The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a soft glow across the vast Gal-Auro Plains. Arlan rose slowly, his mind heavy with the weight of the council’s plans from the night before.
His gaze fell upon Emmeline, still asleep beside him, her features peaceful, her presence a gentle reminder of all they were fighting to protect. Quietly, he slipped out of their shared tent, letting the early morning air refresh his thoughts as he surveyed the camp coming to life.
Stepping into the open, Arlan was greeted by the sounds of a military camp in full preparation. Sparks flew as soldiers sharpened their blades; grunts filled the air as warriors trained, determined to be at their peak; groups of scouts readied their bows and discussed tactics, while blacksmiths hammered armor and weapons into perfect shape. The scent of smoldering wood and fresh earth mingled in the air as trenches were dug and fortifications raised.
Not long after, Dink approached, his face etched with lines of fatigue but his eyes alight with purpose. “Morning, Grand Marshal,” he greeted Arlan, his voice carrying a weight of respect that had grown over their weeks of collaboration. “I’ve arranged the Royal Army into three sections to hold the valley.”
“Good,” Arlan replied, and the two began walking the perimeter together, their gazes moving over the trenches, barricades, and defenses rising along the valley’s mouth. “The Royal Army will receive the brunt of the attack. Use defensive tactics, Dink until I come back, I’ll assume command then.”
“By your command,” agreed Dink, “To see you command the entire Royal Army… A sight to behold for sure.”
The two walked in companionable silence, inspecting the initial trenches and thick wooden barricades placed to slow the fiends’ advance. Arlan pointed out areas where extra stakes could be added to a nearby officer, and Dink redirected a few formations.
Jovann arrived with twelve wagons, each carrying a cache of stone plates engraved with intricate runes. The elf held up one of the plates for Arlan’s inspection.
“Marie finished the enchantments you asked for… What was it you called ‘em again?”
“Mines,” answered Arlan as he held one of the plates.
“As requested,” continued Jovann, “These plates are charged with flame runes. They’ll detonate at Marie’s behest or they’re set to explode when dark mana is right above the stone plate.”
Arlan replied. “Good work. These should buy us time when the fiends start their charge.”
Then turning to Dink, Arlan continued, “Have the Royal Army begin burying these at least two-hundred paces out. They need to be precisely placed at ten foot spreads.”
Dink nodded without question at Arlan’s instructions and began giving orders to a nearby banner of a thousand men.
“These should buy us time,” Arlan said, masking his knowledge behind a tone of simplicity. “These will thin out the enemy’s first wave.”
Dink glanced over at the stone plates, brow furrowing. “Unorthodox… yet a vile tactic nonetheless.” He looked out over the valley with a somber expression, then added, “It’s clever, though. Even if this doesn’t stop them completely, it should help thin out their numbers.”
Marie joined them a moment later, her gaze following theirs as they watched the Royal Army begin planting the mines. She nodded toward Arlan. “The enchantments are strong, but I made sure they’re set for dark mana activation,” she said, explaining for Dink’s benefit. “These plates will only detonate when the fiends step over them, so our soldiers can’t activate them.”
Dink glanced between them, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “I’d like to see how that plays out.” He chuckled, though the weight of his next words hung heavy. “But if they work, Arlan… I’d hate to fight against you in a battle of wits.”
Arlan nodded, accepting the compliment. “Anything to help reduce casualties on our side,” he replied, his tone practical.
Dink gave him a final approving nod before turning to issue more orders to the soldiers nearby. As he moved off, Marie lingered beside Arlan, her gaze shifting between the stone plates and him, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.
“These… ‘Mines,’ as you called them,” she began, her voice low, “they’re different from anything we’ve used before. Are they weapons from Terra?”
Arlan gave a small, knowing smile. Marie was one of the few who knew about his past—about the world he had left behind and the unconventional skills he had brought with him. “In Terra, we had all sorts of different mines,” he said, glancing down at the stone mines scattered throughout the valley. “But the ones I’m used to weren’t this… powerful. They’ve only had a kill radius of ten meters.”
Marie gave an approving smile. “I’m surprised,” she replied. “I didn’t think the amount of mana I used was even that much. But they’ll do more than just slow the fiends—they’ll tear apart the ranks they hit.”
Arlan nodded. “You outdid yourself, Marie. When one of these goes off, it’ll explode over a thirty meter radius.” He paused, looking at her. “Back in Terra, the mines didn’t have such a large payload since they needed to be hidden.”
“Messy is exactly what we want,” admitted Marie, “Anything that forces Soketh’s army to scatter, hesitate, break formation. But… I didn’t think the heat plates we made back in Galmora would be used as a weapon like this.”
