The squad began to move through the village, giving me a chance to observe the surroundings.
Autumn had already settled in. Mountains in the distance were draped in gold from falling leaves.
Ominous clouds loomed overhead, threatening more rain. Judging by the wet sheen on everything, it must've poured recently.
The air was so thick with moisture you could practically wring it out.
The dirt road running through the village had turned into one massive puddle.
Our horses had no trouble pushing through the muck, but the infantry squelching along behind us had it much rougher. I didn't even want to imagine what awaited us outside the village.
As if answering my concerns, a drizzle began. Raindrops pattered softly against the silent Baronet's armor and slid to the ground. I yanked the hood of my cloak over my head. Thankfully, it was proving quite handy. It wasn't letting in water yet, but it was getting heavier by the minute.
We didn't encounter a single villager out on the street, and it clearly wasn't just the gloomy weather. Occasionally, frightened faces would peek from behind shutters. Commoners in this world expected nothing good from an armed detachment and preferred to stay out of sight.
Tired of watching the landscape crawl by, I let myself drift into thought.
To my embarrassment, I quickly discovered that Randall hadn't bothered to clutter his mind with what he considered "useless" knowledge - things like history, geography, or politics. He didn't even know what the map of our current region looked like!
Whatever geography he did know was purely in terms of where and how certain alchemical ingredients could be found. It's possible that's how he navigated the country. In his memory, some nobles were literally noted as "that one whose lands grow this-or-that alchemical junk."
But when it came to the most important bit, what we might encounter in the Black Forest, I had nothing. Randall knew only that "somewhere past the Baron's lands, there's a strange forest with some monsters in it."
Because I'd been recovering from the ritual, I'd missed the chance to dig through the Baron's library, and it was already coming back to bite me. I had to admit, the old man had been right to stress the importance of information. Walking into the unknown wasn't exactly comfortable.
Still, not all was lost. I could ask the mercenary commander during a break. Surely he'd done some research on the place he'd be fighting in?
Yes, I'd talk to him at the next rest stop. For now, while I trotted along on horseback, I finally had time to delve into Randall's memories and figure out what I actually knew about this world.
Where the hell am I?
There were three major political entities on the continent: the Mage Commonwealth, the Holy Theocracy, and our Kingdom of Steel. Randall's grasp of their borders and territories was vague at best. He couldn't even confidently rank the nations by strength. Apparently, ours was considered the weakest, but even that wasn't certain.
He had no clue who was allied with whom, or what diplomatic relations existed between the states. From his perspective: "They're not at war, I think…" and that was about it.
He was more or less familiar with the political structure of the kingdom though, and when it came to magical power rankings, Randall was a damn expert.
The titles of local nobility were familiar enough to my ear. Ranked from highest to lowest, they were:
King, Prince, Duke, Marquis, Count, Viscount, Baron, Baronet, Knight.
Of course, there were always nuances. One person could hold multiple titles, but overall, the hierarchy looked like that.
Magical rankings, on the other hand, were way more complicated. All the Gifted were divided into two types: those who had the potential for physical development, and those who could cultivate magical power. At higher ranks, the distinction between magical and martial talent became less and less clear. The bodies of mages grew tougher, while warriors gained the ability to manipulate mana in limited ways.
And sometimes, people were born with talent in both areas.
To make things worse, different countries used different evaluation methods and naming systems. The result? A classification mess even the devil wouldn't want to untangle.
Fortunately, the magic rankings of the Kingdom of Steel were pretty straightforward.
There were seven total ranks, each split into three sub-levels: 1 — Lesser/Junior/Beginner, 2 - Full/Proven , and 3 - Greater/Senior.
1) Candidate
2) Apprentice
3) Adept
4) Mage
5) Archmage
6) Magister
7) Archmagister
I'd need to remember that well. It would be crucial for gauging power levels.
Thankfully, the warrior ranks were numbered from 1 (lowest) to 7 (highest) and didn't have official titles.
I looked thoughtfully at the Baronet. How strong was he really? Unfortunately, without scanning him with mana, it was nearly impossible to tell. And scanning someone, in turn, was considered extremely rude. It could easily be taken as grounds for a duel.
Still, just going by the thickness of his armor (nearly a centimeter) he had to be at least a third-rank master. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to fight in gear that heavy.
