The days were bright and calm, with the sky stretching out in soft blues and whites, dotted with fluffy clouds. As multiple carriages formed a line, moving at a steady pace along the grassy dirt road, the surrounding landscape unfolded like a living painting. Rolling hills and expansive fields of green stretched out to the horizon, interrupted only by the occasional rock formation or distant mountain peaks.

Inside the first carriage, Akimitsu sat with a contemplative air. Beside him, a female maid sat straight-backed and poised, exuding an aura of calm. Through the carriage window, the breathtaking view of rolling greenery unfolded, but Akimitsu, despite the beauty of the scene, seemed lost in thought.

He found himself recalling a moment at the Rothrosia castle, in a room filled with various weapons—swords placed in an organized manner against the walls and shields of every size arranged with order. The modest arch windows let in the soft sunlight, casting a golden glow on the weapons that lined the room. Before him stood the royal mage, Angus, holding an item wrapped in a purple cloth.

Angus, with a steady hand, removed the purple cloth, revealing a spherical crystal ball beneath. The orb before Akimitsu was mesmerizing—its surface was a smooth, almost translucent white, with faint lines of cracks weaving through it like an intricate network of veins. The light from the surrounding room glinted off its surface, revealing subtle reflections and iridescent streaks within.

"Hold this," Angus said, his voice calm yet tinged with curiosity.

Akimitsu extended his hand with a gentle motion, fingers trembling slightly as he grasped the crystal ball. It rested firmly in both his palms, cool and strangely comforting. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, the crystal began to glow radiantly, its light bright enough to fill the surrounding space. Strangely, the light did not hurt his eyes, but instead felt oddly comforting.

In shock, Akimitsu extended his hand further, still gripping the crystal tightly. Angus observed with an intrigued expression, stroking his beard and smiling in quiet admiration as the orb continued to emit a radiant glow. After a brief interval, the glow started to diminish, gradually growing dimmer until the crystal reverted back to its usual, motionless state.

Angus softly enveloped the crystal with the purple cloth, carefully taking it from Akimitsu's hands. "Fascinating," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with intrigue.

Akimitsu snapped back to the present moment, still sitting in the carriage. He noticed that they had been traveling for some time. The sudden jolt of the carriage coming to an abrupt stop caught his attention. Puzzled, Akimitsu glanced at the maid sitting beside him, who also looked confused by the unexpected halt.

Up ahead, several guardsmen were seen speaking with a figure who seemed to be causing the disturbances. Sir William, riding beside the main carriage, moved his horse closer to the commotion and inquired, "What's going on here?" his voice commanding.

One of the guards turned toward him and explained, "This old man appeared from nowhere and is blocking our path. He refuses to move."

Sir William nodded, his expression becoming more serious. He directed his horse toward the elderly man, his gaze scanning the figure before him. The old man, weary and worn from apparent hardship, stood with a bent back, his long white beard tangled and unkempt. His clothes were simple but ragged, a faded tunic and pants with holes. Despite his appearance, his eyes were sharp, and there was a subtle determination in them. He clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, as if begging for mercy.

"Sir Knight," the old man spoke, his voice raspy yet urgent. "I come from a nearby village... we were attacked by a group of goblins. They ransacked our homes, took all our food, and left us with nothing." His voice trembled as he continued. "I was on my way to the nearest guard post when I stumbled upon your group."

With a deep sigh, the old man dropped to his knees before Sir William, his hands still pressed together in desperate plea. "Please, Sir Knight... I beg for your help."

Sir William's face grew serious as he considered the man's words. From behind, Sir Francis rode up on his horse, arriving at the scene.

Upon reaching the old man, Sir Francis called out, "William-," but the old man interrupted, his voice shaky, "Sir Francis, please, our village needs your aid."

Sir Francis's expression turned to one of shock. His gaze shifted toward Sir William, who, equally curious, asked, "Do you know this old man?"

A few moment later, at the side of one off the carriage, away from the group, a few of the maids were tending to the old man, offering him water and comfort. Sir Francis and Sir William stood on the ground beside their horses, speaking softly.

