The sound of hasty horse galloping echoed down the battered road. Tolrik rode at the maximum speed his horse allowed, feeling the wind whistling around him as if it were an arrow right behind his back.
There were no fewer than three Wardens from the sect who had answered his call, in addition to, of course, two extra people.
The gallop continued until they reached the base of a hill. Tolrik recognized it; it wouldn't be long before they reached the castle where he grew up. The Kangqueror Clan's lands were near this place.
A person approached hurriedly. He had ruby-red hair and wore a solemn expression on his face; he was about the same age as Tolrik and carried a spear in his hand.
He wore a dismal expression, which made Tolrik's heart sink even before the man spoke a word.
"Tolrik, the Giants have broken through the villages, they have pillaged and destroyed them," he said, gritting his teeth in anger. "The castle remains unscathed, but they are laying siege to it; the survivors seem to have taken refuge inside. For now, they are still plundering, but it won't be long before they head for the castle."
Behind him appeared the rest of the group.
All were on horseback except for two who rode in the wagon. One of them was his father's messenger who had managed to reach their retinue and ask for help; the other was the servant driving the wagon. If he remembered correctly, their names were Jonio and Ducanor.
"We must launch a surprise attack soon, we don't have enough time to wait for the Hegemony's forces," grunted a middle-aged man with an imposing presence. He was the eldest present and the most powerful of the group; he was an official Warden, meaning he was a Mortal Lord. His name was Gedik.
"I will fulfill your will, Master Tolrik. That is my mission," said the last member of the group.
He was taller than anyone present, even considering they were all Feysir. His head was shaved save for an emerald-colored ponytail, and he had a thick build, with one of his arms being as thick as Tolrik's own leg.
His name was Fernand, and despite being a Warden, he was also a servant of the Kangqueror Clan whose loyalty had never wavered in the slightest.
"We will attack and exterminate these vermin, we will show them the power of the Hegemony." With a stern look, his gaze fell on the wagon behind him as he muttered: "You two stay here and wait for the rest. We will finish quickly."
And without waiting for an answer, the group disappeared into the distance at high speed as their horses plunged into the thick forest of Ulheim.
.....
Both Tolrik and Benia were young, practically children in Ulrika's eyes. A tender couple of childhood sweethearts, something she herself hadn't experienced despite having met several talented young men her age. Unfortunately, her talent and her own reputation, which grew over time, had isolated her in that regard.
That was why she viewed the budding relationship between her little brother and Benia as something pleasant to witness, at least as an uninvolved third party.
"I hope Benia doesn't get pregnant if they do it, I don't want to be an aunt so soon," she thought with a somewhat envious yet ironic expression, pondering their relationship.
Though, unfortunately for Ulrika's romantic daydreams, she had underestimated Tolrik's clumsiness as well as Benia's quick temper.
Like many young loves, their feelings were intense because it was a new experience, but at the same time, fear could cause these early romantic encounters to become fruitless.
Inexperience, after all, was a curse for young lovers, but also a necessity.
Experiencing romantic disappointments was something everyone had to go through in order to see their perception of the world and of people change and mold beneath their feet.
Unfortunately, many people's paths began twisted in a direction they probably never should have looked.
"I have to go," Benia said, worried for Tolrik, as she stared down the road where he and the others had disappeared.
"Calm down," Ulrika said. "They'll be back soon. They are just ordinary pillagers; they should be able to handle it themselves."
But Benia was not calm, and she nervously squirmed in the wagon while looking out the window.
Ulrika also grew somewhat nervous as she remembered her father's message. She hadn't told Tolrik because she knew he would rush immediately to the clan, but a messenger had arrived anyway, causing the group's journey—originally headed toward the Shadow Branch Sect—to divert to the clan.
Barely a week into their journey, they had already detoured. The distance to the Isle of Dawn was quite long when crossing Otranto; after all, it was a fairly desolate area, and they would have to detour around the outside of the Frozen Mountain Range.
But the Giant incursions had thrown the group's plans into disarray. Furthermore, they were supposed to cross the earldom of Ahmedapacha, where the city of Edna—their true infiltration target—was located.
