The sun had just risen over the eastern horizon, bathing the majestic Varda territory in light. Yet, this morning offered no birdsong or rural tranquility. The air within the main courtyard of Marquis Sylvestre's mansion was thick with the clashing of steel, the thundering of synchronized footsteps, and a palpable aura of bloodlust.
In the center of the vast courtyard, hundreds of soldiers stood in perfect alignment, forming a terrifying battle formation. Their gleaming black steel armor caught the sunlight, reflecting the Varda family crest emblazoned on their chests: a venomous snake coiling around a sword.
Marquis Sylvestre Alloire Varda stood upon the balcony, surveying his troops with a gaze filled with satisfaction and arrogance. He was a middle-aged man with harsh features, cold eyes, and an intimidating aura that forced all to bow in fear.
Beside him stood his eldest son, Tristan Alloire Varda. The young man wore lavish silver armor. His face resembled his father's, though a hint of doubt lay hidden behind his mask of obedience.
"Tristan..." the Marquis called out in a deep voice without turning his head. "Are you ready?"
Tristan puffed out his chest, trying to look gallant before his father. "Of course, Father! I am more than ready! My sword thirsts for the blood of those rebels."
The Marquis offered a thin smile. However, since Tristan dared not look his father in the eye, the smile did not reach them.
"Good. This time, we will not merely punish them. We will make an example of them. We will bring a living hell upon them. We will show the world what happens when filthy commoners dare to hide what belongs to the Varda family."
The Marquis's plan this time was not simply a forceful retrieval of his daughter, Novalia. It was an expedition of extermination. He planned to raze Noive Village to the ground and slaughter anyone connected to Keyzier and Donovan. To the Marquis, the Varda family honor had been tarnished, and blood was the only cleanser.
The force mobilized by the Marquis today was no ordinary patrol unit. It was a combat force sufficient to conquer a small city or a border fortress.
The ranks consisted of:
200 Regular Soldiers: Disciplined and fully armed troops.
40 Elite Troops: War veterans clad in crimson cloaks, each equivalent to a Rank C adventurer.
25 Special Forces (Shadow Unit): Assassins moving within the shadows, specialists in interrogation and infiltration.
2 Vice Commanders: Troop leaders possessing power equivalent to Rank B adventurers or higher.
However, the most terrifying asset was not the number of troops, but the presence of two figures standing tall at the very front, right behind the Marquis's warhorse.
The first figure was a giant of a man with a long scar across his face, shouldering a massive double-headed battle axe. He was Frederick Velaz, the Supreme Commander of the Varda Forces. His physical strength was said to be capable of shattering fortress gates with a single swing. He was known as the second strongest person in the Varda territory after the Marquis himself.
The second figure was a tall, gaunt man wearing dark blue mage robes and holding a black crystal staff. He was Victor Ilmayah. His gaze was vacant yet piercing, as if analyzing how to kill every person he saw. He was the Commander of the Magic Division, acknowledged as the strongest magic user in the entire northern region of the Altoria Kingdom.
Seeing the composition of this army, Tristan felt something was amiss. His heart was filled with questions.
Father is mobilizing Frederick and Victor plus this many elite troops just to attack a small village in the remote mountains? Tristan wondered in astonishment. According to spy reports, our targets are merely the families of two young adventurers. Logically, a single squad of special forces would suffice. Deploying a large-scale force like this feels like tearing paper with high-tier magic.
However, Tristan swallowed his curiosity whole. He dared not ask further. One wrong question could ruin his father's mood. And in the Varda family, ruining the Marquis's mood was synonymous with inviting painful physical punishment.
Marquis Sylvestre had long been blinded by his position and absolute power within his territory. He had become greedy, avaricious, and paranoid.
Anyone who did not align with him, whether commoners refusing to pay high taxes or lower nobility daring to criticize him, would surely "disappear" mysteriously. Even the central royal government was reluctant to disturb the Varda family due to the Marquis's private military strength and his legendary swordsmanship.
"Troops! Forward march!" Frederick Velaz shouted with a thundering voice.
Thirty minutes later, the main mansion gates opened.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The massive army began to move out, marching neatly through the city's main streets toward the northern gate. The sound of hundreds of steel boots and warhorse hooves made the ground tremble.
Townspeople going about their morning activities stopped immediately. They stepped aside to the edges of the road with pale faces, bowing their heads deeply as the Marquis passed.
"What is happening?" whispered a merchant to his wife.
"Look at the size of that army... Are we going to war with a neighboring kingdom?"
"That's Lord Frederick and Lord Victor! By the Gods, who are they going to fight?"
The sheer size of the marching army threw the entire Varda territory into an uproar. The atmosphere was tense, exactly like a nation heading toward a great war. Children cried in fear at the sight of the soldiers' fierce faces, while mothers tried to soothe them.
Marquis Sylvestre, riding a dashing black warhorse at the front, paid no heed to the panic and worry of his subjects.
To him, the people's fear was proof of his power. He stared straight north, toward the mountains separating his territory from that remote village. In his mind, he already pictured the village burning, and the parents of Keyzier and Donovan kneeling, begging for mercy at his feet before he severed their heads.
"Just you wait, you village rats who dared to steal my daughter..." the Marquis muttered softly, yet filled with venom. "I will teach you that challenging the Varda Dragon is a shortcut to death."
The death squad continued to move, leaving the city and entering the path toward Noive Village. They marched with the absolute conviction of victory.