The next day dawned bright and clear, with sunlight filtering through the cave’s entrance, casting soft shadows on the stone walls. Radyn stirred, fully aware that his life had changed forever. As he ventured deeper into the cave, he marveled at its vastness, each step echoing in the quiet space. The weight of the legacy he had inherited pressed down on him.
While exploring, Radyn discovered a small, weathered pouch hidden in a crevice. His breath caught when he opened it to reveal a hundred silver coins and fifty gold pieces. For a boy from a farming village, this was an unimaginable fortune. Farmers worked their entire lives for a single gold coin, and Radyn had never held this much wealth before. His father’s teachings about money flashed in his mind: twenty silver for a gold piece, fifty coppers for a silver. Now, he held opportunity in his hands.
He imagined what he could do with such wealth—perhaps help the people in his village or uncover more of his parents’ legacy. The thoughts were interrupted when he stumbled upon another pouch, this one filled with precious gems: emeralds, sapphires, and rubies. The gleaming stones made his hands tremble with the realization of their worth. His excitement, however, was tempered by caution. He could almost hear Valic’s warning: greed could bring danger.
Radyn’s gaze shifted to an old armory. He found rusted swords, dulled daggers, and a suit of armor decaying with time. No one had set foot here in years. Dust thickened on everything, emphasizing how long this place had been abandoned. The forgotten weapons told stories of battles long past, their glories lost to time.
Among the relics, Radyn noticed scroll holders. He reached for one and read the inscription: “Map of the Damaar Territory.” A thrill shot through him—this map was another part of Valic’s legacy, a key to understanding the land and his future journey. He felt tears welling in his eyes, touched by Valic’s foresight in leaving him more than just a weapon.
As Radyn reflected, his thoughts drifted to his family. This year had brought unimaginable loss. His parents had vanished during a caravan journey, leaving him with an aching emptiness. His uncle, who had taken him in, tried to ease his grief but was soon gone as well. Radyn was left to navigate the world alone, carrying the weight of his family’s absence.
But now, standing in this sacred place, Radyn made a vow. He would become strong—strong enough to protect what remained and ensure no one could take anything from him ever again.
The first few months of Radyn’s training were grueling. Valic’s guidance had provided him with a foundation, but there was so much more he needed to learn. Every day, Radyn focused on the basics of aura manipulation—how to summon and control the energy within himself. But it was harder than he had imagined. Holding his aura for more than a few moments left him drained and frustrated. His muscles ached from overexertion, and his mind felt like it was being stretched to its limits.
At times, Radyn couldn’t help but feel like a failure. Each failed attempt at controlling his aura reminded him of how far he had to go. His frustration often got the better of him, and there were days when he wondered if he was truly cut out for this. The burden of carrying House Damaar’s legacy seemed impossibly heavy, and the constant struggle to improve left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.
But it wasn’t just his training that tested him. The wilderness was unforgiving, filled with dangers he had never imagined back in his village. Wild creatures roamed the forests and hills, and Radyn quickly realized how ill-prepared he was to face them. One afternoon, while gathering firewood, he stumbled upon a pack of wargs—large, wolf-like creatures with glowing eyes and razor-sharp fangs. The sight of them sent a jolt of fear through him, and he barely managed to escape with his life.
Encounters like these forced Radyn to sharpen his survival skills. He learned how to navigate the terrain, build shelters, and hunt for food, but more importantly, he learned how to remain vigilant. The wilderness was not a place for the weak or the unprepared, and each day was a reminder of his vulnerability. Yet, despite the constant challenges, Radyn persisted.
As the months passed, Radyn began to venture farther from the cave, seeking out opportunities to test his growing skills. The wilderness was vast and filled with both danger and opportunity. It wasn’t long before Radyn encountered other travelers on the road—some friendly, others less so.
One evening, while setting up camp near a river, Radyn heard the sound of approaching footsteps. His heart raced as he reached for his bow, ready to defend himself if necessary. From the treeline emerged a small group of travelers—two men and a woman, their clothing rough and worn from the road. They approached cautiously, but their demeanor was non-threatening.