But the far more interesting question was how strong was I?
In his previous life, Randall had been a Lesser Adept, and due to the experiments he conducted on his own body, he was likely the weakest Lesser Adept of them all, barely stronger than a Senior Apprentice. For a Viscount, that had been a constant source of shame. When your grandfather is a Full Mage, it's disgraceful to not even reach Senior Adept.
Still, despite his lack of physical talent, rituals and alchemical concoctions alone had pushed him to the second warrior rank. Maybe even the start of the third. At least, that's the point where a warrior gains enough strength to hurl a man in full armor into a wall with a flick of the wrist.
Judging by the memories, Randall never had those abilities before I took over. My Gift had clearly grown... but by how much? Hell, I needed to find a tester and figure that out. Precisely.
In the meantime, we'd left the village behind.
What awaited us outside wasn't the "rest of the squad." It turned out we were the 'leftovers' ourselves. The number of people in the convoy was five or six times greater than our group.
Dozens, maybe a hundred, carts and wagons were lined up along the roadside, packed and ready to move. Not only were there soldiers in familiar gear, but also crossbowmen in mail hauberks, archers in patchy cloaks, and even unarmed women and children. The drivers were old men who clearly weren't fit for battle.
Seriously? Did my grandfather recruit old men and children now?
I shot a puzzled glance at the Baronet, and he apparently found it necessary to clarify:
"I understand what you're thinking, Viscount, but no. The hiring fee only applies to the warriors. The fact that their families accompany us on campaign is none of the employer's concern and doesn't affect the price."
"Hm. Doesn't that make it harder to fight?"
"On the contrary. In battle, they go all in because their loved ones are behind them."
I wanted to keep the conversation going, but the baronet spurred his horse and demonstratively moved to the other side of the road.
Maintaining composure, I nodded and kept observing the convoy. One of the wagons even had a mobile forge. Not just some pitiful anvil, but a full smithy with bellows and a furnace. Of course, forging while on the move wasn't possible, but once the caravan made camp… Ha. It was safe to say the baronet had brought his entire village along.
The formation shifted. Some of the armored foot soldiers, led by the mounted deputy commander, dropped to the rear of the column. Meanwhile, a group of crossbowmen joined us, giving me a chance to get a proper look at their weapons. And there was definitely something to look at.
Steel bows, heavy drawstrings. The crossbows looked massive and deadly.
I reined in my horse and pulled up next to one of the trudging crossbowmen.
"Let me..." I cut myself off. Damn it, I'm a noble. What do you mean 'let me'? "Hand me your weapon for inspection, soldier."
The crossbowman may have been surprised, but didn't show it. He barked, "Yes, m'lord," unshouldered the weapon, and handed it to me.
Heavy beast. At least ten kilos. It used a crank to draw, and in theory, it was an extremely powerful weapon.
I wondered if it could punch through armor. I scanned the weapon with my Gift. All good. I'd promised to check weapons, after all, so why not?
I returned the crossbow and asked:
"So? Can it pierce armor?"
The crossbowman twitched his mustache in thought.
"Depends what armor, m'lord. Distance, angle, bolt type. Hard to say. Sometimes yes, sometimes no."
"For example?"
"For example..." He twisted his mustache around his finger, calm as could be. Impressive composure. Like he dealt with nobility daily.
"Well, a chain shirt like mine? Goes clean through with any bolt at any range. Those plate cuirasses our grunts wear? You need a piercing bolt for that. Or shoot up close with a regular one. Then it'll do. That's why we carry these crossbows, to kill the assholes in armor."
"And plate like the Baronet's?"
"Nah, knight's plate is outta our league. You need enchanted bolts for that. And they cost more than a wagonload of normal ones. Per piece. Even then, it doesn't always get through. The Captain's got special reinforced armor. Not even a royal boltthrower could punch through that."
"Distracting my men from their duty, Viscount?" the Baronet himself approached from behind.
Damn. How could a walking mountain move so quietly? That's just unscientific.
"Not at all. I was evaluating our strength."
Hornet removed his helmet and smirked.
"I was wondering when you'd start asking about command structure. I'll give you credit, you lasted longer than our previous employers."
