The group moved silently toward their temporary camp, where loss and resilience clashed in stark contrast. The camp, a hastily assembled collection of tents, was a grim tableau against the vibrant green of the surrounding forest that had once thrived here. The scent of pine and wood smoke mingled with the more pungent odour of death, and the air grew heavy with a deathly stillness, thick with grief and melancholy. Only the occasional groans of wounded soldiers disturbed the oppressive silence.
Sullivan eventually pierced the atmosphere with a question. “Who’s the commander? Or has he fallen too?”
A man emerged from the ranks, waving his hands. “War Master, spare me such a curse. I’m Kael Sanguis, the commander of these soldiers.”
Despite his injuries, the man remained undeniably striking. His sharp, angular features, a hallmark of his aristocratic lineage, were now etched with lines of fatigue and pain. A short, neatly trimmed beard, usually a symbol of composure, was clotted with dried blood. His piercing blue eyes, once deep with experience, now burned with a wild, feral intensity. A fresh gash across his cheek lent a savage beauty to his face, and though his attire was torn and stained, it clung to him with an air of defiant elegance.
Sullivan nodded sharply. “I need to discuss something with you. Follow me. Chen, you too.” Kael and Uncle Chen quickly followed Sullivan into the commander’s tent.
Inside, Sullivan stared straight into Kael’s eyes, his gaze piercing. “Well, Kael, wasn’t there supposed to be a battalion stationed here? Where are the rest of the soldiers? Did they desert the battle?”
Kael offered a wry smile, a stark contrast to his grim expression. “Well, sir, the Baron sent only us for the battle. All we had were a trebuchet and three ballistae.”
Sullivan and Uncle Chen exchanged surprised glances. Such blatant disregard of responsibility was rare.
Sullivan’s face hardened as he absorbed the implications of Kael’s words. The Baron’s decision to send such a small force against an unknown enemy was a gamble bordering on negligence. A cold fury simmered within him.
“This is a betrayal,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “The Baron has knowingly sent our men to their deaths.”
Kael nodded grimly. “It’s a desperate gamble, hoping to weaken the clan without risking his own forces.”
Uncle Chen, his face impassive, studied the map spread out on the table. “We must proceed with caution,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “The Baron’s motives are unclear, but his actions speak volumes.”
A heavy silence fell over the tent, laden with the weight of their situation. They were caught in a deadly game, surrounded by enemies within and without.
“We need to secure this area and establish a defensive perimeter,” Sullivan said, his authoritative voice regaining its tone. The urgency of the situation was palpable. “We cannot afford to lose more men.”
Kael nodded in agreement, his teeth gritted. “And we need to send a message to the Baron,” he added, his eyes glinting with a cold determination that sent shivers down their spines. “He will pay for his treachery against the clan and my men.”
Sullivan studied Kael as if contemplating something deeper. After a moment, he spoke. “The Ashtral... it was a behemoth. Something like that shouldn’t have breached our defenses. We need to understand how it happened. Chen, assess the defensive positions. Ensure this doesn’t happen again. Bring the Darkwing eagle here while you’re at it.”
Uncle Chen nodded and was about to leave when Sullivan suddenly added, “Oh, and keep the brats busy so they don’t wander off. Tell them to help the medics or something.”
Uncle Chen chuckled softly and exited the tent.
With only Kael remaining, Sullivan calmly sat in a chair, his gaze steady as he assessed the man. The scrutiny seemed to weigh heavily on Kael, his discomfort palpable.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Kael finally asked, his voice laced with tension.
Sullivan chuckled lightly. “I’ve met many people in my time, and I’ve learned to read them fairly well. You’re not the type to worry about your subordinates or the clan. Let’s drop the pretence. You’re angry, but it’s for your own reasons.”
Kael’s hands fidgeted nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I’m just a soldier trying to make a living.”
“I don’t appreciate liars, Kael,” Sullivan said bluntly, his words cutting through the air. “You’re self-serving, and I can respect that. Everyone watches their own back first. It’s only human.”
