Twenty days. Twenty days of relentless marching, of biting wind and frozen ground, of dwindling supplies and ever-present danger. The attack force, once a proud display of Volgunder strength, was now a column of weary, grim-faced warriors, their armor dulled by dust and ice, their spirits tested by the harsh realities of the Eastern Wastes. They had left the last vestiges of civilization behind, venturing deep into the heart of Rubak territory, a land as unforgiving as its inhabitants.
Liam, riding near the rear of the third squad, felt the exhaustion in his bones, the ache in his muscles. But his physical discomfort was overshadowed by the turmoil within him. He was still grappling with the aftermath of the tournament, with the revelation of his magic, with the weight of his family's expectations, and with the gnawing guilt and grief over Van's death.
He had thrown himself into training during the march, pushing himself to his limits, trying to master the short sword and shield, trying to control the unpredictable surges of ice magic that still threatened to overwhelm him. He had also, secretly, begun to experiment with the Umbral Core, drawn to its power, yet terrified of its potential.
He glanced at Brad, riding silently beside him. Brad was a constant presence, a watchful guardian, a source of quiet strength. But even Brad couldn't fully understand the burden Liam carried, the secret he guarded, the destiny he was struggling to accept.
A sudden commotion behind the column broke Liam's reverie. A lone rider, his horse lathered and exhausted, was galloping towards them from the rear, waving a Volgunder banner. A messenger, from Volgunder Keep.
Captain Karl Volgunder, his face etched with grim determination, signaled the attack force to halt. He rode back to meet the messenger, his lieutenants close behind.
Liam strained to hear their conversation, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. News from home? Reinforcements? Or… something worse?
The messenger dismounted, his face pale and drawn. He spoke rapidly, urgently, to Karl, his words lost in the wind. But Liam could see the change in Karl's expression, the tightening of his jaw, the hardening of his eyes.
The news, whatever it was, was not good.
Karl dismissed the messenger with a curt nod, then turned to address his lieutenants. Liam, though not part of this inner circle, was close enough to overhear some of their conversation.
"…reinforcements… but not many…" Karl's voice was a low growl. "…only fifty men… Arthur can't spare more… stretched thin…"
Fifty men? Liam's heart sank. They had started with nearly three hundred, and they had already suffered significant losses. Fifty men wouldn't make much of a difference.
"…led by Brian Volgunder…" Karl continued, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "…he's back from the south… with a small contingent… veterans…"
Brian? Liam's mind reeled. His oldest brother? He hadn't seen Brian in seven years, not since he was a boy of eight. Brian had been away on missions for the Volgunders, fighting in distant lands, earning a reputation as a skilled and ruthless warrior. A 6-star swordsman.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Liam: surprise, relief, a flicker of hope, but also… apprehension. What would Brian think of him? Of his magic?
He remembered Brian as a kind, protective figure, someone who had always looked out for him. But that was a long time ago. People changed. Especially warriors.
The news of Brian's imminent arrival spread quickly through the ranks, causing a ripple of excitement and speculation.
Liam listened to these conversations, his heart pounding. His brother, a Great warrior, was coming.
The arrival of the messenger, and the news he brought, sparked a fierce debate among the attack force's leadership. Some argued for an immediate assault on the main Rubak camp, claiming they should strike before the enemy could consolidate their forces. Others urged caution, advocating for waiting for Brian and the reinforcements, however small their number.
Karl Volgunder listened to the arguments, his face a mask of grim contemplation. He was torn. He knew the risks of attacking prematurely, but he also knew that waiting too long could be even more dangerous. The Rubaks were a volatile, unpredictable enemy. If they were to unite, to call upon other tribes for assistance, the attack force could be overwhelmed, even with reinforcements.
And then there was the matter of supplies. They were running low on food, on water, on everything. Waiting in this desolate land, with dwindling resources, would only weaken them further.
Liam watched the debate unfold, his own thoughts a turmoil of conflicting emotions. He wanted to prove himself, to avenge Van, to strike a blow against the Rubaks. But he also knew he was still inexperienced, still vulnerable. He didn't want to be a burden, a liability.
He found himself drawn to a quiet corner of the camp, away from the noise and the arguments. He needed to think, to focus, to prepare himself for whatever lay ahead.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out the Umbral Core. The dark, intricately carved object felt strangely warm to the touch, pulsing with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. He had been experimenting with it, secretly, whenever he had a moment to himself. He had tried to absorb small amounts of magic from the air, from the faint, lingering traces of his own ice spells. He had tried to channel the stored energy, to use it to enhance his strength, his speed, his reflexes.
The results had been… mixed. The Core was powerful, he knew that much. But it was also unpredictable, dangerous. He had felt its hunger, its insatiable desire for energy. He had felt the way it could twist his emotions, amplify his anger, his fear, his desperation.