Arlan’s expression turned serious as he studied her work. “There’s a lot from my old world that I will try to recreate. And with Soketh’s forces, we need every advantage we can get. These dark fiends don’t tire, and they don’t fear.”
Marie placed a steady hand on his arm, her expression fierce. “And we have the best advantage right here—you. Soketh’s forces might not tire, but they’ve never faced tactics like this. And they’ve never faced you. If anyone can see us through, it’s you, the Immortal General.”
“Just… stay close to me when we’re in the Iron Grotto,” replied Arlan, “Who knows what Soketh has in store for us there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ar.”
As the morning wore on, Arlan made his way to the outer defenses, where groups of soldiers, adventurers, and local militia toiled in the rising sun. The air was thick with the scent of freshly turned earth as men and women dug deep trenches, piling dirt and stones along the edges to form solid, unyielding barriers.
The rhythmic sound of shovels striking earth mingled with the clink of hammers driving stakes into the ground, building a wall of defenses strong enough to stall any dark fiend charge.
Arlan stepped into the thick of activity, grabbing a shovel from a nearby rack. Without ceremony, he joined in, his powerful movements turning over heavy clumps of soil with practiced ease.
Nearby soldiers and militia watched him with admiration, whispering amongst themselves as they saw their Grand Marshal working side-by-side with them.
A young soldier to Arlan’s right, no older than twenty, cast a quick glance his way, nudging his friend and whispering, “Hey what the hell? Is that the Grand Marshal himself?!”
“Yeah it fucking is!”
An older soldier beside him smirked, leaning on his shovel as he looked over at Arlan. “That’s why we follow him. It’s one thing to have a king on the throne, but a king in the trenches… That’s a man’s worth.”
Overhearing, Arlan smiled, pausing in his digging as he turned to the three soldiers. “I’ve probably dug just as many trenches as a veteran soldier,” he said with a hint of humor in his voice.
The young soldier chuckled, nodding quickly as he adjusted his shovel. “Aye, sir! Good to have you with us, Grand Marshal.”
Arlan returned to his work, pausing only to give occasional pointers on bracing stakes or reinforcing barricades. Soldiers around him straightened up, working with renewed energy, their fears momentarily pushed aside by the Crown Prince’s presence.
He moved down the line, observing groups of soldiers who greeted him with nods of respect, their eyes brightened by the sight of their prince joining them.
Further down the trench, a pair of adventurers were hammering stakes into place, their movements swift and practiced. One of them, a tall woman with a scar along her cheek, looked over and blurted, “What the hell?! It's the Grand Marshal himself! What the hell is he doing here?!”
Arlan glanced up, his expression relaxed. “I’d be ashamed not to pitch in,” he replied, lifting a massive heavy mound of soil.
A shorter, stocky adventurer next to her chuckled, wiping his brow. “My liege, most commanders I’ve met are more concerned with staying clean than getting things done. But here you are, shoveling alongside us.”
“Believe me,” replied Arlan, “I’ve had my share of dirty work. And today is no different.”
They laughed, then returned to their work, hammering the stakes with fresh resolve.
A few paces down, a group of soldiers were struggling to move a massive wooden beam that would serve as a support post. Seeing their difficulty, Arlan set his shovel aside and approached, signaling them to hold off.
“Stand down,” he instructed, grabbing the beam’s end and motioning for the four men to stand back.
Arlan easily then shifted the wooden beam up by himself by channeling his essence and multiplying his physical strength nearly tenfold.
“By Numens!” yelled a nearby veteran soldier, “I’ve heard the rumors but to see it with my own eyes…”
“What rumors?” asked a nearby soldier confused.
“That Grand Marshal here carries the strength of a hundred men and with a swing of his weapon, can cleave even hardened stone in two,” answered the veteran soldier.
The soldier who asked then added, “Old man… Those weren’t no fucking rumors. That wooden pole took at least four of us to even barely lift.”
With a slight smile, Arlan shifted the beam into position, planting it firmly into the trench wall, where it settled securely. He dusted his hands off and gave the soldiers a nod. “All yours now—make sure it’s well-braced. We need this line to hold strong.”
The soldiers exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly in awe, then hurried to secure the beam, muttering excitedly to one another as they worked. One of them, a younger recruit, looked up at Arlan with admiration. “Grand Marshal, if that’s the kind of strength you’ll be using against Soketh’s forces… I’d say we’ve got more than a fighting chance.”
Arlan chuckled, meeting the soldier’s gaze with steady confidence. “Strength is just a tool,” he replied. “Our real advantage comes from every one of you standing together. Tomorrow, it’s your resolve that’ll see us through.” He looked down the line of trenches and fortifications, where men and women dug, hammered, and prepared with renewed determination. The weight of what lay ahead hung in the air, but Arlan could see it—the spark of courage in every face, ready to rise to the coming battle.