“Easy there, lad,” one of the men said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “We’re just passing through. Mind if we share your fire?”
Radyn hesitated but nodded, lowering his bow. As they sat around the fire, the travelers shared stories of the world beyond Radyn’s village—tales of bandits, monster attacks, and rising tensions among the nearby towns. They offered him advice on survival, warning him of the dangers that lurked on the roads.
“You’re young, but you seem capable,” the woman said, eyeing the Mantle that rested beside Radyn. “But be careful. There are those who would kill for something as valuable as that glaive.”
Her words sent a chill through Radyn. The world outside his village was far more dangerous than he had realized. Though these travelers had been friendly, he knew not everyone he met would be as kind. He needed to be on guard at all times.
Not long after, Radyn encountered the other side of this dangerous world. While trekking through a dense forest, he was ambushed by a group of bandits. They had seen the Mantle strapped to his back and clearly wanted it for themselves. There were four of them—armed with swords and knives—and they circled him like wolves closing in on their prey.
“That’s a fine glaive you’ve got there, boy,” the bandit leader sneered. “Hand it over, and maybe we’ll let you live.”
Radyn’s grip on the Mantle tightened, his knuckles white. His mind raced. He was outnumbered, but he wasn’t the same boy who had left his village months ago. He had trained for this. He could feel the aura thrumming within him, begging to be unleashed.
“I’m not giving you anything,” Radyn replied, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him.
The bandit leader’s grin widened. “Have it your way.”
Without warning, the bandits attacked. They lunged at him from all sides, blades flashing in the fading light. Radyn barely had time to react. He sidestepped the first strike, the sword slicing through the air where his head had been moments before. The Mantle was in his hands, moving almost of its own accord as he parried the next blow, the sound of steel meeting steel ringing in his ears.
But there were too many of them, and they were relentless. Radyn blocked one attack, only to be forced back by another. His movements were fast, but the bandits were coordinated, each one pressing him harder, trying to overwhelm him.
Suddenly, one of the bandits darted in low, slashing at Radyn’s legs. He barely managed to leap back in time, the blade grazing his shin. Pain shot through him, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. He couldn’t let them trap him.
Summoning every ounce of focus, Radyn drew on his aura. He felt it surge through his body, a powerful force that amplified his strength and sharpened his reflexes. Time seemed to slow. He could see their movements before they happened, the bandits’ attacks becoming predictable, almost sluggish.
With a roar, Radyn swung the Mantle, the blade arcing through the air with deadly precision. His first strike connected, the glaive cleaving through the sword of the bandit to his left and biting deep into his shoulder. The man screamed and staggered back, blood pouring from the wound.
Radyn didn’t stop. He spun on his heel, the Mantle moving like an extension of his body. The second bandit was on him, his dagger aimed at Radyn’s side, but Radyn was faster. He brought the glaive up in a sweeping motion, the blade catching the man under the chin. The bandit’s eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
The two remaining bandits hesitated, their confidence faltering as they watched their comrades fall. Radyn’s chest heaved with exertion, but his aura still thrummed through him, giving him strength. He advanced on the remaining men, his gaze hard, his grip steady on the Mantle.
The bandit leader snarled, charging forward with a roar, his sword raised high. Radyn met him head-on, the clash of their weapons sending sparks flying into the night. The force of the impact rattled through Radyn’s arms, but he held firm, driving the Mantle forward with all his might. He knocked the leader’s sword aside and spun, delivering a crushing blow to the man’s ribs. The bandit fell to the ground with a groan, clutching his side.
The last bandit, seeing his leader defeated, turned and ran into the trees, his courage shattered.
He had killed them.
The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. Radyn had taken lives—real lives. The bandits had attacked him, yes, but the fact remained that he had ended their lives. He could still see the fear in their eyes as they fought him, the way their bodies crumpled as the Mantle struck. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he dropped to his knees, the weight of the moment crushing him.
For what felt like an eternity, Radyn knelt in the dirt, his mind spinning with a mix of emotions—fear, regret, and grief. But as the initial shock faded, something else began to take its place. A quiet resolve settled over him. He had fought to survive, just as he had promised himself he would. The bandits had given him no choice, and in defending himself, he had grown stronger.
