Jolthar sat on the edge of the fountain in the town square, his sharp eyes scanning the emptying streets.
The once-bustling square now carried an eerie silence, broken only by the hurried steps of soldiers and the murmurs of townsfolk being escorted toward the safety of the mines.
Cleora had made the decision to evacuate the people—a wise move, considering the mounting threat. The townsfolk would be safer in the mines, at least for the time being.
Nora had been tasked with overseeing the evacuation, her calm demeanour helping to reassure the frightened townsfolk as they moved.
Meanwhile, Cleora remained near the mansion, discussing defensive strategies with the soldiers. She was methodical, giving clear orders and ensuring every precaution was taken.
Roblan, on the other hand, had been given the dangerous task of scouting the enemy's numbers—a critical mission, but one that left her uneasy.
As Jolthar sat lost in thought, Nytheria appeared, her graceful figure emerging from the shadows like a wisp of smoke. Her presence was as enigmatic as ever, and her sharp violet eyes sparkled with faint amusement as she observed him.
"What's got you wondering so much, Jolthar?" She asked, her tone light but carrying an undertone of curiosity.
Jolthar turned his gaze toward her, his expression as unreadable as always. "Will you help me fend off those people?" he asked, his voice direct and unwavering.
Nytheria's lips curled into a smirk, her expression playful yet detached. "No," she replied simply, her tone casual but final.
Jolthar narrowed his eyes, though he wasn't surprised by her response. "Why?" he pressed. For more chapters visıt novel•fire.net
Nytheria tilted her head slightly, her smirk fading as she gave him a measured look.
"I'm only here to protect you, Jolthar," she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. "I can't involve myself in the petty squabbles of human affairs. Didn't your goddess already tell you this?"
Jolthar sighed, leaning back slightly against the fountain's edge.
"I know," he admitted, his tone resigned. "But I wanted to ask anyway."
Nytheria gave a small shrug, her smirk returning. "At least you're persistent," she said lightly, before stepping back into the shadows, her form seeming to blend with the dim light of the setting sun.
Left alone once more, Jolthar's thoughts churned. He knew Nytheria's purpose was solely tied to him, not the fate of the barony or the empire.
Still, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The people of the barony were looking to Cleora for leadership and protection, but it was clear they would need every advantage they could get to survive what was coming.
The mutilated envoy's body and the sheer audacity of Chittera's actions made one thing clear—this wasn't a simple territorial dispute or a negotiation gone wrong.
The enemy was ruthless and calculated, and their goals went far beyond mere provocation. Jolthar could tell that Chittera wasn't here for diplomacy—they were here for domination.
Jolthar glanced down the pathway leading out of town, wondering how long it would take for Roblan to return with the information they desperately needed. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he forced himself to remain calm.
Acting recklessly would only worsen the situation.
"Should I go myself?" he murmured under his breath. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. Jolthar was confident in his own abilities, but without knowing the enemy's numbers or strategy, he would be walking into a trap.
For now, he would have to wait for Roblan to return.
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the town square. Jolthar remained seated by the fountain, his sharp eyes fixed on the road ahead, waiting patiently but ever watchful.
Somewhere inside the dense and sprawling forest, just a few hundred meters from the edge of the barony, stood a gathering of figures partially obscured by the shadows of the tall trees. The faint rays of light pierced through the canopy above, casting an eerie glow over the group.
From their vantage point, the entire barony was visible in the distance. They couldn't see the people being absent in the streets yet.
The figures were clad in a variety of outfits, but their shared crimson accents tied them together as members of a distinct and formidable force. Each individual's attire reflected their specialization—leather armour for the agile rogues, heavy plate for the front-line fighters, and flowing robes for the mages. The group, fifty strong, was a mix of humans, other races, and even a towering half-orc or two. Most of them were half-breeds, a keen part of the group.
They weren't just a ragtag bunch of mercenaries; they were the Crimsan Blade, a notorious band of warriors known to be the personal army of Lord Eude, the powerful figure with a penchant for hiring the best—and the most ruthless.
At the head of the group stood their captain, Preeyonka. She was a striking woman in her early thirties, her lineage unmistakable—half-elf, half-human. Her delicate, almost ethereal features betrayed her elven blood: high cheekbones, pointed ears that peeked through her raven-black hair, and luminous green eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness. Yet her attire and demeanour were a stark contrast to her enchanting appearance.
She wore a combat-ready outfit of reinforced leather with dark blue and crimson hues, adorned with frost-like patterns etched into the material. A large, curved blade rested against her hip, and a smaller dagger glimmered at her thigh. She radiated a commanding presence, her every movement exuding a confidence born of countless battles.
Behind her, the Crimsan Blade warriors stood at attention, their gazes shifting between their captain and the barony beyond.
The atmosphere was tense yet disciplined. These weren't mere soldiers; they were battle-hardened killers, each with their own distinct skill set.
Despite their diversity, they moved and acted with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
Preeyonka, however, was visibly irritated. Her lips curled into a sneer as she glanced toward the barony in the distance. She crossed her arms, the frost-like patterns on her leather armour seeming to shimmer faintly as if responding to her mood.
"That damn geezer and his perving mind," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with disdain.
"He wants an old hag, and we're here for what, exactly? Babysitting?" She scoffed, shaking her head in frustration.
Her annoyance was palpable, and one of her squad members, a young human with a wiry frame and nervous energy, hesitated before speaking up. "Big Sis, Commander told us to do whatever Lord Eude asks," he said, his voice wavering slightly.
"After all, he's paying us a hefty sum, and—"
Before he could finish, Preeyonka's piercing green eyes snapped to him, silencing him instantly. "You think I don't know that, dumbass?" She hissed, her tone sharp enough to make the man flinch.
"Do I look like I need a reminder about who's paying us?"
The man lowered his gaze, muttering a soft apology, while the others in the group remained silent, careful not to draw her ire.
Preeyonka exhaled deeply, turning her gaze back toward the barony. "Whatever," she muttered. "Let's just get this over with."
The same squad member, emboldened by her momentary pause, spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "Big Sis, don't forget—Commander told us to bring someone named Jolthar back alive. He was very clear about that."
Preeyonka's expression darkened, and a slow, wicked grin spread across her face. She tilted her head, her black hair catching the faint moonlight. "Alive, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery.
"Well, that depends... on how lucky he is."
As she spoke, she raised her right hand, palm upward.
A chilling blue flame erupted from her hand, its cold light casting an ethereal glow on the surrounding forest. The flame danced and crackled, emitting an unnatural chill that seemed to suck the warmth from the air. The mercenaries closest to her instinctively took a step back, the frost radiating from the flame prickling their skin.
The young man flinched as he stepped back. "Big sis!!!"
Preeyonka watched the flame with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "Let's hope Jolthar's luck holds," she said softly, her tone almost playful.
Then her expression hardened, her voice dropping to a cold and menacing whisper. "Because if it doesn't, my ice flame will make sure he never gets the chance to regret it."
The flame flickered and died as she clenched her fist, the air around her returning to its normal temperature. She turned to her troops, her commanding voice cutting through the stillness of the forest.
"What are you gawking at? Come on, move out already. Get this shit over with," she shouted at them.
The Crimsan Blade warriors nodded in unison, their faces grim and determined.
Preeyonka turned once more to the barony in the distance, her green eyes narrowing as she surveyed the land. The corners of her lips twitched upward in a small, dangerous smile.
"Let's see what this Jolthar is made of."