Overwhelming Firepower

It didn’t take long for the knights of Stellhart to defeat the troll, despite its incredible regenerative powers.

The second troll let out a final roar, swinging its club in desperation, but the formation of the knights tightened, shields raised. Garrett’s blade flared once more, molten and red-hot as it carved deep into the beast’s knee.

The troll staggered. The arquebus shots rang out. One struck its eye. Another was buried into the roof of its mouth as it howled. Garrett, using this chance, pierced the troll with his burning blade in the chest, and this time it didn’t heal.

With a thundering crash, the giant troll collapsed, limbs twitching as steam hissed from its wounds.

The battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breaths of soldiers and the low, approving growl of Sir Thalos finishing his own fight with a shattered club in one hand and troll blood staining his gauntlet.

He ripped the giant troll’s head clean off, vertebrae and all, like uprooting a tree from the spine. Aside from the giant troll’s blood, there was not even a single bruise on Sir Thalos’s body. He couldn’t help but sigh.

”Tch. Not much for a warm-up,” Sir Thalos muttered, wiping troll gore from his gauntlets. ”The snakes in the Capital are getting lazy. Last time’s greeting nearly had me breaking a sweat.”

***

As the knights were finishing off their respective giant trolls, Lucen looked at the area where Vardon threw the arrow back. He could hear several footsteps going in different directions.

”Shouldn’t we capture them?” Lucen asked.

”There’s no point. Whoever those people were, we wouldn’t be able to get any useful information out of them. Even if we caught them, they’d silence themselves before we got a single word. Better to let them crawl back to their masters to tell that even now the Stellhart knights are strong.”

Lucen gnashed his teeth. He knew his father was right. There was no point in chasing shadows, but it still left a bitter taste.

The fact that they had been expected and ambushed before even reaching the gates of the city gnawed at him. Either they were waiting for them here for days, or it didn’t matter which noble came, and whoever was unlucky enough would be killed by trolls.

The former might be what is to be expected by what his father calls venomous snakes, but the latter was psychotic, chaotic, and he hoped that it was not the truth of the matter.

Sensing his son’s frustration, Vardon spoke.

”This is but a simple greeting. In Caelhart, strength is measured not by the weapons you hold, how great your spells are...” Vardon paused as he looked at his son’s eyes.

”It is by how long you survive when someone decides you shouldn’t. Make no mistake, my son, we may all wear the same colors of Norvaegard, but don’t mistake that for loyalty or camaraderie.”

Vardon’s voice did not rise. There was no frustration, irritation, disappointment, nothing... He was simply stating a fact.

It was at this moment that Robert spoke to Lucen with a piece of giant troll meat encased in ice.

”Hey Lucen, wanna eat this and see what it could give us. Since the other monster meat gave some attributes that the monster had, maybe this would give super regeneration or monster strength.”

Lucen, who was contemplating what Vardon said, smiled a bit at the suddenness that was Robert.

”Sure, let’s try eating it later.”

***

The rest of the journey passed in silence. When the treeline finally broke, Caelhart revealed itself. It was not just a city, it was a spectacle.

Night had already fallen by the time the city lights of Caelhart came into view. From a distance, the capital looked almost serene, a great walled city of pale stone and quiet light, resting beneath the stars.

The roads leading up to the gates were lined with floating mana lamps crafted by the mages of the Grey Tower, elegant in design, their soft blue-white glow casting pools of light along the cobblestones.

Each lamp hovered within a thin silver ring inscribed with delicate runes, humming faintly with mana. They were warm to look at, a fireless light, clean and constant, with no smoke, no flicker.

Above the outer wall, beyond the capital’s heart, six spires reached skyward like monuments to unseen power.

The Red Tower, burning faintly at its peak like a coal refusing to die.

The Green Tower, wrapped in vines that bloomed even at night, was alive with silent pollen.

The Purple Tower, its edges blurred by a glamour that shifted if you looked too long.

The Yellow Tower, humming softly, the scent of different materials emitting from its walls.

The Grey Tower, angular and cold, devoid of ornament, was built by function and formula.

The Black Tower, silent, dark, etched with runes, gave it a powerful presence.

As the caravan neared the gate, rows of royal guards came into view, standing like statues beneath the soft glow of the mana lamps.

They wore polished black and steel plates, accented with deep red capes, the colors of the royal house. Their helms bore no plumes, only a single silver crest etched with the emblem of Norvaegard. Not one of them moved, even as the carriages rumbled closer.

Their halberds gleamed faintly beneath the lamps. Each one was held at an identical angle. Each boot was perfectly aligned. They looked more like a ceremonial wall than living men.

