnerability. Raymond''s fingers tensed rhythmically against the hilt, hyperfocused on every nuance of the wolf''s movement. The beast initiated its attack, driving toward his left leg, gaze fixed on the junction of foot and saddle¡ªseeking to unhorse its prey. Raymond executed a lateral slash, targeting the creature''s exposed flank. With supernatural agility, the alpha propelled itself beyond the arc of steel. Raymond immediately reset his defensive posture. The subsequent exchanges followed similar patterns. Repeatedly, the alpha targeted his lower extremities, only to be repelled by calculated counters. Yet Raymond found himself increasingly perplexed by his inability to wound his opponent. (Perhaps a question of distance...) he contemplated. (Each attack falls just short of optimal striking range... preventing effective counterattack...) Sudden comprehension dawned. Raymond cast a swift glance rearward, noting only a single wolf remained in direct pursuit. A disturbance from his right periphery demanded immediate attention. Acting on pure instinct, he shifted leftward, narrowly evading the female wolf''s lunging bite. Cold air rushed against his exposed underarm as the Dire Wolf tore away a section of leather armor, the material clenched triumphantly between its jaws. Chapter 69- The Courier（19） "Black Rose!" He drove his heels into the gelding''s flanks, and the midnight steed launched forward with explosive power. His decision proved fortuitous¡ªwhile evading the female wolf, the alpha on his left had nearly severed his arm at the shoulder. Now at full gallop, the warhorse thundered ahead, yet the distance between mount and predators remained alarmingly close. All three wolves pursued with manic determination, their limbs pistoning with mechanical fury, muscles straining so violently it seemed their very tendons might shred apart at any moment. "Kid! You alright?" Old McKenzie bellowed from behind. "I''ve taken pisses slower than this, old man," Raymond shot back. The wolf pack closed once more, the alpha reclaiming its position at the vanguard. Their formation had transformed¡ªno longer dispersed, they now ran in perfect single file, tracking the elite knight''s left flank with tactical precision. Raymond pivoted in his saddle, raising his blade to ear height. The alpha struck again. The moment its hind paws connected with earth, it exploded upward in a predatory arc. Raymond Noytra countered with a lightning-fast horizontal slash¡ªa devastating sweep aimed perfectly at the wolf''s exposed throat in mid-leap. Under normal circumstances, the Dire Wolf would have been cleaved in twain. But his blade met only air. Disbelief contorted his features as the swordsman failed to comprehend how he''d missed. The alpha had seemingly vanished a hairsbreadth before steel connected with fur. What followed occurred too rapidly for conscious processing. White-hot pain erupted through his right arm, accompanied by the nauseating crack of splintering bone. A female wolf materialized in his panic-widened vision. Understanding dawned¡ªthe lead wolf was no longer his primary concern. It had been trampled beneath hooves in the chaotic exchange. The female wolf''s fangs sank deep into his arm while its claws raked frantically across both rider and mount. Summoning his last reserves of strength before his right arm surrendered to numbness, Raymond hurled his steel blade across his body, deftly catching it with his left hand. For one fleeting instant, the wolf''s jaws loosened¡ªbut by then, Raymond''s longsword had already transfixed its body. Arterial blood erupted in a crimson fountain, drenching him completely. The metallic reek drove the black horse into a state of battle-frenzy. The wolf, recognizing its imminent demise, locked its jaws with renewed savagery onto Raymond''s arm. Raymond Noytra, too, understood the finality of his mission. His right arm had surrendered all sensation. Black Rose accelerated even further, the persistent coppery scent of blood heightening its combat conditioning. The Gothmar elite knights'' warhorses¡ªpredominantly black or chestnut specimens¡ªunderwent rigorous desensitization training, their feed deliberately laced with blood to prevent battlefield panic amid the overwhelming stench of carnage. Behind them, the remaining wolves appeared to falter, perhaps from exhaustion or having achieved their primary objective, their relentless pace finally diminishing. The mortally wounded female wolf had embedded its claws into Raymond''s leather cuirass, its carcass swinging grotesquely in the night air. Raymond barely maintained his seat, his left hand abandoning any pretense of swordsmanship to grip the saddle with desperate intensity. Waves of excruciating pain and vertiginous disorientation assaulted his consciousness. Though he suppressed any outward cry, the hemorrhaging from his mangled arm far exceeded survivable limits. The darkness of shock encroached upon his vision. Stolen story; please report. "Have you resolved the situation, lad?" A voice called from some indeterminate distance. It possessed an ethereal quality, as though emanating from across vast temporal chasms. "Mission accomplished!" he roared back¡ªor believed he did. "Well done, boy. Exemplary work." This voice seemed to recede further, resonating with the cadence of his old training officer at the military academy. "Excellent form, cadet. Your swordsmanship shows promise, but exercise greater caution regarding friendly targets. Your blade exists to shield comrades, not endanger them... That concludes today''s instruction." (Comrades...) His eyelids descended with leaden weight. (That concludes today''s instruction...) "Raymond!" Another voice pierced his fading consciousness. "Young man, report your condition!" (Ah, the old messenger.) "Perfectly fine!" Raymond strained to eliminate the quaver from his voice. "Continue forward! I''ll neutralize the remaining threats." "Are you certain you require no assistance?" Old McKenzie''s voice cracked with exertion. "I can''t even pinpoint your position!" The veteran courier then addressed Ivan Northes at the fore. "We should reduce speed and allow him to rejoin formation!" "We maintain trajectory," Ivan replied with glacial finality, brooking no further discussion. "Nevertheless¡ª" "Listen carefully, old man!" Raymond mustered his remaining strength for one thunderous command. His gaze locked with the female wolf''s, finding nothing but vacant predatory instinct reflected in those amber orbs. Though its jaws remained secured around the knight''s shattered limb, claws still embedded in his torn leather armor, the wolf had unquestionably crossed into death. "I''m attending to your words! What message do you convey, young warrior?" "Excellent¡ªkeep listening!" Raymond pressed on. "I''ve neutralized one female assailant. The secondary female and alpha remain active threats. However, I''ve sustained damage that may prevent complete objective fulfillment. Damnation! Will you permit me to complete my statement?!" he suddenly roared, though no interruption had occurred. "You must maintain proximity to Papa Northes. He will ensure your survival..." His unfocused gaze drifted to the catastrophic remains of his right arm, which now retained only tenuous connection to his shoulder socket. "Place absolute faith in Ivan Northes. Regard him with filial trust. Such unwavering confidence has preserved my existence these many years." The elite knight''s lips contorted into a grotesque approximation of mirth. "Extend similar faith to me, if you would." Spectral moonlight. Exposed bone fragments. Lacerated flesh. His devastated right arm dangled by mere sinews. The distant voices oscillated in and out of comprehensibility. Unconsciousness beckoned with increasing insistence. "...He''s gravely wounded, Ivan! We... we must reverse course..." (Fuck.) "...Forward momentum... maintain... speed. He... will neutralize... remaining targets..." (Fuck.) "Two hostiles persist! We... must provide reinforcement!" (Fuck.) "...Continue advance... he... selected this outcome." (Fuck.) "We cannot abandon his position..." "FUCK! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL, YOU WORTHLESS MAGGOTS!" Raymond Noytra''s primal roar shattered the night. "HAVE THE WOLVES DEVOURED YOUR EARS, OR ARE YOUR SKULLS SIMPLY DEVOID OF BRAINS?! I VOLUNTEERED FOR REARGUARD ACTION! I COMMITTED TO ELIMINATING THESE FUCKING BEASTS!" The elite knight bellowed with deranged abandon. "I''LL SLAUGHTER THEM ALL! MOUNT THEIR HEADS AS TROPHIES! FLEE IF YOU MUST, YOU SPINELESS WORMS! CANINE WILL ALWAYS TRIUMPH OVER BOVINE EXCREMENT! I''LL DISMEMBER THE REMAINING WOLVES THIS VERY MOMENT! RIGHT NOW¡ª" He reached to extract his sword from the wolf''s corpse, but his tirade terminated abruptly. His arm was gone. The final connective tissue of his right limb had severed completely. The dead wolf plummeted earthward, dragging with it shredded leather armor, the blood-saturated appendage, and perhaps most devastating of all¡ªhis irretrievable steel sword. (...The sword...) Raymond''s face went white as bone as he watched his final hope descend into darkness. The horse bucked him off, sending him sprawling in the opposite direction. Chapter 70- The Courier（20） Soil, brittle twigs, and decaying leaves embraced his broken body as he tumbled several times before a gnarled banyan halted his momentum. His sword remained lost to him, as did his severed right arm. Black Rose, sensing the sudden absence of weight upon its back, did not embrace newfound freedom. Instead, the warhorse halted, pivoted, and began searching for its fallen master. Following the scent trail, it returned to Raymond''s side, though the acrid musk of predators tainted the air. The loyal steed positioned itself protectively before its master, facing the two panting wolves. Though the blindfold obscured its vision, Black Rose relied on keen olfactory senses and acute hearing. When one female wolf launched itself forward, the horse''s powerful foreleg connected with devastating precision, sending the attacker flying several meters backward. Raymond Noytra was surrendering to darkness. An overwhelming fatigue consumed him. Through his narrowing field of vision, two shadowy forms engaged in mortal combat. The aggressor''s jaws clamped down on the defender''s throat while the victim thrashed desperately, hooves pawing with diminishing strength. The struggle proved futile. With a sickening crack, the neck twisted beyond natural limits. Raymond Noytra was surrendering to darkness. A fleeting memory surfaced. With the last remnants of his fading strength and willpower, his trembling fingers sought the leather courier pouch, now shredded by wolf claws. A small vial tumbled into his blood-slicked palm. (Press the lid, turn clockwise, three rotations. You remember, Ivan. So do I.) Raymond Noytra was surrendering to darkness. His duty fulfilled, he attempted to execute the memorized protocol, twisting the vial''s cap as prescribed. Nothing happened. (Did I recall incorrectly...? Impossible... No matter, I''ve given everything I had.) A large shadow loomed above him, hot breath and curious sniffing investigating his face. (Yes... Well done, Raymond. Well done indeed.) The sensation of coarse fur against his skin evoked a strange comfort, prompting his lips to curve into a serene smile. (That concludes today''s lesson...) With mechanical efficiency, it snapped his neck. The bamboo cylinder, discarded nearby, began emanating an ethereal blue luminescence.
