Overwhelming Firepower

The carriage wheels creaked softly in the frost, breath from the horses steaming in the cold morning air. Snow dusted the courtyard cobblestones, and the banners of House Thornehart hung still and solemn.

Lucen adjusted the strap of his powder horn. The arquebus hung snugly across his back, alongside his Crimson Lord Mk IV.

Harlik and Mark, two members of Thornefang, were here to accompany him

Robert had to come since he was also instrumental in the creation of the arquebus. There was also the head blacksmith, Oswin, and Holz, the head carpenter.

From the martial ranks, Knight-Commander Thalos would be leading the vanguard, with several Ironhold knights in tow. Among them was Garrett, now wielding his own Crimson Lord Mk IV, forged under Lucen’s exact specifications.

And at the center of it all stood Duke Vardon Thornehart, waiting for everyone to get ready before entering the carriage.

While everyone was preparing for their trip to Caelhart, Lucen noticed Vahn was there alongside Cael.

”Have you come to see me off again, my little bro?” Lucen patted Cael’s head, and the young five-year-old stared directly into Lucen’s eyes and spoke.

”Can I come with you?”

Lucen froze. The crunch of snow beneath boots, the murmurs of knights, all of it vanished. All he could hear was the quiet, honest voice of his little brother echoing in his ears.

Cael had spoken. Not just grunted, not nodded, not blinked in that way he did to say a thousand silent things. He spoke.

Lucen stared at him. His younger brother’s expression didn’t waver, eyes like frost and steel. That was the first time Lucen had heard his younger brother’s voice.

”You’ve got no idea what that question just did to me,” he said, forcing a half-smile. ”You finally speak to me... Just to ask me that?”

Cael blinked once. Lucen chuckled.

”Unfortunately, I’m not the one you should ask. If it were just me, I would agree in a heartbeat, but Father will now allow it.”

Hearing Lucen’s answer, Cael lowered his head, his expression unreadable. Lucen then patted his little brother’s head.

”Don’t worry, next time, you and I will go out and have some fun.”

Lucen opened his bag, rummaged around, and pulled out a crude stuffed toy shaped like a puppy.

This was Lucen’s first attempt as he was trying to gain other skills like sewing or blacksmithing. Right now, he still doesn’t have enough proficiency to unlock them, but he was close.

”Here, sorry if it’s not nice looking, but you can have this. It should keep you company while Father and I are away.”

Lucen gave the stuffed toy to Cael, who held it tightly. Seeing his younger brother’s reaction made Lucen smile.

”Take care of him for me, Vahn.”

”Of course, young master.” Vahn did his usual knight’s salute. ”May you and the lord have a safe journey.”

The carriage door swung open with a creak, and Vardon stepped in without a word. Lucen gave Cael one last glance before following after him.

Behind them, the Ironhold knights, craftsmen, the other members of Thornefang, and the people of the North, those who live in Ironhold, came to say goodbye.

”Safe journey, Young Master!”

”May glory come where the Iron Duke passes!”

”Glory to Stellhart!”

The gates of Ironhold opened, and the group left with the people behind still waving and saying their goodbyes.

***

The trip to Caelhart from Ironhold was estimated to be around one week and three days of travel, which means that they should arrive three days before the celebration.

Along the way, they encountered a band of unlucky bandits. Upon spotting the Thornehart banners, the would-be raiders tried to flee, but the knights would not allow it. They rode out without hesitation, subduing the attackers in minutes and leaving only dust in their wake. Lucen would also sometimes join in so that he could gain some experience to see if he could level up.

They also passed through several small villages. Where they could, they offered assistance. Robert eagerly shared his knowledge with anyone curious, alchemical theories, mana crystal behavior, soap-making tricks, and even odd trivia from obscure Yellow Tower records.

Meanwhile, members of Thornefang who were telling stories of their adventures introduced Territory War to the locals. The simple yet strangely addictive game, played with black-and-white tokens on a checkered board, quickly drew the interest of villagers both young and old.

By the time the caravan moved on, almost all the villagers knew what Territory War was, as well as what Thornefang was.

The group also distributed the scented soaps and some of the salves to the villagers. During this journey, Vardon and Lucen, who were sitting across each other, barely muttered a word. As neither of them knew what to say to the other.

The silence was not particularly uncomfortable, nor was it tense. It was simply that silence. As they neared Caelhart, something unexpected happened.

”Everyone halt!” Sir Thalos’s voice boomed like a crack of thunder.The caravan slowed at once. Knights reached for their weapons. Even the craftsmen fell into an uneasy hush.

”Get ready for battle!”

The knights fell into formation with practiced precision, and the two Thornefang members followed suit, moving exactly as Sir Thalos had taught them.

The two craftsmen were guided to the back, which was the safest spot, beside the Iron Duke. Even Robert took a step back and waited to see what was coming.