As he moved back to his shovel, a young woman from the Royal Army caught his eye. She was hammering stakes into the ground with fierce determination, her brow furrowed as she worked. She looked up as he passed, giving him a shy but hopeful smile.
“Grand Marshal, is it true?” she asked hesitantly. “That you’ve fought over three-hundred goblins single handedly as a boy?”
“Yeah but a Midland soldier killed a few, so more like two-hundred and ninety-six,” Arlan answered.
The sun climbed higher, beads of sweat forming on Arlan’s brow, but he continued to dig, lifting inhuman amounts of dirt and adding them to the growing wall of defenses. Occasionally, he paused to offer guidance on positioning the trench lines or bracing the stakes. The soldiers around him whispered to each other, their voices filled with admiration.
One soldier leaned over to his friend, his voice carrying a note of pride. “With the Crown-Prince here digging with us… maybe we really do stand a chance.”
Arlan heard this and turned to face them, nodding firmly. “We do,” he said, his voice strong. “Because we’re here together. No one fights alone—not today, not tomorrow.”
The soldiers straightened, nodding to each other as they returned to their work, their fears momentarily replaced by determination. And as the defenses rose under the heat of the day, their unity and resolve grew stronger, forged by the sweat and strength they shared with their prince, preparing them for the battle awaiting in the shadow of the Iron Grotto.
Savage’s booming voice broke the rhythm of shovels striking dirt. "Arlan, care for a little wager?" he called out, his grin as wide as the Blacksteel greataxe strapped to his back. His towering frame was impossible to ignore as he strode forward, already rolling his shoulders in anticipation. "Let’s see if you can out-dig me."
Arlan arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You’re on, Savage. But don't complain when I leave you in the dust."
Arlan and Savage dug in with fierce intensity, each one driving their shovels into the ground with power and purpose. Savage tore into the earth with pure brute strength, tossing massive chunks of soil aside as he cleared his way forward. But while Savage’s movements were powerful, Arlan’s were efficient—his strokes were smooth, rhythmic, each scoop a well-placed stroke that barely seemed to slow him down.
It wasn’t long before the difference in core strength was seen. The seventh-tier core easily pulled ahead of the fifth-tier core. Savage gritted his teeth, glancing over and seeing Arlan already several paces ahead, the gap widening with each stroke.
The soldiers around them couldn’t contain their excitement, murmuring with amazement. “Look at him go,” one soldier muttered, eyes wide. “The Crown Prince is barely breaking a sweat!”
Another soldier laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “But that Hek’Jefah warrior is still an impressive sight!”
Savage shot Arlan a quick, determined look, his face breaking into a grin despite the clear disadvantage. “Damn it, Arlan, you make this look too easy!” he called out, breathless but laughing as he struggled to keep up.
Arlan finished his thirty paces with a final, powerful scoop, tossing a last mound of dirt aside as he turned back to face Savage, who still had several paces to go. “Not bad, Savage,” Arlan said with a smile, his breathing barely heavier than before.
Savage let out a hearty laugh, finishing his thirty paces. “All right, you win this one, Grand Marshal,” he conceded.
The soldiers broke into cheers and laughter, clapping their hands and exchanging grins as the tension of the coming battle seemed to fade, if only for a moment. One of the soldiers raised his shovel in a salute. “Now that’s how you dig a trench, Your Highness! We’ll follow you both anywhere.”
Arlan looked around at the gathered men and women, their faces lit up with admiration and a renewed sense of pride. “Remember, this is just the start. Tomorrow, we’ll be standing in these trenches, holding the line together. And I have no doubt that every one of you will give it everything you have.”
Savage gave a booming laugh, clapping Arlan on the back. “I wouldn’t want to be standing anywhere else.”
As they shared a moment of mutual respect, the soldiers returned to their work, their spirits lifted by the impromptu contest. With renewed energy, they continued to dig, hammer stakes, and raise barricades, their hands working faster, their minds focused and resolute. In that moment, the defenses were more than just barriers—they were a promise, a line they would hold together, no matter what the darkness would arrive the next day.
Once the trenches and defenses were established, Arlan moved to the camp where the Banner of the Claw had assembled in perfect formation. The soldiers stood tall, every one of them a testament to discipline and strength. Erin stood at the front, saluting Arlan with pride as he approached.
“Grand Marshal, the men have assembled,” stated Erin, “They’re ready for you to address them.”
“Thank you, captain,” responded Arlan loudly.
Arlan took a steady breath, letting his gaze travel over the assembled soldiers of the Banner of the Claw. Their eyes were focused, unwavering, and filled with the kind of loyalty that was earned, not demanded. He knew each of them understood the gravity of the fight ahead, and it was time to share the plan that would see them through it.
