In what was considered the best inn within Ironhold, a group of mercenaries were drinking ale and eating heartily. Some of them were talking to bards who wished to learn their story. In fact, as they were telling their story, not only the bards but everybody in the inn was listening.
"In truth, we came to Ashpeak Mountains to capture the little leader." When those words came out of the mercenary’s mouth, everyone was shocked.
"Still, the little leader told us we didn’t have to do what we didn’t believe in. He promised us a future filled with honor and glory. A future where we could choose why we live, and why we die. He said... He’d show us a grand dream."
As the mercenary’s voice carried through the inn, the listeners could picture it. The noble’s son Lucen Thornehart stood tall before a band of mercenaries, offering them something more than coin. It was like the beginning of an epic tale you hear the bards sing.
"We may be mercenaries out for coin, but even we didn’t feel truly right about this commission. While we were talking, it was then the dragon came. It was a gigantic thing."
The mercenary opened his arms wide. "Wounded, but still deadly. The ground shook when it roared. The second we saw that thing, I’m sure some of us wanted to run."
"Ain’t that just you, Greg?" One of the mercenaries teased.
"I’m pretty sure I saw you nearly wet yourself, Sarah," Greg retorted
"Piss off," Sarah muttered into her mug, but even she was smiling. Greg then continued his tale.
"Where was I, oh right, we wanted to run. It was then that the little leader went charging in using that unknown weapon of his and targeting the dragon’s eyes."
"What kind of weapon was it?" One of the people in the inn asked.
"The little leader wouldn’t tell us, but it looked like a staff of some kind. So with him distracting the dragon, we started attacking the wound of the dragon we got, but it was to no avail."
Greg’s story was becoming more tense, and as he continued with exaggerated movement, he leaned in, voice lowering for effect.
"Then came the explosion, some kind of magic I’d never seen before. Blew a hole clean through the beast’s side, making it stagger, but it just won’t go down. That was when the little leader rushed in and got really close, mana blazing from his hand, creating another explosion. The dragon came crashing down, barely clinging to life, and it was then we came and finished it off."
The inn that was quiet while listening to the story suddenly burst into cheers.
Then, someone stood and raised a mug. "To the dragon slayers!"
Another followed. "To Lucen Thornehart!"
And the entire inn thundered with cheers:
"Long live the dragon slayers!"
"Long live Lucen Thornehart, the Dragon Slayer!"
While everyone was enjoying the food and ale, someone unexpected entered the inn. When the people saw who came in, everyone became silent.
"What brings you here, little leader?" Harlik spoke as he approached Lucen, who came in.
"I came to bring you good news." Lucen smiled with a vicious-looking grin.
Harlik raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"
Lucen’s smile widened. "Under the decree of the Duke of Stellhart, the mercenary group formerly known as Harlik’s Mercenaries will now operate under my command."
He paused for a beat, letting it hang in the air.
"And they will henceforth be known as Thornefang."
There was a beat of silence after hearing Lucen’s announcement, and in that silence, a mercenary spoke up.
"So we ain’t going to be called Harlik’s mercenaries anymore. Hahaha, Thornefang, finally a proper name for our group!"
"Hey, you f*cker, what was wrong with Harlik’s mercenaries?! Are you saying my name is a pile of crap?" Harlik showed a middle finger to the mercenary who just spoke.
"At least you’re aware of it, former boss." Another mercenary chimed in, which made the others laugh.
"F*ck you b*stards!" Harlik grabbed a mug of ale and drank it down in one gulp, as he showed the other mercenaries his middle finger. "Still, Thornefang does sound like a good name for us."
Renz raised his mug and shouted.
A wave of laughter, shouts, and clinking tankards exploded throughout the room. The people who finally digested what they heard also raised their mugs and shouted.
"Oh, I’m glad I came here," one of the bards present spoke in excitement as he was writing down something on his parchment.
In the next few days, with the help of the bards, the rumors of the dragon slaying started spreading far and wide. Each bard had a different way of telling the tale, but the one most people like to hear was from an unknown bard from Ironhold.
In the shadowed peaks of Ashpeak’s breath,
Where snow and fire dance with death,
A dragon stirred with wrath untold,
Its breath was flame, its heart ice-cold.
But rose a boy with silver fire,
Eyes like rubies, heart inspired.
