Chapter 5: Thunder and Steel
The road leading away from Marrowport was a dusty vein cutting through the green hills of the Orenthal Empire. My caravan moved with a discipline that belied our small numbers. I rode at the center, the weight of the Black-Glass Steel sword at my hip acting as a constant reminder of the legacy I carried. I was no longer a man of ledgers and boardrooms; I was the Lord of House Sylvrwynn, and my currency was now blood and steel.
"Ten kilometers to the mark," I announced, my voice carrying the weight of command. I checked the internal maps of my Intel System, overlaying the terrain with tactical precision.
The Lightning Boar was our first target. In Eldpiire, high-tier monster meat was a luxury that acted as a natural catalyst for cultivators. For my newly promoted soldiers, it was the perfect "Lord's Bounty" to solidify their breakthroughs. A Lord who could not feed his men was no Lord at all.
"Karl, Sven—bring the infantry to a halt. Cedric, take your rangers into the high grass. Osmund, you're with me," I commanded.
We found the beast in a clearing. It was a monstrosity of muscle and bristling fur, nearly the size of a carriage, with tusks that hummed with yellow static. It sensed us and let out a roar that vibrated in my chest, the air turning ozone-heavy.
"I'll take the lead, My Lord," Osmund said. He didn't wait for an answer. As a True Knight, his movement was a blur of efficiency. He drew his blade, and a faint golden aura—the mark of his Tier 7 status—shimmered around him, solid and intimidating.
The boar charged, a literal bolt of lightning streaking across the grass. Osmund didn't flinch. He stepped into the beast's path, his sword meeting the tusks with a bone-shaking crack. The shockwave flattened the grass for ten yards.
"Now, Fendric!" Osmund roared, his boots furrowing the earth as he held the beast's massive head in place with pure physical power.
I drew the Black-Glass Steel blade. The sword felt hungry, pulling at the mana in my veins. I activated the Sylver Knight Technique, my vision narrowing until only the beast's throat remained. My speed doubled as I lunged. The black blade didn't just cut; it seemed to absorb the static discharge from the boar's hide before slicing through its neck like a hot wire through wax.
The beast fell with a wet thud. I stood over it, looking not at the meat, but at my men. They saw their Lord claim a high-tier kill. That was the only profit that mattered.
"Dress the meat and pack the hide," I ordered Karl. "We move in twenty minutes. The real business is fifty kilometers ahead."
As we approached the fifty-kilometer mark, the atmosphere of the caravan shifted from a hunt to a war footing. I signaled a halt. "Cedric, ghost the road. I want to know where they breathe before they know we exist."
Cedric and his rangers vanished into the foliage. After thirty minutes of tense silence, a rustle in the brush heralded the return of Ron, an Enlisted Hunter under Cedric's command. He was panting, his face streaked with dirt.
"My Lord," Ron whispered, kneeling. "Thirty of them. They've choked the road five kilometers ahead, hiding in the high canopy and the thickets. The leader... he's a mountain of a man. An Elite Berserker. They're waiting for us to enter the kill zone."
I looked at the map. The bandits thought they were the predators. They expected a terrified merchant caravan, not a Lord's Retinue.
"They want an ambush? We will give them a massacre," I said, my voice cold. "Karl, take the ten slave warriors and Sven's unit. You will circle through the western gully and take them from the rear. Osmund and I will lead the cavalry directly into their teeth. Cedric, your rangers are to target their archers in the trees. Leave no one to run."
We moved with the silence of a funeral procession. When we reached the bend, I saw the shimmer of steel in the bushes.
"Sylvrwynn! Charge!" I roared.
The cavalry—consisting of Rick and the apprentices—bolted forward. The bandits shrieked in surprise, their "ambush" falling apart before it began. From the trees, arrows began to rain down, but they were met by the counter-fire of Cedric's rangers. I saw three bandits tumble from the branches, throats pierced by Cedric's black-fletched shafts.
In the center of the chaos stood the Elite Berserker. He was a Tier 8 monster of a man, wielding a rusted greataxe. He let out a primal scream—the Berserker's Rage—and swung at a passing horse, nearly dismounting one of my squires.
"He's mine," I growled.
I spurred my horse forward, the Black-Glass Steel sword singing as it cut through the air. The Berserker swung his axe in a wide, horizontal arc meant to cleave my horse's legs. I stood in the stirrups and leapt, the Sylver Knight Technique pushing my Ordinary Knight mana to its absolute limit.
Our blades met. The impact sent a jolt of raw power up my arm, but the Black-Glass Steel held. While his axe was heavy and slow, my blade was a needle. I parried a second blow, stepped inside his guard, and drove the black blade through his leather chest-piece.
He coughed blood, his eyes wide with the realization that a mere "Squire-looking" noble had outplayed him. With a swift, circular motion, I pulled the blade free and took his head in a single, clean stroke.
Around me, the battle was ending. Karl and the slave warriors had emerged from the gully like ghosts, trapping the bandits in a pincer. The slave warriors fought with a desperate, newfound ferocity—they saw in me a Lord who could offer them more than chains.
"Secure the area!" I shouted, holding the Berserker's severed head by the hair. "Rick, get a sack for this. This is 500 gold coins and the proof of our House's first victory."
The road was littered with the bodies of the thirty bandits. Not a single one had escaped.
"Check our wounded," I commanded Osmund. "Then, we move to their HQ. The system said it was on the hill to the west. We spend the night there. I want a roof over my men's heads and a fire in their bellies."
We trekked upward as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the Orenthal sky in bruises of purple and gold. The bandit HQ was a crude but sturdy wooden fort built into the hillside. As we breached the gates, my men let out a weary cheer.
"Barry!" I called out to the Grand Butler, who was already directing the servants to unload the wagons. "The Lightning Boar is on the menu tonight. Feed the men until they can't move. Tomorrow, we loot the vault and find those wolf cubs. Tonight, we rest as Lords of our own domain."
I sat on a wooden crate in the center of the fort, watching the campfire light up the faces of my soldiers. I was a Lord now. And the North was calling.