He knew he shouldn't be using it, not without understanding it better, not without guidance. But he was desperate. He needed every advantage he could get.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the Core, trying to sense its power, to understand its nature. He felt a faint tingling sensation, a subtle connection to the object, as if it were a part of him, a dark mirror reflecting his own hidden potential.
He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if he would survive this campaign. But he knew one thing: he would fight. He would fight with every ounce of his strength, with every skill he possessed, with every flicker of his magic.
He would fight for Van. For Drakonia. For himself.
The wind, a relentless, gnawing presence, whipped across the desolate plains, carrying with it the fine, stinging grit of the Eastern Wastes and the bone-deep chill that never truly left this forsaken land. Before the main body of the attack force, a smaller group huddled around Captain Karl Volgunder. The recent clash with the Rubak raiding party, though a victory, had left a bitter taste. The enemy's ferocity and the growing sophistication of their tactics were unsettling.
"We push on," a gruff voice declared. It belonged to Hektor, a seasoned warrior from House Vangoria, his shield arm still bandaged from a recent wound. "Strike while the iron is hot. They're scattered, demoralized. We finish them now."
"And walk into a trap?" countered another, a lean, sharp-featured knight named Elara, known for her cautious strategies. "We're deep in their territory, outnumbered, and low on supplies. Prudence dictates we consolidate our position, assess the situation, and await reinforcements."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the small gathering. The hardships of the past twenty days had taken their toll. The initial bravado had faded, replaced by a weary pragmatism.
Liam, standing just outside the circle with Brad, watched Captain Karl intently. The man's face was a study in grim determination, etched with the lines of countless campaigns. He listened to the conflicting opinions, his hand resting on the pommel of his greatsword, his six stars gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight.
"The messenger said Brian is ten days out, at best," Karl finally said, his voice cutting through the debate. "Fifty men. It's not enough to guarantee victory against the main Rubak force, but it's enough to bolster our defenses, to give us a fighting chance." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his lieutenants. "We wait."
A wave of relief, mixed with a renewed sense of apprehension, washed over Liam. Waiting meant surviving, for now. But it also meant prolonging the tension, the uncertainty, the gnawing fear of what lay ahead.
"Captain," Hektor pressed, his voice tight with frustration. "We're warriors! We don't wait. We strike! We avenge our fallen!"
Karl's eyes hardened. "We will avenge our fallen, Hektor," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But we will do it smartly. We will not throw away lives in a reckless charge. We will establish a defensible position here, at the site of this skirmish. The Rubaks left it partially intact; we can use that to our advantage. We will fortify it, send out scouts, and prepare for Brian's arrival. We will survive."
He looked around, daring anyone to challenge his decision. No one did. Karl's authority, earned through years of service and countless battles, was absolute.
"We make camp here," Karl repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And we prepare for war."
The wind whipped across the desolate plains, carrying with it the grit of the Eastern Wastes and the ever-present chill. Liam huddled deeper into his cloak, his eyes scanning the horizon, half-expecting, half-dreading the arrival of his brother. Ten days. Ten days since the messenger had arrived with news of Brian's return, ten days of anxious anticipation and relentless preparation, fortifying the damaged Rubak camp into their own. The attack force had settled into a grim routine, scouting the surrounding area, and bracing themselves for the inevitable confrontation with the main Rubak force.
The discovery of the Umbral Core had added another layer of complexity to Liam's already burdened mind. He had continued his clandestine experiments, attempting to understand its power, to control its volatile energy. The results were still unpredictable, the dangers still very real, but he felt a growing connection to the artifact, a sense of its immense potential. He'd kept it hidden, wrapped in a cloth and tucked deep within his tunic, a secret he shared with no one, not even Brad.
The sound of approaching hooves broke the silence. Not the rhythmic thud of a single rider, but the thunder of a small company. Liam's heart quickened. This was it.
A banner, emblazoned with the silver wolf of House Volgunder, snapped in the wind, carried aloft by the lead rider. Behind him rode a group of perhaps fifty warriors, their armor gleaming despite the dust and grime of the road. They were a hardened bunch, their faces weathered, their eyes sharp, their movements economical and purposeful. Veterans, every one of them.
At their head rode a figure that, even from a distance, commanded attention. He was tall, with the strong build of a seasoned warrior, his distinctive face framed by a cascade of long, blond hair. He wore golden armor, polished to a brilliant sheen, the Volgunder emblem proudly displayed on his chest. His blue eyes, the same striking shade as Arthur's and Liam's, scanned the camp with a keen, assessing gaze.
Brian Volgunder had arrived.
Captain Karl Volgunder, who had been overseeing the camp's defenses, straightened visibly. A rare expression, something akin to respect, even admiration, crossed his stern features. He strode forward to meet the approaching riders, his six stars gleaming on his tunic.