Lannord''s body convulsed into a tight ball as he collapsed to his knees. Beyond his guttural, primal keening, the rhythmic sound of flesh striking earth filled the clearing as his fists pummeled the forest floor.
Aethelwing soared through the upper thermals, scanning the verdant landscape for human movement. The dense canopy severely impeded her hunting efforts. Since encountering the swarm of Crimson-Eyed Bats, she had lost track of them. Now she relied solely on instinct, her keen eyes vigilantly surveying the woodland below. A peculiar sensation prickled her consciousness¡ªthe unmistakable weight of being observed. The gaze carried an essence of primordial chaos, an indescribable quality that defied avian comprehension. Aethelwing felt an atavistic terror ripple through her feathers. The unseen watcher''s attention persisted. Left with no recourse, she opted for confrontation. The majestic raptor descended toward a towering cedar. After meticulously preening her plumage, she inflated her chest in regal defiance, golden eyes fixed resolutely ahead. Her observer hung inverted from the uppermost branches.
"And we didn''t even grant him burial," Kendrick McKenzie murmured while adjusting saddle straps. Their black mounts drank greedily from the crystalline stream, occasionally brushing muzzles in silent equine communication. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "And we didn''t even grant him burial," Ivan Northes echoed with grim affirmation. "Had time permitted, absent a pack of oversized canines snapping at our heels, I''d have orchestrated a ceremony befitting his valor. Fresh daisies adorning his grave, drenched with half a gallon of Kentucky''s finest bourbon. And let''s not disregard the royal courier who suffered an equally premature demise. We might have also¡ª" "Enough." Old McKenzie removed his weather-worn boots, massaging his callused soles. "I speak merely from basic human decency. He was your brother-in-arms, your companion!" "What precisely would you have me do?" Ivan challenged, pivoting to lean against his mount''s flank. "Should I have leapt earthward, brandishing arrows as improvised daggers? Perhaps employed this modest blade," he extracted a nondescript silver dagger from his belt, "to inflict superficial irritation upon dire predators?" The elder courier expectorated contemptuously into the rushing waters. "This is warfare, sir. Whether contested between men or between species, the fundamental nature remains unchanged. I recognize your exceptional courier credentials and extensive experience, but our current predicament demands a soldier''s pragmatism. Raymond himself proposed the tactical exchange. He exercised his agency with full awareness of potential consequences. Nevertheless, I remain profoundly grateful¡ªby rights, he should occupy your position beside this stream." "I''ve witnessed invasive campaigns, boy," Old McKenzie reflected, studying his rippling reflection. "Albeit in a courier''s capacity. I simply..." his words dissolved into a weary sigh as he collected cool water in his weathered palms, splashing his lined face. "I''ve observed too many permanent partings." "Is that so? The Gothmar Conflicts predated my birth," Ivan noted, settling beside the veteran courier. "Then perhaps you, more than most, should comprehend the necessity of emotional detachment." "Sometimes... it simply manifests unbidden. That peculiar sensation," McKenzie indicated his wavering reflection. "Frequently, I perceive this visage as belonging to another¡ªmore reminiscent of those couriers who once shared my journeys. Each, before their passing, entrusted me with their dispatches, their sealed orders, their confidential communications, their final utterances. In those moments, the burden seemed insurmountable, lad. Often I''ve coveted their privilege¡ªto relinquish all responsibilities permanently." "I''m tempted to claim understanding of such sentiments, but that would constitute pretense," Ivan admitted. "Raymond never confided anything substantive. From our earliest academy days, we occupied the same instructional cohort. Graduated synchronously. Served within identical units. He maintained an enigmatic persona, revealing minimal personal or familial information. His primary mode of interaction was derision¡ªdirected toward you, toward me, toward existence itself. He appeared to hold universal contempt. If such an individual harbored any philosophical adherence, it could only be to entropic dissolution." "Such is frequently the case," the old man observed, cleansing accumulated grime from his extremities in the frigid current. "Those companions known intimately for decades, who''ve faced mortality alongside you¡ªtheir terminal declarations can utterly transform your longstanding perceptions. But what truly captivates me¡ªperhaps morbidly so¡ªare the strangers. Those encountered fleetingly, who briefly share your path. Initially anonymous, your exchanges largely inconsequential, like roadside dust. Yet when slung across a mount, a bandit''s broadhead embedded in their vertebrae, they suddenly reveal a son''s existence or a daughter''s ambitions. These narratives, mundane though they might appear, stir profound emotional resonance. One traveler''s tale renders your circumstances seemingly fortunate; another''s experience conversely highlights your comparative misfortunes. Humanity reserves authentic revelation, genuine truth, exclusively for death''s threshold." "''Mankind: simultaneously sincere yet duplicitous, enlightened yet ignorant,''" Ivan quoted thoughtfully. "Excellent literary reference, young knight," the old man smiled appreciatively. "''The Spear and Shield of Isad.'' Were I three decades younger, I''d pursue formal education with singular determination." "''Perception begets knowledge, knowledge begets power.''" "Ha!" Old McKenzie''s robust laughter punctuated the forest quiet as he withdrew a flask of amber liquor, indulging in a substantial draught. "From the theatrical production ''The Inverted Mirror.'' Does your elite knighthood universally exhibit such scholarly inclination?" He extended the brandy toward Ivan. Chapter 71- The Courier（21） The young man accepted the bottle with a wordless nod, taking a measured draught before returning a subtle smile. They shared this communion of spirits in comfortable silence. When the vessel ran dry, Ivan produced his own wineskin, offering the Crivian vintage he''d carried from distant lands. Their repose shattered at the intrusion of sounds from the riverbank. Ivan Northes motioned for Old McKenzie to remain motionless, reaching for the whalebone bow and remaining arrows positioned at his side. (Too many arrows and close-quarter weapons lost. Careless oversight.) In a hunter''s crouch, he advanced with phantom steps toward the disturbance. The old messenger clutched his dagger, tension etched across his weathered features. Moonlight revealed the source¡ªa congregation of Drowned Ghouls gathered at the water''s edge, feasting ravenously upon a decomposing spotted deer. Old McKenzie exhaled his tension. "I feared the wolves had returned." "Peculiar behavior," Ivan beckoned the old man closer. "Drowned Ghouls usually only eat fish. But these are eating a deer." His voice remained hushed¡ªthey had forgone even the comfort of fire during this brief respite, wary of drawing their predators'' attention. "Perhaps not their kill at all. The deer might have simply expired riverside..." His boot connected with fallen timber, producing a telltale snap. The Drowned Ghouls startled to attention. These aberrations¡ªwith their blue-green integument, facial, manual, and dorsal fins, and webbed appendages¡ªswiveled clouded alabaster eyes toward the interlopers. "Cursed luck," the archer muttered, drawing string to cheek. The old man''s restraining grip found his shoulder. "Steady now. They may yet dismiss our presence." The creatures stood diminutive in stature, exceeding a Child Ghoul by perhaps a head''s measurement. But as with all creatures, numerical advantage confers devastating superiority. The assembled ghouls fixed their milky gazes upon Ivan and the elder courier, who maintained statue-like immobility. The foremost ghoul, positioned before the cervine carcass, languidly sampled its own fin before expanding the membranous structures adorning its cranium and visage¡ªresembling some grotesque aquatic sunflower. These disc-shaped appendages oscillated rapidly as a sibilant vocalization emerged. Its companions promptly emulated this display. Ivan prepared to loose his arrow when unexpectedly, identical hissing emanated from behind. Whirling in astonishment, he discovered Old McKenzie producing a near-perfect replication of the ghoulish utterance. Confronted by their own sonic signature emerging from human orifices, the Drowned Ghouls recoiled, momentarily retracting their extended fins. Recovery came swiftly, however, and they renewed communication attempts with slightly elevated pitch. Old McKenzie responded with bass-register vocalizations of his own. This bizarre interspecies dialogue continued, leaving Ivan''s head pivoting incredulously between conversants. Eventually, the Drowned Ghouls retracted their display fins and returned to dismembering the venison, humans forgotten entirely. Ivan pivoted, training his arrow on the old courier with theatrical suspicion. "Alright, who are you really?" "You think I''m the Ghoul King or something?" Kendrick McKenzie scoffed as he rejoined his companion at the waterline. "Pure improvisation, nothing more. The tonal qualities seemed similar enough to attempt mimicry. I have witnessed human-ghoul communication previously, though those weren''t well-provisioned Drowned Ghouls but famished terrestrial Ghouls." If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Ivan