No knight, no lord with blade in hand,
A child who dared to take a stand.
He faced the beast with thunder’s roar,
With magic strange unseen before.
Not steel, nor spell from tome was drawn,
But fire he shaped, and dusk till dawn.
He danced ’round death with fearless pace,
Till firelight carved the dragon’s face.
Then came his band, rough souls of war,
Mercenaries, now something more.
For coin they came, for coin they stayed,
But in his dream, their hearts were swayed.
They fought beside him, struck as one,
Till fire’s breath at last was done.
In Ironhold, the tale was told,
Of bonds not bought with weight of gold.
In ale and cheer, they found new name,
And Thornefang rose to rightful fame.
So raise your cups, let songs be sung,
Of battles fierce and hearts still young.
The children who listened to the tale were delighted and dreamed of becoming like the noble Lucen, who, despite being young like them, was victorious against a dragon. Some of them wanted to be like the mercenaries who could stand against despair and who fought alongside Lucen.
The grown men and women from all walks of life, who listened to the stories, were also inspired and cheered for the dragon slayers.
While the common people were cheering, the nobles reacted differently. The defeat of a young fire dragon was an incredible feat, but for a young man who hadn’t even come of age alongside a motley crew of mercenaries to defeat such a being was unbelievable. Of course, there were many who were still amazed by the feat.
"Is that rumor true?"
"There were many witnesses, weren’t there?"
"To think the sickly child of the Iron Duke would turn out like that."
"So the next generation of the Thornehars will still be a monster."
"I guess that was what you should expect of a Thornehart."
Similar conversations were happening in different noble circles. As for those who sent their spies, almost all have been purged.
"Damn it, damn it, damnt it all!"
The merchant Edrim pounded his table in anger. He was no longer able to contact any of the spies in Ironhold, which meant that they were either captured or killed.
"To think that f*cking Duke would be able to get a hold of something as precious as a dragon’s corpse... I already lost a lot of deals because of that b*stard, now he has something more valuable and I can’t even take a piece."
Edrim gnashed his teeth in frustration.
"I’d better speak with the second prince, we need to get something out of this. No way am I going to take a loss."
"The son of the Iron Duke, who was said to be a sickly, powerless boy, was able to command a small group of sellswords to defeat a young, wounded fire dragon. Is this real?"
Viscount Cedric Darenthal read the final report of the spies before he lost contact.
"To think that another purge of spies happened in Stellhart after the rumors of the dragon slaying started spreading," Cedric sighed.
"Now there’s also that weird weapon they keep on talking about from what the spies saw and what those bards keep singing about, a weapon that makes a thunderous noise. Was that what the Iron Duke was making? Was that the reason he called for those craftsmen?"
Cedric massaged the temples of his head.
"The Iron Duke also purged the spies hidden in Stellhart. Is he going to make another big move?... What happened? He wasn’t this unpredictable before. What changed?" Cedric looked at the reports for the past few months.
"Lucen Thornehart, the changing variable..."
In a certain training ground, numerous squires are on the ground unconscious. A striking young girl with long, braided crimson hair that blazes like fire against her pale skin. Her icy blue eyes stood out sharply, calm, piercing, and unreadable. This young, beautiful maiden was holding a longsword in her hand.
Though only twelve, she carries herself with the composure of a seasoned duelist. Her lean frame is honed by constant training, and her posture speaks of discipline drilled in since childhood. Her fitted uniform clung to a lean frame honed by battle, her hands wrapped in fingerless gloves. She had just defeated the squires.
"My lovely daughter, have you heard? The son of my best friend, Vardon, has become famous. It’s said he had a unique magic that he used to defeat a wounded young fire dragon. Do you remember him? The sickly boy you used to play with when you were younger. I guess he isn’t sickly anymore."
The one who spoke was a handsome middle-aged man with the same red hair as the young maiden. He was wearing rather loose clothing, and there was a giant sword on his back. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a powerful frame built from decades of battle.
This was one of the four Dukes of Norvaegard, the strongest sword, Duke Kaelvar Runescar, and the young maiden he was talking to was his daughter Elyra Runescar.
When Elyra heard her father’s words, she looked at the sword in her hand and then at the blue sky above her head.
"... Lucen Thornehart..." She murmured the name under her breath.