Radyn’s first kill had changed him. It wasn’t a moment of victory—it was a moment of growth. He understood now that the world was a harsh, unforgiving place, and he would have to do whatever it took to survive. He wiped the blood from the Mantle’s blade and stood, his body aching but his mind clear.
A year had passed since Radyn first set out on his journey, and he was no longer the uncertain boy who had left his village. The wilderness had hardened him, and the countless battles and encounters had sharpened his skills. His mastery of aura manipulation had grown, though there were still moments where he struggled to maintain control. Each day, he pushed himself to learn more, to become stronger.
Yet, despite his progress, Radyn still grappled with the moral weight of his growing power. The memory of his first kill haunted him, and though he had been forced to take lives since then, he never took it lightly. There were times when he questioned whether he was doing the right thing—whether the power of the Mantle was something to be wielded or feared.
Radyn had been traveling to Gismarll every few months, gathering supplies and listening for any rumors that might help him on his journey. The town, though small, had a bustling marketplace where merchants and villagers alike traded goods and news. Today, as he approached, he could feel the excitement and anxiety bubbling within him. This trip wasn’t just about restocking provisions—it was about preparing for the next stage of his journey.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm light across the town’s stone walls and cobbled streets. Gismarll was alive with activity. The air was filled with the smell of fresh bread, roasted meats, and the sharp tang of spices. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices blending with the laughter of children and the chatter of townsfolk.
Radyn’s first stop was the leatherworker’s stall. Rows of armor hung from wooden beams, each piece showing signs of wear but still sturdy and dependable. The vendor, a weathered man with skin as tough as the hides he worked, caught sight of Radyn.
“Looking for something durable, lad?” the vendor asked, gesturing to a set of leather armor. “This’ll keep you safe in a scrap.”
Radyn nodded, picking up a chest piece and feeling its weight. “How much?”
“Five gold,” the vendor replied, eyeing him.
Radyn hesitated. Though he had the coins from Valic’s stash, he wasn’t eager to spend them all at once. “What about three?”
The vendor chuckled, clearly used to haggling. “Four gold, and I’ll throw in a belt to go with it.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Reluctantly, Radyn agreed, handing over the coins. As he strapped on the armor, he felt its snug fit and the weight of his new role. He wasn’t just a boy from a village anymore—he was stepping into something greater.
Next, Radyn moved to the blacksmith’s forge. The heat radiating from the furnace was intense, and the sound of metal clanging on metal filled the air. A line of swords gleamed on the display rack, their edges sharp and deadly.
“I need a sword,” Radyn said to the blacksmith, a burly man with soot-covered arms and a no-nonsense demeanor.
The blacksmith looked Radyn over, then pointed to a blade with a sturdy hilt. “That one’s reliable. Six gold.”
Radyn frowned. He couldn’t afford to keep paying top prices. “I’ll give you four.”
The blacksmith, amused, wiped his hands on his apron and nodded. “Deal.”
With his new sword hanging at his side, Radyn made his way to the stables. The stableman was brushing down a chestnut mare, her coat shining in the sunlight. Radyn had ridden before, but this time, he needed a horse strong enough for long journeys.
“That one’s got a good temperament,” the stableman said, noticing Radyn’s interest. “She’ll take you where you need to go. Five gold.”
Radyn, not wanting to waste more time bargaining he gave the man five gold, and after a firm handshake, Radyn led the mare out of the stable. Mounting her, he felt the strength beneath him, the bond forming as she snorted gently.
As he rode through the streets of Gismarll, he noticed the townspeople watching him. With his new armor, sword, and horse, he felt the weight of his transformation. He was no longer the boy who had stumbled upon a cave—he was now a young man with a purpose.
As Radyn made his way through Gismarll, he stopped at a small tavern near the market square. It was a popular spot for travelers and traders alike, and Radyn hoped to overhear news about the region. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat. The tavern was dimly lit, the clamor of conversations filling the space.
