Through the dreamlike haze, the sudden grinding of carriage wheels against the stone path echoed thunderously across the valley.
Sólvík, a burly guard, clutched his spear tight at the city gate. His sharp gaze fixed upon a caravan adorned with the Double Axe emblem, hurtling toward him at high speed.
'The ?xenmark lot are coming in force again, I see,' he grumbled inwardly.
The Kingdom of ?xenmark was Amirfar’s most loyal ally. With three of King Arkhad’s four chief concubines hailing from there, they enjoyed the highest privileges in this war.
The procession showed no sign of slowing for inspection. They surged through the gate with arrogance, not sparing Sólvík a single glance.
"One... two... three..."
Though he loathed their lack of manners, he could do nothing but count the carriages as duty required. The moment the last carriage sped past the threshold...
"...eleven... twelve."
Sólvík, having finished the count, cursed aloud. "Those crazy ?xenmark bastards, coming in with twelve of them?" He then rushed inside to follow.
Upon reaching the fortress courtyard, the sight made him sigh heavily. The carriages were parked haphazardly, cluttering the entire space. It should have easily accommodated dozens in orderly rows, but ?xenmark soldiers were renowned for being savagely uncouth. They left this mess for a local guard like Sólvík to handle.
"Dammit... Do these ?xenmark lunatics not know how to line up a carriage?" Sólvík complained in frustration, shaking his head.
Despite his irritation, duty was duty. Sólvík was obliged to walk through the drizzle, leading horses and organizing the carriages one by one to clear the yard.
A good while passed, yet he still wasn't finished. Looking across the lot, he saw he had arranged nine. He couldn't help muttering, "Still not done? This is madness..."
Sólvík straightened up and scanned the carriages still blocking the way.
"One... two... three... four..."
His thick brows knit together instantly. His brain processed the numbers rapidly. Nine arranged... four remaining... before he exclaimed in frustration, "Eh! How can there be thirteen?"
Sólvík scratched his head in the drizzling rain. "Those crazy ?xenmark bastards came with thirteen?"
The grumpy guard continued his work until all thirteen were neatly arranged, oblivious to the fact that one of them bore no Double Axe flag whatsoever.
Beyond the fortifications lay a military camp that doubled as a border village. The old, decrepit houses were packed with ?xenmark soldiers making a racket. Even as the rain fell, the Axe-men sat drinking and eating with total indifference.
Meanwhile, the soldiers of Amirfar appeared disciplined, using their camp space systematically with posted guards. It was easy to tell the two armies apart.
Yet, amidst the chaos of the ?xenmark-occupied village, a striking group of individuals appeared, walking with flamboyant flair.
Leading them were three sturdy men sporting mustaches curled beautifully like "buffalo horns." Though comical at a glance, all three exuded an aura of special ability. The smallest mustache-man juggled two bone daggers with one hand as he walked.
The middle man carried a chest larger than his own body on his left shoulder, striding as if it were weightless. The last man held a lyre, lightly plucking the strings to keep a soft melody playing.
However, even these three could not compare to the sole woman walking behind them. She drew the gaze of every young man as one.
She wore a large, wide-brimmed red hat that concealed half her face. Yet, her bright red lips and fair skin, contrasting with a matching red dress, were enough to make the ?xenmark soldiers salivate.
"Hey! Stop right there, beauty..." An Axe-man called out, grabbing her arm.
"Take your hand off me," her voice sounded from beneath the hat.
"Tell me your name first, and I'll let you go," the uncouth soldier wheedled.
Suddenly, the hat tilted up, and a burst of fire spewed toward the rude soldier, forcing him to retreat.
The fire had come from the beauty in red herself. The three mustache-men immediately formed a protective circle around her.
Seeing their comrade attacked, the ?xenmark soldiers rose to surround the four.
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"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"
A powerful, commanding voice intimidated everyone. A giant man with a snow-white mustache in full armor appeared, wearing an iron helmet adorned with formidable stag antlers. The soldiers made way for him. He was "Hrolf," Supreme Commander of the ?xenmark army and father to one of King Arkhad’s chief concubines.
"Who are you people?" Hrolf asked, his eyes fixed on the woman in red.
Suddenly, the lyre player strummed a cheerful melody that clashed with the tension, singing an introduction:
"We are the traveling troupe of the Rus! I am named 'Rusli,' born with a song. The strongman bearing the chest is 'Rustan.' The little one tossing bear fangs is 'Rusulf.' And finally... our leader, 'Helga,' the Lady with the Breath of Fire!"
"A Rus traveling troupe, is it?" Hrolf raised his eyebrows before bursting into mocking laughter. "And did you lot paddle this big chest across the river? Hahaha!" He teased, as the Rus were renowned oarsmen.
Hearing this, the troupe feigned shock, as if a top secret had been revealed. Rusli stammered, "My Lord, how did you know we paddled this chest across the river!"
The reaction was so comically na?ve that Hrolf laughed with delight.
"Hahaha! You lot are truly interesting! Follow me. I must interrogate you to see if you are real actors or enemy spies."
Escorted to the large wooden headquarters, they noticed soldiers guarding a room downstairs with unusual tightness as they ascended to the second floor.
In the upper hall, Hrolf threw himself onto his throne with a posturing air. "Alright. Since you claim to be a traveling troupe, prove to me you aren't spies."
