The Dragonborn Overlord of the New World

by nolalothcaragascint1

[Overlord AU/Canon Divergence. No Ainz or Nazarick] [Slow burn] Guild Master Tiberius of the Sanguine Dragons has spent the last 12 years adventuring throughout the nine worlds of YGGDRASIL. But now the game servers are shutting down. What happens when he inadvertently remains behind during the shut down? How will Tiberius react when finds himself in a New World?

7. Chapter V - Pt 1

Chapter V (Pt. I)

New Enemies Follow New Allies

Tension hung heavy in the air as each side stared the other down.

Ten yards away the head of the cavalry unit sat high in the saddle. He was a stout-bodied man with heavily developed musculature. Something his choice of attire emphasized with the exposure of the fullness of his arms. With their thick cords of muscle, they were more akin to the trunks of a tree than arms.

The leader shared the same dark sun-kissed complexion as the hardworking villagers. A testament to the character of the man being a field commander and not a stuffed shirt who issued orders from someplace removed from the battlefield. His head boasted a crop of short, black hair, accentuating his thick and expressive dark eyebrows. Deep-set worry lines etched across his forehead, revealing the burdens of his leadership role. Despite the weight he carried, his face exuded a gruff and determined demeanor, featuring a square, masculine jawline that was further emphasized by his impeccably well-trimmed beard.

The band's leader donned a formidable ensemble of armour, demonstrating his readiness for any challenge that lay ahead. Beneath a dark-colored undershirt, he sported a short-sleeved mail hauberk, a testament to his preparedness for battle. Over this protective layer, a robust and meticulously polished steel cuirass provided additional defense. The striking armour featured large pauldrons adorned with a thick band of bold red paint, adding a touch of flair to his intimidating presence.

His hands found shelter within tanned leather gloves, while his forearms were safeguarded by sturdy steel vambraces. A wide leather belt cinched firmly around his waist, holding together his earth-colored trousers with steadfast determination. An intriguing touch was the set of plates affixed to the bottom of his breastplate instead of the more common tasset, hinting at his distinctive approach to outfitting himself for battle.

Completing his ensemble, he wore heavy boots with metal reinforcements across the toe and shins, ensuring his footing was both secure and protected. Every piece of his attire spoke of a leader prepared to face any adversary that dared cross his path.

The man shifted in the saddle before hardening his gaze. It was a stare meant to unsettle and intimidate an opponent.

However, the dragonoid remained impassive under the other's gaze.

Concealed behind the fierce canine visage of his helmet, Tiberius locked eyes with the man, their gazes engaging in an unspoken battle. From the depths of his mind, a faint flicker of aggression began to rise, like a pinprick of intensity. Instinctively, the dragonoid interpreted the armoured man's stare as a challenge to his authority, stirring a growing urge within him to respond. The call to action beckoned temptingly, whispering of the necessity to heed its summons.

The field came alive with unease as the horses grew disquieted.

Their hooves pounded the soft earth, creating a symphony of anxious stomping, while distressed whinnies filled the air. Some of the horses shifted restlessly, as if poised to bolt in fear at any given moment. Others reared up on their hind legs, nearly unseating their riders in a desperate attempt to escape the mysterious threat that hung in the air.

The leader's unwavering gaze faltered as the horse beneath him began to show signs of distress. It started slowly as the stallion began to fidget – swaying uneasily on its hooves as if testing the ground and its foot. Then the horse chomped at the metal bit in his mouth while large ears swiveled rapidly, constantly listening. Several times the warhorse shook his head and snorted in displeasure before shifting, taking several steps back.

In an effort to maintain control, the rider tightened his grip on the reins and leaned forward in the saddle to steady himself.

Astonishment washed over the leader's features as he witnessed this sudden shift in the behavior of his loyal companion. The unexpected display of agitation from his usually steadfast mount left him both puzzled and concerned.

This was no ordinary plow horse or delicate show pony from some noble's stables. These were seasoned warhorses, trained and battle-hardened, specifically chosen for their composure and resilience even amid the chaos of the battlefield.

Yet, at this moment, these veteran steeds were behaving like restless yearling foals, fretting and showing signs of unease. It was as if they stood on the precipice of panic, a concerning situation for the riders in their saddles.

The leader's head swiveled in all directions, his eyes searching the surroundings for any hint of danger that might have triggered such a brewing frenzy among their trusted mounts. The fact that these experienced warhorses were displaying such anxiety hinted at a potential threat that demanded their immediate attention.

As the horse's unease intensified, the man responded by further tightening his grip and carefully tugging the leather straps, seeking to regain control over the beast's erratic behavior. Gradually, he managed to steady the horse's movements, transferring the reins to his other hand. With a skilled touch, he reached out with his free hand, gently stroking along the stallion's untamed mane. It was a technique he had learned in his youth, a way to soothe and reassure an equine companion.

Observing their leader's actions, others within the company quickly followed suit. Inspired by his approach, they too reached out to stroke their horses' manes, employing soft tones and gentle words to ease their steeds' anxiety. And to their delight, their efforts were rewarded as their equine partners responded with stillness and calmness, gradually settling under the tender touches and reassuring voices of their riders.

The process took several minutes, with the men working diligently to restore a sense of composure to their horses. Eventually, they succeeded in calming the steeds to a degree, but the animals remained on edge, maintaining a wary and watchful demeanor.

This incident left many puzzled, particularly the group's leader, but he soon pushed it from his mind. Other matters needed attending.

Shifting in the saddle, the burly man returned his attention to the two armoured figures standing opposite him in the field.

"I am the Warrior-Captain of the Re-Estize Kingdom, Gazef Stronoff. May I ask who you are?"

Being addressed the dragonoid prepared to respond, subconsciously squaring his shoulders and straightened his posture.

"I am Tiberius and this is my companion, Yuliana. I'll ask this once, what is your purpose for coming here?"

Again, Gazef adjusted his position.

"Throughout this region, small villages have recently come under attack. It is by the express command of the King, that the Warrior Select and I have been set to the task of hunting down the perpetrators of these heinous crimes."

"If that is true, then I would say your hunt has come to an end."

A cacophony of murmurs erupted among the horse-mounted men. Statements of confusion were joined by looks of shock.

"Just what are you saying?" someone within the posse shouted.

"Are you saying that you're one of those responsible for the attacks on the villages?"

"No," Tiberius shook his head, "This village came under attack earlier today. Probably by the same people you are looking for, but my companion and I put a stop to that."

News of this most recent attack gained the immediate attention of the Warrior-Captain.

"Where are the men who attacked the village now?"

"Dead."

"All of them?"

As the armoured stranger nodded in the affirmative, the composed and stern expression Gazef wore was taken away by one of surprised intrigue.

"How do we know what you're saying is the truth? For all we know, you could be lying to us and are actually in league with those villains we hunt."

The man who spoke was a younger-looking man seated upon a chestnut-coloured horse to the leader's right.

With a lean physique resembling that of a runner rather than the heavily muscled stature of a weightlifter like the Warrior-Captain, he cut a different figure. His shaggy brown hair was unkempt from the day's ride in the wind, and his brown eyes held a soft and compassionate gaze. Overall, his features could be considered quite ordinary, fitting in seamlessly among a crowd without drawing much attention.

Like his fellow soldiers, he donned a simple yet practical set of armour.

His attire consisted of an earth-toned long-sleeve undershirt, accompanied by matching trousers. Similar to his leader, he wore a mail hauberk beneath the polished steel cuirass for added protection. Unlike pauldrons, he preferred spaulders, allowing his arms a wider range of motion during combat. A tasset of hardened leather was secured around his waist, providing additional coverage. His elbows and knees were protected by sturdy steel-reinforced pads, ensuring his vulnerability in battle was minimized.

Notably, the fronts of his knee-high boots appeared to be constructed with extra padding, suggesting a thoughtful consideration for comfort and defense during long hours of wear.

"You would dare to insult the word of the Supreme One?!"

A fierce yet distinctly feminine voice rang out from the second of the two armoured strangers.

"Calm yourself, Yuliana."

The show of open hostility was not lost on Gazef as such he acted quickly to de-escalate the situation.

"Please forgive my Vice-Captain, he meant no offense," the burly man's tone was light yet maintained an air of seriousness, "If we may enter the village to confirm what you say…"

"No," it was a resolute answer that left no opening for negotiations, "My companion and I are strangers to this land. As such your names and titles hold little meaning to us. So what you say could be a ruse and I am not one to merely trust the intentions of another so blatantly."

"W-wha… Why the Warrior-Captain's word is beyond…" The speaker's tone was one of disbelief. But he was promptly silenced by a simple gesture from Gazef.

The mounted leader of the band visibly relaxed, allowing his hands to rest lazily on the horn of his saddle.

"Well, then, it would seem we have arrived at an impasse."

"So it would seem," Tiberius concurred.

An uneasy stillness soon fell over the entirety of the gathering. Occasionally a metallic clack would be heard as a horse would shift, biting at the bit in its mouth. Or the softer clatter and clinks of the men's armour and weapons would sound as they shifted on their mounts.

Knowing the current situation couldn't continue, Tiberius began to think. There had to be a way of breaking the deadlock. After all, what else was there to do other than to spend the rest of the day standing in some open field?

But no matter how much he mulled over the issue, the dragonoid could only see two possible outcomes.

He and Yuliana would engage these men in a -albeit brief- battle and slaughter them as they had the earlier invaders.

Or they would find some way to verify the claims made by these other men.

"There might be a way," Tiberius finally spoke with a thoughtful rumble, "If you are who you say you are. Then it stands that maybe the villagers could corroborate your story."

Gazef rubbed his whiskered chin, "Yes, that is possible."

"Then it's settled. Dismount from your horse and leave your weapons here with your subordinate," the dragonoid commanded and gestured to the Vice-Captain, "Then you will accompany me to the village chief. If he confirms what you have shared with us is true then perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

"I understand; however, this sword was given to me by the King. I cannot set it down without his express permission."

"Mmm, very well," Tiberius acquiesced as he regarded the bearded warrior, "But know this, if you try to harm anyone within the village. You and your men will all die where you stand."

"I accept," Gazef nodded solemnly.

Gathering the reins in hand, he shifted in the saddle. Freeing his left foot from the stirrup the Warrior-Captain raised himself up and swung his leg over the rear of the horse before lowering himself to the ground.

Urging his steed forward, the Vice-Captain brought himself alongside his leader.

"Are you sure about this? I mean is it wise to trust these strangers so completely, sir?" he asked in hushed tones.

"At the moment it seems we have little choice in the matter," Gazef replied as he stepped around to the front of his horse.

"But sir, it could be a trap," the younger man eyed the two strangers across the field, "They could very well be in league with our enemies. I would not find it beyond them to hire outsiders…"

"That's enough Vice-Captain Garro," Gazef's sharp tone and use of his subordinate's rank left no room for dissent, "My safety is a non-issue when compared to the lives of the people within the village. They are our top priority, is that understood?"

"Understood, sir," Garro punctuated his words with a hasty salute.

With a nod, the Warrior-Captain extended his hand to pass off the reins to his warhorse to the younger man. Taking several steps back, Gazef gave his men a final look over before he turned and strode toward the strangers.

Tiberius watched as the man approached, his eyes searching for any sign of subterfuge.

He indeed carried himself with discipline. His strides were measured and his posture rigid, something to be expected of a soldier. A stoic expression covered his face like a mask, betraying none of his inner thoughts.

To the dragonoid's discerning eye, however, there was something else. His stiff movements did not look to come to him naturally. In fact, he looked practically uncomfortable with it.

It reminded Tiberius of when a low-level salaryman received a promotion. Many didn't know just how to adapt and that discomfort with their new position in life showed through in wooden inflexibility.

Perhaps there was a similar situation with this man.

"Shall we go?"

"After you," Tiberius turned to the side and motioned for the bearded warrior to move ahead of him. "Yuliana, should any of these men attempt to force their way past you and to the village, kill them."

"Yes, my lord," the armoured female nodded before she returned to her task of keeping watch over the rest of the gathered warriors.

The man's continued stoicism was rather surprising to the dragonoid. He had expected to see some kind of a reaction from the man. Concern for his men most chiefly and yet he remained unmoved, almost to the point of disinterest. It was actually a rather impressive display.

Either he really doesn't care. Or he's got one hell of a poker face. I guess I'll have to keep an eye on him.