Sir Francis stood quietly for a moment, he appeared to be piecing together a memory. "Before I joined the army," Sir Francis said after a long pause, "I was an adventurer. I've traveled a lot through rural areas. I must've visited his village once... To think he still remembers me."

Sir William, standing with his hand on his waist, wore an expression of understanding.

Just then, Sylvia approached, her voice carrying a tone of certainty. "I've checked the old man," she said confidently. "There's no trace of dark magic or foul play. I believe his words are genuine."

Sir William, still uncertain, gazed toward the old man. In his mind, he knew they couldn't afford to delay their journey, but neither could they ignore a citizen in need.

After a moment of contemplation, Sir Francis spoke with newfound determination, his voice tight but full of energy. "Right! Let's help the old man."

For a brief moment, there was a heavy silence before Sir William sighed and nodded, as if conceding to the inevitable. "Very well," he said, "We help him, but we must be quick. Our journey cannot be delayed for long." He then turned his gaze to a nearby guardsman, calling him over. "The old man mentioned a guard post nearby," he began. "Do you know about it?"

The guardsman nodded. "Yes, there is one not far from here, but we'll have to make a detour from our main path."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Sir William raised an eyebrow, then asked, "How far are we from the Magic Academy?"

The guardsman thought for a moment before replying, "With our current pace, we should arrive late in the evening."

Sir William surveyed the line of carriages, noting that it was still high noon. They had been traveling for quite some time. He glanced back at Sir Francis, who was standing nearby, and spoke with a firm tone. "I'll lead the carriages to the guard post nearby. Let the guardsmen rest for a while also the savior must be wary from the journey. There's no harm in taking a break."

Sir Francis took a deep breath and nodded with resolve. "Right then! I shall take a few guardsmen with me and head to the old man's village."

Without hesitation, Sir Francis mounted his horse and, accompanied by two guardsmen, rode off toward the village.

Sylvia, who had been quietly observing, turned to Sir William with a concerned look. "Sir Francis only brought two guardsmen with him," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "Do you think that's enough?"

Sir William gave her a reassuring smile. "For Sir Francis, two guardsmen will be more than enough," he replied. "He's a seasoned fighter, and he knows his way around a battlefield better than most. Besides, he's dealt with goblins many times before."

He had no doubts about his friend's capabilities. Sir Francis had always shown remarkable skill and composure in combat, relying on his experience rather than sheer numbers. Sir William trusted in his friend's ability to handle whatever came his way.

As Sir Francis galloped toward the village, his face set with determination, Sir William watched him for a moment. "He'll manage," Sir William muttered under his breath, his expression thoughtful.

Sir Francis arrived at the old man's village, his eyes taking in the sight before him. The village appeared small, with humble houses made of wood and thatch, their roofs steep and worn, indicative of the hard life the villagers led. The path leading into the village was uneven, the ground still marked with signs of recent turmoil. A few buildings were leaning, their structures clearly compromised, and broken fences lined the edges of the village. In the distance, fields that once would have been lush with crops were now left in disarray, with peasants scavenging what little remained after the goblin attack.

The atmosphere was heavy with sorrow. Wounded villagers sat outside their homes, some tending to their injuries, others simply staring into the distance, lost in despair. The sound of children crying echoed from the houses, and nearby, the frantic barking of dogs filled the air. The air itself seemed weighed down by the villagers' grief.

As Sir Francis dismounted his horse, the guards following him came to a halt, giving him space to move forward. Suddenly, villagers came gathered around him, their faces drawn with worry and hope. The weary expressions of the men and women were softened by the glimmer of hope they had found in Sir Francis's unexpected arrival. Sir Francis looked around, taking in the gravity of the situation. Then, a villager, an older man with a grizzled face and tattered clothing, stepped forward, his voice shaky yet hopeful. "Are ye here to help get rid of the goblins?" he asked, his eyes searching Sir Francis's face for reassurance.

Sir Francis took a moment to observe the villagers. Most of them were elderly, their faces drawn with weariness, their clothes in tatters from both the goblin attack and the harshness of their lives. Despite their hardship, there was a spark of hope in their eyes as they awaited Sir Francis's answer.