At first, there was no sound, but then you could hear the sound of thumping as the ground started shaking.

The nearby trees started to fall down. As the trees were pushed aside, a being that was just as tall appeared.

From the shattered treeline emerged a towering creature, nearly ten feet tall. Its massive frame was covered in patchy, moss-laced bark, fused with craggy slabs of stone, as if the forest itself had grown over its skin and forgotten it was alive.

Its limbs were grotesquely overdeveloped, like tree trunks carved by a mad sculptor. Gnarled fingers ended in thick, chipped claws, and veins like root systems pulsed under its bark-armor hide.

Its face was a snarling mess of tusks, wart-covered skin, and hollow yellow eyes glowing with dull hunger. Beneath its crooked jaw, black-green saliva dripped in slow strands.

In its right hand, it dragged a massive club, rough-hewn from petrified wood and reinforced with iron spikes hammered crudely into place. The weapon left deep gouges in the earth behind it with every step.

Each stomp shook the ground. Each breath wheezed out like the bellows of a dying forge. And worst of all, it wasn’t alone.

”Giant trolls! Knights deal with the other one, while Thornefang provides range support. Leave this one to me.” Sir Thalos tightened his gauntlets as he started sprinting towards the nearby giant troll.

The giant troll swung its club, but instead of dodging, Sir Thalos, cloaked in the aura of a Fifth Mantle, met the strike head-on with a punch.

The moment the giant troll’s club met with Sir Thalos’s steel fist, a shockwave erupted, blasting wind and dirt across the battlefield.

Instead of flying away, it was the hand of the giant troll that was swatted away by Sir Thalos’s fist.

”Come on, use those muscles of yours and make this a better warm-up.” Sir Thalos taunted, making the giant troll roar.

While Sir Thalos clashed with one beast in a storm of raw power, the knights faced the second troll with discipline and precision, moving like clockwork, defending, distracting, striking in perfect rhythm.

***

Lucen, seated in the carriage, watched the battlefield unfold through the small window. He wanted to join the battle as well, but the look Vardon was giving him seemed to be saying he should stay in the carriage.

Outside, the two Thornefang members moved with practiced coordination alongside the knights, their arquebuses firing in sharp, thunderous bursts.

Some of the lead balls found their mark, burrowing into the troll’s bark-flesh with dull cracks, but its monstrous regeneration closed the wounds almost as quickly as they appeared. Still, the steady volley forced it to stay on guard.

The frontline knights, shield-bearers hardened by years of monster waves, locked together like a living wall. Second and Third Mantle auras shimmered faintly over them as they absorbed each bone-rattling strike from the troll’s club.

Among them, Sir Garrett stepped forward. With calm precision, he uncapped the powder chamber of his Crimson Lord Mk IV, poured in a measured amount of black powder, and pulled the trigger beneath the hilt. The blade hissed, runes glowing red-hot as the steel ignited.

The charged blade sliced across the troll’s thigh, leaving a molten trail of scorched flesh. Unlike the clean bullet wounds, these burns resisted the troll’s healing, the regeneration slowed, delayed, weakened.

”How Fascinating, giant trolls aren’t native in this area... The color of their skin is also quite particular.”

Robert, standing beside the two craftsmen behind the lines, watched everything unfold with sparkling eyes. He didn’t draw a weapon or lift a hand. He merely observed, muttering notes to himself like a scholar in the middle of a lecture.

”Are you not going to help them, Father?”

Lucen asked, turning to Vardon, whose gaze remained fixed forward, unreadable as ever. Lucen wanted to sprint out and join the fight, not just to help but also to gain some experience points, but his father actively stopped him with a raised hand.

”There is no need to make a move, the knights’ll be able to handle such creatures. There are more dangerous things out there still.”

Vardon looked to the side, and the sound of something rustling could be heard.

”Have you not wondered, my son, how a couple of giant trolls that are rarely seen in Norvaegard appeared? Not only that, but they even have clubs with iron spikes. These foolish creatures don’t have the ability to make such a weapon, even one so crudely made.”

”... Are you saying the giant trolls were sent here by someone?”

The second Lucen asked that question, his [battle instinct] passive skill warned him of danger.

Lucen’s body moved as guided by his [battle instinct], his sword snapped up in time to deflect a glinting projectile. At the same time, Vardon caught another arrow mid-flight with his bare hand, expression unchanged. He also noticed that his father’s sword was about ready to block the arrow aimed at him.

’I guess he stopped since he saw that I would be able to block the arrow.’ Lucen thought to himself.

”Hmph, an arrow laced with poison. As one would expect of a greeting here in Caelhart.”

Vardon flicked the arrow back to wherever it came from, and the sound of someone falling to the ground could be heard alongside the sound of footsteps scattering.

”This is Caelhart’s greetings, the center of our kingdom, Norvaegard. A place where snakes, foxes hide their fangs, where wolves and lions await their prey.”