“Soldiers of the Banner of the Claw,” Arlan began, his voice carrying over the field, “you know as well as I do what lies ahead. The dark fiends will be unlike any enemy we’ve faced. They will come at us in waves, relentless and brutal. But you,” he continued, meeting the eyes of as many soldiers as he could, “are the spearhead that will push beyond those waves.”
The soldiers stood even taller, their chests swelling with pride at his words.
“Our strategy is clear,” he went on, his voice firm and steady. “The Royal Army, along with the Lansley and Reeve Banners, will hold the valley and form a defensive wall. They’ll meet the main force of Soketh’s army head-on, stalling them and thinning their ranks. But you—” he paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, “the Banner of the Claw, will advance with me toward the Iron Grotto itself.”
The men’s faces were solemn, yet resolute. Arlan could see the courage in their expressions as they absorbed his words.
“The Iron Grotto’s entrance will be our foothold,” Arlan continued. “Once we secure it, my strike team and I will push into the depths to hunt down Soketh. But make no mistake—the fight outside will be no easier. Erin,” he said, glancing at the captain, “will command the Banner in my absence. Your job will be to hold the line, no matter what. Every fiend that tries to break through that entrance—make them regret it.”
Erin gave a nod, his face determined as he addressed the men. “We’ll hold that line, Grand Marshal.”
Arlan looked over his soldiers, pride swelling in his chest. “I won’t lie—we will be driving into the heart of the enemy and it won’t be easy. Fight for your fallen comrades, fight for your families, and fight for Midland.”
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A resounding cheer rose from the soldiers, their voices echoing across the camp as their resolve solidified. The Banner of the Claw was ready, each of them prepared to give their all in the battle that awaited.
Having grown in numbers, the Banner of the Claw’s was now 3000 strong. It was made up of 1,500 vanguard soldiers in polished steel plate armor, 400 shock troopers with two-handed axes, 500 archers, and 600 storm riders. They were the Midland Army’s most decorated and renowned unit.
Arlan dismissed the troops and began to walk through the camp, meeting the eyes of each soldier and sensing the unity and purpose binding them together. As he passed a few newer recruits, a trio of young men caught his attention with their bright eyes and the nervous energy of those facing their first major battle. One of them stepped forward, clearing his throat before speaking up with a nervous but determined smile.
“Sir, I… I watched you fight during the Siege of Rinhaven,” the young man said, his voice steadying as he spoke. “That day changed everything for me. It inspired me. I knew right then that I wanted to be part of something greater—and that I wanted to fight under you.”
Arlan smiled, feeling a familiar warmth in his chest. “Your name?” he asked, keeping his tone respectful.
“Sir, Private Kristopher Plithee, sir!” he replied, standing at attention and giving a sharp salute.
Arlan placed a firm hand on Kristopher’s shoulder, his expression filled with pride. “It’s an honor to have you with us, Kristopher. I won’t lie—the battles ahead will be difficult, but I know you’ll give it everything you have.”
Kristopher’s friends, George and Michael, stepped forward as well, nodding with a quiet determination. George spoke first, his tone resolute. “We were part of the Galdo Banner, sir. We lost most of our unit at the Siege of Eisanyr. Our brothers fought hard… they gave everything. When we were to be transferred, we requested to join the Banner of the Claw.”
Michael nodded, his expression solemn. “Sir, we heard this was the most decorated unit in the Midland Army, and we wanted to make sure we kept to that.”
Arlan looked between the three of them, a deep respect evident in his eyes. “You’re all here because you chose to be, and I can tell that each of you carries something powerful within. I’m pleased to have you three.” He paused, meeting each of their eyes with a steady gaze. “For the friends you lost, for Midland, and for each other. Fight hard, stay close—and trust each other. The Banner of the Claw is family.”
The three recruits straightened, their faces filled with pride and a fierce determination.
As Arlan moved on through the camp, Kristopher, George, and Michael watched him go, each of them quiet, still taking in the experience of meeting the man they had looked up to for so long. After a moment, George let out a low breath, breaking the silence.
“By the gods… he’s exactly as they say,” George murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “Did you see how he looked at us? Like he could see right through us—and yet somehow… he believed in us. Just like that.”
Michael nodded, his eyes wide as he watched Arlan’s figure disappear into the distance. “Yeah… I’ve heard the stories too. But meeting him in person? It’s different. There’s this… aura about him. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of every battle, every fallen comrade, and yet… he doesn’t break. Makes you feel like we could take on anything.”
Kristopher, still buzzing from the brief interaction, looked at his friends and gave a firm nod. “You’re both right. There’s something about him. When he looked at us, it felt like he wasn’t just seeing new recruits—he was seeing people he was ready to trust, to rely on.” He paused, glancing around at the organized chaos of the camp as soldiers and adventurers alike prepared for the battle ahead. “I don’t know if we’ll survive this. But I know this much: fighting under him, we’re part of something bigger. We’ll make it through this.”
