Chapter 31: Cleanse the North

  The morning began without ceremony, a quiet tension hanging over Knighthelm Frostwall as the light crept over the mountains. Snow clung to the stone walls in soft drifts, disturbed only by the boots of the few early risers who were attempting to resume their usual routines. Yet even they paused more often than usual, staring toward the distant treeline where the scouts had reported the strange trail. Something had stirred in the night. Something wrong.

  Darvish was the first to enter the training courtyard, his breath misting in the cold air as he tightened the straps of his reinforced leather harness. It was not full armor, but it was enough for scouting. He moved with steady efficiency, checking each clasp and each blade for flaws. He worked alone at first, absorbed in the practiced rhythm, until heavy footsteps approached from the archway that faced the inner yard.

  Lars stepped out, tall and broad shouldered in a coat lined with dark wolf fur. His armor was stored in the barracks for now. This was a scouting operation, not a march to war. Even so, the presence of steel at his hip. He was prepared to move the instant a threat showed itself.

  "You are early," Darvish said without looking up.

  "So are you," Lars replied.

  "We leave before the sun reaches the ridge." Darvish fastened the last strap and finally lifted his gaze. "You received the updated report?"

  "Only fragments. The scouts did not get close enough to confirm anything. They said the air felt sick. That is enough for now." Lars moved closer and lowered his voice. "If the corruption is truly near our borders, then I will not allow it to spread another mile without seeing it myself."

  Darvish nodded slowly. "Then we go."

  Before long, the elite members of the Knighthelm militia began to filter into the courtyard. These were not the common guards who patrolled the walls or trained with wooden shields. These were the hardened mountain fighters who Lars deployed only for threats. Each carried short, heavy axes, reinforced spears, and travel gear suited for four days in the cold. Their cloaks were the deep slate blue of Knighthelm, their boots wrapped in fur and treated leather. Many of them lieutenants, strong Tier 3s on their way to being Tier 4

  Ronan, the militia captain, approached Lars with a scroll in hand. He had a square jaw, a cropped beard, and eyes that rarely blinked when analyzing a battlefield. "Baron Lars. All elites are present. Supplies are packed. The route is marked."

  "Good." Lars motioned toward Darvish. "You will follow his lead until we reach the valley. After that, you follow mine."

  Ronan placed his fist to his chest. "Understood."

  The courtyard filled with controlled noise. The metallic click of buckles. The muted thuds of crates being lifted. The quiet murmurs of men asking last minute questions, though all their faces bore the same hardened acceptance. Whatever awaited them near the corrupted trail would not be simple.

  As the group stabilized, Lars stepped to the front of the courtyard, near the archway where the militia could form in a loose half circle. He stood still for several seconds, his gaze sweeping over each face. The murmurs faded.

  When he finally spoke, his voice carried with calm weight.

  "The scouts have not identified the exact source of the disturbance, but the signs are clear. The forest floor is marked by burrowing lines and overturned soil. Something moved in the night, and it was not natural. For a week now, a subtle rot has been hanging over the valley. The trappers can smell it. The hunters feel it. Even the animals are leaving the deeper woods."

  He paused briefly, allowing that to settle in.

  "Corruption does not appear without cause. If we are fortunate, it is only a young pack of beasts that has wandered too far. If we are not fortunate.. Well, you will know.

  The men shifted. A few eyes narrowed. A few hands tightened around weapons.

  Several hundred men, all informed of the possibly threat.

  Lars continued, his tone steady.

  "We go to see the truth for ourselves. Not with fear. Not with speculation. But with clarity. You are here because you can remain steady when others fail. If this corruption grows, it will not threaten only Knighthelm. It will threaten the trade roads, the border towns, the entire Eastern territories."

  He lifted his chin slightly.

  "We will not allow that. And we will not face it unprepared. Stay sharp. Trust your training. Follow commands precisely. If you see anything on your normal routes that feels wrong, anything at all, you speak up immediately."

  The militia stood straighter.

  Ronan placed his hand over his heart once more. "Knighthelm stands."

  The others echoed, "Knighthelm stands."

  Lars offered a single approving nod. "Prepare to move out within the hour."

  As the militia dispersed to check their gear and warm their hands, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from behind. When Lars turned, Lance stood at the archway, face flushed from running, coat half buttoned, eyes burning with stubborn resolve, cheeks redded by the cold.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Father. Take me with you."

  The courtyard fell quiet, though the men respectfully focused on their equipment. Darvish paused in the middle of a strap adjustment and slowly exhaled.

  Lars faced his son fully. There was no anger in his expression, but the firm tension in his shoulders showed he had expected this.

  "You are not coming," Lars said.

  Lance took another step forward. "I have been training every day. I can fight. I can learn better on a real mission. You said real warriors need experience. You said I cannot grow stronger in the yard alone."

  Darvish grimaced slightly, shooting a quick look at Lars. He remembered saying nearly that exact thing during one of Lance's more frustrating training sessions.

  Lars drew in a slow breath. "This is not a hunt. This is not a bandit camp. This is an unknown threat with signs of corruption. You are not ready for that."