lowered his weapon. "And the communicator''s ultimate fate?" "Indistinguishable remnants. Avoided closer inspection." The old man''s expression contained mischievous morbidity. Their unexpected encounter heightened vigilance. "Our respite concludes," Ivan announced, patting his mount''s flank. The horse acknowledged with a vigorous head-toss. "Black Lily has recovered sufficiently. We proceed, elder." Old McKenzie caressed the equine''s muscular back appreciatively. "These mounts differ fundamentally from conventional stock. When Duke Dear mandated my horse exchange, I registered considerable objection. My personal courier steed had served faithfully for years¡ªI understood its every habit intimately. Such arbitrary replacement seemed disrespectful. Now, however, the Duke''s wisdom becomes evident. These specimens possess not merely docility and intelligence, but exceptional velocity and stamina." He mounted with practiced efficiency. "Why aren''t royal couriers universally equipped with such magnificent beasts?" "Introduce them to actual battlefield conditions, blood-scent saturating the air, and their docility becomes considerably less apparent," Ivan adjusted his tack methodically. "These warhorses undergo parallel development alongside their human counterparts¡ªrigorous training from earliest youth. The investment proves considerable. Untrained foals alone command between six hundred seventy and seven hundred twenty Glens. With Imperial trade restrictions, legitimate acquisition costs substantially exceed even those exorbitant figures." "Evidently even modest equines exceed my financial capacity." Old McKenzie shook his head ruefully. "Onward, lad. We''ve established perhaps twelve miles between ourselves and our pursuers. I''ve no desire to renew that acquaintance. If feasible, let''s traverse West Wymar Forest tonight and establish camp upon Borna Plain. Alternatively, we delay rest until daybreak... Regardless, I''ll welcome our exodus from this accursed nocturnal woodland..." Another disturbance interrupted his contemplation. The Drowned Ghouls suddenly expanded their fins, exchanging urgent hisses before plunging collectively into the river depths. "Most peculiar," Kendrick McKenzie observed, tracking their panicked retreat. "What elicits such terror in creatures already beyond conventional fear..." "Prepare yourself," Ivan''s expression hardened. "Your assessment proves accurate. Our course demands continuous momentum through forest and plain alike, scarcely pausing for breath. We depart immediately if possible." He guided Black Lily into the flowing current to ford the river. A distinctive olfactory signature registered with both mounts. The horses shifted nervously, their anxiety palpable. "They''ve found us," Old McKenzie murmured, urging his mount forward. "They''ve found us," Ivan Northes confirmed grimly.
She climbed higher into the atmosphere. The lacerations across her breast, sticky with congealing blood, pulsed with rhythmic agony. Aethelwing meticulously reconstructed her failed assault, seeking tactical errors in her approach. Her strategy had seemed flawless¡ªutilizing the natural spring tension of branches to launch her attack with devastating velocity. Nevertheless, she had failed comprehensively. Her adversary had seemingly anticipated her strike, withdrawing from the targeted position milliseconds before impact, countering with a vicious slash across her torso. The confrontation''s dynamics had inverted instantaneously¡ªthe majestic hawk transformed from hunter to quarry. The Vassily Greatbat, among the world''s most formidable chiropteran predators, matched the raptor in physical dimensions. Its wingspan exceeded five meters, its musculature dense and powerful, with wing-talons capable of effortlessly rending flesh from bone. Rather than immediate pursuit, the bat had lingered atop its arboreal perch, seemingly evaluating its opponent. Aethelwing recognized the tactical patience of a superior hunter. Determined to reassert predatory dominance, the striped hawk executed a mid-air inversion before diving aggressively toward her opponent''s last known position¡ªonly to discover the Vassily Greatbat had vanished entirely. Panic flared as she hovered, scanning frantically for her elusive foe. Powerful wind currents disturbed the forest canopy, creating a symphony of rustling foliage. The enemy seemed simultaneously omnipresent and nonexistent. The undulating vegetation obliterated reliable visual tracking, and as Aethelwing darted increasingly erratic patterns above the treetops, her movements betrayed escalating desperation. Chapter 72- The Courier（22） Aethelwing''s patience evaporated. She unleashed a series of piercing, furious screeches that shattered the forest''s stillness. The Vassily Greatbat seized this momentary distraction, launching upward with explosive velocity from directly beneath her. She sensed the impending threat and pivoted mid-air¡ªtheir gazes locked in suspended animation. The Greatbat''s crimson eyes bored into her with preternatural intensity, a stare that seemed to dissect her very essence. Despite her instinctive hesitation, she committed to counterattack, her pale amber talons extended for the kill. Her strike was anticipated with uncanny precision. The Greatbat executed a lateral twist, its massive form impossibly nimble as it flipped away from her deadly talons. In the fraction of a second that followed, searing pain erupted along her leg¡ªa deep laceration had appeared as if conjured from nothing. Comprehension dawned. This wasn''t merely an exceptional predator¡ªthis Greatbat possessed some unnatural ability to anticipate her every move, perhaps even penetrate her thoughts. Consumed by indignant fury, Aethelwing abandoned calculated strikes in favor of raw power, hammering wildly with her wing. The bat tumbled through the air, driven several meters backward by the unexpected ferocity. This time, it failed to evade. Her suspicion crystallized into certainty. The hawk veered sharply leftward into open airspace, yet within heartbeats, the Greatbat materialized directly in her flight path. (It can read my thoughts,) she realized with cold clarity. (Damn it, I cannot have thoughts.) The Greatbat observed her with unmistakable satisfaction, those blood-red eyes still radiating that soul-penetrating intensity. (Rely on instinct.) With this final conscious directive, Aethelwing surrendered to her primordial self. Her magnificent wings expanded to their full span before she plummeted diagonally downward. The Vassily Greatbat pursued immediately. It had anticipated that the hawk would execute a classic hunting maneuver¡ªskimming treetops before an abrupt skyward ascension. Instead, Aethelwing''s trajectory remained unaltered¡ªshe plunged directly into the dense canopy. The Greatbat followed without hesitation, their twin forms sending explosive cascades of foliage erupting throughout the forest cathedral. Aethelwing navigated the arboreal maze at breathtaking speed, her extraordinary vision and aerial mastery allowing her to weave between thick trunks with millisecond precision. She had abandoned all predatory ambition, fully embracing her temporary role as quarry. With her magical reserves depleted, body compromised, and facing an opponent with apparent thought-reading capabilities, her survival depended entirely on her evolutionary advantages¡ªthe pure, unthinking excellence of her physical form. The Vassily Greatbat possessed no inferior eyesight¡ªits visual acuity remained formidable. However, in conditions of minimal illumination with countless obstacles, visual hunting became secondary. The ultrasonic emissions from its specialized vocal apparatus mapped the surrounding environment with extraordinary detail, providing instantaneous feedback that guided attack or evasion decisions. These echolocation capabilities transformed the pitch-black forest labyrinth into a perfectly navigable space. Occasionally, avian-shaped echoes betrayed her position. The woodland density presented significant tactical complications. Beyond mere flight impediments, the primary challenge for the Greatbat lay in maintaining cognitive connection with its prey. Within its echolocation landscape, the hawk manifested as intermittent, fragmented imagery, constantly obscured by intervening vegetation. The Vassily Greatbat, despite its supernatural advantages, found itself functionally blinded¡ªreduced to pure pursuit tactics to maintain contact. Eventually, even these fleeting echoes vanished completely. The Greatbat emitted increasingly frantic ultrasonic pulses, but received only static environmental feedback¡ªendless trees, branches, and leaves. No trace of living prey. (How could it simply vanish from existence?) Cedar silhouettes blurred past as it maintained its forward momentum, scanning desperately for any sign of its quarry. A powerful gust swept through the canopy, creating a chaotic symphony of rustling vegetation. Amid this motion, one particular branch behind the Greatbat exhibited strange behavior¡ªit remained eerily motionless while surrounding foliage swayed violently. The branch appeared to detach from its parent limb. The predator, focused entirely forward, registered but dismissed this anomaly. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Within the next heartbeat, excruciating pain exploded through the Greatbat''s cervical region. An overwhelming force slammed it against a massive trunk, dislodging a cascade of leaves and debris. Razor-sharp talons impaled its neck and lower abdomen simultaneously, anchoring it to the tree with the finality of steel spikes. From behind, the triumphant sound of powerful wings beating the air reverberated through the forest. Followed by the unmistakable, piercing cry of victory.