George gave a faint, half-hearted chuckle, though his eyes remained uncertain. “I’ll be honest, Kristopher… I don’t know if I believe that yet. We’re going straight into a hundred-thousand dark fiends... But you’re right about one thing—if anyone can lead us through, it’s him.”
Michael, catching Kristopher’s determined look, straightened his shoulders. “Then let’s make sure we prove him right. We owe it to ourselves—and to those we’ve lost—to see this through.”
The three stood in shared silence, a deeper bond settling between them as they steeled themselves for the battle ahead, their spirits lifted by the presence of a leader who had given them hope where fear had once lived. Together, as brothers-in-arms, they prepared to fight for Midland and to honor those who had fallen before them.
Their quiet moment of resolve was interrupted by the familiar bellow of their formation sergeant. “You boys there, chow’s ready! Head to the mess hall!”
Kristopher, George, and Michael exchanged grins, the tension melting a bit at the promise of food.
"Finally," George muttered, patting his stomach. "Feels like I haven’t eaten in days."
Kristopher shot him a look. "What are you talking about? We literally had lunch a few hours ago.”
Michael snorted, smirking. "George has a bottomless pit for a stomach. Maybe he can just eat all the dark fiends tomorrow so we can skip the battle.”
George shook his head, feigning offense. “C’mon, guys… What’s wrong with being hungry all the time?”
Kristopher grinned, nudging him. “Nothing, so long as you leave some for the rest of us.”
As the trio joined the line, the three could already catch the scent of roasted meat and stew drifting over from the mess tent. When they reached the front, each received a plate piled high with hearty servings of roast boar, boiled vegetables, and bread. They settled down together at a table.
“Kristopher, you want my vegetables? I’ll trade you for your bread,” George offered, trying to sound casual.
Kristopher rolled his eyes, catching on immediately. "Yeah, nice try, George. Last time I traded with you, I ended up with the soggiest greens I’ve ever tasted.”
Michael laughed, stabbing a piece of roast boar with his fork. “I’ll take your bread for some of my stew,” he offered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s fresh today, I swear.”
George sighed, feigning disappointment as he looked at his plate. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll eat my vegetables like a good soldier,” he muttered. “But if I don’t make it through the night, you’ll know why.”
Kristopher grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll pull through. After all, we’ll need you tomorrow in case those dark fiends need a second round after we’re done with them.”
They shared a laugh, their nerves easing a little as they settled into the meal, taking comfort in the warmth of food and friendship. In this brief moment of reprieve, they allowed themselves to just be three friends sharing a meal, preparing for the challenges ahead, and finding strength in their bond.
As Arlan moved through the camp, he could feel the palpable tension mixed with determination emanating from his team, each member deeply rooted in their own purpose. He stopped beside Lucius, who was laying out his artifacts one by one, his face focused and solemn.
“Lucius,” Arlan greeted, observing the careful reverence with which Lucius handled each artifact. “It seems you’re prepared for tomorrow.”
Lucius looked up, a knowing glint in his eye. “These artifacts… Some of them have been in my possession since my earliest days as a spellthief. They’ve served me well, but tomorrow’s task will be different.” He ran a finger along an amulet engraved with faint, ancient symbols. “Inside the Iron Grotto, the Disk of Absolution is definitely an artifact of the Krea. It shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands..”
Arlan nodded, understanding his friend’s concern. “Do you think it’ll be with Soketh?”
Lucius gave a grim smile. “I’d wager my life on it. This Naraka Lord didn’t rise by brute force alone—he’s likely drawn strength from it that we can’t even imagine. That’s why I’m here. Not only to keep these relics out of the wrong hands but to ensure that no one—even in our ranks—falls victim to their allure. I’ll handle it with care”
Arlan’s gaze softened. “When we get hold of it, I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“Then I’ll be the one to bear it,” Lucius said firmly. “If there’s a curse or some hidden danger, it’ll fall to me. I’m no stranger to the toll ancient power can take, but at least this way, I can protect everyone else.” He paused, glancing at the artifacts before him with a look of quiet conviction. “If there’s a chance to weaken Soketh and safeguard Midland, I’ll do it.”
Arlan reached out, clapping a hand on Lucius’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this task. Your knowledge is a strength we can’t afford to lose.”
Lucius held his gaze for a moment, nodding. “Then let’s make it through tomorrow. I’ll make sure anything we find stays out of Soketh’s reach and—if necessary—out of everyone else’s as well.”
As Arlan left Lucius to his preparations, he moved over to Akasha, who was enjoying some wine. She barely looked up when he arrived, but her amber eyes finally met his eyes, piercing intensity.