Kael didn’t bother denying it further. Sullivan was right. His concerns for the clan and his men were distant, the latter only marginally closer. A Baronet by title but with no land or troops, Kael was a relic of a bygone era. His family had once held the rank of Duke, but a fall from royal favour had reduced them to insignificance. The official clan history claimed treason, but the truth was lost to time.
Sullivan leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What do you truly seek, Kael? Everyone has a goal. If you’re so dissatisfied here, what is yours?”
Kael hesitated before replying, “I want to make a living without being a pawn. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m a soldier. I’m not a coward who would shy from a fight. But I refuse to die a fool’s death, like today. If conditions had been slightly worse, we’d all be dead. The Baron had the men and weapons, yet we were sacrificed. I fear not death, but an ignominious one. If I live, I want to live with dignity. That’s all.”
Sullivan closed his eyes, considering. “Dignity, is it? An admirable goal. I have a proposition. Become Silas’ sword instructor and his shadow. You can annul your feudal obligations to the Baron, have safety, and double your current pay. An enticing offer, no?”
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Kael was perplexed. “Why me? I’m a mere commander. There are better choices; even you could train the kid.”
Sullivan smiled. “I’m occupied with other matters, neglecting Silas’ training. Chen doesn’t use swords either. So, I needed someone else. Besides, Chen and I are often not around, so I need someone to protect him. That’s why I say you’ll be his shadow. Understand? Wherever he goes, you go. Also, you undermine yourself. You say you’d be dead if conditions were worse, but you almost severed the Ashtral’s arm, didn’t you? You could’ve killed it but chose not to risk your life. That’s commendable restraint and caution. Plus, you saved your men by slashing its fingers despite the danger. That’s a testament to your nature. And I believe you still have untapped potential. So, why wouldn’t I choose you?”
With this, Sullivan stood and began walking out of the tent. “I’ll give you some time to contemplate. If nothing goes awry, we’ll leave for Amberheart in about a week. You have ample time to decide.”
Sullivan paused at the tent flap, a knowing glint in his eyes as he regarded Kael one last time. “Consider it carefully,” he said, his voice low. Then, with a final, enigmatic nod, he stepped into the muddy mire outside.
A slight smile touched his lips as he trudged through the sodden ground. The name ‘Sanguis’ echoed in his mind, a sharp contrast to the bleak, rain-soaked landscape. A perfect storm of circumstances and fate was brewing, and he was at its epicentre. This was more than just a task; it was a calculated gamble, a chance to mould destiny.
☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
A week had passed since the harrowing ordeal at Mistral Meadows. Once a scene of chaos and despair, the camp had now transformed into a testament of hope and resilience. The wounded were tended to, the fallen were honoured, and a defensive perimeter was established. Despite the looming threat of another attack, the survivors exuded a sense of grim determination that was nothing short of inspiring.
Sullivan, Kael, and Uncle Chen stood at the edge of the encampment, their figures etched against the setting sun’s backdrop. The decision had been made. They would return to Amberheart, the heart of the Remington clan, to report on the circumstances there.
“It’s time,” Sullivan said, his voice carrying a note of finality.
Kael nodded, his expression a mix of relief and anticipation. He had made a decision that would alter the course of his life. He would accept Sullivan’s offer. The life of a soldier, while filled with adrenaline and camaraderie, was also a constant gamble with death. The prospect of a more stable existence and the opportunity to train a young noble was too tempting to resist.
“I accept your offer, War Master,” Kael said firmly. “I will serve as Silas’ protector and tutor.”
Sullivan nodded in approval. “Good. But there’s one more thing.” He paused, his gaze tranquil. “You’re still bound by your feudal obligations to the Baron.”
Kael’s expression turned thoughtful. “I serve the Baron for forty days a year,” he explained. “I can annul the contract once that period is over. I will serve my time, and then I am free to pursue other opportunities."
Sullivan considered this for a moment. "Very well," he replied. "Use my name to resolve any issue that may arise due to the sudden annulment.”