"Why in blazes are they catching up so quickly?!" Old McKenzie shouted, fighting to maintain his seat as the horse beneath him galloped with bone-jarring intensity. "How should I know?" Ivan replied, his own body bouncing violently in rhythm with his mount''s desperate stride. "Why don''t you turn into the Wolf King and ask them?" "I''m not a damn shapeshifter!" Kendrick McKenzie snarled, struggling to adjust his position. The horses had bolted of their own accord, animal instinct overriding human command. The pursuing Dire Wolves, masters of stealth until they committed to attack, were now in full predatory pursuit. Both black warhorses displayed renewed vigor after their brief respite, yet it seemed insufficient. The wolves, too, had benefited from rest. The alpha and remaining female now moved with frightening speed, their reserves replenished by Raymond''s fallen mount and whatever prey they had claimed en route. "Didn''t you confidently predict their imminent collapse?!" the old courier shouted, gesturing behind them. "Your assessments appear somewhat flawed!" "Everyone screws up, I guess." The archer glanced ruefully over his shoulder. "This pack defies conventional understanding. Their behavior patterns, hunting strategies, cognitive capabilities¡ªwhen enough anomalies accumulate, standard predictive models become useless..." His mount executed a sharp evasive maneuver around a towering trunk, nearly depositing him into a low-hanging branch. Ivan Northes flattened himself against the horse''s neck. "The fundamental problem remains unchanged, old timer. Within these woods, neither Black Lily nor Black Lilac can maintain sufficient lead." "My profound gratitude for elucidating such obscure concepts," the old man retorted with acidic sarcasm. "Perhaps we should conduct a formal racing event on Borna Plain instead?" "A brilliant tactical innovation," Ivan countered with matching frost. "With the minor prerequisite of first reaching said plain¡ªroughly three hundred furlongs distant. At our current pace, the critical variable becomes whether our mounts or their pursuers collapse first." "My wager favors lupine exhaustion," Kendrick McKenzie declared with resolute confidence. Ivan Northes glanced backward. "For all our sakes, your optimism had better prove justified."
Stellan gasped awake, clawing at his throat. He was choking, stomach churning. (Booted out...) He swept back his sweat-drenched hair with trembling fingers. (It possesses masking capabilities... What manner of entity inhabits that avian form?) His breathing gradually normalized. (I must reestablish connection with the Greatbat''s consciousness... or victory becomes impossible.) The young nobleman closed his eyes with renewed determination. (Absolute concentration required...) Failure. (Emotional equilibrium first... then mental focus...) Another attempt. (¡­Temporal window rapidly closing...)
"Trouble," Old McKenzie muttered, his voice barely audible above the thundering hoofbeats, yet it caught his companion''s attention. "Developments?" Ivan Northes called back without turning. "Black Lilac''s respiratory rate has accelerated dramatically, and forward momentum has... measurably decreased." His palm registered the alarming heat radiating from his mount''s lathered neck. "Our collective velocity is diminishing, young warrior..." "Your prognosis appears increasingly improbable," Ivan observed grimly. "The equines will surrender to exhaustion before our lupine adversaries." "Human error remains universal..." Kendrick McKenzie offered a bitter laugh, allowing the familiar aphorism to remain incomplete. "These wolves possess endurance capabilities superior to our mounts, however exceptional." "The problem isn''t endurance¡ªit''s this accursed vegetation," Ivan countered, yanking the reins to narrowly avoid collision with a water cedar directly in their path. "Forest density increases proportionally with our proximity to Borna Plain. Under these conditions, the horses cannot achieve optimal velocity, and their substantial mass severely compromises maneuverability. Without forest egress, our tactical advantages remain entirely theoretical." He reached back, fingers closing around the whalebone bow secured across his shoulders. "Combat engagement becomes our sole viable option." "Your projectile inventory consists of precisely two arrows," Old McKenzie reminded him pointedly. "Factor in rapid mutual movement trajectories and suboptimal illumination¡ªsuccessful targeting probability approaches negligible." Chapter 73- The Courier（23） "Have you an alternative strategy, old man?" "I merely wish you''d conserve your arrows for circumstances guaranteeing success," the veteran courier replied with measured deliberation. "As for alternatives... one exists. Not particularly elegant nor pleasant. At least, not for me." Ivan Northes returned his bow to its resting position across his shoulders. "I''m listening." "Straightforward enough. We divide our forces. I serve as bait to draw them away." Ivan''s eyes widened with incredulity. "Are you kidding me right now?!" "This is no jest, lad. I lack Raymond''s propensity for humor." Old McKenzie''s countenance hardened with grim resolve. "Allow me to reiterate. You continue toward Borna Plain while our paths diverge here. With fortune''s favor, both wolves will pursue me instead. Predators instinctively prioritize the elderly, the infirm, the vulnerable. Even should I fail to divert both, surely one might follow. Thereafter, you must improvise accordingly..." "I suspect your faculties have abandoned you, old timer," Ivan declared, shaking his head emphatically. "Duke Dear commissioned Raymond and myself specifically to ensure your security. Now you propose separation, with yourself as sacrificial lure? If this constitutes some examination of my mental stability, rest assured my reasoning remains intact. If not, then your own sanity warrants questioning." "Regrettably, I retain full possession of my senses, Ivan Northes," Old McKenzie countered with icy composure. "Assess our predicament objectively. Our mounts approach exhaustion. Eluding these predators borders on impossibility. Furthermore, Duke Dear required your services to safeguard this," he patted the leather courier pouch secured against his chest, "not my person." "I won''t sanction such reckless self-destruction," Ivan responded, nocking an arrow with deliberate precision. "One projectile per beast." Kendrick McKenzie remained resolute in his conviction. "We shall reconvene at Four Corners Rock upon Borna Plain." "Kendrick McKenzie! Royal Courier of Godma!" Ivan Northes bellowed. "Can you just shut up for a second so I can aim?!" The elder courier recoiled instinctively, momentarily diminished like a chastised child. Nevertheless, he persisted: "I cast no aspersions on your martial prowess, young man. I''ve witnessed both your archery and Raymond''s swordsmanship firsthand." He attempted to temper his argument with reason. "Yet sometimes we must acknowledge environmental limitations... Certain feats transcend human capability. Under these conditions, even successful impact cannot guarantee mortal injury." "Silence yourself, McKenzie," Ivan Northes snarled through clenched teeth. The archer contorted his upper body into firing position, visibly uncomfortable with the awkward stance. (My lower back protests... Arms cannot generate proper tension... ) He braced his feet firmly within the stirrups, struggling for stability. (Excessive movement persists...) Ivan tracked the wolves'' positions by their luminous eyes. Initially targeting the alpha, he observed its evasive pattern¡ªconstantly shifting trajectory and utilizing arboreal cover. (Cunning. Beyond ordinary Dire Wolf behavior?) He redirected his aim toward the trailing female¡ªnoticeably fatigued and lagging several body lengths behind the leader. (Can I make this shot?) A voice materialized unbidden within his consciousness¡ªnot his own internal dialogue, but Raymond''s distinctive timbre. The old courier observed him, apprehension evident in his weathered features. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. (A true archer releases before such doubt manifests.) A faint smile played across Ivan''s lips as he elevated his bow and drew the string to full tension. The vibration resonated subtly against his cheek. "Any obstructing branches ahead?" "Pardon?" The old man hesitated momentarily. "Oh¡ªnone visible..." Before the statement concluded, Ivan Northes released his fateful shot. The broadhead arrow cleaved the air with lethal intent, hurtling toward the intercranial space between the female wolf''s eyes. The creature''s pupils dilated with primal fear at the approaching projectile. It faltered momentarily, losing footing and tumbling forward. The arrow carved a shallow path along its left flank, harvesting fur and drawing blood but inflicting no critical damage. The alpha continued its relentless pursuit without hesitation. The wounded female paused briefly, respiratory system laboring, before attending to its shoulder injury with methodical licks. Within moments, it resumed the chase with undiminished determination. Ivan''s gaze hollowed, his expression eerily reminiscent of the deceased. "Lad," the old man attempted consolation. "Achieving accuracy under such adverse conditions defies reasonable expectation... Here, take this." He reached for his courier pouch. The elite knight appeared deaf to these words, swaying mechanically atop his mount. As Old McKenzie extracted the diplomatic cylinder, Ivan reached behind with automaton-like movements, retrieving his final arrow. "No!" the old man exclaimed with genuine alarm. "That''s your remaining projectile! You must preserve it!" His voice rose with urgency. "Abandon this risk! You must attend to what I''m saying!" The young warrior''s expression remained disoriented. "Why...?" "Because opportunity diminishes," the old courier declared, guiding his mount alongside Ivan''s and pressing the wooden message cylinder into the knight''s palm. "Why are your assertions validated? Why can''t a single arrow terminate these creatures?" The old man faltered momentarily, words escaping him. "Compose yourself, warrior! Your subsequent shot will find its mark, I''m certain." He secured the emptied pouch. "We diverge here. Remember our rendezvous: Four Corners Rock. I shall appear before tomorrow''s midday sun." "And should you fail to materialize?" Ivan Northes''s eyes glistened with moisture. "Then ride like hell. Finish the job." He averted his gaze. "Your companionship has been a privilege, lad." "..." Ivan Northes redirected his focus to the path ahead. "One final request, if I may," Kendrick McKenzie continued. "Upon fulfilling your mission, I ask that you register formally as my beneficiary executor." "I decline," Ivan stated without turning. "Whether wealth, estates, or accolades¡ªclaim them yourself. I refuse executorship. Such services benefit only the deceased..." "Death likely awaits me, young man. Mortality claims all; existence proves finite." Kendrick McKenzie''s demeanor darkened. "I''ve a wife, three sons, and two daughters dependent upon that compensation for survival. And a mistress," he added with melancholic amusement. "Actually, the cosmetics weren''t requested by my wife but by her. My spouse abstains from cosmetic enhancement¡ªshe maintains that natural appearance embodies true beauty. I''ve contested this philosophy, primarily because her complexion bears extensive pockmarks. This disagreement generated considerable conflict in our youth¡ªa wound that never properly healed..." A soft exhalation escaped him. "I recognize your disinterest in these matters, so I''ll abbreviate. When you receive my entitled compensation, deliver it personally to my wife. I distrust intermediaries¡ªwith each transaction, wealth mysteriously diminishes. Should she inquire regarding my demise, construct a heroic battlefield narrative. Even should my actual end prove undignified, who rejects heroism? She harbors affection for such tales. This knowledge¡ªthat her humble courier husband achieved heroic status¡ªmight mitigate her grief. Regarding my mistress¡ªunlike my wife, she lacks official documentation and registered address, requiring additional effort. Listen carefully:" Ivan Northes maintained attentive silence. "She serves at the Greenhoof Tavern in Tass City, within Dolenan Province. Inquire after a barmaid called Ruth Angwella. She possesses distinctive emerald eyes¡ªunmistakable. Allocate some portion of the funds to her¡ªthe amount I leave to your discretion, but ensure she receives something. By my standards, she remains youthful. Encourage her to secure a suitable partner and establish a fulfilling existence. If circumstances permit, accompany her to local markets for cosmetic purchases¡ªrural women particularly value such commodities... And she, too, appreciates heroic narratives. All women do, confound it. When she questions my fate, exercise creative liberty. And... one additional matter..." Old McKenzie paused, concerned about omissions. "Ah yes¡ªthe obligatory sentiment. Convey to my wife, children, and the lady that they remain beloved." With these words concluded, the old courier tightened his grip upon the reins. Chapter 74- The Courier（24） "I hope I can forget all this drivel by noon tomorrow," Ivan Northes tilted his head toward the night sky, exhaling a plume of steaming breath. "You were speaking at the pace of a Dwarven Repeating Crossbow. I can''t even remember your mistress''s name." "Ruth Angwella. It''s comforting to finally entrust something to someone," Kendrick McKenzie replied, his face bearing an expression of unmistakable relief. "May the Triad of Destiny be with you." Their paths diverged. Ivan Northes proceeded directly toward Borna Plain as planned, while Kendrick McKenzie veered southward, toward the valleys of Illuvi¦Ëofer and Eluvi¦Án Vale. The Alpha Wolf halted when it witnessed the two humans separate. It turned toward the She-Wolf, and they exchanged a silent, conspiratorial glance. After a brief moment of deliberation, they too decided to divide their forces. The Alpha Wolf pursued Ivan Northes, while the She-Wolf designated Kendrick McKenzie as her target. The symmetry seemed almost theatrical, as if following a script prepared in advance. Old McKenzie glanced back, watching Ivan''s figure diminish in the distance while the She-Wolf drew inexorably closer. "Humans or beasts... which are the real monsters?"
