For nearly an hour, the dark elf had to fight off three of the guards, two swordsmen and one with a spear. By the end of it, both he and the soldiers had several new bruises.

“Alright,” the guard captain spoke up. “That should be enough for you lot. Go get cleaned up!”

“Yes, sir!” The soldiers responded, heading back to the barracks.

The spell weaver used minor healing to erase the bruises before he too headed inside. A quick cleaning spell and a change of clothes later he headed back to Landwaker Square where he used the gateway to leave toward Rust-well Keep.

“Halt!” He was greeted by the soldiers guarding the gateway, the guards immediately pulling their spears back when they saw who the new arrival was.

“Welcome back, Lord Regis!”

“Good day everyone. Did the transport mage arrive yet?”

“No,” one of the soldiers replied. “They’re scheduled to arrive at noon, sir. If they arrive today, then they should appear in about half an hour.”

“I see,” Regis nodded attentively. “In that case, I’ll just sit down over there. If no one arrives in an hour or so, then I’ll head back home as well.”

“I... I see. Go ahead, sir.” The soldier agreed, watching the casually dressed spell weaver walk over to a nearby stone bench he created during an earlier visit a few weeks ago.

Regis plopped down on the bench, spending some time meditating and just enjoying the lukewarm sunshine. After a long while he looked at his enchanted wristwatch, seeing that it was now beyond one o’clock. ‘Not today.’ He sighed as he stood back up, walking over to the gateway.

“You’re heading back, sir?” The guards asked as they noticed him approaching.

“Looks like I wasn’t lucky today. Maybe tomorrow. Goodbye!”

A flash of light and a slight dizziness made sure that he returned home, greeted by the sight of Amanda and Sophie arguing not far ahead.

“Is there a problem, girls?” He asked as he got closer, earning a death glare from Sophie.

“Of course, there’s a problem,” the sun elf grumbled. “I asked her to make me a few buckles days ago, and yet, she forgot them. Even though I reminded her pretty much every day.”

“I already told you I’m sorry,” Amanda said with an awkward expression. “It’s been a very busy week. I promise they will be ready by tomorrow.”

“But I needed them today,” Sophie burst out in anger. “I needed them for an equipment set contract Nina got me. She was going to deliver them tomorrow morning.”

“I...”

“I can make them for you in a minute or two if you have the materials ready.” Regis offered.

“There’s plenty of bronze inside the workshop,” The blacksmith replied with renewed vigour as she found a new lifeline. “Come on in.”

The inside of the workshop behind the small store area was as cluttered as one could expect. Half-crafted pieces, materials and tools dotted the ground in the smithy.

“Sorry about the mess,” Amanda apologized half-heartedly. “It’s been a busy week.”

“So you keep saying.” Sophie grumbled.

“So,” the spell weaver tried to switch the subject. “Do you want the buckles to be made from bronze or iron?”

“Bronze should be fine,” she huffed. “It’s a leather gambeson with extra arm and leg guards, so they didn’t expect too much from it.”

Regis nodded in agreement as he summoned a ward depicting the transmutation circle he needed for the job. He then placed a single bronze ingot in the circle, reshaping it into a small pile of buckles.

“That should do it.” He said while dispersing the ward.

“Thanks,” Sophie replied as she picked up the much-needed components. “I’ll get right to it.”

“Sure. Have fun. See you later!”

“See you, and thanks again!” The dark elf heard from behind a closing door while he left the smithy.

The rest of the day went by surprisingly quietly with no one looking for the loremaster, nor were there any enchantments waiting to be made. After a pleasant dinner and a hot bath, Regis went to sleep, only waking up when someone began to furiously knock on his door.

“Milord,” he heard Euric’s voice from the other side of the door. “Sir Grego is looking for you. He says that there has been movement in front of the mountain pass.”

“Damn,” the spell weaver grumbled as he put on some clothes. “I’m coming.”

A good minute or two later a fully armoured and obviously annoyed dark elf appeared in front of the butler.

“Where is Grego?”

“He’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Regis gave a slight nod to the butler before heading downstairs, the guard captain snapping into attention as soon as he noticed him approaching.