So it was Tiberius remained several strides behind the human warrior as he acted as an escort through the village streets.

Upon entering the village proper, Gazef immediately set to examining his surroundings. His disciplined mind and keen sense of observation allowed him to analyze the details and reason out what he was seeing. There were no overtly apparent signs of a battle having taken place within the confines of the hamlet. However, there were indications of something having happened for those who knew where to look.

Firstly, there was the soft earth upon which he now trod.

The ground between the houses was littered with footprints, both human and animal. It was under scrutiny that the discrepancies in the prints emerged.

The typical commoner's footwear consisted of flat-soled shoes that allowed them to better walk through the fields. However, many of these imprints gave clear hints of not belonging to them

. For there were definitive toe and deep heel impressions with a cleft between them. This kind of feature was commonly found in footwear used for riding the rise in the heel allowed better placement of the foot when placed in a stirrup. This was something only found in boots, not something the archetypal villager would own.

More interesting than those, however, were the overly large footprints. Their general appearance was as if someone had trodden through the streets barefoot. Yet their sheer size was almost comical and the depth of the impression was several inches deep. This meant that whatever they belonged to had to possess considerable weight.

Continuing along, Gazef's eyes drifted over the houses that lined the way. The majority appeared to have been spared the damages of battle. Yet there were some who showcased the blackening of their thatch roofs that only fire could bring.

In passing, the Warrior-Captain's keen eye was drawn to the wall of one building. About halfway up the wall was a long horizontal gash carved into nearly the full length of the stone wall.

Moving closer, he reached out to run his gloved hand over the gouge in the stone. The cut was thin, less than a finger's width, and fairly deep into the stone. Judging by the way his glove traveled across the surface, its edges were smooth to the touch. Meaning that whatever had done the damage was extraordinarily sharp. With no discernable sign of wear on the stone or any indication of repair work being done, it had been created relatively recently.

"Sir Tiberius, was it? There are some questions I'd like to ask if I may?"

"Very well, ask them," the dragonoid's reply was short and spoken with a flat tone.

"You spoke of an attack on this village. Did the men carry with them any kind of banner? Or perhaps bear any markings on their armour?"

"They had no banners that I was aware of. As for their armour, some did have an emblem."

Hearing of this interested the Warrior-Captain, it was his first clue as to the identity of those he had been pursuing.

"Might you be able to describe it?"

"You'll be able to see it for yourself after this is sorted," Tiberius shifted his arm, resting his hand upon the hilt of his longsword, "Depending on what the chief has to say."

"Indeed," Gazef halted and turned to his escort, "Before you said that you and your companion are newcomers to our land. Might I ask as to where it is you hail from?"

Tiberius remained silent for a moment, "We come from a land called Asgard."

"Hmm," the bearded human rumbled, mulling over the response, "I know of the Argland Council State. But I am not familiar with such a place. It is far from here, I take it?"

"That it is, I assure you."

"To wander so far, are you an adventurer by any chance?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. So I guess you could refer to us like that."

"I must say your armour is rather remarkable. Truly, I have never seen its like before. Would you mind removing your helmet so that we may talk face-to-face?"

The sudden proposition caught the dragonoid off guard.

Crap! I don't want him to see my face. But he'll be suspicious if I don't take it off. Think, think… I have to give him an excuse. But what do I say?

"I am afraid I cannot do that," Tiberius' spoke with an air of authority, "Just as you are bound by your king's command not to relinquish your blade. As am I bound by my own oaths. I cannot remove my helmet around those not to be counted as true allies."

"I can understand your reasons," Gazef nodded, "Then perhaps one day, I will be fortunate enough to be counted as one."

As a show of good faith, the Warrior-Captain extended his hand.

Tiberius stared down at the man's offered hand and reflected on his words. Deciding to trust this human, he reached out to copy the gesture.

"Perhaps."

The two joined hands in a firm handshake, a small yet friendly test of strength. Releasing the handhold, Gazef stepped back.

"So which way from here?"

"This way."

Returning to his escort duty, Tiberius began to lead the man through the village. This time he wore a pleased smile on his hidden face.

Ha, he bought it!

Resuming their trek, Tiberius led the human through the streets and to the village square. It was here, that the dragonoid paused to ask the Warrior-Captain to wait for him there.

Gazef viewed the idea with a healthy dose of caution; however, he complied regardless. And so he watched as the silver-clad adventurer moved away and left him to wait.

The fact that he was standing in the open square made Gazef feel exposed. This would make for a fine place for an ambush. With this in mind, he carefully scanned his surroundings but saw no signs of ill intent, the only thing to see was shuttered windows and closed doors.

"This is the man I told you about, Chief Wyllam."

At the sound of voices, Gazef ceased his surveying and turned back to face his returning escort and with him an older gentleman.

"The Kingdom's Warrior-Captain, eh? So this is him."

Standing before the Gazef, the older man looked him over with an appraising eye.

"Well, to tell the truth, I've only ever heard stories about him," Chief Wyllam stroked his chin, "But he certainly does fit the descriptions of what I've been told. And he does have the Re-Estize seal. At least that I am familiar with."

"You must be the chief of this village," Gazef bowed his head to the man in a show of respect, "Please, can you tell me just what happened here?"

"We were attacked by a force of armoured men," Wyllam's face was glum as he shared with the Warrior-Captain the events of the day, "…and we surely would have all perished if it hadn't been for the intervention of Sir Tiberius and his companion."

"I see. Then on behalf of His Majesty Ramposa III, King of Re-Estize. I wish to extend our deepest condolences for the losses that you have suffered on this day."

Bending at the waist, Gazef held his torso parallel to the earth as he performed a deep bow.

A look of shock spread across the chief's face at the sight, "Oh, well, I thank you."

From the side, Tiberius watched the bearded warrior.

I guess what he said was true, after all. Though it's not like I would know any better. Still, though, I guess I could continue to keep my eye on him.

"The matter is settled then. Chief Wyllam, would you be so kind as to pass along a message to my companion that she may rejoin me."

"Yes, yes, of course."

No sooner had the older man departed than Gazef turned to the dragonoid and addressed him.

"Sir Tiberius, thank you for saving this village. I have no words that could adequately praise your actions."

Being a believer that actions spoke louder than words, Gazef demonstrated his intentions. Placing his right hand above his heart, the Warrior-Captain repeated his bow to the other male.

It was an odd situation for Tiberius.

He was quite used to people bowing to him.

Throughout his working life, he had been accustomed to receiving deference from lower-level employees in the company. Even in Týrnaust, the denizens made a point of bowing to him with such frequency that it seemed almost second nature to them. However, encountering this stranger and witnessing such a grand display of deference was an entirely different experience.

Based on his observations of this world and his knowledge of common fantasy tropes, he deduced that a feudal system was in place. As the man held the title of Warrior-Captain, it was evident that he occupied a position among the upper echelons of society. Having someone of such high standing bow to him was akin to a company executive bowing to a lowly salaryman in his previous life.

"There is no need for such gratitude. It is not in my nature to stand idly by and allow such things to occur."

A small smile crept onto Gazef's features, "I see. Then it would seem that is a trait that we share in common."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds of plodding hooves and the clanking of metal. It was a sound that marked the successful delivery of his message and the arrival of those who'd been left behind. Both turned and watched as the troop of fifty warriors moved along the village paths. Striding at the forefront –with a sizable gap between them- almost like a substitute leader was the armoured form of the Guardian Overseer.

Just as the Warrior-Captain had done, the men surveyed their surroundings from the backs of their horses.

As for the village denizens, the men and women seemed to shy away from the sounds of horses and armoured men.

Bad memories.

If there was a need, Chief Wyllam would probably be in for a difficult time coaxing the people from their homes.

Arriving at the village center the men quickly began to dismount and assemble before the waiting leader. Gazef, in turn, wasted little time before he barked orders to his men. When he had finished, the men saluted and then started to disperse into the village.

The men moved with a casualness to them, perhaps they thought that appearing more affable would help to settle the villager's nerves. It was a plan that looked to be working as slowly faces appeared in windows and doors began to open. Some of the braver inhabitants left their homes entirely and spoke with the soldiers.

All the while, the dragonoid kept a careful watch over the happenings around him.

As the men of the warband busied themselves carrying out his instructions, Gazef had his own matters to be attended to.

"Sir Tiberius," he addressed the other as he approached, "You said once we settled the formality of my identity that you could show me to those that attacked the village. Would you now show me?"

The man's question was answered with a silent nod from the dragonoid. So as he had done before Gazef fell in line behind the other as he led the way. This time, however, the pair were not alone as the bearded warrior was distinctly aware of the third party.

As he recalled this particular individual was a woman and unlike her earlier outburst, she chose to remain silent as they strode through the village. However, her body language spoke volumes to the ever-observant Warrior-Captain.

Her devotion to her companion was quite apparent for all to see. Her movements were practiced, almost pious, as she trailed behind him. At all times she made sure to stay within an arm's reach of the silver armoured figure. And beneath her silence, there was an air of tension that clung to her.

It was in a sense reminiscent of his own feelings when he had been expecting an ambush.

Their pace was brisk as they made their way through the village streets and soon the trio found themselves striding among the freshly tilled earth.

Out here among the crops, Gazef found what he had asked for.

Lying strewn about the field, seemingly as a farmer would scatter his seed, were the bodies of the brigands. However, there would be no crops forthcoming from this planting. There would only be fertilizer for the fields.

Many of the bodies had been gathered into piles. Though relatively short the stacks were still tall enough to reach past Gazef's waistline.

Leaving his escort's side, who had chosen to remain at the field's edge, Gazef strode among the field of corpses.

High overhead a large flock of ravens circled over the freshly dead. But those above were only a fraction of those that had come to the feast.

The large black birds hopped about the fields, flittering from body to body. Pausing only long enough to plunge their blood-smeared beaks into opened wounds and tear away chunks of flesh. The raven's movements were seemingly exaggerated and looking on seemed to convey a sense of happiness with their current circumstances.

Occasionally, a raven would flare its wings and squawk loudly as another of its kind would trespass into its chosen territory. If neither was willing to back down, a fight would ensue as the birds would rear back and kick out with taloned feet. It was a scene evocative of a pair of barnyard cocks in a tussle. The loser of the bout would quickly take flight, this meant only the bravest or most gluttonous of the birds were allowed to continue to feed.

One of the coal-black birds perched itself upon the helm of a cadaver and bending down it rooted its bill through the opening of the face. Gazef watched as the bird drew back, a bloody eyeball dangling from its closed beak. Tilting its head the raven gazed at the bearded human carefully before flapping its wings and taking to the sky with its prize.

Striding among corpses was not an experience Gazef relished. As a veteran of many battlefields, such sights as these had long since lost any shock value for him.

As he moved about, Gazef's gaze wandered over each of the dead in turn.

His eyes scrutinized their appearances, looking for clues to discern the identity of these plunderers. From time to time, he would pause to examine something that had caught his eye. A few times it was to gather some items from the ground. With every new piece of evidence, a story was told to him.

Foremost they spoke to Gazef of how their demise had not come from a battle per se. But more of a one-sided slaughter.

Aside from the caw of the ravens, there was only the soft rustle of tender young shoots being trodden underfoot for company.

"Captain Stronoff," a voice called out.

With his exploration disrupted, the Warrior-Captain turned to face the one responsible. Approaching a clipped pace from the village was his younger second-in-command. His hasty movements brought him to his commander's side in a short time.

"What have you to report?"

"The men and I have concluded our investigation and I am ready to deliver our findings. After speaking with the villagers, they were able to corroborate what was told to us by the stranger."

The pair of soldiers glanced back to the two individuals who stood waiting just on the field's edge.

"Apparently as stated the foreigners arrived sometime around midday. Afterward, they spoke with the chief for a time before departing. A while later the attack came. By most accounts, the assault didn't last long before the two strangers returned and quickly dispatched the attackers."

Listening to this Gazef crossed his arms, an old habit before he closed his eyes and fell into reflection.

Leaving his commanding officer to his thoughts, Vice-Captain Garro turned away and looked over the closest of the bodies. Particularly he paid attention to the emblem on the chest plate.

"So our assumptions were right all along. It was Baharuth who's been carrying out these attacks after all."

"Hmm, so it would seem," Gazef replied with a tone of suspicion.

"But what reasons could they have had for doing this? This region is not vital to trade. And none of the villages they sacked were of any strategic importance, nor did they contain anything of great value to the Kingdom."