Rustan, the strongman, didn't hesitate. He placed the chest on the floor, spread his arms, and allowed Rusli and Rusulf to hang from them. Flexing his muscles, he lifted both until their feet left the ground, and began to spin.
"Is this your proof?" Hrolf shook his head. "You said she is the leader, correct?"
Rusli nodded, the others remaining silent.
Hrolf stood and opened a rear door, revealing a bedroom. "Have her follow me. I will interrogate her first."
He clearly suspected nothing; his focus had been on the woman in red from the start.
Helga moved toward the door. Rusulf shifted to follow.
"I told her to follow alone. The rest of you wait outside," Hrolf ordered.
Rusulf stopped, allowing Helga to enter with Hrolf alone.
?xenmark soldiers kept an eye on the remaining troupe members to prevent resistance.
A good while later, the door opened. Hrolf walked out, adjusting trousers that weren't quite tidy.
"Alright, nothing suspicious. You can leave."
A soldier moved to push Rusulf, but Hrolf barked, "Hey! Not them. It's you lot—get out of here, all of you."
One soldier, close to Hrolf, looked hesitant.
"Don't worry," Hrolf explained with a suggestive tone. "I've handled their leader. She will speak with them a little longer, but she isn't in a condition to be seen by others right now." The soldiers willingly exited.
As the last soldier left, Hrolf called out, "Go on, hurry inside and meet your leader."
Rusulf entered first to see Hrolf unconscious on the floor. The other "Hrolf" followed.
"Alright, put this guy in the chest," Rusli said.
Rustan lifted the unconscious body with one hand as if it were weightless and placed it silently into the chest.
"Great-Grandfather, take care of yourself," Rusulf said to the standing Hrolf.
"Don't worry about me. Once the plan is done, I'll vanish and meet you at the carriage," Hrolf replied, annoyed, pushing Rusulf out.
The three mustache-men walked out. Hrolf ordered, "Let them out. I'm done with them."
The soldiers asked nothing about the missing woman, assuming she was still in the bedroom.
"Right! Bring Torvin to my room," Hrolf added.
A soldier shouted down, "Bring the prisoner up! Lord Hrolf wants to see him."
As the troupe left, Torvin was led upstairs in chains.
"Torvin, I have something special to show you," Hrolf said, pointing to a box against the wall—which the troupe had just placed there. "Soldier, show the box to the prisoner."
Two soldiers placed the wooden box in front of Torvin.
"Open it for him," Hrolf ordered.
Inside lay a square object. Torvin looked but stayed silent.
"You probably can't tell that's a mechanical crossbow capable of firing twelve arrows at once," Hrolf said.
Torvin touched it and realized a slot was already loaded with an arrow. It was ready to fire.
"Did you know? Iceland offered me nine more of these if I hand you over," Hrolf continued. "A dwarf invention, worth two hundred gold coins each. But they’ll trade ten for you, dead or alive. That’s two thousand gold coins."
Annoyed by the prattling, Torvin stared at Hrolf with empty eyes.
Hrolf sighed. "They want to trade weapons worth two thousand gold for your death. Do you have anything to offer?"
Torvin finally understood. His eyes filled with malice.
"If you have hidden treasures, tell me now. I'll consider whether to send your corpse or keep you."
"You bastard!!" Torvin shouted.
"Wrong. The bastard is you, who killed your own father to seize the throne," Hrolf mocked.
"I have nothing left. Kill me," Torvin said, cornered. He chose death over dishonor.
"Hahaha! Honestly, if they sent the gold, I'd have killed you. But I don't really want dwarf weapons," Hrolf said, satisfied. "Take him back. I'm done with him."
Torvin struggled but was overpowered.
"Think it over in your cell, Torvin. Next time, if you don't have the answer, I'll accept Iceland's gift."
After Torvin left, an officer asked, "Uncle, you seem different today. Are you unwell?"
"You think? Maybe I have a fever," Hrolf grumbled. He ordered the crossbow box placed back against the wall and headed for the exit.
"Uncle, is the woman still in your room?"
"Go look for yourself," Hrolf said, walking out alone.
Hrolf found the troupe waiting in the shadows near the carriages.
"Where did you dump the chest?" he asked playfully.
Rustan pointed under a bridge.
"Hahaha! Over there?"
"Great-Grandfather, when will he wake up?" Rusulf asked.
"I don't know. I plugged his nose with your smelly socks until he passed out. You'd know better than me! Hahaha."
"Great-Grandfather... you always tease me," Rusulf replied in a sulky girl's voice.
"Who will drive?" Hrolf asked.
"Shouldn't Fiona? She holds her breath the longest," Rusli smiled.
"Hahaha! With me here, we don't need invisibility," Hrolf laughed. He attached the ?xenmark flag to their carriage and climbed into the driver's seat.
Sólvík was yawning at the gate when wheels ground against stone.
"Don't block the gate!" the driver shouted.
Sólvík saw it was Hrolf. He waved him through without inspection, thinking, 'Those crazy ?xenmark bastards, rushing off to die?'
That afternoon, Sólvík heard incredible news: Hrolf had been killed by the prisoner using a strange crossbow in the command room, before the prisoner was mobbed and slain.
It was bizarre to everyone, but to Sólvík, it was impossible. He knew Hrolf had driven out that morning and never returned. How could he die in the village that afternoon?
Finally, Sólvík could only curse, "Those ?xenmark bastards are truly crazy."
Chapter 51. I’m starting to wonder how much magic this author has left in the tank, but I suspect we’re approaching the final stretch.