Cael slipped from tree to rock, moving low through the wild grass and crumbling stone. The bandits' laughter rose and fell like a tide, covering the sound of his soft footfalls. The rustling of branches, the creak of old wood, the snort of a tethered horse—each sound cloaked his approach.
Larn sat tied against the base of a broken arch, his head slumped forward. But as Cael drew close, the courier's eyes flicked up, wide with shock and sudden hope.
"Quiet," Cael whispered, pressing a finger to his lips as he crouched.
He scanned the bandits again—still oblivious.
With a sharp-edged stone from the ruin's rubble, Cael began sawing through the rope. Larn winced at the friction, but kept still.
"Who are you?" Larn hissed under his breath, voice hoarse.
"The name's Cael. I was sent by Belric to find you," Cael murmured.
At that, Larn exhaled in relief and fell silent. Moments later, the ropes snapped loose. Larn flexed his wrists, wincing at the rawness.
Together, the two crawled across the edge of the camp toward the wagon. The crates still glinted with steel beneath the tarp. One bandit leaned lazily against the side, a fine longsword in hand, inspecting its balance—but his back was turned.
Cael glanced at Larn, who gave a nervous nod.
Then Cael moved.
Swift as a coiled snake, he lunged forward and wrapped an arm around the bandit's neck, dragging him into the wagon's shadow. The sword clattered to the ground, but no one turned—the campfire laughter still masked them.
The bandit thrashed weakly, but Cael's grip was relentless. He held until the body stilled.
Larn stared, half in awe, half in horror.
Cael wiped his hands on his tunic and whispered, "Let's go. Now."
Larn slipped onto the driver's bench, inspecting the reins, but then cursed softly.
"Oh dear"
"What is it?" Cael hissed.
"The rear wheel. It's a bit shaky. I noticed it before we were ambushed. It'll fall apart if we try to ride hard."
"Can you fix it?"
Larn nodded grimly. "Yes. But not quietly. I need tools from the crate. I need time. And I need a distraction."
Cael looked back toward the fire.
The bandits were still drinking.
Still laughing.
"God damn it. Ok you stay here, I'll do something"
He picks up the sword the bandit he had killed earlier and he walked out into the open.
The silence broke with the first clang.
Cael stood in full view, the firelight painting his features in flickering orange. He slammed the rock he had used to free Larn against the longsword's flat again, and again—metal shrieking in protest.
Heads snapped toward him. Six pairs of eyes. Confused. Then angry.
"What in the Void—?!"
Cael raised the sword in one hand, the rock in the other. He grinned.
"Over here! sorry about your friend he took a nap." he called, gesturing to the blade—and then to the dead man slumped near the cart.
The moment shattered.
Shouts rang out. Three bandits surged forward, weapons half-drawn. The others scrambled for blades or shields.
Behind him, Larn was already moving—tools in hand, low to the ground, crawling toward the broken wheel.
Cael didn't wait.
He kicked the firepit.
A scatter of glowing embers and hot stones exploded outward, right into the faces of the closest two. One screamed as cinders bit into his eyes; the other cursed and stumbled back.
Cael darted forward and swung the sword low—not for the throat, but the leg. The impact cracked bone and sent one man sprawling.
The third raised his blade—but Cael threw the rock with brutal precision.
It slammed into the man's cheek. He staggered, dazed—just long enough for Cael to plunge the sword through his gut.
Two down. Five left.
Cael turned in time to see one more charging him with a club. He ducked under the first swing and slammed the pommel of the sword into the bandit's jaw. Teeth cracked. Blood sprayed.
Cael twisted, retrieved his stone again, and spun it once in his palm.
The last three bandits had regrouped—smarter than the first wave. They approached in a triangle, weapons ready.
Cael's lungs burned. His arm throbbed. But something in him refused to yield.
One moved to flank—so Cael threw the stone again, catching him in the collarbone. Not fatal—but enough to stagger him out of formation.
That broke their unity.
Cael surged into the gap, slashing low, then high—feinting, forcing one backward while kicking a loose chunk of wall toward the other. It hit his shin, and he yelped. Cael pivoted, dropped to one knee, and rammed the sword upward into the man's chest.
Now four lay dead.
The remaining two turned to run—but one hesitated. Too slow.
Cael tackled him from behind and finished it.
He stood, panting, blood on his face—not his own. The last man was gone, vanishing into the trees, howling curses into the wind.
Silence returned to the trail.
Only the crackle of flame and the hiss of cooling blood.
Larn stood by the repaired wheel, staring.
"You—by the gods—who are you?"
Cael wiped the sword clean on a dead man's tunic. "I don't know," he said quietly.
But his hands trembled—not from fear, but from memory. This wasn't the first time he'd killed. His body knew that.
And it wouldn't be the last.
The scream came as Cael held the bloody sword.
He looked up sharply—shadows burst from the woods, more shapes in leather and steel. Bandits. Five of them, this time armed and organized, drawn by the noise and death.
Larn yelled. "They're coming!"
Cael grabbed him by the arm and shoved him up onto the driver's bench.
"Get on. Drive!"
Larn barely had time to react as Cael leapt onto the wagon bed. The courier cracked the reins with shaking hands and the horses screamed and lurched forward.
The wagon roared down the trail.