"While I doubt we'll ever know of their true purpose behind these attacks," the bearded man knelt to retrieve something from the ground, "However, while what we can learn about our foe is limited. What we can learn about the village guardians is plenty."

"By what do you mean, Captain?"

"Look at this and tell me what you see."

Shifting the Warrior-Captain extended his hand, holding out the hilt of a sword he'd plucked from the ground.

Reaching out Garro took the item put forward into his hand. Doing so he was quickly struck by the fact the sword was far lighter than it should've been. The explanation for this lack was quite obvious upon examination.

The majority of the blade was missing leaving only a small portion to jut from the handle.

"It's broken."

Gazef quirked his eyebrows, "Are you sure about that? Look again."

Intrigued by the other person's words, Garro carefully examined the broken weapon in his hand.

The hilt of the weapon appeared rather unremarkable, featuring a basic leather-wrapped grip with a ring pommel and a straight crossguard. As his gaze traveled upward along the remaining portion of the blade, he noticed its immaculate condition, a testament to meticulous care and maintenance. The blade's straight edge remained as pristine as the day it was forged, with even the section that had broken off displaying a smooth surface.

Garro's mind reeled as he stood frozen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The initial belief that the sword had been broken in battle began to crumble as he closely examined the blade. Battle-induced breaks would leave clear indicators such as nicks in the blade edge, cracks from metal fatigue, or noticeable bending if the sword had been lodged in a shield. However, this break was unlike any other; it was clean, smooth, and level.

His eyes finally settled on the end of the blade, and in that moment, a sudden revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning. The truth became apparent – the sword hadn't been broken; it had been deliberately cut. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, raising questions about the true nature of the weapon and the intentions of those who wielded it.

Garro's mouth felt dry and his jaw slack as he turned to face the other soldier only to receive a nod of confirmation.

"Now, take a look at these men," Gazef extended his arm and gestured to a nearby pile of bodies.

With his hand still gripping the hilt of the broken sword, the Vice-Captain took several steps forward. His eyes came to rest on the nearest of the bodies.

The man's cause of death was obvious, he'd been the recipient of a devastating strike to his torso. The blow had transected his body from his left shoulder to his hip. Only a thin strip of metal from the cuirass held the body together.

Garro studied the damaged chest plate and the wound beneath.

His attention was immediately captured by the strangely uniform edge of the gash in the metal. Intrigued, he extended a gloved finger to trace the line carefully. The absence of any rolling or irregularities along the metal edge indicated that it hadn't been penetrated from the front or back. Furthermore, there were no jagged serrations that would have caught on the leather of his glove, a telltale sign of tearing.

Instead, what he felt was an eerie and unnatural smoothness that extended seamlessly across the entire length of the perpendicular slash mark. The revelation only deepened the mystery, leaving Garro pondering the origin of this meticulously cut gash and the implications it held.

Turning away, the Vice-Captain shifted his attention to the others lying nearby. Here too there were more of the unusual flat cuts to be found in the hardened steel plates.

"What do you think caused this?"

"I've heard that high-ranked adventurers will sometimes make use of enchanted items. Such as blades gifted with an unnatural sharpness. But those blades are exceedingly rare and rather costly to be too widespread."

Gazef paused to run his thumb over the end of another of the bifurcated blades.

"However, while as sharp as they may be. Those blades do have their limits. The only weapon I've encountered that could leave such marks would be one of the Kingdom's Treasures."

Without further need for it, the Warrior-Captain haphazardly tossed the broken sword away before approaching another collection of bodies.

"There's more."

Here the dead displayed a different set of injuries.

Two men most prominently showcased distinctive damage to the armour. The steel plates had been crushed to create numerous hills and valleys. It was almost as if it had been cinched incredibly tightly by some thick coil of rope. An assessment that was seemingly confirmed by the discoloured flesh of the body.

Not far away was another dead marauder, this one bereft of his arms.

It would have been easy to assume that his limbs had been removed by the strike of a weapon. After all, the loss of limbs was an ever-present danger on the battlefield. Yet a closer inspection of the wound did not support such a conclusion.

If his limbs had been severed by a blade then the tissue would then show the straight lines of the slicing action. However, the flesh was ragged and stringy in appearance. This meant the meat of the man's limbs hadn't been cut but torn.

While the Warrior-Captain occupied himself with studying the injuries of a corpse. Vice-Captain Garro was having trouble keeping his stomach contents down. With a gagging cough, the young man covered his nose in a futile attempt to banish the aroma.

As to the cause of this sudden bout of weakness that came from the sight before Garro.

Spread out across the ground was a disgusting gelatinous ooze that was emitting an absolutely putrid odor. Lying among the gross slim were pieces of armour, the steel heavily corroded. At least that is what remained as much of it seemed to have been dissolved in the stomach-churning goop. Furthermore, there were bleached chunks of what could be described as bone.

Out of the sights to be seen, the least horrific was perhaps the half-dozen corpses that lay together. They looked to have been hollowed out, their abdomens burned out as if there had been a fire within. Only charred flesh and an odd burning smell remained.

"Signs of magical weaponry, evidence of feats of incredible strength, and now it seems there was magic used against these men as well," Garro mused aloud as he approached his fellow soldier, "What does this mean? Just who are those people?"

"I don't know," Gazef answered, his tone heavy with resignation, "But I can tell you, there is much more to them than meets the eye."

o – o – o – o

Overhead the sun had begun the final leg of its journey to meet the horizon by the time he and his men had reached their destination.

The main reason for the unit's delay had come from the fact that the scout forces had not made it to the rendezvous point as scheduled.

The plan had been a simple one.

The unit's scouts would be disguised as Baharuth knights and ride ahead of the main force to the nearby village. They would put the village to the blade and torch although they would sure to leave a few alive, to spread the story. For several weeks now these were the types of tactics, the unit had been forced to utilize.

The unit's commander sighed.

The failure of the scout troop's return puzzled him.

Perhaps they had been met with resistance from the locals. But that couldn't be, a bunch of farmers was no match for a unit of highly trained soldiers. Had they so severely underestimated the local people?

After all, their unit was one of the six highest orders within the Slane Theocracy.

For they were the Sunlight Scripture, a sect whose primary task was concerned with the extermination of demi-humans who polluted the lands.

Yet as one of the Six Scriptures, the unit was at the whims of the Theocracy's High Priests. Often this meant that they were sent out on covert operations that didn't always have to do with their original purpose.

Yet despite the secretive nature of the Six Scriptures, the organization had a well-earned reputation, even among the various other kingdoms.

To join this elite order, strict standards governed the recruitment process. Prospective members had to demonstrate the ability to cast 3rd-tier divine magic – a stringent requirement that limited the pool of eligible candidates. Typically, 3rd-tier magic was the highest level attainable for ordinary mages. In addition to magical prowess, candidates had to exhibit a robust constitution, an unwavering will, and steadfast devotion to the faith.

Once accepted, the chosen individuals would undergo grueling training before being sorted into one of the Six Scriptures – a process that demanded dedication and discipline beyond compare.

It was these practices that marked them as the elites among the elites.

So there was no way for something like that to have occurred. For a time he had also considered the possibility of the scouts running afoul of the Scripture's intended target. But those thoughts were easily dismissed, as of the last report the target was trailing behind them by a considerable distance.

Waiting for the scouts had cost the unit several hours' delay. In the end, there was no choice but to move on lest they lose this opportunity to take their prey.

"Commander Nigun," one of the man's subordinates addressed him.

The man, however, ignored the other as he continued to stare into the distance.

Commander Nigun Grid Luin, leader of the Sunlight Scripture, stood at an unremarkable height and build. His appearance could be considered rather plain, complemented by a crop of short blonde hair. Yet, amid this unassuming appearance, he possessed a couple of notable traits. Firstly, his eyes had an unnaturally dark sclera, almost appearing black, which added an air of intensity to his gaze. Secondly, a prominent scar adorned his left cheek, running from his jaw up to just beneath his eye, leaving a lasting mark of battles fought and endured.

Clad like every member of the Scriptures, Nigun donned the traditional vestments, a symbolic uniform of his order.

He wore dark, loose-fitting trousers neatly tucked into knee-high black leather boots that gleamed with a mirror-like polish. The color of his shirt matched that of his pants. Over these layers, he sported a dark surcoat with elegant white trim, cascading down to his knees, and secured by decorative button clasps. Around his waist, a wide silver-hued belt accentuated his attire. On his left side, several small pouches hung, each containing various essentials, while on the opposite side, a collection of vials held an array of mysterious substances. These garments and accouterments marked him as a true member of the esteemed order, bearing the distinctive insignia of the Sunlight Scripture.

The man's protection seemed surprisingly minimal.

Long black leather gloves covered his hands, while metal plates made of rare mithril shielded his forearms and adorned matching shoulder pads. This was the uniform of the Sunlight Scripture, also worn by the other soldiers in the unit. However, subtle differences set their commander apart.

Nigun's surcoat boasted a distinguished white trim and shoulder pads that his men lacked. But the most obvious contrast lay in the head coverings. While the soldiers wore a distinctive headpiece, Nigun had chosen to forgo it. To him, it resembled a potato sack with a peculiar circular dish on top and a mesh opening for vision. This difference further set him apart as the esteemed leader of the Sunlight Scripture.

He had never liked the headpiece, feeling that it was something a peasant like a beekeeper should be wearing when tending to their insect flock.

Reflecting on the reason for his unit's being here, Nigun subconsciously rubbed at the scar on his cheek.

A reminder of the only time he had been forced to abandon a mission and flee. It was the single most humiliating point of his rather prestigious military career. As he closed his eyes, he could still recall the face of that girl and the jet-black demonic blade she wielded in their battle.

"That damnable Blue Rose…" he growled.

Blue Rose… the name of that all-female band of adventurers who made their home in the Re-Estize Kingdom.

But it was their leader that truly drew his ire.

Forgetting the fact that she was a simple heathen who worshipped the false gods. She had the gall to interfere with his mission to exterminate a settlement of wretched demi-humans. Yet the most infuriating was that she actually believed that she was on the side of righteousness.

The thought was enough to make him laugh just as much as to make him boil with anger.

He could've had the temple priests make use of their healing magic and mend his wound without marring his flesh. Yet he had chosen instead to allow it to heal naturally. Now, this mark would forever serve as a lesson learned from a humbling defeat.

"Everyone take heed," Nigun turned, addressing the men with his usual calm tone, "The prey has entered the cage. So offer up your faith to the gods."

At once, everyone man in the unit bowed their head in reverence as they spoke in silent prayer. Had time allowed for it they would have gone through the full hymn. However, for now, only the truncated versions would have to suffice. After this mission was complete then the men would be able to pay proper homage to the gods.

For this was their duty, tasked to them by the gods themselves. To protect and strengthen humanity no matter the cost. And who were they to question the will of the gods?

"Now, let us begin."

Raising their heads, the men turned away from their leader. Then with lockstep movements, the uniformed soldiers of the Sunlight Scripture started the trek toward the village on the horizon.

In the process, the group began to disperse in a militaristic fashion forming smaller squads. These squads of four spread out to surround the village thus ensuring that none would escape.

It was from his hilltop perch that Nigun watched the proceedings.

This was the moment they had been prepared for. Now was the time to spring the trap and bring an end to this game of cat and mouse.

For several weeks now, Nigun and his men had chafed under the stringent conditions of the operation.

This task they'd been charged with had seemed simple enough, the assassination of one of the greatest warriors of the age. The man known as Gazef Stronoff, the Warrior-Captain of the Re-Estize Kingdom. This was not a situation to which they were accustomed.

With each village they had ransacked, they had set the bait to lure out their target. Yet he and his warband had managed to slip through their grasp each time.

If the man managed to elude them again, it would mean the weeks of preparations would be wasted.

To begin the pursuit once more was not an idea that Nigun cared to undertake.

But beyond that, it was the lingering stench of failure that would haunt the unit commander the most. To have to go before the Six Cardinals and the other Scriptures with that hanging over his head. He would never be able to live it down, no matter what other triumphs he managed to accomplish.

"Next time… I'd like to ask for the assistance of the other Scriptures. This hunt has been a most tiresome endevour."

"Hmm, I agree," another man replied with a nod of his head, "The Cardinals ask too much of us with this sort of task. We're a specialized unit, our skills would be better utilized with the elimination of those foul creatures that prowl upon our borders and threaten humanity. Not stalking about the countryside to hunt some wayward warrior."