In a calm and measured tone, Sir Francis spoke, "We stumbled across one of your villagers, and yes, I'm here to check on the goblin attack and investigate what happened."

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd, the villagers exchanging glances, some nodding with tentative hope while others still seemed unsure. Sir Francis pressed on, his gaze sweeping over the gathered faces. "Who's in charge here? Is there anyone I can speak to about the attack?"

The villagers exchanged uncertain looks, their faces betraying their lack of leadership in this dire situation. After a brief silence, one elderly woman with a bent back spoke up. "Old Man Drogo, he's the village chief. But he's gone to the guard post, looking for help," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke of their absent leader.

Sir Francis's brow furrowed. The old man they had met earlier, the one who had led them here, was indeed Drogo—the village chief. Sir Francis's thoughts quickly aligned with the knowledge that Drogo had probably gone to the guard post with Sir William and the carriages by now.

With a deep breath, Sir Francis steeled himself. "Very well," he said, his voice firm and resolute, "We will see to this attack, anyhow." He turned to the two guards who had followed him, both nodding in silent agreement. "We'll investigate around. Stay sharp," he instructed.

The guardsman fell into step behind Sir Francis as he moved through the village, their presence offering a sense of security amid the tension. Sir Francis's eyes scanned the village, taking note of the damage: the charred remnants of buildings, broken fences, overturned carts, and signs of recent struggle. It was clear the goblins had ravaged the place, leaving a trail of destruction.

The villagers watched silently, their gazes filled with both gratitude and anxiety as Sir Francis and his guards set off to investigate the damage.

Sir Francis moved toward group of farmers still laboring in the field, their backs bent and faces grim. The villagers worked as if they had no strength left, their hands weakly digging through the remnants of their once-productive land. When Sir Francis approached, they stopped, their eyes filled with exhaustion and fear. He wasted no time with pleasantries, his voice firm yet compassionate. "What happened? What did the goblins take?"

One of the farmers, spoke up, "The goblins took everything, Sir Knight. Every food item in the field—everything we had stored for the winter, they left none behind" His words trailed off as he lowered his head, unable to continue.

Sir Francis clenched his jaw, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on his mind. After hearing their grim report, he turned to rejoin the two guardsmen who had followed him on the investigation. The three of them huddled together, moving away from the farmers to discuss their findings.

"How's the investigation on your end?" Sir Francis asked, his voice steady as he sought any new information.

One of the guards, spoke up first. "The villagers said the goblins seemed only to be after food, my Lord. They scoured the village for anything they could find, leaving destruction in their wake."

Another guard added, "I asked about the goblins' appearance. They said the goblins were mostly small in stature, with minimal covering or no armor at all. Hardly any of them had weapons. They were swift and moved like the wind, coming and going in a blur."

Sir Francis's brow furrowed as he took in the details. This wasn't an ordinary raid.

Goblins without armor or weapons, moving swiftly… Sir Francis thought. His mind immediately made the connection. He knew what kind of goblins had attacked the village. These were not the typical raiding soldiers. No, these were 'dweller goblins'—goblins that usually tended to their nests and lived in caves or dense forests at the base of mountains. The fact that they were unarmed and unarmored confirmed it. They were likely only hunting or gathering food. But why had they moved so far from their usual territory?

Sir Francis turned to the guards, his voice thoughtful yet sharp. "These goblins likely reside mostly at the base of mountain," he began. "Finding them travel this far is unsettling. From the looks of this attack, I can assume they moved in a quiet large group. But it's still noon—they shouldn't have traveled so far. Goblins are most active at night, when they hunt or gather food. If they are here now, it means they've been forced out of their usual territory. But what are they running from?"

There was a brief silence as Sir Francis looked down the road, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on him. Breaking the silence, Sir Francis turned to one of the guardsmen. "Go back to the guard post where Sir William is," he ordered. "Tell him to send reinforcements."

The guard saluted, and with a quick turn of his horse, rode off toward the guard post to relay the message.

Meanwhile, Sir Francis turned to the remaining guard, his expression resolute. "We'll track them down ourselves," he said. "We can't afford to wait for reinforcements. We need to stop the goblins before they ravage another village—and fast."