3
The Raid
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The sun wasn’t up, yet its beckoning light had slowly turned the clouded sky into a pale purple. It was a scenic, almost beautiful view. It would’ve been a nice way to start the day had it not been for the dark ambiance embedded in the atmosphere. James breathed in the frigid dawn air, feeling how his lungs embraced the chill. He was used to the cold now, his ripped jacket doing little to protect him from the temperatures.
“James, let’s get moving.” Harald’s voice caught the young man’s attention, prompting him to turn to meet the old veteran. Harald had donned his old armor from his days as a soldier, but it didn’t seem to have a nice and caring history. The armor was partial, his gambeson visible underneath the plates. On the other hand, James still had his old earth clothes on and had just cleaned the bloodstains. Well… Partially cleaned.
“Is everyone ready?” James asked. He peeked over Harald’s shoulder to look at his two companions.
Seamus still looked sleepy, his normally bowl-shaped hair now a scruffy mess as he yawned and stretched. Dahlia was right beside him, not as tired-looking as she slung her rucksack over her shoulder.
“Seamus is still drifting off into sleep, but I’m sure you and Dahlia can keep him awake,” Harald said as he headed off.
James gripped tightly onto the rucksack’s strap as he moved to walk. He felt his knees shake a little with every step as his heart pounded like a drum. Today, life and death hung on the line, and James knew that no matter what happened, people were going to die. He swallowed his fear and joined the others as they left for Yorktown.
Little did James know that once the day was over, he would never be the same again.
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Havor watched as the sun rose from a distance, the sky changing into a beautiful orange and purple color. He had been up early, cleaning his weapons and maintaining his armor while everyone slept. The marauder couldn’t explain his uneasiness, the same feeling that had woken him up and the same one he had back on that merchant ship.
‘It’s probably the job we have to do…’
Havor turned his gaze to the harbor in the distance, which only had a few small longboats and tiny vessels anchored. He knew he couldn’t call off the job. He knew full well that Deimos would kill him without hesitation. The Red Death had no need for cowards.
Calling it off would also mean leaving the town to them. Havor looked back at the entrance to the lower decks, his face twisting in disgust. There, below, were some of the most depraved men he had ever met.
Deimos had spared them weeks ago on the terms that they would help with the raid on the Halvorson clan. The bastards were merciless, killing anyone they wanted as long as they weren’t on the business end of the sword. They were monsters, too, killing innocents during the Halvorson raid and even having their way with the poor women. Havor had thought Deimos would’ve killed them after the job or gotten rid of them. Instead, Deimos had simply turned a blind eye, letting them loose like rabid dogs.
Havor saw what they had done back on the merchant ship, how they even killed the ones who had surrendered. He had also seen what they had done last night, back when they intercepted a small boat trying to escape. None of the poor souls stood a chance.
‘They have no remorse, no mercy. Animals, the lot of them.’
Havor grimaced as he looked back at the sea, sighing to himself.
‘Maybe some island inhabitants will build a resistance and kill off those bastards.’
Havor almost smiled at the thought.
“Moping around?” A familiar woman’s voice rang out, catching Havor off guard. He turned to see Helen still in her sleeping clothes. Normally, seeing her would make Havor pissed, but now he almost felt relieved to see her. He grunted and looked back at the sea with little of a response. Helen didn’t seem to care, taking a seat next to the marauder.
“When will we have to go?” She asked, brushing her short blonde hair to the side as she watched the harbor with the man.
Havor shrugged. “Anytime we damn please,” he stated simply.
Helen looked at him quizzically. “You don’t sound like your usual self. I honestly thought you were going to go around the ship yelling at everyone to get up and ready for a raid.”
Havor grunted again, a small smile on his lips as he stared at the harbor, watching as the town’s lights slowly twinkled in the distance.
“I want to see if they somehow build a resistance. Give me a good fight,” he explained before hopping off the railing. Helen only stared at him, confused. No one said anything as Havor headed off into his quarters.
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James rotated his shoulder, wincing as his sore muscles reacted to the motions. He was used to the feeling, but yesterday’s training had really pushed his body. James looked at Dahlia and Seamus, who were still walking ahead of him. Dahlia didn’t seem affected, but James had seen her physically wince whenever she slung her rucksack. Seamus himself had been drifting off to sleep from time to time, making both James and Dahlia wake him up now and then to make sure he didn’t wander off.
Currently, it seemed like Seamus had finally woken up, his feet now walking instead of dragging and stumbling. James looked at Harald, who hadn’t missed a beat the entire walk, his stone face having the same grumpy expression as before. James looked at Harald’s old sword, which was sheathed on the veteran’s side as he rested a hand on it. The sword had runes on its hilt, but they were lifeless, deprived of the magic they once had.
