Several hours had passed since the carts had left the mine's entrance. The marks on the ground left an unmistakable trail: hoofprints, wheel tracks, and a chaotic swarm of human footprints. It was a mess. 1765 and Silas had been right; this place was so far from the cities that it was only visited to bring new slaves or during guard rotations.
However, that day, a group of mounted knights appeared on the horizon. The horses they rode were colossal, reaching up to 2.5 meters in height, with imposing musculature and war armor gleaming under the sun. Their riders were equally formidable: men of great size and strength who did not seem small compared to the beasts they rode. Each knight was clad in shining, heavy armor adorned with intricate engravings that reflected their status. At the front, one of them carried a majestic banner, made of fine fabric decorated with precious stones that sparkled in the daylight.
Such a formation was not something one would expect to find in such a remote location. It was evident they weren't here for simple surveillance matters. Perhaps they were the personal guard of a noble, an elite military squad, or even a group of high-level mercenaries or adventurers. Their presence had a greater purpose, and the reason was clear: gold.
The mineral had awakened a greed that 1765 had underestimated. The mine's overseer, now buried within it, had sent numerous letters reporting the gold deposits, taking additional precautions by duplicating the reports through different routes. These measures, intended to mitigate the risk of raids, had ultimately led to this: the arrival of this armed force.
The group of knights quickly advanced to the mine's entrance. What they found was a desolate scene. The entrance was sealed by a mass of rocks from the explosions. Mutilated corpses lay everywhere, victims of both the collapse and the brutal raid. The sight didn't disturb the knights; they had seen worse horrors on the battlefield. However, their attention soon focused on something else.
The marks on the ground were unmistakable. Cart tracks, hoofprints, and human footprints moving in disarray. The group's leader, an imposing man clad in heavy armor that covered his entire body, scrutinized the tracks closely. His helmet completely obscured his head, leaving only a visor that cast a dark shadow over his face. Two massive axes rested crossed on his back, and his bearing exuded unquestionable authority.
"Lustus!" he bellowed in a deep voice that resonated through the air.
From the formation, another man emerged, riding a white warhorse, less muscular but just as imposing. This rider wore a combat tunic combining fabric and light plates, designed to allow mobility without sacrificing protection. The tunic, adorned with gold and blue embroidery matching the knights' armor, had a majestic air. Its bearer, a man with a thick, well-groomed black beard, radiated calculated calmness.
The group's leader pointed to the tracks on the ground.
"What can you tell me?" he asked authoritatively.
Lustus nodded without speaking. He dismounted gracefully and extended his hands before him. He carried no staff or scepter, but as he began murmuring in an arcane language, two glowing circles appeared around his wrists, spinning slowly and emitting an ethereal glow. His eyes closed momentarily, and when he reopened them, they were covered with a blinding white light.
The man analyzed the scene in silence, his glowing eyes darting quickly as they scanned the surroundings. After a few seconds, his voice rang out with unshakable certainty:
"They left heading west approximately ten hours ago. Ten carts pulled by forty scaled horses, carrying 226 people."
The leader frowned upon hearing the report.
"Bandits?"
Lustus shook his head slowly.
"No. One hundred eighty of them are slaves. The rest... difficult to determine. I detect no significant magical traces, but something is peculiar. The tracks indicate fighters, though their magic is scarce or nonexistent."
The leader tightened the reins of his horse, pondering for a moment before turning to his group.
"You heard him. They have a ten-hour lead. Do not expect rest until we catch up with them."
The knights voiced no complaints. Their discipline was etched deeply into their souls. With synchronized movements, they turned their horses and followed their leader, beginning the pursuit at an unrelenting pace. The thunder of hooves filled the air as the ground trembled under the weight of their formation.
Meanwhile, in the convoy led by 1765, calmness was evident. The group had fought intensely for the first time and was now enjoying a well-earned respite. Silas, with the help of the golems, oversaw every detail of the journey, from transportation to the organization of the carts.
In this world, there seemed to be a wide variety of equines, each adapted for different purposes and climates. Scaled horses were one of the most intriguing species. Relatively large, reaching up to two meters in height, they were not as muscular as other breeds. Their main advantage lay in their resilience to extreme climates and their ability to travel long distances without tiring. They were a popular choice for transporting goods between cities and even countries.
1765 and his group had acquired a considerable number of these horses during their attacks on convoys in past months. Initially, their intention was to use them for transportation and breeding, ensuring a steady supply. Now, with this mission completed, the plan to breed and maintain these animals remained a priority. To care for them, Silas had assigned a squadron of specialized golems, ensuring the beasts received proper attention at all times.
The former slaves, for their part, traveled in the carts with expressions of relief and exhaustion. Most were still processing their newfound freedom and the implications of their new situation. As the convoy advanced, some ventured to observe the golems with curiosity, noting how they operated efficiently and silently. The golem drivers managed the scaled horses, adjusting the reins with precise, mechanical movements. The scene was fascinating to those who had never seen anything like it.