"These things are best discussed on dry ground. As the employer's representative, I'll define your objectives, but I have no intention of taking over command. That's your job. I just want a clear picture of our forces… and what we might face."
"Not planning to take over command, huh? Ha. Wouldn't work anyway," Hornet said sharply.
"Let's get back to the head of the column. Fine, I'll brief you on MY forces during our next rest."
***
We'd been trudging through the drizzle for hours. The landscape was growing more and more dismal. The mountains were closing in, squeezing the valley tighter, while the fields stretching out from either side of the road were overrun with weeds.
"Why don't the locals cultivate their fields?" I asked aloud, mostly to myself.
"Who knows?" Hornet unexpectedly grumbled. "Get ready. There's the last inhabited village just around the bend."
As for "inhabited," the Baronet had clearly exaggerated. If the village by the castle had looked shabby and bleak, this sorry excuse for a settlement could've been mistaken for a ghost village. The houses were blackened, either from age or a failed attempt to burn them down, and looked completely abandoned. My horse sniffed the air and snorted in displeasure. I took a whiff. Nothing unusual, just the same damp smells of autumn.
"Keep moving. We'll make camp past the village. No need to alarm the locals. Quartermaster! Take a couple men and find the village elder. We need supplies."
Ten more minutes and, with open relief, I dismounted. My lower back ached, and my legs had gone stiff. How do people even ride these damn creatures?
I flagged down one of the boys darting around the camp and asked him to fetch some oats. Hopefully the possessed animal hadn't switched to a meat-based diet?
Nope. It was eating. Though it did give me a strange look, as if it had expected a nice chunk of meat for dinner.
I heard the sounds of a heated argument nearby.
Naturally, I went to check it out. Looked like Hornet had gathered a council of sorts, surrounded by people I didn't recognize. As a member of the party, I saw no reason not to join.
"…they're asking a ridiculous price — six silver per sack!" the Quartermaster complained, handing a scroll to the commander.
"How bad are things with the supplies?" Hornet unrolled the parchment and squinted, trying to make out the handwriting.
"As you can see, those three unexpected days of waiting chewed right through our reserves. I told you we shouldn't have poured the wine into the latrines. Even if we didn't drink it, we could've traded it."
Hornet stayed silent, but his second-in-command chimed in: "No, we did the right thing. What if it was poisoned? The locals could've gotten hurt. I was against taking anything from that pig in the first place. If he were on fire, I wouldn't even piss to put him out."
"How much are they asking for salt?" The commander's sharp voice cut through the rant.
"Four coins per kilo."
"Fine. Buy as much as you can. There should be plenty of game in the wilds. We'll manage with hunting. You won't let me down, right?" Hornet turned to the scout leader nearby.
"We won't."
From the direction of the wagons, an armored soldier approached, escorting a peasant in patched-up clothing.
"Captain! This local's begging to speak with you. Says it has to be in private."
"Cut that out. I'll hear you, but you'll speak in front of everyone. I keep no secrets from the unit."
"Your grace…"
"Sir Hornet. That's enough," the Baronet cut in.
The peasant hesitated, gathering his courage.
"Sir… I beg you to save my family. Terrible things are happening in these lands. The Baron's men are openly abducting the Gifted and torturing them to death in their dark rituals. My family… my son has the Gift of Life. We hid it as best we could, but word got out. Friends who serve the Baron warned us they're coming for him. They'll sacrifice him, and kill the rest of us. The Baron's thugs won't let us escape. You're our only hope!"
"You want me to take not just your son, but your whole family into the company? How many of you are there?"
"My wife, my son, my father, and I. She's a good cook, I can fight, and my father — he's old, but he's a skilled furnace mason. He even helped build the smelters on the western slope."
"Hmm. I'd like to help, but you're not just asking me to take a Gifted away from the lord of these lands. You're asking me to take one he already knows about. That's a very different thing. How strong is your son?"
"We tried not to let him use his powers… but one time he healed a cow that the Baron's hounds had mauled."
Hornet fell silent in thought. Then, noticing me nearby, he motioned me over.
"And what's your opinion, Honorable Viscount?"
I stepped forward — and saw the peasant go pale with terror the moment he laid eyes on me.
Shit! Did he know what kind of horrors Randall used to commit in the Baron's ritual halls?
What was I supposed to do now?