Aethelwing felt as though her talons had sunk into sponge. The Vassily Greatbat, which had been resisting just moments before, now hung lifelessly against the tree trunk, wings drooping as if in death. This sudden capitulation bewildered her. A jolt of heat surged through her talons, electrifying her body. She realized the Greatbat had revived¡ªor more precisely, had regained consciousness. With explosive force, the Greatbat dug its wing-claws into the tree bark and braced its powerful hind legs against the trunk. Aethelwing released her grip, overwhelmed by the creature''s formidable lower-body strength. The adversaries returned to aerial combat. Freed, the Vassily Greatbat glided beneath Aethelwing, darting toward another tree. There, it secured itself with its right claw and legs, allowing its left wing to hang limply. It resembled a winged gorilla more than a bat. The violet luminescence in its eyes had dimmed significantly. Without warning, the Greatbat launched itself from the tree. Aethelwing flapped her wings frantically, ascending two feet just in time to avoid its attack. The bat landed on another cedar and, using the recoil, immediately launched another assault. Aethelwing dodged downward and forward, feeling several feathers tear from her back. The Vassily Greatbat now hung upside down beneath a thick branch, its right limb drawn protectively before its torso, resembling a ninja shrouded in shadow. Aethelwing perched on another tree, observing it from above. A solitary white feather stood impaled upon the Greatbat''s claw. Only now did she truly comprehend her opponent. The Greatbat was unnaturally powerful, its body proportions vastly exceeding any bat species she had ever encountered. Its wing membranes seemed almost diminutive compared to its muscular frame, yet this disproportion in no way hindered its aerial capabilities or agility. To her perception, it resembled less a bat and more some winged rat-man hybrid. The Vassily Greatbat resumed its attacks, abandoning its previous strategy of patient opportunism. Aethelwing countered with her formidable talons, and the two clashed in a series of rapid skirmishes. The narrow space between the cedar trees allowed the Greatbat to leap effortlessly between them. Aethelwing was forced to hover in mid-air, defending against attacks from alternating directions. After several exchanges, both combatants showed visible signs of fatigue. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The Greatbat paused its offensive, hooking its right claw onto a branch and hanging beneath it. Aethelwing likewise found a perch to rest, though her vigilance never wavered. The Greatbat''s eyes no longer possessed their earlier soul-penetrating intensity. (Its recent attacks, though unusually aggressive, lacked thought¡ªthey were nothing more than simple, direct strikes,) she contemplated silently. (Perhaps it''s lost the ability to read my mind?) The bat swayed gently beneath the branch. She decided to take a risk. Aethelwing launched herself from her perch, diving directly toward the Greatbat. The Vassily Greatbat swung its body pendulum-like, watching her approach intently, preparing to intercept her mid-air. Despite its menacing posture, she maintained her course. When barely half a foot separated them, Aethelwing suddenly changed direction, veering toward the bat''s upper-left quadrant. The Greatbat, caught off guard, nearly jumped reflexively but instead clutched desperately at the branch to regain balance¡ªit had failed to anticipate her maneuver. Seizing this moment of confusion, Aethelwing combined her momentum with her talons'' incredible strength to snap the branch. The grip of a White Wyvern-Heigel could exert between eighty-eight and one hundred two kilograms of instantaneous force¡ªsufficient to crush human bone with ease. The Greatbat, having just secured its position, now faced disaster. Its entire body, along with the fractured branch, plummeted earthward. In its earlier panic, its hooked wing-claws had embedded too deeply into the wood, preventing quick release. Accompanied by the branch and cascading leaves, the Vassily Greatbat crashed heavily to the forest floor, raising a cloud of dust and debris. This was her final opportunity. Aethelwing intended to end the contest with a lethal strike to the throat. Without waiting for the dust to settle, she dove at full speed. The Vassily Greatbat, sprawled on its back, gradually regained clarity in its gaze. Desperately, it raised the branch still attached to its wing-hand to shield its vulnerable throat. (I''ll just crush that damn throat along with the branch,) she thought, driving both powerful talons into the wooden barrier and using her muscular lower body to force it downward. Initially, she held the advantage. The Greatbat wheezed, its breath rasping horribly. Gradually, its breathing weakened as the branch compressed its windpipe. But then Aethelwing realized something was wrong. The Greatbat''s breathing had returned to normal, and the branch was moving incrementally away from its neck. When she saw crimson light flickering in its eyes, she recognized her imminent defeat. She released her grip, attempting escape. Before she could take flight, the branch struck her head with devastating force. After several feeble wing-beats, she collapsed to the ground. Through blurred vision, she watched the Greatbat crawl reptilian-like on all fours before rising to stand upright with disturbing human-like posture. Soon, crushing pressure constricted her throat¡ªthe Vassily Greatbat stood triumphantly upon her neck. (It''s time...) she told herself. Then, she expelled a cylindrical object from her throat.
Black Lily gasped, her chest a bellows. The warhorse was spent, unable to muster even a short burst of speed. (She''s almost at her limit...) Ivan Northes stroked her back. No matter how vigorously he applied his spurs, the black mare remained unresponsive. (At least that accursed beast fares no better.) Behind the elite knight, the Alpha Wolf showed comparable exhaustion. Its movement pattern mirrored the horse''s¡ªrunning two steps, walking three, then running one more before walking four. Both half-dead creatures were merely persisting through sheer will, neither displaying any genuine desire to chase or flee. (Don''t die, Black Lily,) Ivan pleaded silently. (If you die, we''re finished. But you deserve to.) He extended his silent prayer to include the wolf. (If you''ve survived this long, there truly is no justice in this world.) Chapter 75- The Courier（25） The black horse finally buckled beneath the burden of its rider, collapsing to its knees. Ivan Northes dismounted with urgency, examining her for vital signs. Thankfully, the nightmarish vision of a horse expiring violently with blood spurting from every orifice¡ªan image that had flashed unbidden through his mind¡ªdid not materialize. Black Lily merely hung her head, eyelids drooping as her sides heaved with labored breath. "Just tired, huh, girl?" Ivan said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Don''t worry, you''ll be dead soon enough. I''ll be wolf bait, and you''ll be dessert." Black Lily didn''t dignify him with so much as a glance, too spent for such trifles. "Such disdain," Ivan muttered, pivoting to survey the surroundings for his lupine pursuer. The Dire Wolf made no pretense at stealth or ambush; it sauntered brazenly into view. Its tongue lolled limply between massive fangs, each ragged breath visibly intensifying its suffering. "You''re about done for too, you bastard," he spat, flipping the wolf off. "Should''ve quit while you were ahead, you dumbass." The Alpha Wolf struggled to display its fangs in a semblance of menace. The sight of Ivan standing upright clearly unsettled it¡ªhorseback riders were its preferred quarry. Now, with another pursuit clearly impossible, it prepared for what both predator and prey recognized as their final confrontation. The Dire Wolf began its measured approach. Ivan Northes raised his bow and reached behind for his final arrow. A grim realization dawned¡ªhis quiver hung empty. "Shit, I should just let the wolf rip my throat out and be done with it," Ivan muttered, momentarily surrendering to despair. A glint of light caught his peripheral vision. There lay his missing arrow¡ªtantalizingly visible, yet positioned on Black Lily''s far side. Ivan Northes initiated a cautious advance toward the arrow, each step deliberate and whisper-soft. The Alpha Wolf mirrored his movements with predatory synchronicity, maintaining the deadly geometry between them. (No possibility of retrieving the arrow in this configuration...) he assessed silently. (It would strike the moment I''m most vulnerable¡ªsprawled and defenseless.) Abandoning this approach, he squared his shoulders to face his adversary. "Come then, wolf-spawn. Let''s resolve this matter directly." He drew the short sword from his belt with a metallic rasp. The Alpha Wolf bared its teeth but retreated several paces at the sight of gleaming steel. (Is suicide even an option right now?) He lowered himself into a defensive crouch, gripping the short sword in reverse, blade parallel to his forearm. (Maintain composure. Observe.) Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. A stillness descended, profound as death itself. With an explosive growl, the Alpha Wolf charged. Ivan dropped lower, timing the interval perfectly before flattening himself against the earth. The wolf''s powerful leap carried it harmlessly over him¡ªbut not before Ivan''s well-placed kick connected solidly with its underbelly. Despite the blossoming pain in its abdomen, the wolf twisted midair with preternatural agility, landing and whirling to attack Ivan as he lay exposed. Bracing with his left arm, Ivan executed a desperate backhand slash with the short sword. Blood erupted across the wolf''s face, transforming its world into a crimson haze. With an agonized howl, it sprang backward. Now it faced Ivan with half its field of vision permanently extinguished. Ivan Northes maintained absolute vigilance. He retreated methodically, reestablishing crucial distance. Though its right eye radiated searing pain, the Alpha Wolf refused capitulation. A widening trail of blood marked its awkward advance toward what it still perceived as eventual sustenance. The elite knight had intended merely to create separation and divert the wounded, enraged predator from his exhausted mount. But this tactical repositioning yielded an unforeseen consequence. Black Lily''s nostrils flared rhythmically¡ªnot just drawing breath, but analyzing the scent-based proximity between the wolf and herself. The Alpha Wolf, wholly fixated on Ivan, failed to detect the imminent threat. With astonishing vitality, Black Lily surged upright and charged the wolf with explosive force. Her forelegs connected with devastating impact, pulverizing internal organs and launching the beast several meters through the air. "Magnificent!" Ivan exclaimed, genuine admiration displacing his practiced cynicism. The Dire Wolf struggled upright, its fury transcending catastrophic injury as it hurled itself at Black Lily. The warhorse reared impressively, forelegs pawing the air in defiant challenge as the combatants collided in primal violence. Ivan stood transfixed by the savage tableau. The wolf''s claws anchored deeply into the horse''s neck, preventing any possibility of dislodgment. Once it stabilized its compromised vision, the wolf clamped its jaws around Black Lily''s throat¡ªbut couldn''t maintain the hold. The horse retaliated by seizing the wolf''s ear between her teeth, shaking her massive head with bone-jarring ferocity. The forgotten cedar arrow suddenly reclaimed Ivan''s attention. He snatched up his bow, calling out to his mount, "Hold fast!" Nocking the arrow with practiced efficiency, he drew the string taut. The wolf ignored the battering hooves, repeatedly attempting to sever Black Lily''s jugular. Blood cascaded from its mangled ear as it finally wrenched free of the horse''s grip, jaws gaping wide for what would surely be a killing bite. In that pivotal moment, a violent shudder passed through the wolf''s frame before all animation ceased within it. The broadhead arrow had found its ultimate mark. Ivan Northes collapsed onto the ground, a series of fractured laughs escaping him. "Extraordinary performance... my girl..." he gasped between chuckles, his vision blurring with unbidden moisture. "Such magnificent courage... I''ll ensure you receive formal recognition... Your elegant neck shall be adorned with every medal they possess..." His hands covered his dirt-streaked, tear-stained face as coherent speech dissolved into indistinct muttering. The black mare released one final, satisfied whinny before her powerful frame surrendered to gravity. She exhaled her terminal breath. Chapter 76- The Courier（26） The sound originated not from the forest floor but from somewhere overhead. Ivan Northes cautiously trained his bow toward the darkness beyond the trees. (Child Ghoul? Ape? Griffin? Please, no Wyvern...) The silhouette materialized, indeed resembling either a Griffin or some massive draconic beast. Ivan loosed his arrow before properly identifying his target¡ªa decision he regretted the instant the shaft left his bowstring. The projectile buried itself in the creature''s inner thigh, causing it to falter mid-glide before plummeting unceremoniously to the ground. Aethelwing released an agonized cry. Ivan Northes stood paralyzed, eyes widening in horrified recognition, hands trembling uncontrollably. (I''m screwed. I just shot Duke Dear''s pet. Shit, like shooting a pigeon or a crow¡ªjust one shot... Triad of Destiny! How am I going to explain this? I almost forgot the damn bird existed.) He approached with trepidation. Aethelwing struggled repeatedly to right herself, each attempt ending in failure. As her lifeblood drained steadily away, her breathing grew increasingly shallow, her once-powerful wings now lying motionless against her sides. "Wait... don''t tell me you''re already dead..." Ivan murmured, gingerly touching her eagle head. He had briefly entertained hopes that this magnificent White Wyvern-Heigel might bear him from the forest¡ªa possibility that now seemed remote at best. (I should extract the arrow immediately...) Aethelwing''s eyes began to flutter closed. "No! Great bird, stay with me! Hey!" He patted her face urgently, forcing her eyelids open. "Don''t die, I implore you. I should never have fired, curse my impulsiveness..." Then an extraordinary sensation emanated from her form¡ªa peculiar tingling that coursed through his entire being. Ivan Northes stumbled backward, bewildered by this inexplicable phenomenon. In that moment, every feather on Aethelwing''s body simultaneously detached, scattering into the air like a blizzard of pristine white petals. Ivan shielded his face reflexively, two downy feathers adhering briefly to his lips. Where Aethelwing had lain now reclined a woman. A petite, raven-haired woman occupied the exact spot where the majestic raptor had been, the cedar arrow still embedded in her inner thigh. Ivan stood immobilized, as though transformed to stone. "...I''m not quite dead yet, you know," the woman remarked softly, her half-lidded eyes regarding him. "I presume you''re a gentleman, are you not?" Ivan Northes blinked repeatedly, staring vacantly. He registered only the exquisite pale violet of her irises¡ªhauntingly beautiful. Beyond this singular detail, her words scarcely penetrated his consciousness. "Are you deaf or something?!" The woman''s complaint escalated into a pained shriek as the wound in her lower body sent fresh waves of agony through her. "You shot me! You embedded an arrow in my thigh! Damnation!" Her frustration mounted visibly. "Do you intend to simply stand there watching while I bleed to death?" Ivan blinked with innocent confusion. "No... my lady. It''s merely... I cannot comprehend how a... a predatory bird transformed into..." his words dissolved into incoherent stammering. "You''re unfamiliar with my identity?" The black-haired woman appeared genuinely surprised. Ivan shook his head mutely. "Very well. I possess the ability to assume the form of an eagle, a dragon, or a Plumewyke Griffin. Should it please you, I might even become an adorable kitten. But, noble knight, might I suggest you first remove this accursed arrow and attend to my wound? I''m rather preoccupied with not perishing!" The elite knight remained hesitant. "I would gladly assist you, my lady. However..." His gaze involuntarily traced the contours of her unclothed form. Her figure displayed perfect proportions without excess; even the wound above her right breast failed to diminish her ethereal beauty. Ivan found himself transfixed by her erect nipples, momentarily lost in unseemly contemplation. "You..." The injured woman faltered momentarily. "Are you some manner of degenerate? Or perhaps you''ve never beheld a woman''s natural state?" Her expression conveyed equal measures of indignation and incredulity. "Can men truly experience arousal even in such dire circumstances?" "I intended no disrespect, my lady," Ivan protested, acutely aware of his body''s betrayal as heat suffused his loins. "It''s simply that... treating your wound would necessitate viewing your... intimate areas. Without explicit permission, I couldn''t possibly..." The words emerged with visible difficulty. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "By the three aspects of the Triad, are you utterly innocent?" she exclaimed in exasperation. "To the void with propriety concerning my intimate areas! I face imminent death while you fret over chivalric principles? Or perhaps you await my demise to leisurely examine my form? Is that it?" "Absolutely not!" The elite knight gestured frantically in denial. "This transcends mere chivalric obligation. Any man of honor would observe identical restraint..." "Alright, alright..." the black-haired woman said, wincing. "I give you permission to look at my body, you can''t exactly heal me if you''re blind... And you can look at my... intimate areas, but only look!" she emphasized forcefully. "Harbor no inappropriate intentions!" Ivan Northes nodded vigorously. Kneeling beside her, he examined the wound carefully. The arrow had penetrated deeply, appearing almost as though it had grown organically from her flesh. His fingertips brushed the inflamed skin surrounding the injury, causing the woman to flinch involuntarily. "The wound is substantial." "Your contribution, naturally," she retorted acidly. "Should the pain become unbearable, don''t suppress your cries," he advised, noting her teeth clenched tightly against her lower lip. "Were I to scream authentically, I''d rouse every dormant Wyvern within miles. I possess self-restraint, knight. Ah!" His mere grasp of the arrow shaft elicited excruciating pain that radiated through her entire being. "Disregard my reactions... I can endure." Yet tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks, belying her brave assertions. Ivan sought to divert her attention. "You appear to have weathered numerous injuries, my lady. Beyond the arrow wound, I observe lacerations on your left leg and across your right breast..." "Are you conducting a post-mortem examination?" she queried with sardonic misery. "Extract this damnable arrow without further delay... I beseech you... AHHH!" The elite knight withdrew the bloodied projectile in one swift, decisive motion before casting it aside. Blood immediately cascaded from the wound. He pressed his left palm firmly against the injury while his right hand deftly located bandages within his belt pouch. "You''ll recover completely, my lady," he reassured her, maintaining her consciousness. "Focus on my face, beautiful one. I''m stanching the bleeding now. All will be well, I promise you." The woman nodded weakly. "Proceed with haste..." Ivan began methodically wrapping bandages around her thigh in precise, overlapping circles. As he necessarily lifted her leg to facilitate the process, an inappropriate thrill coursed through him. (You contemptible lecher.) He castigated himself silently, yet found his gaze irresistibly drawn to her exposed femininity. (...Such sparse adornment.) "Done staring?" The woman propped herself upon her right elbow, dark tresses partially veiling her features. Ivan Northes suddenly realized his hands had ceased their ministrations. He resumed bandaging with renewed concentration, deliberately avoiding her piercing gaze. After completing the primary wrapping, he secured the dressing with additional binding strips. "Do you possess medical training?" the woman inquired, her half-lidded eyes lending her an appearance of languorous sophistication. "What I mean to ask," she clarified, indicating his medical supplies with an elegant gesture of her slender fingers, "is whether you routinely travel with such preparations?" "I claim no medical expertise, my lady. These represent merely emergency provisions intended for my companions should they sustain injury. Though it appears such contingencies are now moot." His voice diminished to a near-whisper. "They''ve likely all perished."