Arlan smirked at Akasha’s pointed gaze. “Can vampires even get drunk off wine?”
Akasha tilted her head slightly, swirling the liquid in her goblet. "Why waste a perfectly good drink on trying to get drunk? I savor the taste, not the effect."
"Of course, I should’ve known," Arlan replied with a light chuckle. “The 'taste,' right?”
She let a small smile slip, although her eyes maintained that intense glow. "You wouldn’t understand—mortal taste buds are so... limited."
"Limited, huh? I can’t say I’ve ever had the privilege of trying, what, aged blood?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning intrigue.
Akasha took a leisurely sip before replying. "Centuries-old blood can be… exquisite, but it's not always about age. Quality matters. Essence-rich, a hint of courage, perhaps." She leaned back, her gaze sizing him up. "Careful, Arlan. You’re starting to look tasty."
"Don’t think a week’s passed by yet." He shrugged.
Akasha’s expression turned playful. "If you were offered a taste, would you try it?"
Arlan snorted. "Not in a million years."
A laugh escaped her, a rare, almost genuine sound. "Wise, but predictable," she teased. "I expected more courage from the ‘Immortal General.’"
"Boldness and foolishness are often confused, Akasha,” he replied smoothly.
Her smile deepened as she regarded him, a glint of something darker in her eyes. "Temptation is one of my favorite tools, Arlan. And you—" she leaned forward, her voice low, “can also fall prey to it."
"Doubt it,” he countered.
Akasha’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with a knowing, almost dangerous light. “Mm, I’ll find a way,” she murmured, holding his gaze. The tension between them felt as tangible as a blade.
Arlan leaned in slightly. “Please don’t,” he quipped. “You’ll give Marie an aneurysm.”
Akasha chuckled and set her glass down slowly. “True, but your Princess of Midland doesn’t seem to mind.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of something deeper beneath her words.
"Careful, Akasha. Anyone would think you're here for more than a contract." He cocked an eyebrow at her, a mix of surprise and amusement.
Her smirk softened faintly, just enough to reveal a hint of the emotion she'd otherwise keep concealed. “I’ll admit, though, this fight feels… different.” She took another sip of wine, gathering her words as if they were carefully chosen. “You know I’m obligated by contract to you. But there’s a reason I allowed myself to make a pact with you so easily.”
Arlan’s curiosity was piqued, his gaze sharpening. “And what was that reason?”
For a brief, unguarded moment, a flicker of vulnerability passed over her face, only to vanish as quickly as it had come. She held his gaze, her voice low. “Because a monster recognizes a monster,” she replied. “I’ve met many over centuries, but I’ve never met anyone who fights with such… otherworldly ferocity as you.”
Arlan’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “And that draws you to me?”
She shrugged, her usual composure returning. “Perhaps. Or perhaps there’s something more to you than you let on.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Arlan lied, his voice soft but edged. “I’ve only ever fought like this.”
Akasha’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, her tone both approving and just a touch wistful. “Tisk, tisk, tisk… Lying to a vampire is nearly impossible. But I won’t have you tell me yet.”
“Good.” Agreed Arlan. They held each other’s gaze in silence, the air thick with a shared understanding as dangerous as it was undeniable.
Arlan left Akasha with a nod and made his way to Frej, who was meticulously inspecting every strap, buckle, and clasp of her armor. Each piece gleamed with polished steel, a testament to her commitment to duty and honor.
Frej's face was set in fierce concentration, her hands steady as she tightened one last strap with a practiced motion. When she looked up and saw Arlan approaching, her intense gaze softened, but only slightly, as she offered a respectful nod.
“Frej,” he greeted, his tone warm yet respectful. “You look ready.”
She straightened, holding her helm under one arm, the emblem of House Aikahn gleaming on its surface. Her voice was steady, tinged with a hint of pride. “Tomorrow, I will fight to prove myself, Arlan. To earn my father’s approval and bring honor to House Aikahn.” Her gaze became resolute, her shoulders squaring with determination. “This victory will have him finally recognize me as a true Gryphon Knight of our House.”
“And where exactly is House Aikahn from?” Arlan tilted his head, a look of curiosity in his eyes.
“The Duchy of Waldin, just to the west,” she replied, a note of pride in her voice.
“Maybe one day I’ll make a visit,” Arlan said thoughtfully, imagining the lush green hills of Waldin he’d heard of, the home of many noble houses known for their loyalty and martial prowess.
Frej’s eyes brightened, the thought clearly delighting her. “That would be wonderful! You could even meet my father,” she said, a spark of hope warming her voice.
“Definitely,” he replied with a soft smile.
