Having left Melusarej and his friends behind, Drakthar travels North, braving the desert alone amidst turbulent sandstorms. His journey isn’t an overreaction from losing to Kali, he had been thinking about it before but the loss heightened the idea in his mind to the point he could no longer ignore it.

The man walking amongst the sands continues with the purpose of finding the Iron Legion and replacing the power armor he lost to the sea when he traveled to the Sacrosanct Empire.

Drakthar, after three days of non-stop walking, makes it to the place where he killed Orrin, the old location of the Iron Legion’s encampment. To his chagrin, he finds nothing, not a single clue to where they might have gone next.

This doesn’t surprise him, the Legion never put roots down in one place for too long, but he thought maybe it would at least lead him somewhere. Taking a day to decide where to go next, he begins towards Aconblasam, the closest major city, where he will look to see if anyone has heard of where the Iron Legion could have headed next.

He doesn’t make it far before he hears a squeaky but also rough voice call out, “Look what we found here boys! A lone man crossing the desert, who was unlucky enough to run into us”.

Drakthar stops to survey his surroundings, noticing only six raiders slowly encircling him, greed in their eyes, their mouths almost frothing at their catch.

Unimpressed by his new opponents he retorts, “You have that backward”.

The man who is easily identifiable as their leader starts to laugh as Drakthar pulls out his axe, “What? Are you going to fight all of us alone?” Drakthar doesn’t respond, instead choosing to remain silent, waiting for one of them to be dumb enough to try and make the first move.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get em!” The boss calls out, confused as to why his men have halted their approach. He gets a better look at his men, they stand there scared out of their minds, unable to take another step forward due to the menacing aura emanating from the man they are surrounding.

“What are you all afraid of let’s just…” The man stops, his words are cut short when he walks close enough to feel it for himself. It’s as if he had been reverted to his base animalistic nature and it is screaming for him to run.

He turns, beginning to desperately flee away from his paralyzed men, kicking up sand in his pathetic attempt to escape. His face collides with the sand, falling over after only getting a few feet away.

Drakthar hears pitiful screams as he watches the all too confident man bolt as if he had seen death itself. He doesn’t give chase, reattaching his axe to his back before walking casually between the ones too afraid to even move, continuing his journey to Aconblasam.

It takes four days of trekking through constant sandstorms for Drakthar to finally reach Aconblasam. At the eastern edge of the city, he remembers seeing a stable where a man sells horses.

The neighing when he starts getting close means the vendor is still selling there. Drakthar inspects each horse before anyone approaches him, trying to gauge, which has the strongest legs.

“Anything I can help you with?” The horse seller asks him.

“I want to buy that horse,” Drakthar points to the one brown one with sturdy legs near the back of the stable.

“Oh you don’t want that one sir, he’s not too fast. This one is much better,” the man gestures towards a shiny white horse near the front with more slender legs.

“I am not interested in that horse,” Drakthar retorts, seeing the much smaller legs and knowing the horse he buys will be dragging a cart full of heavy armor.

“It is the fastest I have at these here stables,” the man continues to try and sell him on it, wanting to sell his most expensive horse for maximum profit.

“The one at the back is the only one I want, are you going to sell it to me?” Drakthar starts to grumble a little, intimidating the man into giving up his pitch, “Alright two hundred gold,” he states dejectedly, wanting to sell one of the finer ones in the thousands.

Drakthar hands over the gold and grabs his new steed by the reigns and leads him into the city. He ties up his horse at the first post he sees and enters the first building he sees, intending to ask whoever is in it if they are aware of where he can find the Iron Legion.

Within the place, he sees fine weapons of all different kinds hanging on the walls. Drakthar is impressed by their craftsmanship, but they still aren’t as good as his axe.

He sees a man turned in the back, diligently applying the finish to a sword he just created.

“Do you have any information on where I can find the Iron Legion?” Drakthar interrupts the man’s process.

He turns around, causing Drakthar to notice the thick mustache and baldhead of Jean the Blacksmith.