  "I can keep up," Lance insisted. "I will listen. I will follow every order you give. I just want to help."

  "You can help by staying alive," Lars replied. "And you do that by staying here."

  Lance clenched his fists. "You are underestimating me."

  "I am protecting you," Lars said simply. "And there is a difference."

  Lance opened his mouth again, but Lars raised a hand. The gesture was quiet but absolute.

  "The answer is no."

  Lance stood frozen for a moment, jaw trembling just slightly. The disappointment was raw, but he swallowed it, understanding that arguing further would only embarrass himself in front of the militia. He turned sharply and walked away.

  Darvish let out a slow sigh. "He is improving quickly. The boy has a drive. It is not surprising he wants to be involved."

  "It is not about heart," Lars replied. "It is about judgment. And he does not yet have enough of it."

  Darvish nodded reluctantly. "I understand."

  A few minutes passed before two figures approached the archway from where Lance had exited. Aoife walked with arms crossed, hair braided tightly behind her shoulders, expression sharp enough to cut stone. Beside her, Slade towered like a walking fortress, his massive shoulders wrapped in furs, hair frosted.

  They both looked displeased.

  Andrei, Aoife’s Father, stopped directly in front of Lars and placed her hands on her hips. "You turned him away without even letting him speak fully. That was cruel."

  Scar, Slade’s Father nodded in agreement. "He is a strong boy. If you do not trust him to be on the front line, at least let him join the support team. He can carry supplies. Run messages. Something."

  "He wants to fight," Andrei added. "He wants to prove himself. And right now, he feels like he is being treated as a child."

  "Because he is one," Lars replied.

  Andrei narrowed her eyes. "Not for long."

  Slade crossed his thick arms. "If not the main group, then the second scouting wave. You know we need people who can run fast and think fast, and that boy can do both, hell even Andrei is letting be apart with her class specializing in speed. My boy Scar is helping the surrounding teams do work as well."

  Lars sighed deeply. "Andrei. Scar. I know you care about him. I know he has potential. But I will not risk him on an expedition when we do not yet know the threat. When the situation becomes clearer, I may consider a support position for him. But not now."

  Andrei looked ready to argue further, but Scar placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  "We tried. The lord has made his decision. We respect it."

  He exhaled sharply through his nose, muttered something under his breath, and stormed off. Slade gave Lars a steady nod before following her out.

  Darvish stepped beside Lars. "They are only worried."

  "I know," Lars said. "Which is why they will remain here as part of the fallback plan. If something happens to us, they will guide the second wave."

  The courtyard slowly settled again as the militia finished their preparations. The sun had risen just enough to cast pale light across the mountain walls.

  Ronan approached once more. "All units ready. Final checks complete."

  Lars adjusted the fur lining of his cloak and secured the clasp at his shoulder. "Good. Set the formation."

  The courtyard gates creaked open, revealing the snow dusted path that wound down toward the forest.

  Ronan frowned. "Its almost like I can feel the North telling me to help purge it clean today"

  A couple of the others gave a small smile, “lets Cleanse the North men.” Sir Darvish dashed off towards the signs of corruption. Quick and precise.

  That is how their mission was going to go, he told himself.

  A lookout at Knighthelm outpost spotted A carriage, lacquered black with silver trim, rolled steadily forward. The horses were enormous, bred from the eastern stables, their breath steaming like smoke columns in the cold. Behind the carriage marched six armored figures in matching crimson plate, each suit etched with flame patterns that flickered faintly with natural mana attunement.

  Fire attuned elites. All Tier Four or higher from the looks of their posture and the glow in their gauntlets.

  The private flustered, “Duke Nox’s crest?” he carefully places the magically enhanced seeing glasses back into their case. With their imbuement from the gnomes was correct, he had just under a full day until they reached the outpost. He needed to go tell his boss.

  The carriage rocked as it rode along the hard frozen dirt, Duke Alistair Nox had a book in hand as he rocked side to side, wrapped in a dark coat embroidered with metallic thread that shimmered in the light.

  Around him, his elites sat quietly, each one looking increasingly displeased with the cold mountain air. One of them, a tall man with deep red hair, shivered violently and scowled at the frost gathering on his gauntlets.

  "This place is unbearable," he muttered. "The air is freezing my flames."

  Another elite huffed steam through his nose. "We should have taken the southern route. At least the temperature there respects us."

  Duke Alistar just squinted his eyes and stared at the man who brought up taking a southern route… to the North.

  Instantly regretting who Marrow picked out for this mission.

  A third sighed heavily. "If I slip on ice again when we get there, I will set something on fire."

  Duke Nox did not react to their complaints. He looked up forward and inclined his head to the people sitting in front of him

  "I trust you will behave on arrival. We haven't much longer."

  "Duke Nox clasped his hands behind his back. "I have come to see the situation myself. And I have brought those who excel in eliminating unnatural threats. I do not need fools tarnishing my name, or sullying my relationship with Baron Lars."

  One of the fire attuned elites sneezed loudly, then cursed every snowflake in existence.