"Aye, it's a strange choice for us to have been selected. Would not the Holocaust Scripture have been a better selection for this mission? At the very least, we should have been given aid from the Windflower Scripture. Especially for a task this important."

"Commander Nigun, what do you think?"

With a sigh, the short-haired man closed his eyes for a moment as he thought.

"It is not our place to second-guess the choice of the Cardinals."

However, the truth was this had occurred to him.

Indeed, a unit that specialized in assassination and counterterrorism like the Holocaust Scripture would make for the better option. Or perhaps the Clearwater Scripture whose main task was infiltration and undercover work.

Then there was the option of the strongest of the Scriptures, the Black Scripture. A group of the most powerful individuals within the ranks of the Slane Theocracy. But that was an impossibility for they were tasked with protecting the holy relics, and thus rarely left the homeland.

As for the aid of the Windflower Scripture. The unit had been entrusted with hunting for the traitor who'd fled with the relic of the Miko Princess.

"But what of the disappearance of the scout unit?"

"You don't think it could have been the target?"

"I have considered the possibility. But no, the scouts were too far ahead and aware of his movements. There's no way he could have come upon them so quickly," Nigun looked to the others, "But once he has been taken care of we shall investigate what has befallen our comrades."

"But the target's reputation is well known, even in the Theocracy. What if he carries with him the Kingdom's Treasures?"

"It will be fine," the commander's words were soft, almost gentle, "Right now, that equipment is well beyond his reach. He is essentially unarmed and without them, his elimination will be a simple matter."

No sooner had he finished his words than a quiet murmur was shared by the few men who had stayed behind with him. But Nigun ignored it.

It was perhaps an odd set of circumstances that had brought them here. But still, their capabilities were more than enough to handle this situation.

However, Nigun was self-assured that this job would be put behind them and soon the unit would be on its way home.

o – o – o – o

From the side of the body-strewn field, Tiberius and Yuliana stood watching as the two humans conversed among the dead. As the pair investigated the corpses, the dragonoid had to admit to being curious as to just what they were discussing.

What new information might he learn from the pair about this world? However, he felt remaining behind would be the better choice. After all, he didn't need any potentially compromising questions directed his way.

"Captain! Captain!"

The quiet of the scene was shattered by the shouts of a soldier as he raced across the field. Immediately the focus of the leader and his subordinate was drawn to the newcomer. No sooner had he reached his superiors than the three men fell into a frenzied exchange.

Looking on, Tiberius recognized the distress of the other man and this could only be an ill omen. After all, this would be well in line with the rest of the day so far.

The dragonoid sighed.

Just what have I gotten myself into with this village? Do they have some kind of curse on them or something?

"Rally the men to the village square and send the villagers back to their homes."

The bearded warrior's baritone voice thundered across the field.

"At once, sir."

The subservient soldier saluted his superiors before turning and with great haste began to backtrack his way to the village. As the third man disappeared among the buildings, the Warrior-Captain and his Vice-Captain wasted no time. Turning promptly the pair left the piles of dead behind and marched across the field.

"What seems to be the problem, Captain Stronoff?"

The older soldier wore a grim and serious expression.

"One of my scouts has reported sighting a group of men moving to surround the village. So for the time being I suggest that we return to the village as well."

The dragonoid agreed with a silent nod. So the two soldiers followed behind as the dragonoid and his escort led the way back. Again the village streets were vacant save for the brave souls of the visiting warband.

As the command had been given, the soldiers had amassed in the village center to await their leader.

"The men have been assembled and ready for orders, sir," it was the messenger who addressed the unit's leader, "Furthermore, the villagers have been escorted back to the safety of their homes."

"Very good, now you men should seek shelter as well. The enemy may not be aware of our presence or our numbers. So for the time being we should keep it that way."

Forgoing the salute the soldiers immediately spread out and headed for the cover of several buildings which circled the small plaza. While his men prepared, Gazef and Vice-Captain Garro approached the two adventurers.

This idea of hiding was an idea that a part of Tiberius didn't care for, he wanted to face these new adversaries like he had the last. However, he knew this was the better course of action. These others were a large unknown to him, it was entirely possible that they could be far stronger than those he had faced before. So instead, Tiberius and Yuliana followed as the Warrior-Captain led the way to the house of the village chief.

The man's gloved knuckles had only made contact with the oaken surface before the door was swung open. The home's owner stood partially obscured behind the door, seeming to understand the meaning of this visit the village chief made a series of rapid gestures to usher the group inside.

Hurriedly the group crossed the threshold allowing Chief Wyllam to shut and secure the door.

The bearded human strode straight for the nearest window. Similar to the others in the village, the window shutters had been closed tightly. This didn't bother Gazef at all as he pressed himself against the wall and reaching out, he gently nudged the shutters apart.

"But…"

The elderly man's sentence was cut off as the bearded warrior raised his hand in a simple gesture. The chieftain swallowed and nodded before moving off in silence to take a seat beside his wife at the old table. Seating himself, he laid his hand over his wife's on the tabletop, the two of them entwining their fingers.

"I see them."

Gazef's voice echoed within the room as he continued to peer out through the partly opened shutters.

He gazed through the gaps between the houses and into the distance as the shapes of humanoids became visible as they crested the hill. Their advance was slow and deliberate. Perhaps they had chosen the pacing to instill fear and demoralize their opponents.

But in doing so betrayed clues to Gazef's discerning eye.

The closer the strangers came, the more detail the Warrior-Captain was able to distinguish. Such as how their garb shifted with their movements displaying a lack of armoured plates. Furthermore, it appeared they did not carry weapons.

Or at least any visible weaponry.

This could mean that these individuals were not planning to rely on physical force to fight.

It was an assumption that was proven correct by the sudden materialization of winged humanoids.

Magic casters.

The Warrior-Captain gritted his teeth as he scrutinized the visage of these bizarre beings. If what he was seeing was true then he knew what they were, for their physical appearance matched the descriptions of the creatures known as Angels.

It was common knowledge that many casters possessed the ability to magically summon various beings into the world.

And in the world, there was a group of magic casters that made near-exclusive use of this type of being, the Slane Theocracy. To the peoples of that nation, angels held a special significance as the messengers of the gods. So it was that their military casters made sole use of summoned angels.

Such a revelation did not bode well for the futures of Gazef and his men.

Beings of magic such as angels, or their evil-aligned counterparts for that matter, were typically stronger than the majority of summonable monsters. This inherent strength was only increased in proportion to the power possessed by the summoner.

As an acquaintance of his once told him, beings like angels often had special abilities that would allow them to wield magic themselves. Information such as this made them daunting opponents to face. Especially for the unprepared.

At a dull creak of the floorboards, Gazef turned, finding the silver-armoured adventurer had stepped up beside him. In return, the bearded man pulled away from the window permitting the other to get a better view.

Tiberius stared through the gap in the window shutters, his eyes looking out into the distance and to the figures visible under the late afternoon sun. As he set his eyes upon the angels, the dragonoid focused solely on them.

The angels took on the appearance of individuals clad in full plate armour, their gleaming metal garb possessing an air of sanctity. Above their helmet-clad heads, a radiant golden halo floated, adding to their divine aura. From their shoulders sprouted a pair of wings, their leading edges also adorned with armour. Each angel wielded a flaming sword in their right hand, a powerful symbol of their celestial might.

Those look a lot like YGGDRASIL monsters. Archangel Flames if I am right, been a while since I've seen them. But what are they doing here?

"Is something the matter, Sir Tiberius?"

The gruff voice of the Warrior-Captain interrupted the dragonoid's questioning mind.

"No," Tiberius lied, "Why do you ask?"

"Your posture suggested your interest in what you are seeing. Do you recognize them?"

"I do not. Do you know who they are and what they want with this village?"

Gazef silently regarded the armoured adventurer before him for a time. In listening to his answer, Gazef had no impression of it being a lie. Despite this, however, he still felt that there was more being left unsaid. But now was not the time to hold to such doubts.

"Well, seeing as you and your companion are strangers to our lands. I have my doubts that it is either of you that they are after."

The Warrior-Captain responded with his usual friendly tone. Stepping closer, he again gazed out the window at the men in the distance.

"And it's obviously not wealth they seek if they're out here preparing to attack this village. No, there can be only one reason for them to make the journey here."

Tiberius considered the man's words carefully as he tried to discern the meaning behind them. It took a moment but he soon arrived at the same conclusion as the bearded warrior.

This was a trap.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Back in YGGDRASIL, players employed a variety of methods to achieve their goals and these types of underhanded tactics were no exception. PKers it seemed were particularly fond of it.

In such situations, the PKers would often strike against a friend of their intended victim. Then when the target would arrive to aid their friend the trap would be sprung. It was a similar strategy that guilds would use against their rivals. They would perpetrate an attack on something of value to the other guild in hopes of luring them out. Sometimes this was done as a mere diversion before an attack against the rival's guild base would be carried out. Other times it was meant to just lure the players out and into their waiting arms.

"So then, you believe the attack on the village earlier today was a part of this? A plan to draw out you and your men?"

"That would be my guess. Those soldiers you fought with were probably an advanced party for the men out there now." Gazef paused, "What troubles me is the manner of their dress and the fact they can summon angels. Together this means that they must be from the Slane Theocracy. And a plan like this would only be entrusted to their utmost loyal soldiers. This means that those men out there must belong to one of the legendary Six Scriptures." The Warrior-Captain sighed, "Although I don't know to which they belong. Their numbers and abilities are far superior to our own."

The man's grim words were met with a stifled snicker from the armour-clad woman in the room. Curious about her peculiar reaction, the bearded warrior shifted his gaze in her direction.

What had triggered such an unexpected response? Did her laughter indicate that she wasn't bothered by the presence of the theocracy soldiers? Or perhaps, judging by the apparent ease of her male companion, neither of them felt threatened by the situation? The unanswered questions lingered, leaving an air of mystery in the room.

But such things would have to wait until after they had faced down their adversaries. That is assuming they would all be alive afterward.

He snorted as he thought of the coming battle.

The Slane Theocracy operatives had placed them at a significant disadvantage, leaving Gazef with a bitter reflection. He cursed the Kingdom's noble faction for petitioning the king to bar his use of the Kingdom's Treasures. They argued that a warrior of his stature should not rely on such items to combat common banditry. Adding insult to injury, they insisted on granting him command of only a token force.

Listening to their petty and conceited squabbles while disregarding the suffering of the common folk had nearly driven Gazef to infuriation. The priorities of those nobles were misguided, and the situation had left him seething with frustration and anger.

Nevertheless, that was the essence of the predicament they were facing.

Outmatched and outnumbered, they found themselves confronting a formidable enemy without sufficient manpower or strength. To make matters worse, Gazef lacked a concrete plan to overcome this dire situation.

It was a harrowing realization that they had been skillfully manipulated, lured straight into the clutches of the enemy unit. The sensation of being a mere marionette, dancing helplessly to the unseen puppeteer's whims, engulfed Gazef in a disconcerting feeling of powerlessness. The enemy had masterfully orchestrated their predicament, leaving Gazef and his allies feeling like mere pawns in a larger, more sinister scheme.

"How do you plan to deal with them?"

"Haven't got one," the bearded man answered with a surprisingly light tone and a shrug, "But the safety of the villagers is my top priority."

Turning away from the window, he strode toward the seated elderly couple.

"Chief Wyllam, this village has a storehouse, correct? Was the storehouse damaged during the attack?"

The older man hesitated, looking at his wife with a questioning expression before responding.

"No, the storehouse is unharmed."

"Good," Gazef nodded, "Then I need you to gather the other villagers and lead them there. Can you do this?"

"Yes, I believe I can," again Wyllam glanced at his wife, "But…"

The Warrior-Captain rapidly pivoted on his heel, "Vice-Captain Garro, I want you to accompany the chief and gather the men."

"Yes, Captain."

At the table, the married couple squeezed each other's hands a final time before reluctantly letting go. Together they rose from their seats and with a steady yet hesitant pace made their way to the door. It was Gazef's second-in-command who opened the door and ushered them through in a gentlemanly fashion.

The younger man paused for a moment, looking at his superior a final time before slipping out and closing the door.

With a heavy sigh, Gazef turned away, returning to his previous location by the window. Staring out through the glass his eyes once again locked onto the figures waiting in the distance.