Lucen stared at the royal guards and felt their powerful presence, which was almost similar to the knights of Stellahart.

’The Capital City, this is where the academy is and where most of the game takes place... I remember that in the eyes of the protagonist, Alexander, this place was a shining city, completely different from the little village he came from... I wonder if that was all he saw.’

Lucen couldn’t help but compare his own impression of Caelhart with Alexander’s impression of the city.

The royal guards, seeing the banner of Thornehart, opened the gates to Caelhart.

***

Even though a large group of fully armed knights entered the city, there wasn’t much reaction aside from a whisper here and there.

”It would seem that we aren’t the first ones to arrive... Well, that’s to be expected as we are rather far from the Capital.”

Vardon noticed the lukewarm reaction of the people and guessed the reason why. It might be because other noble families would have already arrived in the Capital.

”There are still three days before the celebration... Where are we going now, Father?”

”We have a residence here in the Capital. We’ll rest there for now and prepare for the celebration.”

Vardon’s answer was short, but Lucen could tell his father was already scanning the streets, watching shadows, gauging movements, memorizing faces.

On either side of the street, rich merchants in sleek cloaks and artisans in elegant work robes paused to watch them pass. There were no cheers, no curious greetings, only nods, whispers behind gloved hands, and the occasional calculating glance.

While they were moving, one of the people noticed that aside from the Thornehart banner, there was another beside it. It was the banner of Thornefang. When the others noticed the insignia, they found it familiar, and then one of them finally remembered where they had seen it before.

This was the insignia that they could see in the new scented soaps, as well as the most popular item in all of Norvaegard, the game Territory War.

”So Thornefang really is connected to House Thornehart?...”One of the people whispered.

”Could it be the other rumor is true as well? Is Lucen Thornehart the creator of the game?”

”No, did you see that person over there? That’s Robert Duskwell, the mad genius. Maybe he’s the one who created the game. The scented soap even has alchemy written all over it.”

”I heard a rumor that Lucen Thornehart is also someone with alchemic knowledge.”

”That can’t be, no matter how sickly and untalented he is with the sword. A Thornehart that uses magic and knows alchemy? I can’t believe such a thing.”

The chatting between the people looking had become a little more intense. Lucen, with his enhanced senses, was able to hear most of the conversation, and a smile appeared on his face.

’I guess the branding is working.’

***

The carriage wheels slowed as they turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a quieter, cobbled path flanked by neatly trimmed hedges.

Lucen leaned forward slightly, peering out the window as tall black iron gates came into view. Set into the stone arch above the gate was the sigil of Thornehart: a shield wrapped in thorns.

Two guards stood at attention on either side, clad in the dark blue and grey colors of House Thornehart. Chainmail beneath their cloaks and short spears planted into the ground. The moment they saw the approaching banner, they stood even straighter, as they moved to open the gates.

The mansion in Caelhart was grander than their estate in Ironhold, but the one in Ironhold looked solid and ready for action, while this one looked full of flash but more brittle.

”Get ready, my son. The second you step foot out of this carriage, the foolish game of nobles begins.”

Hearing Vardon’s words, Lucen nodded his head.

”I will do my best, Father.”

Vardon nodded his head as he then glanced at the building next to their estate. Vardon’s gaze lingered on the estate next door before turning away with a grunt. Lucen also looked in the direction Vardon was looking at, but saw nothing.

’I guess some spy or assassin was lurking around...’ Lucen sighed.

This is my most hated part in stories and games, the part where everyone is basically lying and hiding their true intent. Whatever, as long as we have the stronger fist, it really won’t matter what anyone is scheming.’ Lucen thought to himself as he and Vardon exited the carriage.

***

In the castle in the center of Caelhart, watching over the city, stood King Ragnor Vaelgard. A man forged by war and crowned by iron will.

At fifty, he stood tall and broad, his presence heavier than any armor he wore. Streaks of silver ran through his dark hair, and old scars marked a face carved by battle. His cold, storm-gray eyes saw through lies and flattery alike.

He wore a sword not for tradition but because he still knew how to use it, and few would dare test him.

Clad in the red and blue of House Vaelgard, he was no aging relic, but the Iron Sovereign of Norvaegard, still sharp, still unyielding, with a certain wisdom in his eyes, and a mischievous grin on his face.

A man appeared beside him, clad in all black, blending in the darkness. He spoke to the king.

”Sire, the sword, the quill, the judge, and the shield have all arrived.”

”I see... I wonder if all will survive the turmoil that is to come, or if everything will change, and we’ll descend into chaos.” The King spoke in a deep voice as he grinned.