It hit the first two bandits like a battering ram. One vanished beneath the wheels with a crunch of bone and splintered armor. The other was flung aside, tumbling like a ragdoll.
But then—a new sound. Hooves.
From behind them, three riders emerged from the trees, faces masked and swords drawn. They rode with fury, cutting through the underbrush like hounds scenting blood.
"Mr. Cael!" Larn shouted. "They're gaining!"
"Then hold the reins steady!"
Cael turned, clutching the hilt of his sword, and stepped to the back of the rattling wagon. Dirt sprayed up behind them. The riders were closing fast—too fast.
Cael waited—timing it.
The first rider reached out with a blade.
Cael leapt.
Steel screamed as he slammed down on the rider's shoulders, driving his sword through the man's collar. The horse veered wildly, but Cael gripped the reins mid-fall, catching balance with reflex he didn't know he had.
He kicked the corpse off the saddle and turned.
The second rider was already upon him.
They clashed, blade against blade. Cael ducked low, using the horse's motion to add force to his counterstrike. Sparks flew as the swords met again—and then Cael feinted, cut to the rider's side, and slashed deep into the thigh. The man screamed and fell from his saddle, rolling into the dirt.
The third rider—smarter—tried to loop wide, aiming for Larn on the wagon.
Not on Cael's watch.
He spurred his stolen horse, cutting the path off between the third rider and the wagon.
They circled each other once. Twice.
Then the rider charged.
Cael waited, muscles tight—and at the last moment, he dropped low in the saddle, let the enemy swing wide, and then came up under the blade with a brutal arc of steel. It caught the bandit's wrist—then neck and he twisted the blade but he loses his grip of it, leaving it stuck in the rider's neck as he falls off the horse.
Cael wheeled the horse around, galloping alongside the wagon.
Larn stared, mouth open.
"You—!"
"Keep going!" Cael shouted.
The road ahead twisted toward the rise of Vaelthra's outer farms—light glimmered on the distant hilltops.
Cael rode beside the wagon, blood-soaked and breathless.
He felt the old rhythm again.
War was in his blood.
Even if he couldn't remember it.
The sun had dipped low by the time the battered wagon clattered into the rear yard of Belric's forge, its iron-rimmed wheels still wobbling from the damage.
Cael removed the saddle from the horse and shooed it away.
Larn climbed down in a hurry, nearly tripping over his own boots.
"We got hit!" he shouted. "Bandits, seven—no, uhh twelve of them! I don't know. They tried to steal the shipment—tied me up and killed the guards—gods, I thought I was dead!"
Belric emerged from the forge, eyes squinting from the heat and smoke. He wiped soot off his arms with a stained cloth, face unreadable.
Larn pointed back. "He saved me. Killed them. All of them. Almost all of them, I was too afraid to count. He did it with a rock and an old stolen sword."
Belric's gaze shifted to Cael.
Silent. Measuring.
He said nothing at first.
"Count what's left," Belric said to Larn. "Now."
Larn nodded and scrambled to the wagon.
The moment he was out of earshot, Belric stepped forward, folding his arms.
"You mind telling me what in the void you are?" His voice was low, almost calm—but laced with iron. "No unarmed ragged man, can just walk into a bandit camp and kill a good chunk of em then leave without a scratch"
Cael said nothing. Just stood there, breath slow and posture steady.
"I gave you no sword. No armor. And if what Larn says is true, you used a damn rock and a stolen blade to a group of murderous raiders and walked away without a scratch."
He stared harder. "So who are you?"
Cael's answer was quiet.
"I don't know
Belric raised an eyebrow, not in disbelief, but something else. Thoughtfulness. Wariness.
"…But you know how to kill," the blacksmith said. "And more than that—you still look like you can keep going. If that's not talent then I don't know what else, maybe experience." He paused, then stepped inside the forge. "Wait here."
Cael waited and watched as Belric walked into the forge.
When Belric returned, he carried something wrapped in dark cloth. He pulled it back, revealing a longsword. Fine steel. No etching, no filigree—just a blade made for battle.
He handed it to Cael.
"This was meant for the court guard. You can have it."
Cael blinked, hesitating. "You said I'd only get what you couldn't sell."
"I did."
"Then why this?"
Belric shrugged, already walking back toward the forge. "Call it a feeling. But if you want the left overs then you can have these."
Belric hands over a dagger and some throwing knives.
Cael stared down at the sword in his hands. The steel caught the dying sunlight and shimmered—clean, balanced, sharp.
"Thank you, Belric."
"You delivered the materials and Larn in one piece, only fair I compensate you for this"
Cael turns around ready to leave until he is stopped by Larn.
"Mr. Cael, thank you for saving my life. But I noticed that your outfit is not up to date, so here's some spare clothes I keep"
Larn hands over a brown cloak and some proper clothes and boots. Belric sees this and approaches the two
"Huh, new clothes? Then you can dress up inside the forge"
"Thank you, Belric"
Cael walks into the forge and wears the clothes Larn gave him and straps the sword to his side. And hides the dagger and knives under his cloak.
"Thank you both" Cael says his farewells and leaves for the capital.
Behind him, the forge roared again, casting long shadows.
For now, he had a weapon. A name. And a direction.
"Here we go then"