The journey west from Fort Hope blurred into a relentless, high-speed sprint. Henry leaned low over the leather saddle as the wind roared in his ears. Sir Red's black warhorse was not a normal animal. When Henry and the other recruits first traveled to Fort Hope as mere foundation establishment novices, the run had taken them eight days. This monstrous beast was devouring that same five-hundred-mile distance in a matter of hours.
The horse was tearing across the central plains in massive bursts of speed, covering vast stretches of territory before needing a break to cool down.
Henry used these frequent rest periods efficiently. While the warhorse drank from roadside streams and caught its breath, Henry pulled the green leather footwork manual from his saddlebags. He traced the intricate diagrams in the dirt and practiced the movements. The Swift Tale Boots synergized flawlessly with the advanced evasion techniques.
His body adapted to the new muscle memory with startling efficiency. He could pivot and shift his weight so quickly that he left faint afterimages in the crisp winter air. Once the horse recovered, Henry packed the book away and resumed their aggressive pace.
By mid-afternoon of the exact same day, the landscape shifted. Henry crossed the official border into the Jasper Barony. It was the territory situated directly east of his home. When Henry had first run through this territory months ago, he had been too focused on running to observe the world around him. Now, riding with a clear vantage point, he finally saw the bizarre contradiction of this land.
The Jasper Barony was an anomaly of wealth and decay. The land itself was breathtakingly rich. Large forests provided high-quality timber. Wide rivers provided fresh water for local trade routes. The soil beneath the winter frost was notoriously dark and fertile. It was a place overflowing with natural resources.
Yet the infrastructure told a completely different story.
Henry was forced to pull back heavily on the reins. He had to slow the warhorse's terrifying sprint to a careful trot. The main path was severely degraded. Deep potholes littered the road, threatening to snap the horse's ankles at high speeds.
The few wooden bridges he crossed were unstable. When he passed by a small farming village, the houses looked run-down. The roofs sagged heavily under the winter frost. The sheer neglect felt entirely deliberate. The people he passed on the crumbling road looked exhausted. They kept their heads down and avoided eye contact.
Henry frowned in frustration. The terrible road conditions were killing his momentum. He clicked his tongue, guiding the massive horse carefully around a large sunken crater in the dirt. The dense tree line pressed close to the path's edges. The lowering sun cast long, obscuring shadows across the road.
Up ahead in the distance, Henry spotted a problem. Three figures stepped out from behind a dense cluster of snow-laden evergreen pines. They stood shoulder to shoulder, intentionally blocking the center of the narrow path.
Henry let out a heavy sigh of pure impatience. He did not want to stop. He wanted to keep riding until he saw the stone walls of his home. He slowly pulled back on the heavy leather reins, bringing the towering warhorse to a complete halt just a few yards away from the men. The beast snorted loudly, stomping a massive iron-shod hoof into the dirt in shared annoyance.
The men blocking the path looked ragged and desperate. They held rusted iron swords and crudely fashioned spears. They wore mismatched leather scraps for armor. Henry scanned their stances instantly. Their footing was terrible. Their grips were completely undisciplined.
"Off the horse, boy," the apparent leader demanded. He pointed a rusted sword directly at Henry. He had a patchy beard and a missing front tooth. "Leave the bags. Walk away. We might let you keep your boots."
Henry stared at them. His expression was a mask of cold impatience. These bandits were clearly oblivious to the world around them. A young man traveling alone in civilian clothes might look like an easy target, but Sir Red's warhorse was a towering, muscle-bound monster. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would realize that a normal person couldn't possibly acquire or control such an animal.
"I am in a hurry," Henry said. His voice carried a flat, dangerous edge. "Move out of my way."
"You do not give the orders here," the second bandit yelled, tightening his grip on his crude spear.
The leader sneered, completely missing the warning in Henry's tone. "Last chance, boy. Off the horse before we cut you down."
Henry did not waste another word. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. His boots hit the dirt without making a single sound.
The three bandits charged forward simultaneously.
To Henry's perception, they appeared to be moving through thick mud. Their attacks lacked any real force or coordination. These common criminals were absolutely no match for him. He didn't even bother reaching for his sword.
The leader swung his rusted blade in a wide, sloppy horizontal arc. Henry simply tilted his head backward. The rusty metal passed harmlessly through the empty air. Utilizing the evasion techniques he had learned almost instantaneously, Henry stepped directly into the man's exposed guard. He drove a rigid palm strike squarely into the bandit's chest.
Henry purposefully held back; he was annoyed but had no desire to kill them. Even with a tiny fraction of his power, the impact lifted the leader entirely off his feet. The man flew backward to crash violently into the trunk of a large tree. He slumped into the freezing dirt, completely unconscious.
The second bandit thrust his crude spear toward Henry's stomach. Henry pivoted on his heel. He slipped past the spear point, his boots making him feel weightless. He reached out and grabbed the wooden shaft. With a sharp, violent twist of his wrists, Henry snapped the thick wood in half. He used the broken lower half to strike the bandit sharply behind the knees.
The man collapsed with a loud yelp of pain. Henry followed up with a swift, calculated kick to the side of the bandit's head. The second attacker went completely limp in the dirt next to his broken weapon.
The third bandit froze in his tracks. He dropped his rusted sword. It clattered loudly against the frozen earth. He looked at his two unconscious companions. He then looked at the young man who had dismantled them in less than five seconds.
Henry stood perfectly still. He brushed a stray speck of dirt off his wool cloak. He was not even breathing heavily.
The remaining bandit fell to his knees. His entire body shook with absolute terror. The second bandit began to regain a tiny bit of consciousness, groaning softly in the dirt, but the man was far too terrified to form a single word or attempt to stand up.
"Who are you?" the kneeling bandit panicked. His voice cracked with fear as he realized exactly how badly they had misjudged their target.
Henry turned his back on them. He grabbed the reins of his warhorse and pulled himself effortlessly back up into the saddle. He looked down at the terrified criminal with lingering impatience.
"Don't worry about it," Henry said smoothly. "Just stop doing this. You aren't any good at it."
He nudged the warhorse forward. The massive beast stepped carefully around the groaning men. Henry didn't look back. He urged the horse back into a fast trot, eager to make up for the lost time. He pushed the animal as fast as the degraded roads would safely allow.
The final stretch of the trip passed without any further interruptions. The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep hues of purple and gold. The air grew significantly colder as the evening approached, but Henry barely felt the chill. His anticipation grew with every passing mile.
Henry crested a steep, winding hill. A familiar, glorious sight finally emerged in the distance. The towering, immaculately maintained stone walls of the Sinclair Barony rose proudly from the earth, a stark contrast to the crumbling decay of the Jasper territory. The iron gates stood resolute against the encroaching night. Warm, inviting light flickered from the stone watchtowers.
A genuine smile broke across Henry's face. The heavy burden of the last few months faded entirely from his mind. He spurred the warhorse forward, letting it break into a smooth stride for the final stretch.
He was finally home.