For a moment, silence settled between them, but Frej glanced down, a rare hesitance flickering across her face as she looked at her feet. “Hey, Arlan…” she began, her voice quieter. “I just wanted to say thank you. For giving me this opportunity. Tomorrow, I will fight with all my strength. Even if I… die here…” Her voice faltered slightly before she steadied it. “Can you make sure my father receives the news that I fought bravely in battle?”
Arlan’s expression softened as he looked at her, feeling the weight of her request. "Frej, there’s no need to talk about dying. You’ll get to show off your accolades to your father yourself. I’ll make sure of it."
She managed a small, wavering smile, but the determination in her eyes remained unshaken. "I know, Arlan. But still… If anything should happen, I’d want my father to be proud. I’d want him to know that I stood here, beside you, and that I fought for Midland."
Arlan reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his voice calm and steady. “Frej, I have no doubt he’s already proud of you. Tomorrow, you fight not just as a Gryphon Knight, but as part of my Banner. Your father will hear about what you accomplish—he’ll have his Gryphon Knight to cheer for in person.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his, a flicker of relief breaking through her stoic exterior. “Then I’ll fight like the Gryphon Knight I’ve trained to be. I won’t let anything stand in my way.”
Arlan nodded, his gaze steady, voice both firm and encouraging. “Then show me tomorrow. Show all of us what a Gryphon Knight can do.”
Frej straightened, her armor glinting in the dim light as she squared her shoulders. "I will. You have my word, Arlan," she said, and her voice held a vow.
In that moment, as they shared a quiet understanding, Arlan saw the fierce pride that defined House Aikahn, the strength that was not only her own but had been passed down through generations. Her spirit was unwavering, and he knew that, whatever tomorrow brought, Frej would meet it with unrelenting courage.
Arlan left Frej and made his way over to Savage, who was in the middle of a fierce arm-wrestling match with a few of the Banner soldiers. His massive frame dwarfed his opponent as his muscles flexed with each surge of strength.
The soldiers around him cheered and placed bets on his inevitable victory. When Savage noticed Arlan approaching, he released his opponent’s hand with a victorious thud, turning to his commander with a smirk.
“Arlan,” he greeted, his deep voice rumbling with barely-contained excitement. “What brings the Immortal General to our humble games?”
Arlan folded his arms, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just checking on you, but it seems you’re keeping yourself entertained.”
“These little games keep the blood flowing,” Savage said, shrugging. Then his eyes gleamed with an intense fire Arlan had come to recognize. “But the real thrill—” he paused, leaning in, “—is in the fight tomorrow. You know we Hek'Jefah live for it: to earn our place through battle.”
Arlan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the intensity in Savage’s gaze. Sensing his curiosity, Savage leaned forward, lowering his voice, his tone filled with reverence.
“In my tribe—the Hek'Jefah—we are raised to seek our worth through battle and loyalty, to follow only those who are worthy.” His voice carried the weight of centuries of tradition. “Honor, true honor, isn’t something we claim on our own. It’s earned in blood and glory by following a warrior who embodies strength. And in finding a leader worthy of our loyalty in battle.”
Arlan watched him carefully, seeing the depth of conviction in the fierce warrior's face. Savage paused, his dark eyes fixed on Arlan with unwavering intensity.
“That’s why I follow you, Arlan. You fight with purpose, with a strength that pulls others in—like thunder calling the storm. To a Hek'Jefah, there is no greater honor than to serve a warrior destined for legend. You have that strength, that purpose. You are a leader who could lead even the fiercest warrior into the mouth of death itself, knowing glory awaits.”
Arlan was silent, feeling the depth of Savage’s loyalty and understanding, at last, the unbreakable code that bound the warrior’s loyalty to him.
“You see me as worthy, then?” Arlan asked, half in jest, though he already knew the answer.
Savage’s smirk faded, replaced by a solemn expression. “I’d follow no one unworthy,” he said simply. “When I joined you, it wasn’t for a title or comfort. I follow you because you fight like the storms that shaped my people, a fierce, unrelenting power. There is no higher honor in my tribe than serving a leader worthy of true battle.”
Arlan placed a hand on Savage’s shoulder, his own voice taking on a rare note of admiration. “Then tomorrow, I’ll make sure you have all the glory you could want.”
Savage’s grin returned, fierce and wild, his hand clenching into a fist. “That’s all I ask, Arlan,” he replied, eyes alight with anticipation. “Give me fights that are worthy of my greatness.”
The two warriors clasped forearms, sealing a brief, silent vow between them.
As Arlan looked over his core team, he felt the weight of their combined loyalty and purpose settling over him like a cloak. Each of them was there not just as a soldier, but as a person devoted to something larger than themselves, and it filled him with a renewed sense of duty.