Radyn sat at the bar, ordering a drink, when a grizzled man sitting nearby caught his eye. The man wore a worn leather coat and had the hardened look of someone who had seen more than his fair share of battles. He noticed Radyn’s armor and sword and raised an eyebrow.
“New to the life, are you?” the man asked, his voice rough.
Radyn nodded. “I’ve been training, but I’m still learning.”
The man took a swig of his drink and leaned back in his chair. “Used to be a mercenary myself. Served with the Azure Dragoons for years.”
Radyn’s interest piqued. He had heard of the Azure Dragoons—a renowned group of mercenaries known for their skill in battle and strict code of honor. “What was it like?”
The man smirked, his eyes distant. “Hard. Dangerous. But it gives you purpose. We fought bandits, monsters, even got mixed up in some noble disputes. Not the kind of life for the faint of heart, but if you’re good with a sword and willing to follow orders, it’s a way to survive.”
Radyn listened intently as the man recounted tales of battles, close calls, and the camaraderie that came with being part of a mercenary group. The man’s words painted a picture of a life filled with both danger and honor, something that appealed to Radyn’s growing sense of purpose.
“If you’re serious about the life,” the man said, finishing his drink, “you might want to consider joining the Dragoons. They’re always looking for new blood, and with what’s happening in the region, they’ll need all the help they can get.”
Radyn frowned. “What’s happening in the region?”
The man glanced around before lowering his voice. “Tensions are rising. Bandit attacks are becoming more frequent, and there are rumors of monster sightings near the borders. The Dragoons will be in the thick of it soon enough.”
Radyn felt a knot form in his stomach. The idea of joining a mercenary group was both thrilling and terrifying. But if what the man said was true, he might not have a choice. The world was becoming more dangerous, and Radyn needed to be ready.Later that afternoon, as Radyn walked through the market, he overheard conversations that confirmed the former mercenary’s warnings. Groups of people huddled together, whispering about bandit raids on nearby villages. Some spoke of monsters—creatures that hadn’t been seen in decades—stalking the outskirts of the region.
At a fruit vendor’s stall, Radyn overheard a conversation between two farmers.
“Did you hear about the attack on Westmoor? Bandits burned half the village down. People barely escaped.”
“And I heard there’s been sightings of wargs near the riverlands,” the other farmer said, shaking his head. “It’s like the old days. Monsters and bandits everywhere.”
Radyn felt a chill run down his spine. The world outside his village was changing, growing more dangerous by the day. He had trained for a year, but the threats were mounting faster than he had anticipated.
As he continued through the market, Radyn couldn’t shake the feeling that something larger was brewing. The tension in the air was palpable, and the merchants, normally cheerful and loud, seemed subdued. Everyone was on edge, waiting for something to happen.
By the time Radyn finished his errands, his mind was racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. The warnings about bandits and monsters were real, and if he was going to survive, he needed to be prepared for whatever was coming.
As he mounted his horse and rode out of Gismarll, the sun setting behind him, Radyn felt a sense of urgency. His training had brought him far, but the world was more dangerous than he had imagined. He knew that joining the Azure Dragoons might be his best chance to protect himself and those around him.
Radyn took a deep breath as he left the familiar confines of Gismarll behind. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the horizon in deep shades of orange and purple. His horse, Ember, trotted beneath him, her hooves rhythmically striking the dirt road. The two-week journey to Lamarc was one he had been anticipating for months. With each passing mile, Radyn felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. The wilds were unpredictable, filled with stories of monsters and bandits that haunted his thoughts. But he had trained hard for this moment. He was ready.
The path ahead shifted from rocky roads to flatlands, with forests looming in the distance. The sprawling woods stretched out, thick and mysterious. Radyn could almost feel the weight of the dangers hidden within—goblins, orcs, and worse, if the tales were true. His hand instinctively tightened on Ember’s reins as dusk began to settle, the last rays of sunlight flickering out and casting long shadows over the landscape. He needed to find a place to camp, but just as he veered off the path, a flicker of firelight caught his eye through the trees.
