Word had already spread of Mark’s assault on the cultist camp. He wasn’t sure how many he had managed to take out, but the results spoke for themselves—the camp was abuzz.

Mark would have paid a lot of money for this kind of good press back in his old life.

Venjimin had come to him immediately upon his return. There were always plenty of eyes around. And it was obvious that the ferals knew about his raid well before he even returned.

It seemed like the rousing speech he had given to his tribunes was continuing to pay dividends. And when they heard that Mark wasn’t just talking the talk, but also walking the walk, an almost frenzied spirit had flooded through Fort Winterclaw’s feral population.

Most weren’t even sure how many he had taken out. The fact that Mark was willing to ride out and face an army of the bastards alone was all they needed.

But rumor had it that the psychological effect of the attack spread well beyond their walls. Venjimin had explained how many ferals knew people in contact with the cultists. Most didn’t give names, even if they personally hated them since they didn’t want Mark going out and killing their friends and even family. But after his attack, they were scared. Scared to associate themselves with the cultists in any way.

He hadn’t just weakened their numbers, but their entire ability to resupply themselves and gain support from the local population.

Back inside the fort, but went straight back to preparing the next assault squad. He figured they needed at least one or two more attacks before they had weakened them enough to take them head-on without large casualties.

The first thing he did was recruit Reida and Jaryox to his raiding party. Mark wasn’t quite confident enough to put all his trust in his tribunes yet, but these two seemed like a good place to start.

They had provided Jaryox with throwing axes when he was recruited into the tribunes. It had taken a couple of days for him to get accustomed to the different weights, but once he did, he proved his skill with them in an impressive display of accuracy.

After the previous attack, they had increased their stable to six. Unfortunately, the ferals had never ridden before. Save Reida, who had a little childhood experience.

Henric was given the job of teaching them the basics. And Mark made an excuse about wanted to see their progress, so that he could spy on the lessons and try to learn as much as he could himself.

After a couple of days of training together and the basics down for the most part, the group set out for their first mission together.

The cultists were essentially sitting ducks in the clearing they had decided to build their camp in. Some spikes were not going to stop Mark’s lightning bolts. But they didn’t have a lot of options. And fortifications built in the forest were seen as suicide by barbarians, who knew just how easy it would be for your enemy to sneak up while you slept.

The only counter was to vastly increase their patrols and hope they caught any attack before it happened.

Unfortunately for them, Mark had backup this time. And they were skilled.

Reida had been hunting deer and rabbits in the forest for weeks now—something that had made her rather well off within the camp, as good meat sold at a premium. It also made her a bit of a stealth expert.

She easily snuck within range of the cultists, silently picking them off.

Jaryox was a little rougher. One of the cultists got off a yelp as he ambushed them, but an axe to the face made short work of their cries for help.

And then there was Henric. His crossbow was bulkier and slower than Reida’s bow, but it was plenty deadly. And the man had a methodical way of working through his enemies. Clearing patrols in a way that almost reminded Mark of modern spec ops.

When they reached the camp, they counted a similar number of cultists as before. And spotted two new horses. Mark realized Henric’s theory had been correct. The camp was set up as a staging ground, and more cultists were gathering here for their attack on the fort.

Well, that was fine, he figured. As long as they kept cutting them down before their numbers could grow larger, this plan worked fine.

The fervor created by the last attack was priceless. If they wanted to send him more canon fodder, then so be it.

Unfortunately, they had gotten better at something. Grouping up. Mark couldn’t spot a single gathering of more than two cultists across the entire camp, and most were standing alone and at a decent distance from one another. That wouldn’t do.

He eyed the three huts that belonged to the ferals. For all he knew, they were empty. However, there was something that caught his eye. Besides one of the huts near the center of the camp, three of their five horses were hitched. And the other two were beside another hut barely a few yards away.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Not only is that where they’ve got all their horses, but it’s located roughly in the middle of camp. I could be wrong, but if I had to guess, I’d say that’s where the higher-ups rest. Screw it, it’s not like I’ve got a better target.

He raised his hand and fired. The flash sparked across the clearing and exploded with a roar as it tore the thatch hobble apart, sending flaming debris flying across the camp.

Mark fired another electric shot seconds later, hitting the second hut.

Within moments, cultists charged out from the burning wreckages. Their bodies were smoldering, and some even had live flames dancing upon their backs.

Gotcha! Mark smirked as he fired again, sending a crackling blast into the group of cultists as they poured out.

He almost felt bad until he thought of the kids.

You deserve it, you freaks!

Swinging around, he ran, waving the others on as he caught up to the positions where they covered him.

Mark wiped at his brow as he ran through the forest. Three shots in such quick succession had already turned his suit into a furnace. But the chaos he had wrought was absolutely worth it.