“What type of low-class brute comes in here and asks such a question without a proper greeting?” Jean the Blacksmith sneers when seeing Drakthar.

“Drakthar Borro’vaga,” Drakthar responds simply, giving Jean the Blacksmith his name.

“Wait, are you familiar with a cyborg by the name of Kayde?” Jean the Blacksmith makes a realization once hearing Drakthar’s name, knowing him from the rumors sweeping the desert about the six responsible for the fall of the Purity and Athaulf line in the Sacrosanct Empire.

“I am,” Drakthar simply confirms it for him.

“I know where you Iron Legion is, what is it a former member seeks from them?” Jean the Blacksmith starts to let on that he knows way more about Drakthar than his work in the Sacrosanct.

“What do you know about that?” Drakthar demands to know.

Jean the Blacksmith begins to explain, “Well, I do work for the Iron Legion from time to time. They came to me to get more armor made a few weeks ago and I was expecting Orrin to be the one to personally request the work. I was disappointed that they did not send their leader to see me, but they did, I did not know Orrin had died. They explained to me what had happened. It was quite embarrassing for someone like myself to belittle their new leader, he is named Shash if I remember correctly”.

“What work do they request of you?” Drakthar’s interest piques, maybe having found the place where he can get a new set of power armor made without seeking out the Legion.

“I help them create that special armor of those. They just supply me with the materials and I am the one who creates it. Well some others can, but my power armor is far superior to any of my so-called contemporaries,” Jean the Blacksmith not so humbly enlightens him.

“Do you have the materials?” Drakthar asks impatiently.

“Unfortunately I do not,” Jean the Blacksmith breaks the news.

“The reason I’m searching for them is to get a new set of power armor, my last one is sitting at the bottom of the ocean right now,” Drakthar explains his circumstances.

“Interesting, you desire a suit of armor and I am a blacksmith. It looks like we have a happy coincidence here. I could use more gold; weapons sales have slowed since the rumblings of the war ending have begun. How about this, we search for the Iron Legion together and once we find them I can make you the suit of armor?” Jean the Blacksmith proposes.

“Agreed, do you have any leads,” Drakthar doesn’t have any objections to that plan.

“Of course I do, I am Jean the Blacksmith greatest smith in all the desert I know exactly where they are. We will head North at first light tomorrow morning,” Jean the Blacksmith tells him in a grand tone.

Drakthar picks up a cart before the sun goes down. The next morning he meets Jean the Blacksmith at the North edge of the city and they begin to head out on horseback.

“That axe, I have been eyeing it as we ride. It is crude but seems strong and a little worn. Maybe I could fix it up for you as well or get you something better?” Jean the Blacksmith tries to convince him.

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“No, this axe is perfect,” Drakthar declines without a second thought, his familiarity with his axe at a level where it no longer feels like a weapon to him, but instead a part of his body.

“I understand, lesser creatures can get attached to an inferior because of sentimentality,” Jean the Blacksmith notes, thinking this is the case for Drakthar.

He looks over to Drakthar to see the anger boiling up inside him, “Did I hit a nerve?”

“No,” Drakthar holds himself back, not wanting to piss off the man he needs to get his power armor back.

“How is Kayde? He is truly a man of the highest stature, I assume he was effective in leading you and your cohorts in your victory over the Purity?” Jean the Blacksmith just assumes it had to be due to Kayde.

“He is fine,” Drakthar replies bluntly.

“Good, I know he…” Jean the Blacksmith’s next question gets cut off as their horses start to go wild. They get down off of them and try to calm them down by tightening their grasp on the reigns.

Once they hit the sand they feel it, a deep rumbling that must have spooked the horses. Then they see it; a brown dragon emerges from the sand directly before them. It lets out a deep roar, thick spittle flying from its large mouth as it does.

“It is a sand dragon, it is not worth the effort, let’s get back on our horses and route around it!” Jean the Blacksmith starts to call out. Drakthar doesn’t respond, instead deciding to approach the creature, drawing the axe Jean the Blacksmith was unimpressed by.