Curious, Radyn guided Ember toward the source. As he neared, he saw a small band of men gathered around a crackling fire in a clearing. They wore mismatched armor, weapons leaning against their makeshift camp. Above them, a banner flapped lazily in the evening breeze, emblazoned with the emblem of a rearing dragon—the Azure Dragoons.
“Hey there!” called one of the men, a tall figure with a broad frame and a gruff voice. His beard was thick, and his eyes gleamed with a mixture of experience and wisdom. “You lost, lad? Or just looking for company?”
Radyn dismounted, keeping his guard up as he approached. “Just passing through,” he said. “I’m Radyn.”
“Sergeant Grath,” the man introduced himself, extending a hand. “I’m one of the veterans here. We’re with the Azure Dragoons, contracted by the city lord of Lamarc. Care for some stew? It’s not much, but it’ll warm you up.”
Radyn smiled, accepting the offer. “Thanks. I could use a meal.” He settled by the fire, the warmth immediately easing the chill from the air.
As Grath ladled stew into a bowl, Radyn took stock of the others around the fire. They were a diverse group, each with the wear and tear of a life lived on the edge of danger. Next to Grath was Jarek, a wiry man with wild hair who seemed to be constantly fiddling with a strange contraption. Across from him sat Talia, a sharp-eyed woman who, despite her sarcastic grin, gave off an air of readiness and danger.
“So, what brings you to these parts, Radyn?” Grath asked, passing him the bowl. His tone was friendly but laced with curiosity.
Radyn hesitated before responding. “I’m on a journey. Trying to see more of the world and figure out my place in it.”
Grath nodded knowingly. “Aye, I understand. We all have our reasons for being out here. The road teaches you things, whether you’re ready for them or not.”
Jarek chimed in, grinning. “And if you’re lucky, you survive! Like the time we got ambushed by wargs. I swear Grath almost lost his beard fighting them off.”
Grath shot him a mock glare. “Enough of your tall tales, Jarek. We’ve got serious matters at hand.” He turned back to Radyn, his expression growing more somber. “The tribes out here are restless. Something’s stirring them up, and we don’t like it. We’ve been patrolling the area, gathering what intel we can, but things are escalating fast.”
Radyn leaned forward, intrigued. “What kind of threats?”
“Mostly goblins and orcs, but there’s been talk of something worse lurking deeper in the forest. Creatures that can speak, though they don’t act like any civilized beings we know.” Grath’s brow furrowed, and his voice lowered. “And there are rumors of a pact—an alliance among the monster tribes. If they unite, it could spell disaster for Lamarc.”
Talia added in a hushed tone, “The city may be fortified, but numbers can overwhelm even the strongest walls. We’re doing what we can, but the tension is building.”
Radyn felt a surge of determination. “I’ve been training for a year, preparing for moments like this. If there’s a way I can help, I’m willing.”
Grath studied Radyn for a moment, as if weighing the sincerity of his words. “You’ve got spirit, lad, but spirit alone won’t keep you alive out here. This isn’t just about swinging a sword; it’s about knowing when to fight and when to fall back. The world out here is harsh, and it doesn’t care about your good intentions.”
Talia smiled, giving Radyn an encouraging nod. “Don’t mind him, he’s always like that. But I agree—you’ve got something about you. Let him ride with us, Grath.”
Grath shrugged. “Fine. You can ride with us tomorrow, Radyn. But remember—this is no place for dreamers. You’ll see the truth of it soon enough.”
The night grew quieter as the fire crackled, casting shadows that danced around them. Radyn felt the weight of what he had stepped into, but the idea of joining the Dragoons filled him with a sense of purpose.
The dawn broke with a soft glow, illuminating the landscape in shades of gold. Radyn stirred from a restless sleep. The fire was now reduced to glowing embers. The Azure Dragoons were already packing their gear, the sound of metal clanking and low voices blending with the morning chorus of birds. He quickly joined in, the anticipation of reaching Lamarc fueling his energy.
After breakfast, the group mounted their horses and set out along the well-trodden path. The air was crisp, and as they rode, Radyn’s heart raced at the prospect of entering the city. For two hours, they traveled the horizon, slowly revealing the towering stone walls of Lamarc, standing firmly against the sky.