And as the thoroughbred horses advanced at a steady pace along the dirt and rock road...
Suddenly, a strange feeling flooded her mind when she sensed a strong disturbance of spiritual energy in the distance.
"What is happening?!" Ulrika shouted hastily, looking out of the wagon, sticking her head out toward the road.
And then she saw an overturned carriage ahead, where the driver's head, skewered on a bolt, stuck out from a nearby tree, while his mangled body lay on the ground.
Meanwhile, further ahead, a fierce battle loomed before the eyes of those present, who screamed with looks of horror as they tried to retreat.
Because even the lycans felt intimidated by the presence of the flesh-and-blood monsters that made up the Giant Race.
And now they were right in front of them.
.....
Lightning flooded the surroundings like falling snowflakes. Ducanor could barely react as dozens of lightning spears pierced the air above his head.
"Damn it."
The carriage shook as it was flipped over to the right side of the road; being right next to it, he barely managed to avoid being crushed.
"Those aren't ordinary damn bandits," Ducanor grunted, glancing out of the corner of his eye over the carriage.
An arrow whistled through the air above his head; he barely ducked in time, only to see poor Jonio's head impaled on the tree in front of him, his neck destroyed and the remains of his spine hanging twistedly.
"You've gotta be shitting me."
Fear flashed in Ducanor's mind. Jonio wasn't an ordinary driver, he was a Noble—not a strong one, but he had died so easily that it practically made Ducanor doubt his own life.
"Come on, blue coward, show your head a little," he heard a distant voice taunting. "You'll die anyway just like your friends. The rest of the little bluebloods will be here soon, won't they?"
A laugh and other low voices followed his words. Ducanor couldn't calculate the exact number of people in the distance, but he estimated there were at least three.
"The women will make good slaves, while the prettier ones might get a taste of exactly why they call us Giants."
"Giants..." he grunted to himself, ignoring the bandit's words. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Hahahahaha!"
More laughter echoed, drawing closer, as Ducanor also heard the noise of other carriages in the distance. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the retinue arrived; if this group of bandits caught them by surprise, almost all of them could die.
The Griffin Dharmic Rune glowed on his body in unison with the Kirin Dharmic Rune.
And in an instant, he leaped right over the overturned carriage, only to be caught off guard by a massive ice hammer that struck his chest directly, shaking his organs as blood bloomed from his mouth and ears.
He couldn't hear a thing. His body, fortified by the Dharmic Rune, allowed him to survive the attack, but it didn't grant him an impenetrable defense.
"Kill him," he barely heard from above him.
He managed to make out three men, all similar in appearance: tall, extremely tall, four meters, perhaps a little more. One of them wielded a frost-covered hammer, while another carried a crossbow so massive it probably required two Feys to load it.
"He's a damn one-armed cripple, it won't take any effort..."
Suddenly, like a furious beast, before the first giant could attack him again, Ducanor extended his jaw and bit directly into him, burying his sharp teeth into his flesh.
"You damn son of a bitch, let go of me!"
His fists rained down on Ducanor's face like anvils.
Shattering and clouding his consciousness with every strike, Ducanor tried to resist, but he lacked the strength to launch an attack. A fist descended upon him again, shattering his jaw; the giant used the pommel of the hammer to partially tear his cheek.
In that moment, death and unconsciousness were drawing closer to Ducanor. He felt no pain, everything was a blur; his vision was hazy and he could barely perceive his surroundings.
He tried to invoke the frozen flame by circulating spiritual energy with his left hand, but then an excruciating pain—one his broken mouth and shattered consciousness wouldn't let him scream through—stopped him.
"So I'll die like this," he thought in confusion.
He couldn't think straight, but the idea of dying seemed curious to him. He had never feared death, but he felt stupid dying like this: ambushed, surrounded, and humiliated.
This is how the great Ducanor Kal Arreus would die.
"How useless."
He didn't know who said those words, or perhaps he had just thought them himself, but even so, it provoked him into letting out one last grunt and trying to move.
And then he finally managed to open his eyes to fight one last time if necessary.
Because he would die with a weapon in his hand, for that was his destiny.