“We’re almost there,” Harald suddenly said, just as they passed a marked tree with runic symbols carved into the wood. They had been walking for a good part of the morning, and the sun’s light was nearing noon. James looked up at the sky, now blanketed with darkening gray clouds.
‘Is it going to snow?’
He hoped it wouldn’t interfere with their battle plan.
“How much longer?” Seamus’ exhausted voice rang out, followed by a yawn. Before Harald could answer, however, the group stopped, the path leading down a familiar slope. James looked around his surroundings, realizing that they were near a familiar mountain as well. At least, if you can call it that. James looked back down the slope, squinting as he spotted the path he and Dahlia took back on his first day in Valenfrost. They were close now, a fact that made James paranoid.
“Not much.” James simply said, walking down the slope’s path, the rest of his group following behind.
“Wait!” Dahlia exclaimed as they started walking again, stopping all of them. “I need to grab something from my hut. It’s nearby, so it’ll be quick.” She looked at Harald, who nodded grumpily. James remembered her hut, a realization hitting him as the shaman headed to her hut.
“Wait up!” James called out, following close behind as she headed off. “What’re you grabbing?” James asked, making sure not to trip over any fallen branches or roots.
“My soapstone, just in case things turn bad down there.” The shaman looked at James puzzled. “Why are you coming?” she asked. James slowed down a bit, Dahlia following suit as they walked together.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, recalling the night the shaman summoned him here.
Dahlia nodded, her eyes looking ahead. “Yes, I remember you running around like a headless chicken before I had to take you down.”
“After that,” James winced at the memory.
“When we were introducing ourselves?” Dahlia asked.
“Yeah,” James confirmed. “Do you still remember the vase I carried around?”
“The vase… I remember,” the shaman slowed her walk and looked at James. “You still haven’t told me what was in it,” she pointed out with a sly grin.
“I guess I never really had the chance,” James said. He remembered all the shit they had gone through these last couple of days. “The vase isn’t actually a vase. It’s an urn carrying my father’s ashes. I didn’t tell you because I’m not really comfortable with people knowing about it,” James sighed, not really wanting to see Dahlia’s expression. He wasn’t sure what the consensus of carrying around a person’s ashes was in this world.
“Thank Freyja,” Dahlia sighed in relief. “I’m glad to hear that, honestly. I thought you were carrying some kind of weird, otherworldly magic in that thing. Thank the gods it’s not,” the shaman admitted. Her reaction surprised James, but he was glad the whole thing didn’t weird her out.
The two eventually reached the hut, which looked the same as it always had, except for the many footprints visible on the snowy ground nearby.
“Townsfolk,” Dahlia pointed out, a look of worry on her face. "They were probably looking for Seamus. Thankfully, it seems like they didn’t wreck too much.” She unlocked her door, which was surprisingly intact. James was about to question why the townsfolk didn’t break her door down—until his eyes caught something in the doorway. There were subtle runes carved into the frame, all softly glowing red.
‘Security magic. Now that’s something,’
James admired the runes for a bit before he followed Dahlia into the hut, looking around the place as Dahlia rummaged through her things. He examined the table and disorganized items: the haphazardly strewn pieces of cloth and potions, the herbs and plants that were left out in the open to dry.
Of course, James would soon spot something unsettling. His gaze rested on the dried blood on the wooden floor, the brownish stain covering half the shack’s floor. He couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of that night.
‘I doubt I’ll be able to sleep here again,’
James forced his eyes away from the blood. He instead focused his sights on his father, whose urn sat comfortably in the corner. James knelt next to the silver urn, picking it up as Dahlia closed the chest she had rummaged through.
“I got what I needed… Are you alright?” she asked before she pocketed the long piece of chalk that James had seen her use before.
“Just give me a minute,” James muttered quietly as he picked up the urn.
Dahlia watched the young man interact with the urn, her expression softening a bit. “I’ll be outside.” She gave an understanding nod before she took her leave.
James looked down at his father, sighing as he wiped some dust from the silver surface.
“Hey, Dad,” he spoke out. He had always talked to his father’s ashes, doing it whenever he the needed guidance or had things to get off his chest. It had always been a sort of coping mechanism for James ever since his father passed away. It only strengthened as James got older, being a helpful outlet for the young man. Now, however, it felt almost like he was saying his goodbyes.
“I’m gonna fight. For a good cause, of course. Not like last time, back on earth,” James rubbed the back of his head, smiling a bit as he remembered his petty fights back in school. “I’m fighting for something real this time, but I’m not sure I’m ready yet. Every part of my body wants to give out and… well, I’m afraid.” James clenched his shaking hands, his thoughts going back to his encounter with Deimos.