“Grego.” The spell weaver called out to the man.

“The guards just sent a message through the ‘far-caller’ that a group of armed men are approaching the gate.”

“We’re not expecting any visitors.”

“I know. I’ve already sent one of the soldiers to inform Quentin as well.”

“Do you know how many of them approximately are there?”

“Norma said that it seemed to be a group of twenty or so.” Grego explained as the two ran across Obelisk Square towards the bridge leading to the gateway.

When they arrived at Landwaker Square, Quentin was already waiting for them along with Cruz and Osmond.

“Took long enough.” Cruz grumbled.

The loremaster waved at the barrier of the gazebo, dispelling it long enough for the group to enter. The runes of the gateway lit up, the strong light swallowing them in an instant. As soon as they arrived at the secret room of the guard station, they headed out, finding the three guards standing at the top of the battlements with enchanted crossbows pointed at the group outside of the gates.

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“I’ve said, this is the territory of Lord Regis Thorne,” Norma yelled. “State your purpose or leave!”

“What part of our purpose you didn’t understand, you stupid wench?” a rugged voice yelled back. “We are here to offer our services to his lordship as soldiers.”

“The fuck?” Regis asked surprised as they joined the three guards when looking down at the group of not at all bandit-looking people.

“This is either a trap or some poorly planned scheme.” Osmond remarked.

“Yep,” Cruz nodded along. “Definitely bandits.”

“Only one way to find out,” the spell weaver sighed. “You’re with me Quentin?”

“Sure.” The paladin sighed as the two walked up on a small set of stairs that led above the crenelles.

Regis cast the local equivalent of ‘feather fall’ on themselves and the two jumped off the wall. The strangers outside the gates looked in awe as a warrior in shining steel armour and an armoured mage floated down the battlements. The two walked closer until they were barely five steps away from the leader of the unknown group.

“Who the hell are you?” The leader asked, seemingly unimpressed by their entrance.

“I am Lord Regis Thorne,” the spell weaver answered with a calm tone. “And this is my knight commander, Quentin Dawson. Now that I have introduced ourselves, it’s time for you to do the same.”

“My name is Finley and I’m the leader of the Iron Bulls. We came here to offer our services as mercenaries.”

“I see,” Regis nodded as he looked at the group standing in a tight formation behind their leader. “I hope you don’t mind if we verified that.”

“Wha...” The man tried to ask back, but a warm light flowed out from beneath Quentin’s feet, forming a large circle that enveloped a third of the supposed mercenary group.

“What is the...”

“Why did you come here?” Quentin asked with an almost demanding tone.

“We...” Finley tried to speak, but black smoke seeped out of his mouth as he began to cough.

“Why did you come here?” The paladin repeated the question with more force in his tone.

“We came... ugh,” The mercenary struggled in vain. “We came here to infiltrate and rob this place.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Regis sighed as he heard the answer from the man who was surprised by how easily he admitted his nefarious plans.

The rest of the bandits watched in horror as their leader admitted their plan, but before they could draw their weapons, the dark elf raised his hand, releasing the runic spell he’d been covertly holding back during the interrogation. A thick burst of lightning shot forward, spreading across the front part of the group after hitting Finley and the two beside him. Quentin drew his sword simultaneously, using his shield to bash the closest bandit in the face.

“Fire!” Grego yelled as both he and the other three guards aimed their crossbows at the back line of the enemy group. Regis stabbed forward with his bladestaff, impaling Finley’s contorted head, blowing it clean off as he sent a runic fireball through his staff. The explosion had enough force to burn a few of the still-shocked ruffians that stood behind their leader. The bandit group of nineteen barely had any time to react before they were cut down by either Quentin or the dark elf, some getting killed by the crossbow bolts or shadow magic rained down on them from the gate’s walls. Two minutes later only the paladin and the spell weaver stood at the impromptu battlefield, surrounded by corpses.

“Well,” Quentin let out a stale breath. “That escalated quickly.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You know, we really should agree on our sign of sorts so that I would know when you plan on going ballistic.”

“I didn’t know you were into the whole ‘safe word’ thing.” Regis noted with a smirk, the paladin’s expression changing as the true meaning of the suggestion sank in.