1765 watched everything from his spot in one of the rear carts. Though his expression remained neutral, his mind wandered, evaluating every detail of the journey. Thanks to Silas and his constant lessons, he had become accustomed to reflecting on how things could have been done better. Amidst his thoughts, he realized that leaving such an obvious trail was a mistake. He had been convinced that no one would visit that remote place anytime soon, but Silas's lessons and scenes from movies he had seen during his training reminded him that, strategically, leaving such a clear trail could be dangerous.
"This could be improved if there's a next time," 1765 murmured to himself as he analyzed the path they had taken.
The day passed slowly as the convoy moved through winding, peaceful roads. The former slaves were beginning to relax, some even exchanging quiet words. Though fear and uncertainty still lingered, they gradually seemed to accept their new reality.
As night fell, the convoy stopped in a clearing surrounded by trees. The golems, following their programmed orders, began to set up camp. The carts were arranged in a circle to form a natural barrier, while the beasts were unhitched and led to graze under the supervision of the automatons.
1765 stepped down from his cart and observed the efficient work of the golems. The former slaves also disembarked, slightly more lively after hours of travel. Though they hadn't been assigned tasks, some began to help spontaneously, organizing blankets and lighting small fires to keep warm.
As the night wore on, a faint moonlight illuminated the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. The air was filled with a tranquility almost surreal, interrupted only by the soft rustling of branches and the whisper of the wind. For many, this was the first night in a long time they could sleep without chains or the constant fear of guards.
1765 moved a little away from the camp, seeking a secluded spot where he could reflect. As he gazed at the stars, Silas interrupted his thoughts.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"The golems' energy levels are sufficient to sustain operations for the remainder of the journey. It is recommended that you take advantage of this rest to recover your strength."
Settling into a tree to sleep, the constant murmur of the forest provided a momentary calm. The exhaustion weighed heavily on his body, but just as he was about to close his eyes, Silas interrupted the tranquility with an urgent alert.
"An unknown group is rapidly approaching from the east."
1765's eyes snapped open immediately. His training and Silas's constant lessons had conditioned him to react without hesitation. He descended the tree with agility, evaluating his surroundings. His mind was already weighing options: if they weren't Indómitos, then they were enemies. He quickly prepared his gear, ready to intercept them if necessary.
Then, Silas continued with a tone that 1765 had come to recognize as a serious warning.
"Evasive actions are recommended. Avoiding direct confrontation is a priority."
"Evasive?" he muttered, double-checking his sword while scanning the horizon to the east. It was unusual for Silas to suggest not engaging a threat, which only deepened his mistrust.
"There are 20 hostile entities," Silas continued, "but high levels of electromagnetic disturbance are present, inconsistent with any patterns in my database. The enemy's strength is difficult to estimate. Predicting the confrontation's outcome is not possible."
1765 paused for a moment, processing the information. Silas rarely admitted an inability to assess a situation, and when he did, it generally meant the danger was greater than it appeared. There was no time for unnecessary doubts.
"Understood," he responded firmly. He sheathed his sword and quickly moved toward the camp, where the group was resting.
At the camp, the golems remained in their assigned positions, silently keeping watch. The former slaves slept deeply, exhausted from the journey and the emotional toll of the past few days. 1765 looked up at the night sky, where the moon faintly illuminated the clearing.
"Silas, activate the emergency protocol. Wake the golems and prepare the carts for immediate departure."
"Proceeding with activation of the emergency protocol," Silas confirmed.
The golems sprang to life instantly, their methodical movements breaking the night's silence. The carts began to be readied, and the scaled horses were quickly harnessed under the automatons' supervision. The former slaves, awakened by the commotion, rose confused, their faces filled with alarm.
One of 1765's companions approached, concerned.
"What's going on?" he asked with urgency.
"We have unwanted visitors," 1765 replied as he watched the golems' activity. "We need to move now."
The young man nodded and began calming the other slaves, explaining the situation in simple terms while helping them climb onto the carts. The initial chaos soon turned into an orderly retreat.
Meanwhile, 1765 kept his gaze fixed eastward. There were no visible signs of the pursuers, but he trusted Silas's sensors.
"Silas, how much time do we have?"
"The hostile group is two kilometers away, advancing at a constant speed. They will reach our position in approximately five minutes."
1765 cursed under his breath, quickly evaluating the situation. He knew the former slaves were slow to climb into the carts, and if he wanted to buy time, he would have to take drastic measures. Swiftly, he made a sharp sound accompanied by a hand signal. His companions nodded without hesitation.
Soon, they took ten horses. This might slow down the carts, but there was no other choice. Two people mounted each horse, forming an interception group. Without delay, they rode eastward to confront the pursuers while the rest of the group hurried the former slaves into the carts to flee.
It was night, and the path was enveloped in near-total darkness. 1765's group had no trouble navigating thanks to the systems Silas had integrated into their masks, but the horses didn't share that advantage. Nevertheless, guided by firm reins and the riders' experience, they advanced smoothly.
It didn't take long before they spotted the pursuers' torches. The flickering flames resembled watchful eyes in the distance, a clear warning that the enemy was near.