Aethelwing soared through the forest canopy, repeatedly glancing backward with apprehension. She feared pursuit by the Vassily Greatbat, but it appeared to have abandoned interest in her. When she had expelled the cylindrical message container, she had effectively declared her submission. While the Greatbat examined the bamboo tube with predatory curiosity, she had seized the opportunity to flee. (The ordeal concludes,) she reflected with lingering anxiety. (For me, at least. But what of the others? Surely they haven''t all perished.) She searched methodically for them¡ªthe men entrusted with carrying the crucial missives. She required their survival.
Ivan Northes remained motionless for an extended interval. His laughter had evaporated completely. Within this vast and treacherous forest, the loss of his mount was tantamount to amputation. He staggered toward Black Lily''s form, removing the blinders that had shielded her vision throughout their journey. Her eyes remained open, her lacerated neck still radiating residual warmth. Ivan slumped against her side, sliding weakly to the ground. He reached instinctively for his wineskin before remembering Old Mackenzie had retained it. Finding no other outlet for his emotions, he began repeatedly plunging his short sword into the soft earth. Extraction. Penetration. An endless cycle. Disturbances from deeper within the forest interrupted his mechanical ritual. "Listen," he murmured softly to Black Lily''s unhearing ears. "More wolves approach. Relentless vermin." The sounds intensified, proximity increasing. "I''m not ready to die yet. Especially not getting ripped apart by those beasts." He stroked Black Lily''s cheek with unexpected tenderness before approaching the fallen wolf to retrieve his arrow. "They won''t feast upon my flesh, Black Lily. Nor shall they desecrate your remains..." After considerable effort, he wrenched the broadhead arrow free. The arrowhead remained structurally sound despite its violent passage. "This will suffice," Ivan determined, examining the bloodied projectile. "I''ll claim at least one more, whatever the outcome." Chapter 77- The Courier（27） The woman blinked slowly, pursing her lips. "My lady, I couldn''t properly disinfect the wound¡ªthe wine is gone... but I''ve applied basic measures to stop the bleeding," Ivan said, still avoiding her pale violet gaze. "You have other injuries as well. Allow me to treat those too." "Will they scar?" she inquired suddenly. "I''m afraid so," the knight admitted honestly. (And they might be quite unsightly...) But he kept that thought to himself. "Ugly scars, too?" she muttered with resignation. "How vexing. It seems I''ll have to curry favor with Aurelia again." "Who?" "Nothing of consequence," she replied. "Continue." The raven-haired woman surrendered herself to his ministrations. "Your companions¡ªwas it the elderly man and that one with the longsword? The verbose one with the unkempt beard? Your complete opposite." "You''re remarkably well-informed," Ivan noted, surprised not only by her query. He observed that the wounds on her thigh and chest, though unhealed, had nearly stopped bleeding. (Even the fresh arrow wound is clotting unnaturally fast...) "Who are you?" he asked, brow furrowing. "I still don''t know your name, my lady." "Because you never asked," she replied with the hint of a smile. Her thin, small lips, which had earlier seemed severe and cutting, now appeared almost charming. "Then who are you?" Ivan Northes raised his head, meeting her violet eyes directly. "Lostya," she stated simply. The elite knight froze, momentarily stunned. "Lostya!? You''re the esteemed Lostya Huggins?" Lostya''s lips curled into a sardonic smile. "I expected you''d call me ''the Wind of Catoria.''" "...That title is certainly renowned, my lady." "And thoroughly absurd," the sorceress scoffed. "Every time I hear it, it sounds like some kind of natural disaster." Ivan chuckled softly. "But why are you here? Shouldn''t you be in the Kingdom of Crividsylvan at present?" "For details, consult your enigmatic Duke," she said, raising her left arm to facilitate his bandaging. "Everything transpired under his directives." "But our instructions were explicit¡ªto deliver all messages directly to you," the elite knight said, confused. Lostya closed her eyes and remained silent. Ivan thought she had drifted to sleep. "My lady..." "Hush..." The sorceress gestured for silence. "I need to focus, or I can''t draw Source." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Ivan recalled from his education that all sorcerers needed to extract Primal Source from their surroundings to use and cast spells. Most carried enchanted items to store Source, enabling spellcasting even in Source-deficient areas. Only now did he notice the necklace adorning Lostya''s throat¡ªa chain of what appeared to be pure silver, with a star-shaped pendant housing a prismatic diamond from Aelnea. The rare gem pulsed with seven distinct flowing colors. "Insufficient," Lostya sighed softly. "The ambient Source here is too weak¡ªbarely enough to initiate healing." She coughed twice, and Ivan Northes hastily supported her into a sitting position. "Am I pretty?" she asked suddenly. Her eyes captured his, refusing to release him from their hold. Only now did he truly observe her features: a delicate face, a nose neither too prominent nor too subtle but perfectly proportioned. Long lashes framed her eyes, while unexpectedly thin eyebrows and lips created an aura of cold inapproachability. (An ice queen.) The thought formed unbidden. "What troubles you?" The sorceress frowned. "Do I look awful now?" "No... you''re exquisite." "Ah, ''ice queen''¡ªI''ll accept the compliment." She appeared satisfied. "I am indeed proud, but I appreciate male admiration¡ªwhether of my face or my form. You''ve rendered judgment on my face, and as for my body..." She glanced meaningfully toward Ivan''s lower half. "You''ve already provided quite the response." Ivan Northes flushed crimson, mortified beyond words. "Please, I''m hardly some innocent maiden. I''ve encountered men of your ilk before. Now, help me stand." She extended her left hand toward the knight. Just as Ivan reached forward, she withdrew her hand. "Kiss it first. Have you no chivalric courtesy?" She presented her hand once more. The knight gently pressed his lips to it while she maintained an expression of smug triumph. Once upright, pain visibly spread across her pallid features. "What next?" Ivan inquired. "We adhere to our original plan and proceed to Crivi. Where is your mount?" She glanced around expectantly. "Please don''t tell me you''ve lost it." "Lost her," Ivan corrected, indicating Black Lily''s direction. "Lost her quite permanently¡ªstraight to the heavens." The sorceress''s face blanched. "Dead? She''s dead?" She clutched at Ivan''s tunic collar. "How precisely are we to depart? You surely don''t expect me to amble through this forest on foot!" "Can''t you... I mean..." The knight stammered awkwardly. "Transform back into a raptor of some kind?" Lostya rolled her eyes with dramatic exasperation. "Gods above, knight. If I could resume my White Wyvern-Heigel form, would I have required your crude medical attention?" She clutched at the pendant resting against her chest. "This accursed place is utterly devoid of usable Source!" Ivan Northes examined the diamond in her pendant, now colorless and dull. He shrugged resignedly. "In truth, I never anticipated surviving Wymar Forest. Without a mount, escaping this place borders on mythical fantasy." "On that, we agree," she conceded, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered visibly. The elite knight removed his hooded cloak and draped it protectively around her shoulders. "I have one question, my lady. Why assume the form of Duke Dear''s eagle? Or have you been his pet all along?" "Whose pet?" Lostya lifted her chin imperiously, her eyes flashing dangerously. "That ascetic already possesses an eagle, but it remains in Crivi. I transformed at his request only. I had no desire to incur imperial displeasure." "So this, too, was an element of his strategy?" "He perpetually shrouds himself in mystery," the sorceress remarked, adjusting the hood to cover her delicate features. "If you''re curious, I can share what information I possess¡ªbut not now. We cannot idle here awaiting death. We must devise some means of escape..." "Such as? A portal, perhaps?" Ivan suggested hopefully. "Beyond my capabilities," the sorceress admitted frankly. "An elven spellcaster might manage it, but I cannot. Long-distance teleportation requires vast Source reserves and exceptional physical constitution. Moreover, we lack a defined destination point. Spellcraft isn''t the simplistic affair you imagine, knight. Most magic requires strict adherence to fundamental principles¡ªmuch as your arrows must obey the laws of flight. And teleportation happens to lie outside my particular expertise."