“I’m not into that kind of thing, but I really need to know if you plan on going murderhobo on someone. It would make it easier for me to prepare.”

“Fine,” the spell weaver rolled his eyes. “Next time I’ll ask them if they like pineapple pizza or something like that. That should be an obvious enough sign for you.”

“Pineapple pizza. Really?”

“What? It’s a sin against any God in any world.”

“No argument over that.”

“What are you two talking about?” Osmond asked as he and the rest of the guard appeared from behind the now-opened gates.

“Just discussing how pineapple on a pizza is a blasphemy against any God.”

“The hell is wrong with you two,” Cruz grumbled. “You just killed a bunch of people and you’re talking about pineapple pizzas?”

“Yep.”

“Friggin weirdos.”

“And why pineapple pizza out of all things?” Osmond asked with an obvious interest.

“Quentin needed a new safe word.”

“Oh fuck you!” The paladin flipped the bird at the spell weaver, earning a slight chuckle from the rest of the group.

“Either way,” Cruz shrugged. “What now? These guys are as dead as a doornail.”

“Looks like the leader was a shardwaker.” Regis noted after gathering his fast-earned Amaranth and checking Finley’s left hand.

“His second in command was a shardwaker as well.” Quentin added.

“Not bad. I was already thinking about getting young Dana a mark so that she could further her spellcaster studies.” The spell weaver said before using the ritual he learned from Zola to retrieve the sigil from the corpse.

After he did the same with the second in command’s mark, he turned toward Grego.

“We’ll go with the usual routine.”

“Understood,” the guard captain nodded. “You’ve heard his lordship. Strip the corpses of anything useable then pile them up for the corpse sacrificial ritual.”

Norma and the other two did as told, spending a few minutes gathering any arms and armour from the carcasses. Once everything was taken, the bodies got piled up and the group surrounded the pile. A moment later their low chants fused together, forming a large ritual circle around the pile. The bodies shrunk into mummies while glowing lights gathered above the pile. Regis earned a few lesser shards which he fused into two blue, a green and a red crystals that he quickly pocketed. When everyone was done, he used his earth magic to drag the dried husks into the earth where they got ground into dust.

“Let’s bring in those horses and the cart inside.” Osmond pointed out the ramshackle wagon left behind by the bandits that had two very frightened horses tied in front of it.

One of the guards slowly walked over to calm down the animals, leading them through the gate. After closing the gate, Norma and the two other soldiers returned to the battlements, waving goodbye to the others for now.

“Anything useful in there?” Osmond asked Cruz after she climbed up into the back of the tarp-covered wagon.

“Pretty much what you’d expect,” she replied. “Some supplies, a bunch of camping stuff and a couple of spare weapons. Oh, wait, they seemed to have hidden a small chest beneath one of the sacks.”

“Careful,” the bone puppeteer warned her. “It might be rigged.”

“I know,” Cruz sighed as she appeared at the end of the cart, holding the small wooden box toward the dark elf. “Do your thing, your lordship.”Regis nodded and placed his left hand on the small chest while closing his eyes. Inside his mind space, he felt nothing stirring, so he just shook his head.

“No magical traps.”

“Good to know,” the wood elf nodded before wedging her knife’s tip beneath the lid of the box. “Open sesame.”

The box opened, revealing two pouches, a badge-like item and a faintly glowing purple potion bottle.

“Nice,” Cruz whistled as she emptied one of the pouches into her palm. “One gold and thirty-one silvers. Not bad at all.”

The other pouch held forty-six bronze coins and two bronze rings with cheap citrine stones. Regis examined the ring but found no signs of magic. The badge however had a few barely glowing grey non-figurative symbols on its inner side. He cast charlatan’s wisdom on it, revealing a somewhat familiar description.

{Badge of the Iron Oath (damaged)}

{Item rarity: rare}

{Item quality: ordinary}

{Charges: 0/50}

{Durability: 47/100}

{This badge belonged to a Lieutenant of the famous mercenary band known as the Iron Oath. When used, it can reinforce one’s shield by 10 for five minutes.}

“Well,” he hummed. “This is a surprise.”