South-west of Engel, wilds

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Vigo took the northwest road out of Ruthy’s, the sun on his back made long shadows on the horizon and a small thunder reverberated through the dirt as the powerful hooves of Comanche propelled them forward. The mature Courser was bordering becoming an elderly retired stallion, but his experience only made him stronger and they galloped without rest, the 35 kilometers conquered in a little over 40 minutes, the sun hadn’t even began to rise.

  “Here boy, take good care of him.” Said the middle-aged ranger in a raspy voice to Jias, offering a coin as tip. Jias completely ignored the man and the coin, and guided the tired horse, who was so heated the air around him seemed to steam, to the water trough.

  As expected the man was confused with the calmness within Engel, but soon found the standing military squad and exchanged information. He immediately moved to the pine woods bordering the south river, and in only a few minutes found the trail of the bandits.

  The man was eager for this, after almost two weeks hollowed in the barony he was craving the woods, being a ranger was so much more than a Class to him. As he arrived at the shallower part of the river where they traversed to the other side, he identified Adrians footprints following the south path. ‘Should I follow the lordling or track another group? Hmmm… The lieutenant seemed preoccupied with him, but also sold his praises. What to do, what to do?’ Vigo mused with himself.

  He followed all the trails for a bit, trying to understand more about the groups. Soon he found the answer to his inquiry - a new evidence. ‘So there is a smart one… trying to cover trails and leave false ones behind.’ Vigo crouched, brushing his fingers over a cluster of bent grass. The faintest imprint of a boot remained beneath the disguise – a rookie mistake. He smirked. “Better go get them before they achieve their goal.”

  And so he followed, leaving behind the usual markings for the squad – a small stack of stones to signal ‘follow,’ and later, a similar stack topped with a stick, meaning ‘wait for me here.’

  By mid-afternoon, the squad and the ranger regrouped about three kilometers from the bandits’ hideout. This was the westernmost group, encamped in a wild clearing near the same northwestern river Adrian had spotted. Towering pines and thick underbrush shielded the area, their dense foliage casting large patches of shade over the sunbaked ground. The river, sluggish in the summer heat, glistened under the relentless sunlight, its banks lined with jagged rocks and patches of mud.

  The bandits had chosen their hiding spot well – a shallow natural cave nestled beneath a rocky overhang on the riverbank. It wasn’t deep, barely two meters in, but thick roots obscured its wide mouth, making it nearly invisible from this side of the river. Only Vigo’s trained eye confirming the badly disguised tracks had given them away.

  The attack was swift.

  Marshal Justin didn’t wait for drawn-out strategies, he didn’t have time for it. The moment they confirmed the position of the targets, he surged forward, crossing more than twenty meters in three long strides, his armored boots gouging deep marks into the ground. The first bandit barely had time to turn before Justin’s sword split the air – and his collarbone. The man crumpled, his scream cut off before it could escape.

  A second bandit lunged, blade flashing in the dappled sunlight. He was fast – faster than most – but Justin was a different kind of beast. He sidestepped effortlessly, one gauntleted fist hammering into the attacker’s ribs. The sickening snap of bones echoed over the water as the man was sent splashing into the river. He barely had time to scream in pain before Justin’s blade drove through his chest, pinning him to the rock behind him like an insect.

  The rest of the squad crashed into the fray – thirteen against seven. It wasn’t even a fight. Justin alone cut down four more in seconds, while his men, seasoned and coordinated, made short work of the rest. No prisoners. No mercy. That was the way.

  Justin exhaled, the blood on his blade still warm.

  “Sargeant Vigo, this wasn’t all of them. Tell me about the other Cells – have you found them?” Justin demanded.

  “Marshal, I chose this group because they were the only ones trying to cover their tracks. There are two more Cells left. The first is already being tracked by the man the villagers reported – Adrian. Their trail leads south and southeast, following the water. The last Cell is likely the smallest, which is why I left them for last. I estimate between eight and eleven men, moving southwest. My guess is they’re trying to reach the renegades’ lair by skirting the edge of the barony first,” Vigo reported with crisp efficiency.

  Justin gave a curt nod. “Good work. You’ll keep tracking the southwest Cell, then. Keep that flare signal ready – you may need it.”

  He turned to his squad. “Goba, did you understand Sargeant Vigo’s report?”

  “Yes, Marshal!” the youngest soldier responded instantly.

  “Then get back to Engel. Take Comanche and find Tinara. She’ll be your direct superior for this mission. You’ll serve as the contact point for another ambush squad, Lieutenant Bronx is to stay at the Barony. We’ll reach you by tomorrow or the next day. Find them, don’t engage, and don’t lose them. Understood?”