“I hope you’re still with me. Just like you said all those years ago, remember?” James smiled a little. “You’ll always be with me… even in this different world. I love you, Dad.”
‘You think the urn will be safe here?’ Faust asked, just as James placed his father back near the corner.
‘For the time being… If I lose, then that means the entire island is done for. So it won’t matter where I put him...’
James took one last look at his father before turning around, hoping that this interaction wouldn’t be the last he had with the urn. Bracing himself for the day ahead, James headed out of the hut, sighing softly as the cold air hit him again. He looked over at Dahlia, who waited patiently near a tree.
“Ready?” she asked, standing straight.
James nodded. “Yeah, let’s get back to the others.”
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Seamus fiddled with his fingers as he and Harald waited for Dahlia and James to come back, waiting next to the path that led to Yorktown. He had already thrown up twice on the way here, mainly out of nervousness and fear of facing the marauders and, worse, the townsfolk. Despite having no food in his stomach, he had the urge to vomit again, his hand moving to his mouth as he swallowed the feeling again. He hadn’t felt like this since he had escaped his captors, yet even then, he had a cool head.
‘Maybe it’s because of James… back when he nearly died…’
Seamus had to agree with himself there. Seeing what had happened to James gave him a reality check, sending him back to the fearful man he had always been. Still, he was here helping James and Dahlia. Hel, he even had his own part in the plan James had devised, ready to help.
There was some confidence there—at least, that was how Seamus had felt the other day. Now, he was shaking, his knees weak, and his shirt soaked with sweat.
“It’s normal,” Harald suddenly said, still leaning on the tree as he watched the forest.
“What?” Seamus asked, blinking in surprise as he turned to the old veteran.
“Whatever you are feeling. It’s normal,” Harald pointed out. “Your legs feel like jelly, sweat gets into your eyes, everything feels like it’s closing itself on you. It’s normal for someone like you to be feeling that way.” He looked over at Seamus, who could’ve sworn he saw a hint of sympathy in the grizzled man’s face. “You’ll get used to it… and soon you’ll forget it was ever a problem. Just remember to be careful and to stay alive,” the old man assured him before he turned his head back to the forest.
“Uh… Thank you… I guess....” Seamus wasn’t sure what to make of the old man’s comment other than to take it as advice and keep it in mind.
Just as Seamus did that, James and Dahlia returned. James had a distinct air about him, his eyes not meeting anyone’s as he stood around. They all headed down the path without much of a word, knowing what they were all getting into.
Seamus found a bit of comfort in Harald’s words from earlier, wondering if James and Dahlia were going through the same thing. He took a deep breath from the freezing air, doing his best to straighten himself as he walked down the path.
‘I really hope none of the townsfolk will realize it’s me…’
He wondered what they had all been doing these last two days.
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out…’
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As it turned out, the townsfolk were busy with something the entire two days. Just as the group stepped into town, they saw how the marauder threat had affected the harborside settlement. The entire place was barren, with no sign of life as they all trudged the cobbled path. Buildings had their windows barricaded, and their doors were probably locked as well.
‘They’re all hiding.’ Faust pointed out.
James nodded in agreement as he spotted movement behind one window, which had previously been covered with curtains. James felt a little uneasy as he walked through the once lively marketplace, which was now abandoned and barren.
“Where is everyone?” Seamus asked, looking around as he kept close to the group.
“Hiding, I suppose,” Dahlia answered.
James opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by something whizzing quickly past his ear.
“Fuck!” James couldn’t help but swear loudly, his body tensing as he tried to find out what had nearly hit him.
An arrow stuck out of a wooden post, prompting James and the others to turn to where it had come from. Ahead of them was a man wearing gambeson armor, a blue sash over his torso, as he held another arrow in his bow.
“Stop!” the man commanded. “That was a warning shot! I will make the next one land between your eyes if you make any sudden movements!”
James stayed still despite Faust instinctively trying to move his body in response to the threat.
‘That armor and sash. I’m willing to bet he’s one of the town’s guards… Where the hell was he when I was dying?’
“We’re not marauders!” Dahlia shouted from behind James. “We’re from outside town. Here to help fight off the marauders!” the shaman added. There was a tense moment between the two sides, the man hesitating for a bit before finally lowering his bow.
“If you’re here to fight, then follow me,” the guardsman said before turning and walking off. James looked at the others, who didn’t seem to want to argue or question it.
“Better get moving,” Harald suggested. Without knowing what else to do, they all followed the guardsman’s lead.