Thoughts came to him at a rapid pace as he began to run through a variety of scenarios. Unfortunately, each one was as bleak as the last. No matter how things played out there would be grave losses.

However, there may yet be a way to equalize the power balance.

Shifting his gaze, Gazef looked to the pair of armoured figures with whom they shared the room.

"Sir Tiberius, you spoke earlier of being an adventurer. Would you be willing to let me hire you? You need only name your price."

"No, I am not some mercenary here for coin," the dragonoid's voice was firm in its resolve, "My defense of this village was for its helpless inhabitants."

"I see…" the Warrior-Captain turned to face the other man, "Then what if, as per the Kingdom's bylaws, I was to conscript you to fight for us?"

At the man's words, Tiberius moved forward, closing the gap between the two to but an arm's reach.

"I am not a citizen of the Kingdom. So your claim holds no sway over me. And should you get the idea to try and force my hand, I assure you it would not end well for you."

As the adventurer's demeanor shifted, a palpable change in the room's atmosphere overwhelmed Gazef. The once tranquil aura surrounding the stranger now radiated a looming malice.

Gazef felt an intense pressure bearing down on him, as if an invisible force threatened to crush him. A subconscious shiver of fear passed through his body, and he sensed his knees buckling under the weight of this oppressive energy. Not since his days as a snot-nosed young boy had he experienced such a feeling. But that was long ago; he had become a seasoned veteran, having fought countless battles to defend his homeland. Death had become a constant companion, an unwelcome guest he had grown accustomed to.

Yet, standing before this stranger in the confines of this room, Gazef had never felt so perilously close to the brink of death.

Just who is this man?

Fighting back the feeling, he responded.

"That would indeed be unfortunate. We'd be wiped out before ever crossing blades with the gentlemen so graciously waiting for us in those fields."

There came a hasty knock at the door.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and holding fast to his composure, the Warrior-Captain made his way to the door. Opening the door, he was met with the face of his waiting subordinate.

"Sir, the men have been gathered."

"And the villagers?"

"It took some effort, but the chief was able to convince them to leave their homes. They're making their way to the storehouse as we speak. Though I must say, many are still doing so under protest."

"I see. Did you explain the reasoning for this move?"

"I did, or at least I tried to," Garro shrugged, "I get the feeling most don't really care to hear from a soldier."

"It can't be helped given what they've recently been through."

Without any words further, the chief soldier stepped through the threshold to join his subordinate. Following behind the pair was Tiberius and his escort.

Together, the quartet walked in silence with only the sounds of their armour to be heard among them.

o – o – o – o

The storehouse was a large structure situated on the outskirts of the rear of the village. It bore a resemblance to a barn and covered enough land to build several houses, and was surrounded by a basic picket fence.

As the name would suggest, this was a place used by the villagers to store their various goods. From the vegetables and grains of the harvest to the farm implements, all found their way into storage here. There were even several large barrels of herbs harvested from the Forest of Tob.

At current, the storehouse sat mostly empty with its doors opened wide as the people of Carne funneled in, relegating themselves to storage.

Standing by the doors were a pair of soldiers, their job was to take a precise count of villagers as they entered. As for the village inhabitants, they moved forward in a slow dreg before being ushered inside. Some of whom did so with some manner of opposition.

It was a scene reminiscent of the slow march of humanity on their way to work as they made their way through the public transit systems.

Not far away, Chief Wyllam stood with his wife as the pair spoke reassuringly to their fellows. Each doing their best to calm the throng of humanity.

At the murmurs of the crowd, Wyllam took his eyes off the people before him. Following their gaze, he spotted the approaching quartet.

The husband and wife turned and moved to intercept.

"Chief Warrior, are you sure this is for the best?"

The older man's hushed tone spoke volumes of his apprehensions.

"Yes," Gazef replied with his usual baritone, "If everyone had remained spread out, it would have been much harder to defend everyone should the enemy reach the village."

"But won't this also just make for an easier target?" Annora, the chief's wife retorted.

"Be at ease," the dragonoid interceded, "I will provide further protections to ensure your safety."

As the chief and his wife continued to converse with the Warrior-Captain. Tiberius remained silent, content to merely watch the happenings around him. His eyes scanned over the faces of those villagers who had yet to take shelter within the storehouse.

By now their numbers had diminished but there were still a fair few yet outside. Among them, the dragonoid recognized the faces of the family he had rescued.

They were near the last in line to enter the shelter.

The youngest daughter stood alongside her mother, clinging to her hand as if her life depended on it. Striding beside the woman was her husband, his hand entwined with his wife's other hand. Following close behind the three was the elder daughter, Enri. When their turn came to enter the storehouse, the teenage girl lingered outside the doors.

The girl shifted, turning she looked back from whence they had come. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the dragonoid felt that she was looking at him. Then as her mother called for her, Enri turned and followed her family inside the building.

When the villagers had been all accounted for the two soldiers left their post at the doors to rejoin the unit.

Seeing this the dragonoid decided that it was now his turn.

"Chief Wyllam, would you and your wife kindly move back several paces."

Although puzzled by the request, the older couple nonetheless complied. Taking several strides in reverse leaving a decent gap between themselves and the others.

The dragonoid outstretched his arm toward the building.

"[Shield Wall]."

The air seemed to shimmer for a moment and then after the brief flicker returned to normal. This left the humans rather bewildered as they tried to comprehend what had been done.

"I see no change."

"Approach and see for yourself," the dragonoid addressed the younger soldier.

Accepting the other's challenge, the unit commander and his subordinate strode forward. Extending his arm Gazef's reaching hand was met by some unseen surface. He openly marveled at the feeling of something solid beneath his palm and yet to see only open air. Slowly he moved his hand along a wall as real as any other albeit invisible.

Striding forward, Garro mimicked the actions of his superior.

Reaching out the younger man laid his hands upon the imperceptible barrier. Like a blind man, his hands moved in wide arcs as he felt his way across the unseen surface. Garro edged along the magical construct, pausing occasionally to test the integrity. This was done by placing his shoulder against it and pressing as hard as he was able. There was no give as the youthful soldier's feet dug shallow trenches in the earth.

On the other side of the barrier, Wyllam and Annora stood taken aback as they watched the antics of the two men. It wasn't long before their own curiosity propelled them forward as they too began to examine the magical barrier.

This mime act came to an end when all parties were fully satisfied with the barrier's durability.

The husband and wife spoke words of praise for such protections being gifted to their people. Then after bidding the quartet of warriors good luck, Wyllam and Annora turned and hurriedly made their way to join the others within the shelter of the storehouse.

After seeing the older couple off, the Warrior-Captain and his Vice-Captain turned away. The expression of the younger man showcased his astonishment far more openly than the more reserved Gazef.

"A most impressive display of ability."

"Indeed, it is."

Tiberius felt a measure of pride at the recognition from the two soldiers. However, the tone Gazef used did not go unnoticed. It held his sense of wonder but with an undercurrent of trepidation.

Then as if to hide this fact, Gazef offered a small smile.

"Sir Tiberius, I again thank you for saving this village."

With care, the bearded warrior removed the glove from his hand before holding his hand out. The meaning of the act was understood by the dragonoid as he followed suit. Removing the gauntlet from his hand, Tiberius extended his arm to reciprocate the gesture of goodwill.

The Warrior-Captain was quick to note the iron-like grip and the above-normal warmth of the other's flesh.

"I wish I could express how truly grateful I am to you for the continuing protection of these people. And though I have no authority to make you do anything. I hope you will continue to protect these people, no matter what may happen to me or my men." Gazef drew in a deep breath, "I have nothing with which I can offer you in return. Yet I beg you…"

"You needn't beg me for anything," Tiberius interrupted, "On my honour and that of the Sanguine Dragons, they will be protected."

Hearing the foreigner make such a vow filled Gazef with a great sense of relief and satisfaction. Releasing his grasp on the other warrior's hand, he swiftly redonned its leather protector.

"Thank you very much, Sir Tiberius. Now I have nothing more to worry about here and I can devote myself fully to the coming battle."

"The enemy still outnumbers you and you still plan to face them head-on."

"Yes," Gazef's voice told of his grim determination, "Had I more men, or better equipment, then perhaps we might have a chance to formulate a strategy. But those are what-ifs. We are as we are and as such have no choice but to forge ahead and hope that our prowess will be enough to see us through this day."

"Foolhardy, but brave," the dragonoid's low rumbling tone was one of admiration, "For that, I salute you and wish you the best of luck, Captain Gazef."

"And should we not meet again, I wish you and your companion a safe journey, Sir Tiberius."

Without a word further, the bearded warrior turned and together with the Vice-Captain strode away.

The dragonoid remained with the female Guardian, watching as the two human soldiers made their way to rejoin the rest of the waiting warband.

"My lord," Yuliana stepped closer to her master, "Do you truly intend to extend your protections to these people?"

"I gave my word, did I not?" Tiberius continued to watch the men leave as he went about replacing the gauntlet on his bare hand. "However, while I shall protect them. It doesn't mean I have to do so from here. Those men out there, they appear to have command of YGGDRASIL monsters. And I want to know how they're doing it."

With his gauntlet once again securely in place, the dragonoid turned abruptly, looking back at his faithful escort.

"Yuliana, stay close to me."

This was an order that the Guardian Overseer was all too happy to submit. With an enthusiastic stride, Yuliana moved in close. So close, in fact, that she had nearly pressed herself against the dragonoid. However, this giddiness she felt soon mellowed as her presence seemed to go unnoticed by her master.

Instead, his focus was on other matters.

"[Mirror World]."

The air surrounding the pair seemed to ripple as the spell was cast.

[Mirror World], an illusionary spell of the highest caliber and designed with the purpose of stealthy observation. Once cast the spell caster would be encapsulated in a large bubble. This shell possessed light-bending properties that would render the space within invisible.

But it was the added benefits that [Mirror World] provided that made it far superior to a run-of-the-mill invisibility spell.

The shell was insulated against sounds meaning that the occupants could talk unimpeded. Then there was the benefit of the sphere providing limited shielding capabilities. This meant it would reflect a decent amount of damage away from its users before it would fail.

"[Mass Fly]."

A faint aura shone within the orb but went unperceived by the outside world. Then with a slight push against the ground, both Tiberius and Yuliana took to the air.

Their course was already determined as the two set out to follow the Warrior-Captain and his warband.

o – o – o – o

The affair of informing the men of the plan was mercifully short.

Gazef had stood before the gathered soldiers and explained the situation to all. He had been benevolent enough to grant leave to any who felt fear so great that it would hamper their ability in the coming battle. Yet not a single man had stepped forward to accept the offer.

They had accepted the situation and understood what needed to be done. But more than that they all had acknowledged the consequences of what was to come.

So it was with a rallying cry the men rushed to the sides of their waiting steeds. Again in the saddle, the warband set forth in a two-wide procession as they made their way through the village streets.

Exiting the village the mounted soldiers returned to formation as they readied themselves.

It seemed the air had grown still with nary a breeze to be found, almost as if the world itself was holding its breath at what was about to happen. Tension was palpable among the men and found to be more so in the animals beneath them.

Through his prolonged contact with his steed, Gazef had grown to know the beast. He knew the eccentricities of the warhorse and could read its moods just as well as if they had voiced them.

Animals, they may have been but they were far from dim.

They could pick up on minute details that their riders were likely to miss, or otherwise unable to. Right now they seemed keenly aware of the fact that something was off and they continued to obey their riders. Perhaps it was simply the intense training they had undergone that kept them on course. Or maybe it was something more. Perhaps they too understood the state of affairs and had rallied with their riders with all the loyalty and courage they could muster.

Ready to charge headlong into the waiting jaws of death.

As they rode out from the village, the Warrior-Captain had taken note of something odd. The soldiers of the Slane Theocracy had done well to surround the village and yet they had left a sizable gap in their ranks. It was not so large as to be obvious but subtle enough to give the impression of being an accident.

There was little doubt that this had been done intentionally.

All a part of their trap.

They had expected the warband to notice this apparent weakness and attempt to exploit it. However, this was no route to escape. Should they travel that route it would only serve to funnel the group toward what was undoubtedly the main enemy force. If that was the way the trap would be sprung and they would be ensnared.

This would mean the death of his men and of himself, most assuredly.

Gazef's thought turned briefly back to the villagers huddled together in that storehouse. At least they would survive; at least those people would be safe.