He could hear the cries of cultists at his back as they ran. A couple of them had chased the group into the forest but were shot down by Reida and Henric, who covered the retreat.

Hastily mounting, they charged back to the fort. Smiles plastered across their faces.

A couple of mounted cultists galloped out on horseback, but when they spotted the four raiders riding back to Fort Winterclaw, they didn’t even bother and turned back.

He wanted more horses, but they had remained too close to their own camp. If Mark turned and took chase, they likely would have led them into an ambush. And victory tasted too good to throw away over a couple of horses.

Bursting through the already open gates, the raiding party was greeted by a cheering crowd of ferals and acolytes alike.

Mark sent a fist into the air as the crowd rushed up to their horses, singing the names of their triumphant heroes.

And to think, I was starting to worry that I might not be able to get them on my side. Look at me now, Mark smiled, gazing at the jubilant crowd.

Venjimin pushed to the front of the crowd, hailing Mark.

“Hello Tribune, what do you think of all this?” Mark said, his arms extended as the crowd reached for him.

“Most impressive, Imperator. But I’d like a moment of your time when you have the chance.”

“Have it now,” Mark slid from his horse, landing beside it as it trotted through the crowd. “Take the horses back for me, Henric. I’ve got a little business.”

“What about those two?” Henric jerked his head toward the tribunes.

“Take them with you. They deserve a couple of extra irons for their contribution today. Maybe even some hearty stew if Treff has anything ready.”

“Will do,” Henric saluted and whipped his reins softly to send his horse into a trot toward the inner wall.

“Imperator.”

“Yes, Venjimin. I haven’t forgotten.”

“In my cabin, if it isn’t too much to ask.”

“On this day? Of course!” Mark brimmed as he patted the elder man’s back.

Venjimin’s cabin was basic. It had one finished room—barely big enough for his family’s shared bedroll. There was another larger room halfway through construction, which would double as a living area and kitchen, which they currently stood in.

“So, Venjimin, how can your Imperator help you?” Mark said, barely able to contain his excited energy.

“Look here, Imperator,” he said, pulling out a stone tablet he had been carving names on. “I’ve been busy going over the candidates for retainers. There are quite a few men and families that the other tribunes and I trust in the nearby region. I believe they are all suitable recruits for the fort.”

“Recruits?” Mark laughed. “I thought he had something serious to ask me about for a moment,” he shook his head and patted the man on the back as he went to leave. “I trust in your judgment, Tribune. Have the list forwarded to me.”

“You’re going to let them in?”

“Of course. You know the kind we’re trying to keep out. I don’t think I have to remind a smart man like you. Let them come in and share our victories with us.”

“Right, will do Imperator!” Venjimin waved as Mark made his way through an alley that split between a couple of partially built cabins.

“And take it easy,” Mark called back.

The crowds met him again as he stepped back into the streets, some of the ferals even lifting their infant children to watch Mark as he marched up to the inner wall and waved.

You know, I think I could get used to this.

**Acolytes**

“Is he feeling any better?” Erin asked at Mira’s door.

“He’s got a fever, but it’s improving,” Erald said.

“Just let her in, boy. I can hear the quiver in her voice from here,” Mira called out from the kitchen.

“Thank you Master Mira,” Erin bowed as she entered.

“I hope there’s no funny business between the two of you,” she said, pointing her ladle at Erin and Callum as she entered. “You know that’s both against the law and the God-Lord’s tenets as an acolyte, don’t you?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” Erin waved her hands as she reddened. “We’re just friends."

“Just checking,” Mira said with a raised brow and went back to her pot. “Carry on then.”

“Are you going to…” Erald said, awkwardly eyeing Callum, who had a damp towel over his forehead and blankets pulled up to his neck.

“Yes,” Erin hurriedly nodded and turned to the bed.

“You came to see me,” Callum weakly murmured as she approached.

“You came all the way to the Dagger foothills for me, you idiot.”

“You shot another acolyte for me, you even bigger idiot.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” Erin chuckled softly, causing Callum to join in until he started coughing. “Take it easy, dummy.”

“Yeah, my bad,” Callum groaned.

“Well… is there anything I can do for you?” Erin said, pressing her thumbs together.

“Can you heal a scar?”

Erin shot back an unimpressed glare.

“Just kidding.”

“I mean it, Callum. I want to repay you.”

“Yeah, and I mean it when I say you already have. I mean, what you did is like the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, but at least you tried to step up for me.”

“And look where that got us…”

“Fine, fine. If you’re gonna be this glum, I’ll think of something,” Callum’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Callum?”

“His right eye peeked open, “quiet, I’m thinking.”

“Oops, sorry,” Erin cupped her mouth.

“Okay, I got it. One of Treff’s venison pies. That’s what I want.”

“A venison pie!”

“Well, you asked.”

“Fiiine,” Erin sighed, slumping her shoulders. “I’ll see what I can do.”