As they approached, Radyn marveled at the sheer size of the city. The walls rose fifteen feet high, their surface rugged and weathered but imposing. A massive gate, flanked by guards in polished armor, loomed ahead, its wooden doors adorned with iron fittings. The sounds of the city grew louder as they neared, a cacophony of chatter, laughter, and the distant clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer.
Once inside, Radyn was overwhelmed by the bustling streets. The population of twenty thousand seemed to pulse with life, and people moved like currents in a river. Merchants called out their wares. Colorful banners fluttered overhead, and the aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the scent of spices. Five inns lined the outer edges of the city, each one filled with the chatter of travelers and locals alike.
Radyn felt small amidst the crowd, and Lamarc's sheer energy was both exhilarating and intimidating. He had never seen so many people in one place, and gathering his thoughts took him a moment. He caught up with Grath, who guided the group toward the city's center.
“Is it always this busy?” Radyn asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Grath chuckled, “Aye, especially this time of year. The harvest festival is coming up, and everyone is eager to celebrate. You’ll get used to it.”
As they reached the inner city, the atmosphere shifted. The streets were wider, and the buildings more grandiose, culminating in the citadel where the lord of Lamarc resided. The stone structure towered over the surrounding buildings, symbolizing authority and protection. Radyn could see the city garrison nearby, soldiers training and maintaining order amidst the chaos.
Feeling a surge of bravery, Radyn turned to Grath. “Are the Azure Dragoons recruiting? I want to join.”
Grath raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “I’ll ask Captain Aldric for you. Meet me at the Rusty Tankard tomorrow. It’s one of the inns. We’ll discuss it then.”
With a determined nod, Radyn watched as Grath moved on with the others. He took a deep breath, the sounds of the city swirling around him. After stabling Ember at a nearby livery, he set off to explore.
As he wandered the streets, he was drawn to a market bustling with activity. Stalls overflowed with fruits, vegetables, and goods from distant lands. Radyn tried samples of exotic spices. His senses ignited with new flavors. He watched artisans at work, crafting leather goods and intricate jewelry, their hands deftly shaping materials into beautiful objects.
Each corner revealed something new—an alley filled with musicians, a fountain where children laughed and played, and a bookshop with tomes that promised adventure and knowledge. The city’s vibrancy was intoxicating, and for the first time in a long while, Radyn felt a sense of possibility blooming within him.
Radyn’s thoughts drifted back to the Azure Dragoons and the looming threats they faced. The excitement of the city blended with a sense of purpose. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and he was ready to face them head-on.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Radyn continued exploring until he spotted a modest inn with a weathered sign: “The Sullen Stallion.” He pushed open the door, the smell of ale and roasted meat greeting him.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm but noisy, with patrons laughing and sharing tales. Radyn approached the innkeeper, a stout man with a bushy beard.
“Looking for a room?” the innkeeper asked, eyeing him.
“Yes, for a week. What’s the rate?” Radyn replied.
“Two silver a night,” the innkeeper said, crossing his arms.
Radyn raised an eyebrow. “That’s steep for a place like this. How about one silver a night?”
The innkeeper chuckled. “Not a chance. This isn’t a barn, lad.”
“Then what about ten silver for the week?” Radyn countered, trying to keep his tone light.
“Ten? You think I’m running a charity?” The innkeeper shook his head.
Radyn thought for a moment. “Alright, how about twelve silver for the whole week? It’s a fair offer.”
The innkeeper rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. “Twelve silver? That’s hardly worth the trouble of cleaning the room.”
“Just think of it as a long-term investment. I’ll keep the place tidy,” Radyn insisted, leaning closer.
The innkeeper sighed dramatically. “Fine! Twelve silver for the week, but you’d better not bring trouble.”
Radyn grinned, relieved. “Deal.”
He handed over the coins, and the innkeeper pointed toward the stairs. “Upstairs, second door on the left. Enjoy your stay.”
Radyn thanked him and climbed the creaky stairs, eager to settle into his new temporary home