The road to Phyca stretched before us, a winding dirt path flanked by dense forests and the occasional open field. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of wildflowers and fresh soil. As we approached the village, the distant sound of hammering and the chatter of farmers became more distinct. Phyca was larger than I had anticipated, its sprawling fields and tightly clustered homes suggesting a community that had thrived despite the ever-present threats of banditry and war.
At the centre of the village stood the elder’s home, a modest but well-maintained structure with a thatched roof and a small garden bursting with herbs and flowers. The elder herself greeted us at the door. She was a wiry woman with sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her silver hair was tied back in a neat braid, and she wore a simple but elegant dress that spoke of her status within the village.
“Welcome to Phyca,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “I have been expecting you, Augustus.”
I inclined my head respectfully. “Thank you, Elder Ysmara. We’ll do everything we can to ensure your village’s safety.”
She nodded, her expression softening. “Come Inside, we’ll discuss the arrangements.”
Inside her home, the walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of harvest and celebration. A large table in the centre of the room was covered in maps and documents. Ysmara gestured for us to sit and began explaining the village’s layout and vulnerabilities.
“The Embers of Flame are no ordinary threat,” she said, her brow furrowing. “We’ve moved every family to the village centre, but our defences are stretched thin. The perimeter is too large to guard effectively, and we’re relying heavily on your expertise.”
I nodded, studying the maps intently. “You’ve made the right decision consolidating the population. We’ll position crossbow squads on the rooftops to cover as much ground as possible. Our cavalry will scout the surrounding area for any signs of movement. The rest of our troops will stay at the village centre, ready to respond to any threats.”
Ysmara listened carefully, her sharp eyes never leaving my face. “Good. We’ve also set up lookouts in the watchtowers. They’ll signal with horns if they spot anything suspicious.”
After our meeting, I stepped outside to find Abda inspecting a small crate filled with vials and herbs. She had been working tirelessly on a new concoction—a sedative potion made by mixing plant juices with alcohol. She looked up as I approached, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Augustus,” she said, holding up a vial of the pale green liquid. “This is ready. It’s potent enough to knock out a grown man if used correctly. I recommend applying it as a coating for arrows or darts. It’ll allow us to capture prisoners alive.”
I took the vial, turning it over in my hand. “Impressive work. But we’ll need to be cautious. An overdose could be fatal, correct?”
Abda nodded. “Exactly. Precision will be key. I’ll instruct the archers on how to use it properly.”
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“Good. This might give us an edge against the Embers,” I said, handing the vial back to her.
As the day wore on, our preparations continued. Sora and Leon oversaw the distribution of upgraded gear to our veterans. The armour and weapons we had acquired during our travels were now proving invaluable. These seasoned fighters had already earned their place through countless battles, and their survival was paramount.
Elder Ysmara met us near the village centre. Her expression was resolute: “Everything is in place, but we’ll need to remain vigilant. The Embers won’t give us any warning.”
I nodded. “Our scouts and lookouts will be our first line of defence. Let’s hope they give us enough time to respond.”
The weight of the coming days settled over me as I walked through the village, inspecting the preparations. The Embers of Flame were a shadow on the horizon, a threat that could descend at any moment. But we were ready. And if they came, they would find us waiting.
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After a few days passed, the harvest was finally underway. The villagers were working tirelessly in the fields, their movements quick and efficient as they bundled stalks of wheat and loaded them onto carts. It was a reassuring sight—a reminder of what we were protecting. But amidst the routine, our lookouts brought urgent news. A dozen bandits were spotted moving toward the village.
The alarm horns sounded across Phyca, breaking the serenity of the day. Villagers immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed to the centre of the village as we had instructed during our preparations. Those living on the outskirts had already moved their valuables to the central area a few days before, minimising potential losses. The villagers moved with practised precision, their fear kept in check by the discipline we’d drilled into them.
As the bandits drew closer, we maintained absolute silence. The element of surprise was our greatest weapon. Hidden in our positions, we observed the intruders. They moved in loosely coordinated groups, their demeanour was casual but purposeful. They likely believed this was just another easy raid—a village too unprepared to resist.
The bandits looked more like farmers than seasoned raiders, armed with little more than swords and tattered armour. Their movements lacked the precision of trained warriors. When they entered the village centre, they began their usual plundering: kicking over barrels, rifling through carts, and searching for anyone who hadn’t managed to flee. Their confidence was their downfall.
Once they were fully exposed and within range, I gave the signal. Crossbow squads stationed on rooftops unleashed a volley of bolts, striking the bandits from multiple directions. The bolts were coated with Abda’s sedative potion—a mixture of plant extracts and alcohol that induced numbness and partial paralysis. The effects were almost immediate.
The bandits panicked, their leader shouting orders to regroup, but it was futile. The sedative spread quickly, slowing their movements and dulling their senses. Those who weren’t struck by the initial volley tried to draw their weapons, but our cavalry, stationed at the outskirts of the village, closed in to cut off any retreat.
The fight was over before it could properly begin. One by one, the bandits dropped their weapons, too impaired to continue or too overwhelmed by our coordination to resist. Their leader, a grizzled man with a scar running on his forehead, was the last to be subdued. Even under the effects of the sedative, he fought fiercely, managing to knock a blade from one of our recruits’ hands before Nathanos himself tackled him to the ground.
The entire operation took minutes, but it felt like an eternity as we worked to secure the prisoners. The villagers, who had watched from the safety of the central square, began to emerge cautiously, their faces a mix of relief and curiosity.
We had succeeded. The bandits were subdued, their leader captured alive, and not a single villager had been harmed. But as I stood there, watching the aftermath, I knew this was just the beginning. The Embers of Flame wouldn’t stop with a single failed raid. If anything, they would take this as a challenge.
And we would be ready.