With no other options to them, they would face the enemy and break through their lines. Thinking about it, the task seemed nearly insurmountable given their circumstances.

Had the unit had any skilled archers with them then maybe they could've been deployed against the magic casters. Unfortunately, none of their current numbers could be said to be anything but average with a bow. This meant they would have to avoid a ranged battle and instead bring the fight up close to the enemy.

Gazef had also considered fighting a defensive battle. But then therein lay another problem. Out there among the fields, there was a distinct lack of anything resembling a fortification.

Had they been fighting from atop the high and thick stone walls of a proper fort, then maybe they might've had protection from the spells that would be conjured against them. However, these were no rookie magic users. These were battle-hardened members of the Slane Theocracy's Six Scriptures. It was entirely possible that even if they had such protections it would be of little help against whatever they were capable of.

In the face of such daunting odds, some small corner of Gazef's mind revisited the idea of drawing the adventurers into the fray. Forcing them to participate in the battle against their will.

However, this caused a knot to form deep within the pit of the Warrior-Captain's stomach.

Although the chance for harm to come to the villagers was seemingly nonexistent. That was not what bothered him so. There was a grave danger of provoking those individuals.

Gazef recalled the feeling he had when standing in the presence of that man. He had seen the remnants of how they dealt with enemies and he'd witnessed their capability for magic.

If they were to make an enemy of that pair. Then all they would have accomplished would be to trade a difficult foe for an impossible one.

No, they could not resort to such a tactic.

"Hit the enemy hard and fast! Draw the sentries in from around the village. After that, fall back immediately. Do not hesitate and miss your chance to flee."

Gazef's words were met with a cheer from the men with a level of energy that surprised him.

Looking ahead, he tightened his grip on the reins and spurred his horse onwards. The warhorse reared back before lunging forward and setting off into a full gallop.

In an instant, the air was filled with cheers and thundering hoofbeats as the warband followed after their leader.

At the head of the herd, Gazef furrowed his brow as a frown crested his stern features.

How many, if any, of these men would have the chance to leave here alive today? While he was fully prepared to offer up his life in service of the crown and the people of the Re-Estize Kingdom. Could that be said for his men? Their loyalty was to him more than the crown and now they were following him into what would most likely be their last battle.

None of them possessed any kind of outstanding skill or special talent. They were just ordinary soldiers who'd trained hard under his tutelage for years now. He'd watched as they grew from a rabble of unskilled and undisciplined would-be soldiers. Only to be transformed into a coordinated and accomplished unit that filled him with pride.

It was an honour to have led them.

Still, he wanted to apologize to them as much as he wanted to curse them. Glancing back briefly his eyes scanned across their faces, acutely aware of the expressions of determination that each wore.

It was the guise of a true warrior, proud and unafraid.

All had a complete understanding of where this line of action was leading them. Still, they would go freely into the unknown.

"Don't worry, Captain!"

"Yeah, we all came here of our own free will. To fight and die by your side, Captain!"

"Please let us protect our country, our people, and our friends!"

These were the cries that filled Gazef's ears and fortified his heart against any sense of fear.

"Then, forward onto battle! Tear their guts out!"

His deep baritone resonated above even the horse's frenzied hoof beats.

Together, they all urged their steeds onwards and toward the waiting enemy. Dust, dirt, and clods of grass were kicked up into a turbulent whirlwind by the company of charging cavalry as they sped across the fields.

They could see them now.

Ahead of the unit were the soldiers of the Slane Theocracy. The main force stood gathered about the base of a hill. While standing atop the hill, sheltered under a tree, their eyes could make out the silhouettes of several figures.

There was no doubt that these men were the unit's officers. That they had taken up a position of elevation was a telltale sign. It was fairly typical of most commanders to position themselves on higher ground so that they may better oversee the battlefield. Thus they could more easily direct troop movements.

As the gap between the two opposing forces began to close the Warrior-Captain drew a bow from his saddle's side.

He was by no means the most versed in archery but he was confident enough in his skills to try. Reaching back, he pulled an arrow from the bouncing quiver and nocked the arrow on the bowstring.

The shuddering and bounding of the dashing horse beneath him shook his aim. Yet still, Gazef took aim. He drew back the string in one smooth and practiced motion as he sighted his target a final time before loosing the arrow.

The wooden projectile flew through the air straight and true toward the head of the nearest enemy caster.

For a brief moment, it appeared that the arrow would actually land its mark. But then that hope was shattered as the speeding arrow was casually intercepted by one of the hovering angels.

"Heh," Gazef smirked, "So it's useless after all."

Returning the bow to the saddle's side, he focused his energies elsewhere. He reached to his waist and drew his longsword from its scabbard. Raising his arm, the Warrior-Captain held the blade aloft as he charged ahead.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Seeing their foe approaching, the Slane Theocracy soldiers began their attack. To begin their offensive, they unleashed a wave of spells. Arcane energies manifesting as glowing auras.

The collective gaze of the warband surveyed their surroundings, looking for any sign of attack. Yet nothing seemed amiss.

There was no hail of fireballs, no bolts of lightning from the skies, not even an abnormal gust of wind.

This put the Kingdom's soldiers on edge, such low-profile magic could only be something devious.

In that moment, Gazef's horse shuddered and stumbled, breaking its once smooth and rhythmic strides. The sudden jerk to the left forced other riders to maneuver quickly to avoid a collision. Struggling to regain control, Gazef pulled hard on the reins, trying to steady his mount. Around him, shouts filled the air as other riders faced the same challenge.

The battle for control reached its climax when Gazef's warhorse reared up on its hind legs unexpectedly, its forelimbs flailing wildly in the air. The tense situation had escalated rapidly, and Gazef's focus intensified as he grappled to maintain control over the powerful steed amid the chaos.

The unit broke formation with many having to veer around their leader and his steed.

It was only Gazef's quick reflexes that saved him from being thrown off his saddle, a fate that some of his fellow men were not fortunate enough to avoid. They were flung from their steeds' backs, tumbling onto the ground in a perilous spill.

But Gazef couldn't think about them now. He tugged and spurred the equine's flanks with his heels. Still, the warhorse continued to buck and jostle him upon its back.

This abrupt change in the horse's behavior could mean only one thing, magic.

This must've been what the magic casters had wrought. They were utilizing some kind of mind-controlling spells upon their mounts.

Had they directed the spell toward Gazef then he might have been able to overcome the effects.

However, the horse had no such hopes.

Damn those cowards.

He mentally kicked himself for not picking up on their underhanded tactics sooner. Quickly he released his grip on the reins and extended his arms, Gazef placed his palms flat against the saddle. Then with a mighty shove, the force of which was more than enough to lift the man clear of the saddle, he passed over the rear of the horse and into the air.

Acting on instinct he readied himself for the landing. When his feet made contact with the ground, he bent his knees and tucked himself into a roll. This served twofold, the first was to avoid the kicking legs of the horse and the second was to put some distance between them.

The sky passed by his view several times before Gazef was able to plant his feet firmly and he rose into a stance ready for a fight.

Freed of its rider the warhorse continued to buck wildly before it ran into the distance unhindered.

"Captain!" an approaching rider shouted.

The soldier slowed his horse and leaned over in the saddle to extend his arm in hopes of helping his commander.

Gazef would've been more appreciative of the attempt had there not been a more pressing concern.

There was a flash of light overhead as one of the summoned angels appeared. Its armour form glinted in the fading daylight. It hovered above him for a scant moment before it bore down on him with its magical weapon at the ready.

Forgetting about his subordinate, Gazef brought his blade up for a ready defense. The muscles of his arms grew particularly tense as he gripped the longsword's hilt in a white-knuckled hold. His keen eyes focused squarely on the rapidly approaching angel.

Calculating the moment in which to strike the man waited.

Seconds ticked by then the moment came.

In a second the Warrior-Captain flexed his fingers assuring his firm grip upon the sword's hilt. Then springing forwards his blade appeared as naught but a gleaming streak of steel. He bypassed the angel's defenses with ease to make contact with the creature's armoured form. Upon contact, the vibration resonated the length of the blade and through his arms.

Had his target been a mortal creature, a blow from the Kingdom's strongest warrior would have been fatal. In fact, they would've certainly been cut in twain.

However, this was no ordinary being.

The angel's armoured body was made of stronger material than a mortal man's. Still, Gazef's longsword cut deeply into the angel's left side. But in the process, the blade had become lodged firmly within the body.

However, as a summoned creature, the angel lacked blood. Instead, the wound wept pure mana of which its body was constituted.

The Warrior-Captain could feel it, a force was pushing back against his blade as it was slowly expelled from the wound. Freeing itself of the offending weapon the angel took to the air once again.

From his place on the ground, Gazef tracked its movements as it flittered about above. It had managed to escape with its life but it was still seeking a way to get by his defense.

Then before his eyes, the leaking gash in the armour began to mend itself.

Even a layman like Gazef knew that many monsters possessed abilities to rapidly heal injuries. Some of the more powerful creatures could even nullify damage dealt to them entirely. It was for this reason that adventurers often had to use specialized equipment which would hinder or bypass their abilities.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the angels too were blessed with an ability that allowed it to take such a mighty blow from Gazef without falling.

The bearded warrior clenched his jaw and again fell into an offensive battle stance as he focused his mind. Energy welled up within the body of the warrior as he activated the martial art [Focus Battle Aura]. He quickly channeled this energy into the longsword in his grasp, the blade of which was engulfed in a crimson glow.

The angel watched and sensed an opportunity to attack and pressed forward. Once more it dove at the armoured man with its sword of red flame raised to strike.

Gazef's dark eyes gleamed with light, "Too slow!"

With his perception pushed beyond the limits of ordinary humans, the angel's motions truly were too slow. Gazef pushed off against the ground, lunging forwards to meet his oncoming foe.

The steel of his blade moved in a great slashing arc with blinding speed. As before it found its mark, however, this time it did not stop. With the full force of Gazef's magnified strength behind the sword continued through the angel.

At this, the summoned creature seemed to pause as if it was unable to believe just what had happened.

A spray of golden mana erupted from the angel's torso as it shuddered. Across its armoured shell, countless cracks spread to spill more mana into the world. Then its structure burst like the popping of a bubble, it dissolved into a shower of glowing particles.

The way its remains glittered, as they evaporated into the air, was a captivating sight. If such a light show had been the work of a street performer, Gazef would have applauded.

However, his moment of triumph was short-lived.

Pivoting on his heel Gazef scanned the area to see where the next attack may come from. In the mere moments, it had taken for his duel to play out the enemy's full forces had been gathered. Above them, yet more angels were summoned into being from the ether. Freshly brought into existence the creatures flittered in the air awaiting commands.

The bearded warrior grimaced, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Gazef exhaled slowly, rising to his full height, his eyes never wavering from the direction of the enemy. For a second he cursed magic that it would allow practitioners to enact feats so impossible for others.

Yet even in the face of such terrible odds, he remained calm.

The knowledge that the villagers would remain safe, protected against those who would see them harmed. That his men had managed to break through the enemy lines and were retreating to safety.

Gazef allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

Good, now it's just me that will perish. But…

The warrior hardened his gaze with the raw determination that fueled him.

I won't be going down without a fight.

As Gazef prepared himself to face his foes. His concentration was interrupted by the sound of pounding hooves which grew louder in his ears.

"You damnable fools. I told you all to retreat to safety once passed the blockade," the bearded soldier shook his head, "Still, your loyalty is beyond words."

As the riders approached at speed, the men of Slane Theocracy appeared caught off guard, apparently having been expecting the unit to flee. This caused a stir as the enemy magic casters began to redeploy themselves to fend off the oncoming riders.

Recognizing this might be his best chance and possibly his only chance to close the distance. Resolute to take advantage of this opportunity Gazef broke out in a full sprint across the field.

The men at the forefront of the cavalry soon found their steeds losing their fervor. They wavered, wobbling as if their legs had turned to jelly. Some of the beasts collapsed to send their riders tumbling head over heels. Those that followed acted quickly to break formation as they attempted to guide their mounts away from fallen comrades. Lest they be trampled under hoof.

Gazef cursed the casters; again they were resorting to their dastardly tactics of mind-altering magic.

With the unit thrown into disarray, the angels chose the moment to press the attack.

Although Gazef was confident in his men's prowess, in terms of fighting power he'd place them near equal terms with the angels. However, the latter possessed special abilities that the former did not. So it was that the men of the warband were soon plunged into dire straits. A position made all the worse by the myriad of spells the casters called forth.