1765 quickly scanned the enemy group. He identified five mages and fifteen warriors. Unlike the foes they had faced before, these moved with alarming precision, in a perfectly coordinated formation. Without fear or hesitation, they advanced as a single unit.
This wasn't enough to intimidate him, but it did heighten his caution. Something about them was different, and he needed to act carefully.
As usual, Silas remained silent. In moments like these, he took on a supportive role, providing as much data as possible and speaking only when necessary. It was a gesture that 1765 greatly appreciated, as it allowed him to focus on his strategy.
"They're two kilometers away. They'll arrive in five minutes."
1765 cursed again, realizing the urgency of the situation. With limited time and options, he prepared to face a potentially formidable foe.
Soon, they took 10 horses. Perhaps this would slow down the carts, but there was no other choice. Two people mounted each horse, forming an interception group. Without wasting time, they galloped eastward to face the pursuers while the rest of the group hurried the former slaves onto the carts to flee.
It was nighttime, and the path was shrouded in near-total darkness. 1765's group had no trouble moving, thanks to the systems Silas had integrated into their masks, but the horses did not share that advantage. However, guided by firm reins and the riders' experience, they advanced without difficulty.
It didn't take long before they spotted the torches of the incoming group. The flames flickered like watchful eyes in the distance, a clear warning that the enemy was near.
1765 quickly scanned the enemy group. He detected five mages and fifteen warriors. Unlike the enemies they had faced before, these moved with alarming precision, in a perfectly coordinated formation. Without fear or hesitation, they advanced as a single unit.
This wasn't enough to intimidate him, but it did heighten his caution. Something about them was different, and he had to act carefully.
As usual, Silas remained silent. In moments like this, he took on a supporting role, providing as much data as possible and only speaking when necessary. It was a gesture 1765 deeply appreciated, as it allowed him to focus on his strategy.
Both groups came to an abrupt halt, facing each other. For a moment, the air seemed charged with tension, as if time had frozen. The warriors mounted on their imposing warhorses, clad in gleaming, perfectly polished armor, contrasted sharply with the hooded figures who stood motionless, their faces hidden behind gray wooden masks with red inlays. No expressions could be seen, not even gestures, and this only added to the unease among the warriors.
The leader of the knights, an intimidatingly large man, frowned beneath the helmet that fully covered his face. His black and gold armor gleamed under the faint light of the torches, while two massive axes rested on his back. He stepped forward, pulling firmly on the reins of his horse.
"I am Garius Talmor, commander of the Honor Division of House Velkarius, guardian of these lands and protector of the Empire!" he declared in a tone both authoritative and menacing, his voice resonating in the night. "By the power vested in me by my rank, I demand that you identify yourselves immediately and remove those masks."
The hooded figures remained silent for a moment, and then one of them, the apparent leader of the group, stepped forward. It was evident that this was not Garius, but the air around this figure also seemed to carry an undeniable authority.
"We apologize for the inconvenience, sir," the figure said in a calm yet firm voice that filtered through the mask. "We cannot comply with your demand. We are simple travelers passing through. We will leave right now if you allow it."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the ranks of the Velkarius warriors. Garius tightened his grip on the reins of his horse, clearly annoyed by their refusal.
"Don't lie!" he roared. "I know you're the ones who attacked the mine. And don't pretend you're not stalling for the rest of your group to escape! Stealing slaves is a serious crime in the Empire, punishable by death!"
As he spoke, Garius pulled a red gem from his belt. He held it aloft for a moment before throwing it to the ground. The gem glowed intensely but didn't change color. Garius lowered his gaze toward the hooded figures, a flash of understanding and surprise crossing his face.
"I see! So, you don't have slave marks. This is getting more interesting."
He paused as he analyzed the group in front of him. Then, with a sadistic smile, he continued, "Who sent you? The Dwarven Kingdom? The Elven Reign? Although, judging by your masks, I'd say you resemble those filthy plains orcs more."
The hooded figures said nothing. They simply stood firm, like impenetrable shadows. Their calm silence seemed to irritate Garius, who gripped the handle of one of his axes tightly.
"Very well, if you won't talk, it doesn't matter. Leave a few alive! Do whatever you want with the others."
The knights raised their weapons at the order. Their horses neighed, ready to charge. The flickering torchlight reflected off their weapons and armor, making their figures even more menacing.
On the side of the hooded figures, no one moved. They held their positions, as if waiting for something. 1765, who was leading from the rear, quickly analyzed the situation with Silas's help.
"Twenty enemies," Silas confirmed in his monotonous tone. "Five magic users and fifteen elite warriors. Extreme caution is recommended."
"I figured as much," 1765 murmured to himself. Despite the numerical disadvantage and the apparent strength of the knights, he showed no signs of doubt.
The leader of the hooded figures raised a hand, a silent signal for the rest of the group to prepare. Each of them adopted a defensive stance, their hands close to their weapons and their bodies slightly inclined forward, ready to move in any direction.
Garius gave the order, and the knights charged with a deafening roar. The warhorses advanced like a wave of steel, kicking up clouds of dust as they quickly approached. But just before they could reach the hooded figures, something unexpected happened.