“It is fully grown Drakthar, this is not something we can just kill for sport,” Jean the Blacksmith tries to talk him out of it. He can tell Drakthar is the type of man who won’t listen to such pleas.

“Looks like there is no getting out of it,” Jean the Blacksmith pulls out two dual hammers from his bag, starting to twirl them to get the feeling of using them back as he starts to rush the beast along with Drakthar.

On the shafts of each are the engraved names of the weapons, insolence and ineptitude, the names chosen because those are what he cannot stand and must punish.

“Stay out of this!” Drakthar yells back once he notices Jean the Blacksmith join the fray.

“Are you completely insane? You cannot take on a fully-grown sand dragon by yourself! You need me!” Jean the Blacksmith disagrees.

“No… I don’t,” Drakthar responds by showing Jean the Blacksmith just how much he isn’t needed.

Jean the Blacksmith watches as Drakthar stops an incoming swipe of the dragon’s claw. The long nails easily halted by Drakthar’s axe, only being held by his left arm. The dragon counters by trying to take a bite out of the man in front of him, but Drakthar sees it coming, punching the bottom of the dragon’s incoming jaw.

He hits a pressure point causing the jaw to crack. The monstrous predator reels back in pain, letting out a loud screech from the agony. Drakthar uses this opportunity to take his first swing at the overgrown creature, easily cutting into its underbelly.

The giant beast lets out an ear-piercing cry as it starts to realize it is not the predator but the prey. It turns around, starting to try and burrow back into the ground in an attempt to leave with its life.

Drakthar starts to climb its tail as the sand dragon’s head makes it underground. He rushes to its lower back and swings wildly, causing crimson to start spewing from the top of the beast.

Drakthar braces himself as he feels the dragon start to crumble, no longer having the strength to escape within the sands. It lays there its head still engulfed, while the wounds from its back and stomach seep blood that transforms the landscape around it to a lake of blood.

Drakthar jumps down into the pool, the contents of it splashing up onto his body. He wades through the mixture of blood, viscera, and sand making his way to the neck of the dragon.

He puts his axe up against it and cuts through it in a single slice, ending the suffering of the creature that was unfortunate enough to cross his path. He exits the lake of crimson, calmly attaching his axe to his back before remounting his horse, all the while a shocked Jean the Blacksmith stands completely still looking at the carnage in front of him.

“You coming?” Drakthar asks the frozen Jean as he rides up to him, the dragon’s blood still dripping down every part of him.

“Yes,” Jean the Blacksmith recollects himself, remounting his horse and continuing to lead the impossibly mighty warrior to the Iron Legion.

As they ride Drakthar can’t help shake a feeling of loneliness. That overwhelming victory over an adult sand dragon should have meant something, but it made him feel even emptier.

A victory such as that should count as a step towards becoming the strongest warrior to have ever lived, but it felt meaningless. Drakthar knows that goal is still the most important thing to him, but maybe he was starting to realize there are other things of meaning to him.

He started this journey because he needed to figure out what those relationships mean to him and if there are preventing him from achieving his true goal. Despite his previous doubts he now knows for sure that he cannot use them as excuses anymore, the people he cares for have not made him weaker like he originally thought, but instead, they grew stronger together.

It took defeating the sand dragon in such a dominant fashion for him to realize that and now he wants to get his power armor and return to his friends more than ever.

The next morning they find them, the Iron Legion is set up the same as ever, their white tents in the same formation they have been using since Drakthar was a member. The first faces Jean the Blacksmith and he come across are familiar ones.

Bill and Bob have been assigned to the front of the encampment on watch.

“Holy shit is that Drakthar?” Bill gets excited when he notices him.

“It is,” Drakthar gets off his horse and confirms it for him.

“We heard what you did over in the Sacrosanct Empire, you are like a hero all across the desert now!” Bob jumps in.

“Do you guys know where Shash is?” Drakthar gets down to business, there being enough time to catch up with the two of them while Jean the Blacksmith works on his new power armor.

“Yeah, we’ll take you to him,” Bill leads them to the center tent in the encampment. They see a young man sitting inside pouring over a set of maps.