"Brian," Karl greeted, his voice carrying a note of genuine warmth. "Good to see you. We've been expecting you."
Brian dismounted with a fluid grace, his movements betraying none of the weariness that ten days of hard riding should have inflicted. He clasped Karl's forearm in a firm, warrior's grip.
"Karl," Brian replied, his voice deep and resonant. "Good to see you too. We pushed hard to get here. The situation…?"
"Grim," Karl admitted. "We've had skirmishes with Rubak raiding parties. They're bolder than ever, better organized. Their new chieftain… he's a threat." He briefly recounted the events of the past weeks, the attack on the barracks, the discovery of the Rubak camp, the casualties they had suffered.
Brian listened intently, his expression hardening with each detail. "And Liam?" he asked, his gaze sweeping across the camp. "Is he…?"
"He's here," Karl said, gesturing towards where Liam stood, watching the exchange with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. "He's… unharmed. He joined the attack force after… winning the tournament."
Brian's eyes found Liam, and a wide smile broke across his face. He strode towards his younger brother, pushing through the gathering crowd of soldiers.
"Liam!" Brian exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine warmth and affection. He reached out and pulled Liam into a fierce, brotherly hug, lifting him slightly off the ground. "Look at you! You've grown! And a swordsman, no less! I heard about the tournament. Father's message was… brief, but it was clear you impressed him. Which, as you know, is no easy feat."
Liam, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden embrace and the rush of emotion, managed a weak smile. "Brian," he said, his voice slightly muffled. "It's… good to see you."
Brian released him, holding him at arm's length, studying him with a keen, assessing gaze. "You look tired," he said, his smile fading slightly. "But strong. Stronger than I remember." His eyes flickered towards Brad, who stood a respectful distance away, his expression neutral. Brian nodded to him, a gesture of acknowledgement, perhaps even gratitude. "Brad," he said, his voice low. "Thank you for looking after him."
Brad simply bowed his head slightly. "He's a Volgunder, Brian. He takes care of himself."
Brian chuckled, then turned back to Liam. "So, little brother," he said, his voice taking on a teasing tone. "Tell me everything. What have you been up to these past seven years? And how did you manage to win the Volgunder Tournament? I heard rumors, whispers of… unusual abilities."
Before Liam could answer, a voice cut through the air, filled with a playful, almost mocking tone.
"Don't let him fool you, Liam! He's been riding us ragged for ten days straight, all because he was worried about his 'little brother'!"
A young woman, her long, black hair flowing freely in the wind, pushed her way through the crowd, a mischievous grin on her face. She was strikingly beautiful, with sharp features and eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a hint of recklessness. She wore armor, but it was distinctly Razakia in design – sleek, dark, and emphasizing agility, with the family's crest, a stylized falcon in flight, emblazoned on the breastplate.
"He wouldn't stop bragging about you," she continued, her gaze fixed on Liam. "How you defeated my younger sister, Carla, how you were the 'hope of the Volgunders,' how you were going to single-handedly defeat the Rubak hordes."
Brian, his face turning slightly red, tried to interrupt. "Lia, please," he said, his voice a low growl. "That's enough."
But the young woman, clearly enjoying his discomfort, ignored him. She turned to Liam, extending her hand. "Lia Razakia," she said, her grin widening. "And you, I presume, are the famous Liam Volgunder, the magic swordsman, the tournament champion, the bane of House Dergovia."
Liam, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and her barrage of words, took her hand, feeling a surprising strength in her grip. "Liam," he confirmed, his voice still slightly hesitant. "It's… nice to meet you, Lia."
"The pleasure is all mine," Lia said, her eyes twinkling. "I've heard so much about you. And I must say, you're even more… interesting… than I expected."
Brian, finally managing to regain control of the situation, stepped forward, gently pulling Lia away from Liam. "Lia," he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "Give him some space. He's probably exhausted." He turned to Liam, his expression apologetic. "Pay no attention to her, Liam. She's… excitable. And she enjoys teasing me."
Lia simply laughed, a bright, infectious sound that cut through the tension of the camp. "Someone has to," she said, winking at Liam. "He gets far too serious."
Liam found himself smiling, despite the exhaustion and the lingering apprehension. Lia's presence, her energy, her playful banter, had momentarily lifted the weight of his burdens. It was a welcome distraction, a reminder that even in the midst of war, there was still room for laughter, for camaraderie, for a touch of lightheartedness.
But the moment was fleeting. The reality of their situation, the dangers they faced, quickly returned. Brian, his expression turning serious once more, turned to Liam.
"We'll talk later, Liam," he said. "Properly. I want to hear everything. But for now…" He gestured towards the assembled warriors, the grim faces, the waiting horses. "…we have work to do."