With that, the three men turned to face the setting sun. A new story, filled with promise and peril, was about to begin.
☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
The journey back to Amberheart began at dawn. The gargantuan black eagle, its obsidian feathers glistening in the morning light, stood as a silent sentinel at the edge of the encampment. Its presence starkly contrasted the grim reality they had just escaped.
Sullivan and Uncle Chen were like mere specks on the back of the colossal black eagle. Silas and Rowan, their figures also diminished by the eagle's grandeur, followed suit. The wind, a playful companion, tousled their hair as the eagle soared, a magnificent sight against the backdrop of the waking world. Silas and Rowan perched on the eagle’s back, their faces pressed against the wind, their eyes wide with wonder and excitement. The world below was a tapestry of green and brown, rivers snaking through the land like silver veins. From their lofty vantage point, the once-terrifying Mistral Meadows transformed into a serene patchwork, a testament to the eagle's swift flight and a stark reminder of the horrors they had left behind.
Kael's eyes, filled with a potent mix of envy and determination, remained fixed on the disappearing eagle. His path was clear, his resolve unshakable. For now, he would stand with the survivors, a pillar of strength and a beacon of hope. He would tend to their needs, ensuring their safety with unwavering dedication. But the day would come when he would join Sullivan and the others, when he would claim his destiny with the same fierce determination that burned in his eyes. That day was pretty close.
☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
The journey back was a blur of wind and sky. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple and casting elongated shadows across the land, the spires of Amberheart came into view. The grand marble and timber structure, the manor stood as a beacon of hope and security. The eagle descended gracefully, its massive wings creating a whirlwind as it touched down in the courtyard.
The following days were a whirlwind of activity. Uncle Chen’s next task was to inform the Clan of the events at Mistral Meadows and the Baron’s insidious actions... Even if he knew that no action would be taken against him. Most commoners and military households of the Clan met the news with a wave of shock and sorrow. Losing many brave warriors was a heavy blow to the Clan’s morale. But it also served as a wake-up call. The threat the Ashtral and its unknown allies posed was a clear and present danger. Contrastingly, the royals and nobles of the clan didn’t have much of a reaction, but this was to Uncle Chen and Sullivan’s expectations.
In response to the growing threat, Amberfell’s defences were significantly increased. Additional troops were deployed, and the Remmington Clan itself was fortified. The capital city, Amberheart, also saw an increase in security measures. It was a time of heightened vigilance as the Clan braced itself for what could be a long and arduous struggle.
Meanwhile, Silas and Rowan, their initial excitement tempered by the gravity of the situation, helped where they could, their young hearts heavy with the weight of responsibility.
One morning, as Silas was helping in the stables, a peculiar sight caught his eye. A small, iridescent creature, no larger than his hand, flitted through the open stable door. Its body was elongated, with large, multifaceted eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. It was a creature of ethereal beauty, its wings shimmering with various colours. This was a Pixiu, a species known for their intelligence and speed, often employed as messengers across vast distances.
The Pixiu hovered before him, its tiny hands holding an envelope. The envelope was thick and sealed with a wax insignia bearing the emblem of a crimson dragon. Intrigue sparked within him. The dragon symbolised the Takahara clan—another of the four vassal clans alongside the Remington clan. Silas had been educated extensively in the history and politics of the realm, and he recognised the significance of the seal.
Curiosity piqued, he carefully took the envelope from the Pixiu. The creature chirped briefly as if in acknowledgement before darting out of the stable and disappearing into the morning sunlight. Silas retreated to his room, his mind racing with questions. He carefully broke the seal. Inside, a single sheet of parchment bore a message written in elegant script. His heart pounded as he began to read. However, upon closer inspection, he realised the letter was addressed to his father. With a sense of duty, he decided to deliver it personally.
He found Sullivan in his study, surrounded by maps and documents. Silas respectfully bowed and presented the letter. "Father, this arrived for you," he said, his voice filled with curiosity.