He looks up at the odd pair that has just entered, “Jean the Blacksmith? And Drakthar! How have you been? Finally decided to take your spot as our leader?”

“No, I came here for a new set of power armor. I lost the old one at sea,” Drakthar informs him.

“Oh… well, I see you brought just the man to make it. I assume you will be needing the materials to get started, Jean?” Shash asks, not sure if he already has some.

“Correct, and please call me Jean the Blacksmith,” Jean the Blacksmith doesn’t like that he was addressed so informally.

“Of course my bad. Bill lead him to what he needs,” Shash apologizes then orders.

Jean the Blacksmith gets to work, wasting no time on crafting the armor for one of the strongest men he has ever had the pleasure of watching in battle. Once Bill makes sure Jean the Blacksmith has everything he needs he finds Bob and Drakthar.

Drakthar regales the two with stories of his ventures not only in the Sacrosanct Empire but those of the marshlands as well. As he tells them more and more members of the Legion abandon their duties to listen, Drakthar a shared hero of all of them.

They hang on his every word from explaining Xander’s capture to their victory over Alexandros and everything in between.

At the end of all of it, Bob admits, “I was going to try and ask you to come back, but after what you’ve told us and the way you talk about your new adventures I’d be too selfish to ask you to come back. It’s clear you belong with the ones you have been traveling with… not us”.

“I agree,” Drakthar concurs bluntly, making it seem a little cold even though that was not his intention.

“Drakthar, that armor of yours will be finished tomorrow,” Jean the Blacksmith informs them long after the sun has fallen over the encampment, only the glow of the campfire lending them light.

The next morning Jean the Blacksmith calls Drakthar over to try it on. He puts on each piece one by one, noting how superior it feels than his last suit. He suspects it is because it is new but the real reason is the superior craftsmanship of Jean the Blacksmith.

“Bill, Bob, come help me test this out,” Drakthar orders, walking out of the tent Jean the Blacksmith set up in out towards an open area in the sand. He starts by testing the durability, barely defending gauging the capabilities against Bill and Bob’s attacks.

He is impressed, to say the least, moving on to testing his mobility. It is still clunky, but that is to be expected when it comes to power armor. Despite this it is easier to move around than in the previous suit, causing Drakthar to smirk at the success.

“It is very well made,” Drakthar compliments Jean the Blacksmith.

“I already knew that. I know Kayde has told you that I am the greatest blacksmith in all of the land,” Jean the Blacksmith boasts.

“Yeah,” Drakthar lies, Kayde never mentioned anything about this guy before.

“How much do I owe you?” Drakthar asks, knowing Jean the Blacksmith mentioned before he needed gold.

“It’s free, you got me a dragon corpse that I can go back to and use for parts. That is payment enough for that suit,” Jean the Blacksmith tells him, just glad he could be the one to create armor for such an impressive man.

“Fine if that’s what you want,” Drakthar has no problem with it, but has the slightest amount of guilt over it. He loads up his power armor onto the cart and prepares to begin the journey back to Melusarej for Xander and Gwendolyn’s wedding.

Just as he is about to leave he pauses.

He goes over to Jean the Blacksmith while he is cleaning up the area he used to create the armor, “Hey”.

“Oh, Drakthar, I thought you had already left,” Jean the Blacksmith notices the giant hulk of a man towering over him.

“I have something you might be interested in knowing. In a week and a half, there should be a summit between the desert and the Sacrosanct, maybe you can use the attention there to sell some of your stuff. And if it doesn’t happen there will be a big wedding there the day after. Kayde will be there. Among the guests will be the Silent Brotherhood and some of the military from the Sacrosanct, so either way, you can find a way to make some gold that way,” Drakthar informs him.

“It seems I misjudged you when we first met Mr. Drakthar. You are an individual of the highest class indeed. I will see you in Melusarej,” Jean the Blacksmith’s eyes light up salivating a little while imagining all the gold he can make off such events one after the other.

“Bye,” Drakthar tells him before walking off, making his way to join back up with his friends in Melusarej.