  “Yes, Marshal!” Goba saluted before turning to leave.

  Justin’s eyes swept over the field of bodies. “Ina, Wanof – you’re in charge of securing this site. I’ll send men later to dig pits and burn the corpses. Until then, set a perimeter, establish a camp, salvage any useful supplies, and wait for further orders. Clear?”

  “Yes, Marshal!” both responded in unison.

  Justin adjusted his gauntlets, his expression unreadable. “Aster and Oslow, with me. We’re hunting the next Cell… and this Adrian. I want to see him for myself.”

  Without another word, he marched forward. The squad followed, swift and disciplined, as the hunt continued.

  Pippin’s folly, Barony of Ruthy

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  It was just after the midday meal, and the Baron was in his office, trying to get through his usual bureaucratic workload so he could focus on the truly pressing matters of the Barony. His messenger was due to arrive soon with news from the Village of Engel, and he had asked one of his assistants to fetch Marshal Justin.

  His concentration was abruptly broken when Song entered – not with Marshal Justin, as requested, but with troubling news.

  Feeling heavily burdened and out of patience, Simon asked dryly, “What is going on?”

  “My Lord, Marshal Justin has already departed at the head of a squad bound for the village of Engel,” Herald Song reported, stepping aside to reveal a man standing behind him. “He left Lieutenant Bronx as a contact point and assured that he and his squad will return within the stipulated time frame.”

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  The Baron’s fingers tightened around the quill he had been holding. He forced his voice to remain level, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

  “Lieutenant,” he addressed Bronx, his tone sharp, “would you care to explain why Marshal Justin - the strongest man in this Barony – is off chasing bandits while the citadel could be attacked by monsters at any moment?”

  The Baron had personally appointed Justin as Marshal, fully aware that if he hadn’t, the man would have easily built a successful career elsewhere. He was simply too skilled a combatant to remain unrecognized. Justin was honorable, disciplined, and dedicated to his duties. Unfortunately, he was also politically inept and lacked strategic foresight.

  A leader had to learn to accept losses. Losses were meant to be cut short, not eradicated – chasing after every single one would only increase the overall debt. And yet, here Justin was, wasting precious resources on a battle that had already been lost. The Baron had spent years trying to instill in him the true weight of leadership, but the man refused to learn.

  Now, he would reach a desolate village, get bogged down aiding them, and completely fail in whatever personal vendetta had spurred this foolishness. A weaker squad should have been more than enough to provide support – after all, Engel would soon be lost regardless. The priority should be preserving what they still had, not chasing ghosts.

  But there was nothing the Baron could do about it now. He would never demote the strongest fighter in the Barony. If anything, his only regret was not having more soldiers like Justin. The truth was, military strength had never been his focus – profit had. And now, he was paying the price for neglecting his forces.

  “My Lord,” Bronx continued, his voice steady, “Marshal Justin wished to act swiftly and effectively. Also, he instructed me to relay a message – so forgive my audacity, as I am merely the messenger – he said that Castellan Pippin should be more than capable of defending the citadel, as it is his responsibility.”

  The Baron’s grip on his quill tightened further. ‘The gall of Justin,’ he thought.

  Simon had long made it clear that he preferred Justin’s presence in an emergency, yet his wishes had been ignored. Pippin held his high position only because, at this point, it was practically hereditary – even though such a practice was legally forbidden.

  The Merigold family had been a knightly house since the founding of the Barony a hundred years ago, and the position of Castellan had remained in their hands for most of that time. The advantage of having knightly families within a noble territory was the increased likelihood of producing capable military leaders, as many men of the house were trained for such roles from birth. However, securing truly competent men was never guaranteed.

  Moreover, the obligation to support these families with tax money was nearly impossible to rescind, so long as they maintained the bare minimum of personnel and competence.

  “When you next contact the Marshal,” he said, voice cold with restrained anger, “tell him this: I do not appreciate him twisting my authority to suit his whims. If he insists on boldness, I expect results.”

  Bronx gave a curt nod. “I will deliver your message, my Lord.”

  With that, the lieutenant excused himself, leaving the Baron in a foul mood.

  “My Lord, we have also received the expected response from the Village of Engel,” Herald Song continued, handing a letter to the Baron. “It seems that, against all odds, the village managed to defend itself. According to the letter, Lieutenant James organized a militia of over seventy villagers, who faced nearly the same number of bandits – and emerged victorious. They explain that the battle was hard-fought and that many villagers fell until a skilled and unexpected swordsman joined the fray, turning the tide.”