From a distance, their leader listened to the whinnies of the horses and the cries of their riders. Some still continued to shout their war cries and urged others to carry on the charge. But many more were cries of pain and fear as the enemy worked against them.

Men were knocked from horseback to land roughly on the ground. Others were snatched from the saddle and borne into the air by the winged warriors. Only for them to come plummeting back down to the earth. One after the other they fell.

Gazef could only avert his eyes. Though he wished to aid his men, he was in no position to do so.

Instead, he focused on his target, the enemy commander. The man continued to hold his position behind the lines. It was he who was to be the recipient of Gazef's ire.

But the Warrior-Captain was no fool. He held no belief that the loss of their commander would force the enemy into a retreat.

Unfortunately, looking ahead it appeared that his solo charge did not go unnoticed. A regiment of angels, over 30 strong, had interposed themselves between himself and the waiting casters.

"You're in my way!"

The human warrior roared at the oncoming angels.

Focusing his energies an intense heat blossomed within his core and quickly spread throughout the entirety of his body. Unlocking his full potential, the bearded warrior broke through the limits previously imposed upon his physical form and stepped into the realm of heroes.

With newfound vigor, he glared at the six approaching angels before unleashing multiple martial arts at once.

"[Sixfold Slash of Light]!"

This was the Warrior-Captain's ultimate technique. Power flooded into his limbs as he swung his blade. The sword moved faster than the eye could perceive toward his opponents. In an instant, it was over. He had made one swing but produced six slashes and the bodies of the angels dissolved into countless pinpricks of light.

The faint sound of cheers could be heard from those of Gazef's men who had witnessed their leader's display.

Regrettably, more angels were hastily dispatched to counter him.

Gazef braced himself, the telltale tingling flowed through his limbs after the use of such a major skill. But this was a good sign, for it indicated that his muscles had not yet reached a state of deterioration.

Otherwise, he would expect a level of excruciating pain.

This was again another area where he was at a disadvantage. The angels felt no pain and would not hesitate in battle, willingly throwing themselves at the enemy even if they had no chance of survival. Furthermore, for every one that was cut down another would be summoned to take its place. The death of an angel meant nothing to the enemy's overall capability for battle as each was a mere construct of magic and thusly expendable.

In terms of sheer numbers, he was fighting a losing battle.

Conversely, the loss of one man from the unit was a hard-felt blow, and the loss of years of training and experience.

While there existed magics in the world that could resurrect the dead. Those who could wield such magic were rare indeed. Then there was also the need for the person being resurrected to be strong enough to undergo the process. If not their physical form could not sustain the act and be turned to ash. It is this reason why only the strongest of warriors tended to be the ones who came back.

Undoubtedly angered by his small triumph the theocracy casters sent another wave of winged assailants.

"[Instant Reflex]!"

An angel's flaming sword came at him and the bearded warrior's skill activated. But before the angel's blade could rip through him Gazef moved. Such was his speed that his body seemed to melt away, only to reappear behind the aforementioned angel. In a single precise strike, his counter annihilated the armoured being rendering it into a cloud of glittering dust.

However, the man's offensive didn't end there.

"[Flow Acceleration]!"

Under the influence of this particular martial art, the Warrior-Captain was bequeathed with a drastic increase in his nervous system. As such his mind's ability to process information allowed him to quickly formulate the most efficient attack strategy. A byproduct was also the heightening of his reflexes thus allowing him to attack faster.

However, there came a downside.

In increasing the speed of the brain, there was a higher chance of early-onset fatigue. This would be disastrous as the slowing of his reaction time would be a death sentence.

With his previous skill still heightening his reflexes, he danced with a fluid grace around the angel's attacks. One by one they felt the sting of his blade.

From their place across the battlefield, the men of the warband looked on. Seeing their commander achieve a feat that would be impossible for a normal person filled the men with hope. Hope that they could pull it off and actually survive this day.

As yet more angels came at Gazef. Again and again, they were struck down.

Throughout it all, the warrior felt as if his body was alight with flame. His breathing had been reduced to heavy panting as a result of his accrued exertions. Battling through the initial stages of fatigue the Warrior-Captain prepared to once more utilize his ultimate technique against the enemy.

"Impressive, mastering so many skills isn't easy," a voice rose from the enemy lines, "Sadly it won't save you. Or your men. Priests who've lost angels, summon the next! Focus your attacks on Stronoff."

The area was awash in an intense blue glow as more angels were birthed into existence.

At the sight, fear spread its tendrils through the men of the Re-Estize Kingdom. As the fear took root, it began to take effect. Their movements slowed and became uncoordinated. With their focus broken, the glimmer of hope for victory was being extinguished from their eyes.

"This isn't good," Gazef spat on the ground as he put an end to another of the winged menaces.

With determination blazing in his eyes, Gazef wove through the throng of flaming swords without a thought. He parried each thrust of a blade before following it up with a counterattack.

Angel after angel fell with every swing of his blade but there was always another, ready to step in and take its place.

Yet his true target continued to remain out beyond his grasp.

All while his men did their best to stand against the angels. But to truly have a chance magical weapons were necessary to overcome the foe's defensive capabilities. Without they would need to use the [Focus Battle Aura] martial art to fatally injure the angels.

The Warrior-Captain gritted his teeth and fell into the age-old mantra "Just keep swinging."

As he did a part of him had to wonder just how many times had made the words death in one blow come true. He'd used his Sixfold Slash of Light so many times he'd easily surpassed his previous record.

Individuals of Gazef's caliber could typically utilize up to six martial arts simultaneously. The Warrior-Captain, himself, was capable of pushing further and using one more if it was to include his ultimate technique. The downside being the more powerful the skill the more strain it would place on the user, draining their focus and stamina at increasing rates.

As the steady creep of exhaustion seeped through his muscles and gnawed at his bones. The muscles in his arms burned and were growing heavier with every swing of his sword. This involuntarily made Gazef adopt a low guard stance, by keeping his weapon closer to the ground, the less strain it placed on his body.

Overhead more angels fluttered around pausing briefly to perform a steep dive at the man below.

"As many as you have, bring them on! Your angels are nothing, you bastards!"

Gazef hurled his challenge at the soldiers of the Slane Theocracy. It was a blind gamble to bring some relief to his men by attracting the attention of the enemy.

At the man's harsh words, several of the magic casters couldn't help but subconsciously take a step back. However, the moment of fear was removed from their minds by the composed voice of their superior.

"That's it, men, pay him no heed. It's just the final roar of a caged beast as it rattles its shackles. Wear him down then move in for the kill."

The scar-faced leader goaded his men onwards from his position of safety.

Gazef glared at the man. That smug attitude bothered him. Close combat was his specialty and thus his martial arts sprang from this. If only he could breach the man's sanctuary. But between them lay a veritable forest of flaming swords and gleaming armoured bodies.

So that's it then. This is the only path open to me.

Gazef grunted as the strength returned to him and he took off running.

An angel came at him from seemingly every direction. The bearded warrior nimbly dodged the burning swords that stabbed and slashed at him. The blades came so close that he could feel the heat of the flames as they licked his skin.

A sharp pain caught the Warrior-Captain by surprise.

The hurt radiated outwards from his abdomen and for a moment Gazef was left to wonder if he hadn't been quick enough to avoid a strike. But this wasn't the piercing kind of agony that would come from being stabbed. This was more of a dull generalized pain like one would feel after taking a hard punch.

The explanation came to the warrior a moment later as an invisible force collided with him.

Impact after impact rained down on him. A particularly strong blow to his abdomen nearly brought him to his knees. During the unseen assault, Gazef did his best to shield his sword and face. Then another came at his left leg, taking his foot out from under him, making Gazef stagger as he tried to return to a fighting stance.

He might have had a chance to avoid the attack by sensing the air currents or by watching his opponent's eyes and reading their body language. But when facing off against thirty foes at once, it was an impossible task even for one like himself to keep track of them all at once.

The pain was beginning to overwhelm him, it radiated from all over his body. Gazef couldn't tell if it was from the over-taxation of his body. Or if it was the barrage of invisible attacks that were pummeling him now.

The strong metallic taste welled up in his throat and caused the warrior to swallow hard as he try to clear it from his mouth.

The Warrior-Captain was left staggered from the last salvo when another wave of angels at him with their swords. The winged creatures were merciless in their attack.

Beleaguered Gazef only just managed to evade an attack from behind and parry a thrust from the side. With each passing second, he lost more and more of his momentum.

The strikes that he couldn't dodge were taken by his armour and thankfully repelled. Yet he still felt each blow through the steel plate. Each blow that landed on him sapped more of his remaining strength. His muscles had started to tremble and it took much of his focus to remain standing.

As he staggered, Gazef outstretched his longsword to swipe at an angel who came too close. But the winged marauder flitted about easily avoiding his wagging blade.

This action left him open and the surrounding attackers were fast to take advantage. A moment's negligence was all it took.

Lashing out with a flurry of quick strikes the angels before backing away as the Warrior-Captain attempted a near-futile retaliatory attack. Unfortunately, his blade was met with only open-air each time. Another round of the invisible punches pummeled him, and though he frantically fought to endure he was soon staggered before he was brought to his knees.

His arms wobbled as he try to support himself on the grassy field. A terrible ache encompassed his body and interfered with his ability to think. The fatigue of his continual use of martial arts gripped him tightly. Whispering to him to simply lay down upon the field and rest.

Gazef shook, clearing his head of that nagging voice. Looking deep within himself the Warrior-Captain called upon the last vestiges of his strength. He dug his gloved fingers into the soft earth and pushed back as he began to rise.

As the iron-rich flavour of blood choked his tongue, he spat the crimson liquid upon the parched earth where it was quickly absorbed.

His dark eyes focused on the magic casters his jaw clenched so hard that his teeth made an awful grinding sound.

These men who had come brazenly into their lands and visited terror upon the people of the Kingdom. They had wantonly slaughtered whole villages, all to lure him out and into their trap. So many hapless innocents had died all because the people in positions of power had such loathing for him.

To die by their hands, to give such satisfaction to those honourless dogs was something that Gazef could not allow to pass.

Proudly standing at his full height, Gazef took a shaky step and then another, and another following that. His breathing was rough and with every intake of air, his lungs burned. His hands trembled and threatened to lose grip on the sword hilt. As the haze of weakness clouded his mind. Yet beneath it was the ferocity of his boiling rage and steadfast determination.

This was suffering he was willing to endure if it meant seeing justice done and protecting those in his charge. If he could be granted this, he could endure anything.

"I am the Warrior-Captain of the Re-Estize Kingdom! My heart and soul belong to Re-Estize! I'll die a thousand times over before I lose to the likes of you!" flecks of blood-tinged spittle being flung from his lips as Gazef roared his defiance.

An arrogant grin spread across the features of the enemy leader.

"Ah, yes. You will indeed die here and you have only yourself to blame, Gazef Stronoff."

The bearded warrior's eyes were cold with hate for this scarred man. The man's calm and mockingly friendly tone served only to stoke the flames of Gazef's ire.

"If only you had forsaken these people and their homely lands on these borders after you had seen it for yourself. This might not be your last battle. But that is your failing, your life is worth more than a thousand villages. Surely you must realize that! If you truly loved your country, you would have left them to die."

"You're wrong. I am no more valuable than any innocent within these lands. Something that the likes of you will never understand."

"And what exactly do you plan to 'do' in your condition? Just cease your pointless struggles. Lie down quietly and die as a good dog would." Commander Nigun then let loose with a deep belly laugh, "But I am not without mercy. I will kill you without causing you too much undue suffering."

Gazef spat that the man's attempted humility, "If you think me so helpless… Then why not come and take my head yourself? It should be… trifling like this."

Nigun chuckled, "Such a baleful attempt to goad me. Truly, you have fallen if you think it would work."

"Then kill me! But leave the village in peace."

"Fool after we kill you, we will then finish off those villagers cowering within their homes," he scoffed, "All you have managed to do is delay the inevitable and allow them to wallow in their despair."

"I may die here… But at least I'll die knowing that you and your men shall die just as surely as your dishonourable scouts."

"What?"

The leader of the Sunlight Scripture stared down at the soldier as he stood, barely able to keep hold of his sword. To hear him make mention of the scout group pulled Nigun from his revelry. Was it possible the scout regiment had run afoul of the Warrior-Captain and his warband after all?