Niren’s steady gaze didn’t waver as he spoke again, his voice low but powerful. “Arlan, I have spent years honing my faith and my strength, and both have led me to this very place—to fight alongside you, to stand against the darkness that threatens our world. I will shield our allies, cleanse any dark magic that opposes us, and offer every last prayer I have for victory.”
Arlan met Niren’s intense gaze, deeply moved. “We’ll need your protection against the [Mind Blast] and other curses Soketh has up his sleeve.”
Niren inclined his head, a humble smile gracing his lips. “It is not I who shines, but the light of Numen through me. I am merely a vessel.” He looked back over the valley, his expression both peaceful and unyielding. “Yet tomorrow, I shall pour out that light until nothing remains.”
They stood together in silence for a moment, watching the sun dip below the distant hills. The air was thick with the quiet resolve that each of them carried.
A voice broke the stillness—it was Frej, who had come to join them. “You know, Niren, I have always admired the clarity of your path.” She gave a slight nod, her gaze fierce. “It’s rare to see someone so entirely sure of their purpose.”
Niren returned her look with one of understanding. “Purpose is a steady guide, Frej. It strengthens even the most doubtful heart.” His tone softened as he added, “But I see that purpose within all of you as well. The path may be different, but the dedication is the same.”
Savage joined them, his massive frame casting a long shadow as he approached. “Tomorrow, we each fight with all we have,” he said, his voice a growl filled with passion. “We fight for our tribes, our families, our oaths.” His fierce gaze settled on Niren, a touch of respect in his usually brash expression. “And for some, for things even larger than themselves.”
Niren nodded, acknowledging the bond forming between them all. “Then let us fight as one tomorrow. We draw strength from each other, bound by purpose and guided by trust.”
Arlan looked over each of his companions, feeling a profound pride in them and in what they had all come to represent. “Then we’ll see it through together. For Midland, for our families, and for every purpose that brought us here.”
They exchanged solemn nods, a shared resolve passing between them. And as darkness fell fully over the valley, the strength of their conviction burned brighter than any fire, a promise made and sealed for the battle to come.
As night settled over the plains, Arlan sat alone outside the royal tent, his meal of beef stew and simple bread a grounding reminder of quiet evenings past. The cool air was heavy with anticipation, but the silence offered him a rare reprieve from the day’s demands.
Lost in thought, he was caught off guard when he saw Erin approach, his Vanguard Commander’s face illuminated by the flickering firelight. Erin’s expression was a mix of confidence and solemnity, the weight of tomorrow’s responsibilities evident in his gaze.
Erin took a seat across from Arlan, his eyes fixed on the fire as he spoke. “Tomorrow, I’ll be leading the Banner of the Claw while you’re inside the Iron Grotto.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m honored, Arlan… but I won’t pretend I’m not nervous.”
Arlan met his gaze with steady assurance, his voice calm and unwavering. “Erin, you’re one of the fastest growing soldiers I know. But strength isn’t just measured in combat—it’s in loyalty, in wisdom, in knowing when to lead and when to listen. You have those qualities, and that’s why I trust you with this.”
Erin nodded, absorbing Arlan’s words, though a touch of melancholy crept into his tone. “I think of all those we’ve lost—Noah, Trent, Lem, Roderic, Mahari… They stood where I’ll stand tomorrow. It feels… like I’m carrying their legacy, but part of me wonders if I’ll join them soon.”
A look of understanding softened Arlan’s expression. He reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Erin’s shoulder. “One day, we’ll all join them in the High Heavens. They fought with honor, and so will we. But tomorrow is not that day for you, Erin. Tomorrow, you’ll lead the Banner, protect our men, and bring them home. I have no doubt of it.”
Erin’s eyes met Arlan’s, and the melancholy faded, replaced by a spark of determination. “Thank you, Arlan.” His voice grew firm, the quiet resolve in it a mirror of Arlan’s own.
They sat together in comfortable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them. The memory of those they’d lost seemed to drift around them, a quiet reminder of the cost they had already paid. Erin, after a moment, glanced back toward the men scattered around the camp, his gaze lingering on a few soldiers sharing laughs despite the coming battle.
“Sometimes I wonder how they manage it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “After all we’ve been through, the blood and loss… yet they still find moments of laughter, still holding onto that spark.”
“That’s the mark of true strength, Erin,” replied Arlan without breaking his gaze into the distance, “It’s not just about fighting—it’s about remembering what we’re fighting for. Tomorrow, the Banner will look to you for that strength, for that resolve. And they’ll find it in you.”
Erin smiled, a rare, genuine warmth breaking through his otherwise solemn demeanor. “Then I’ll carry it for them. For you. For all of us.”
As they returned to the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, Arlan felt a renewed strength stirring within him. Tomorrow was the day that the rift within the Iron Grotto would finally collapse. Tomorrow was when they fought Soketh.