  “Really? That is great news!” The Baron felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He opened the letter, absorbing its contents – the details of the losses, the mention of a mysterious man named Adrian, and confirmation that his scout had been welcomed by the villagers and was already searching for traces of the bandits. Yet there was little new information to be gained. What the Baron most wanted to know was stated in vague terms – an omission he knew was intentional.

  Still dissatisfied with Marshal Justin, who had left before hearing such crucial news, the Baron found himself wondering if Justin’s absence might prove useful after all. With a sigh, he returned to his papers, hoping for a shift in fortune – one that would allow him to regain control over the chaos spreading through his domain.

  But while the Baron nursed his frustration, Justin’s absence was seen in an entirely different light by his greatest rival.

  Hours earlier, during the first morning shift, Pippin had received word that Justin was leaving the citadel to personally investigate the bandit situation. A sharp thrill of anticipation coursed through him – finally, the mistake he had been waiting for.

  For years, Justin had been an irritation. A commoner holding a position of prestige, lauded as if sheer competence could outweigh noble blood. Pippin had always resented him, but this wasn’t just about personal grudges. The Baron was breathing down his neck, demanding results before the county intervened and stripped him of his autonomy over the dungeon. If that happened, Pippin would lose everything. He had no choice but to act.

  Normally, he would never take such a risk. Stabilizing a dungeon could take months, and this one had barely lasted two weeks – nothing out of the ordinary. The Baron was investing a significant sum in the Delvers’ Guild, which was handling the situation at a reasonable pace, keeping casualties low and maintaining Pippin’s favor with the Baron. But that was no longer enough. The monster surges had to be curbed before the county intervened.

  So, Pippin seized the moment.

  If Justin wanted to abandon his post during a crisis? Fine. Let him look reckless. Meanwhile, Pippin would act.

  He gathered his best squadron – fighters trained for monster combat – and ordered them to follow experienced Dungeon Delvers into the depths. If they could take down the dungeon boss, the surge of monsters would diminish, and the dungeon would soon stabilize.

  The risk was acceptable, even if the strategy was unusual. His men were well-trained, and the Delvers knew what they were doing. If casualties occurred due to their forces being spread too thin on the surface, the blame would fall squarely on Justin’s absence. After all, wasn’t it a Marshal’s job to reinforce defenses during a crisis, not gallop off on a personal crusade?

  And if the citadel suffered a strong attack while Justin was gone? Even better. That would only reinforce how irresponsible his priorities were. Pippin, of course, was confident he would defend the citadel.

  The Baron would see who had truly acted in the Barony’s best interest. While Justin played the hero, Pippin would be the one delivering real results.

  ‘After all, only nobles are raised with the education necessary to see the bigger picture,’ Pippin mused, already smiling as he savored a victory that had yet to become reality.

  The cavalry scout

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Jias was having a stressful day. Two new friends had arrived – one he barely had time to deal with, and the other, who showed up looking like he’d been through hell, had to rush off again with a different rider. The sun was only a couple of hours from setting, and he had promised to be home with his wife. Accepting defeat, he grumbled all the way back, making sure to wear the sourest expression he could manage.

  Goba, on the other hand, was in a hurry. He needed to find Tinara before nightfall – tracking her in the dark would be nearly impossible, and if he lost too much time, he’d have to search for her at one of the Castellan outposts instead. There was one 20 kilometers northwest of Ruthy and another 15 kilometers to the west. If he was lucky, she’d be resting at one of them late at night – but by then, it might already be too late.

  The real issue was the sheer size of their search area. South and west of Engel, including the northern and western reaches of Dinoco, covered over 300,000 square kilometers. If the bandits stayed hidden, they might never be found. But Tinara wasn’t exactly trying to be stealthy. If Goba could find her now, they could shrink the search area to less than a third of its original size – greatly increasing their chances of tracking the bandits before they vanished.

  Comanche was a difficult horse for a greenhorn rider like Goba, and there were moments when he feared he might lose complete control of the stallion. Luckily for him, he didn’t need to find Tinara – she found him first, and they exchanged mounts. As soon as he reported Justin’s orders, she sprang into action, with Goba following closely behind.

  By the time the sun set, the bandits were spotted, marching southwest. They knew they were being followed, but with two mounted scouts on their tail, they had no chance of escaping quickly. So, they did what they could – sped up their pace, hoping to lose their followers in the next woods. If the scouts dared to chase where they could hide, the bandits would make them regret it.

  But Goba and Tinara stuck to their orders. They never engaged. Taking turns to watch and rest, they never once lost sight of the bandits. When the group found new cover, the scouts remained patient, keeping a safe distance and continuing to track them.

  They would follow them as long as it took, carefully maintaining their positions. The goal was clear: to wait for the bandits to leave the woods and be ready to report back without losing their trail.