In response, the weakened warrior couldn't hide his smile as he saw his words wipe away the sneer from the other's smug face.

"Heh…heh-heh…," Gazef laughed in response, "You heard me! Your scouts are dead and lie rotting in the fields! You sent those men to their deaths!" His voice rose, filled with unmitigated gall, "The villagers are safe, far beyond your pathetic reach. In that village is someone far stronger than I am. And when you die at their hands, know, that I'll be waiting for you in the next life."

"Stronger than the Kingdom's most powerful warrior? Do you think me a fool? Did you really think that we would fall for such an obvious lie?" The enemy leader laughed – cruelly, confidently, "Brazen till the end, eh, Gazef?"

Nigun stared at the Kingdom's greatest warrior and wore a smile. But this was but a façade as he felt the anger welling up within him.

"Angels! Kill Gazef Stronoff."

At his command, two angels rose above the others. Their wings fluttered, directing them through the air as they lunged forward into a dive.

Gazef stared down the on-rushing armoured beings with a feeling of peace. The wounded warrior exhaled slowly, mustering the best defensive stance he could, and prepared for what was to be the last fight of his life.

The airborne foes rapidly closed the distance and Gazef braced himself for the collision.

Yet it never came.

Several times he blinked, his stunned mind unable to correctly understand what had happened.

The pair of angels who'd moments ago had been hurtling toward him like a falling star. Now hung frozen in the air some ten feet away. Upon their silver torsos, a thin trail of golden light gleamed and caught his eye.

It was a trickle of shimmering mana, leaking from a narrow slit in the angel's breastplate.

There was a sudden and sharp crack like the sound of glass shattering. Then the air itself appeared to break and a thousand hairline fissures spread themselves out before the human's gaze. Like a spider's web, they hung suspended in the air.

It was like the world itself had been made of glass and unable to handle the strain had fractured.

Gazef looked on in disbelief as the mosaic began to crumble. Pieces fell away, tumbling to the ground where they evaporated into a myriad of minuscule glowing specks. As more pieces came away, they revealed what had been hidden from his sight.

With the setting sun casting its rays into his eyes, Gazef had to squint as he focused his gaze. Two silhouettes of figures he recognized.

"You don't look very good, Captain Stronoff."

One of the armoured figures spoke in a rumbling voice.

"I can't say I feel very well either, Sir Tiberius," Gazef allowed himself a pained half-grin, "I might have fared better. But my foes aren't ones to know the meaning of a fair fight."

"Yes, I saw."

The dragonoid's stride was short as he approached the battered warrior. In doing so he allowed the man to see what had been previously obscured from his view.

Standing behind Tiberius was his Guardian escort.

Yuliana stood with her feet planted firmly in the soft earth and her arms held outstretched, a gleaming blade in each hand. It was upon these blades that the angels had been impaled and held immobile.

Without fanfare, she withdrew the blade of her swords with a swift yank. Then before the angels could regain their bearings, she struck with a diagonal slash.

The Warrior-Captain could only look on in astonishment at the ease with which her blades passed through the angel's armoured forms. It was an expression similarly mimicked by the soldiers of the Slane Theocracy.

An eerie silence settled over those in the fields.

The only sound to meet Gazef's ear was the soft clink of armour as the other warrior approached.

Tiberius stood before the hunched form of the bearded warrior. The wolven-faced helm he wore made a slow panning turn as he surveyed the remnants of the battlefield. Its movements halted as he gazed into the distance behind the Warrior-Captain.

Gazef knew, without the need to turn himself, just what it was that the other was looking upon. Some part of his mind spoke of it being disrespectful to not look. So it was slowly that Gazef craned his neck to see for himself.

Lying about the field were his soldiers, men whom he knew well. Just how many were dead or dying he could not say. But Gazef felt the need to say something to commemorate their sacrifice.

"[Mass Greater Heal]."

The words echoed through the stillness and an emerald aura shone brightly. The glow spread across the field, encompassing each of those bodies that lay unmoving.

Even as the light enveloped him the Warrior-Captain remained motionless. The shock of the moment etched itself deeply upon his features.

The first thing he noticed was a comfortable warmth spreading throughout his body. It was a revitalizing sensation that washed over the feelings of pain like a tidal wave. The pain that had once so thoroughly saturated his being began to ebb. Submerged beneath the pleasant feelings that now soaked into every fiber of his body.

It was like taking a breath for the first after being held underwater. So delectable and glorious was that lungful of air that he savoured it.

Gazef stared down at his gloved hands.

The heavy haze of fatigue that had clung to him like a wet blanket that clouded his mind and addled his body just vanished in its entirety. Now, in its place, he felt a renewed strength and vigor blossom within him.

Shifting his focus, the bearded warrior looked at the longsword in his right hand. It felt so light to him now as if it were but a feather in his palm. So unlike the boulder it had been just minutes ago.

Experimentally balled his left hand into a fist and flexed his arm. He felt the muscles move, there was no tension that had previously limited his range of motion.

Before Gazef could proceed any further in his self-inspection, a glimpse of movement caught his eye.

Out in the field, the majority of the once-still bodies had begun to move.

Soldiers stirred, and limbs were stretched, an action accompanied by a cacophony of grunts and groans. Some erupted into coughing fits as they inhaled deeply a fresh lungful of air. Others, so overcome by emotion, seemed to almost be laughing hysterically. But slowly the men gathered wits to them and rose to their feet before setting to aiding their comrades.

"W-what is the meaning of this?!"

Gazef's focus was taken away from the miraculous sight before him and to the formerly silent commander of the enemy forces.

Upon his hillock, the scar-faced man stared out at the happenings in the fields before him.

Though a sizable distance still separated them, and the exact expression on his face was difficult to make out. Gazef liked to imagine it being one of confusion and anger.

"Heh," Gazef smirked.

Reaching up, he massaged the bare patch of skin between his neck and shoulder. It was a mocking gesture as if this simple thing was enough to soothe away all that they had put him through.

Lowering his arm, Gazef brought his hands together on the hilt of his longsword. He then shifted his stance, placing one foot out in front of the other. Resting his weight on his back foot, the man raised his weapon and held it parallel to his body.

"Now then, shall we continue this dance where we left off?"

"No," the dragonoid interjected, "You and your men have fought bravely. But I think it's time you return to the village."

At the other's words, the Warrior-Captain abruptly relaxed his stance, pivoting on his heel he stared at the other with a look of utter disbelief.

"What? Surely you aren't serious, Sir Tiberius."

The silver-clad warrior remained silent, striding past him, as he moved to retake his original position at his companion's side.

"I am," Tiberius did not turn to address the human soldier directly. Instead, his gaze was focused solely on the magic casters gathered across the field. "Now you best be on your way."

"But…" Gazef's words died in his throat.

As he stood gazing at the back of the armoured figure a feeling arose within him. A deep sense of foreboding struck him like a spike to the very core of his being. It was the same sensation he'd felt once already when standing in his presence.

"Go now, Captain Stronoff. See to your men."

"Very well," the bearded soldier gave a sharp nod and resheathed his weapon, "Then I shall leave this matter in your hands."

Gazef felt some small twinge of guilt in doing so. It didn't sit well with his sense of duty to leave a fight half-fought, he should be the one to vanquish these foes. But right now his instincts were yelling at him to flee and seldom were they wrong. Besides that, he knew better than to interfere with powers that were beyond him.

With a bow to the pair of armoured individuals, Gazef pivoted and strode away in the direction of his scattered men.

Watching all this, Commander Nigun was growing rather irate at the thought of the prey being allowed to flee. No, they weren't going to escape, not after they had come so close to triumph. Not after the loss of the scout unit.

"You think you and your little band of rabble-rousers can get away from us?!"

He paused in his angry bellow, his gaze turning to the two strangers that had interfered.

"I don't know who you are. But know this, your meddling has made a powerful enemy this day. We shall deal with you after we have finished with Stronoff and his pitiful band." Nigun raised his hand high, "Angels! Ignore these foolish intruders, for now. Fly on and eliminate Stronoff. But first, kill his men! Make him watch it all over again!"

Heeding their master's command the winged beings came to life. Like a swarm of metallic locusts, the angels set forth.

Their wings flapped in a flurry of motion as the host of angels sailed over the two armoured figures and toward the helpless soldiers in the field.

Gazef spun at the sounds of beating wings, his gaze turning skywards as he watched the angels pass by. They were too high for him to reach and their numbers too great for even his ultimate technique to significantly lower them. Still, he had to do something.

In an instant, Gazef's hand flew to the hilt of the longsword that hung at his waist. Adrenaline flooded his body and his heart raced, supplying his muscles with fresh oxygen-rich blood. A familiar heat began to spread through him and his muscles tensed as he readied to strike.

Not far ahead of the angelic host, the men of the Kingdom's warband were scattered. Some sought to find a weapon with which to defend themselves and their fellows. While others simply hunted for a way to escape the coming onslaught.

There came a sound like a thunderclap so loud that it rattled the bone and a gust of wind so powerful that it nearly swept Gazef off his feet. When the moment had passed, he staggered as he regained his footing and shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears. Straightening himself up the Warrior-Captain could only look on with shock at the sight before him.

Ahead of him, the men of his warband were motionless. Some sat on the ground while others stood, all were unharmed but seemingly in a daze.

However, standing between them and himself was the silver-armoured adventurer. Within his right hand was the longsword Gazef had previously only seen sheathed at his side.

It was a weapon unlike any the man had seen before. His eyes were particularly drawn to the glowing core of the blade. The seemingly white-hot metal appeared to flow like a liquid along the length of the blade while countless hairline cracks branched out to emit the same radiance.

As if only just recalling the situation in which he was, Gazef moved as if jolted awake. His head turned rapidly as he sought out the enemy forces which had moments ago been bearing down on them.

It was only when his eyes caught a glimpse of something. A multitude of lights rippled and danced across the surface of the foreign warrior's armour. For a second, Gazef had thought it but a reflection of the sun. But it couldn't be, the sun was but a single point. This was like the dancing of fireflies.

Inclining his head, Gazef lifted his eyes to the sky above.

Overhead the heavens were awash with a haze of glittering dust. The iridescent cloud hung weightless as it drifted on the soft evening breeze. As the particles melted away into the world something in Gazef's mind clicked. This was all that remained of the enemy.

He killed them all in a single attack! I couldn't even see him move. Truly his strength and speed are beyond remarkable.

Recovering his composure, the Warrior-Captain moved with great haste to reunite with his men. He rushed past the armoured adventurer without heeding him and stood among his gathering soldiers.

"Alright, all of you listen up!" his deep baritone voice rose above the mumbles and garnered the attention of all, "Quickly now, gather your gear and retreat to the village."

"But sir, what of our fallen brothers?"

Gazef turned to the speaker, finding the young face of the Vice-Captain looking back at him.

"For now we have no choice. We must leave them here."

To make such a hard decision weighed heavily on Gazef's mind. Those men who'd paid the ultimate price had safeguarded their fellows this day. They deserved proper recognition for their sacrifice.

However, now was not the time.

There wasn't anything more that could be done for the dead. Gazef's paramount concern must lie with those who yet lived. Yet when this day was through and the danger had passed, he would ensure that a proper ceremony was conducted in their honour.

Still, it was a painful thing to just leave their fallen comrades behind.

As he supervised the retreat, the Warrior-Captain studied the faces of the men. Upon many, he could see the same conflicted feelings mirrored. However, while their expressions were soured, they too understood the situation.

Not allowing the men to dwell on this matter, Vice-Captain Garro moved among them.

"You heard the Captain!" Garro barked, clapping his hands in time with his words as he urged the men to work, "Double time it! Everyone back to the village!"

All about the field, the men of the warband scrambled to and fro. Occasionally they would stop to retrieve something from the grass before moving on. In the end, much was left on the battlefield as the men turned and headed for the village of Carne.

Gazef was the last to leave the grounds.

He stood resolute, his gaze fixed upon the two foreign warriors who now confronted the very foes that had recently overwhelmed him in battle - decimating his unit.

In that fleeting moment, a sense of pity for the men of the Slane Theocracy welled up within him. But swiftly it dissipated, replaced by his disdain for such contemptible cowards. Gazef's emotions flickered like a passing shadow, leaving behind an unyielding conviction to face his adversaries with unwavering resolve.

You brought this on yourselves.

Turning away, the Warrior-Captain trailed after his retreating unit.