Author's note: I apologize for the delay. I was out of town. I hope you enjoy reading it.
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While upstairs in Rivendell, Igris received both travel advice and strategic information regarding the city he would establish in the north from the twins, down below in the dwarves' quarters, the feast had already begun. Because the group's numbers had swelled considerably, this time five long tables were lined up end-to-end. The dishes prepared by Igris and his kitchen helpers crowded the tables.
Everyone had taken their seats, curiously examining these unprecedented new dishes placed before them. Bombur, as always, knew no bounds; he had crafted a colossal burger by stuffing potatoes, menemen, Reibekuchen, and honey-glazed carrots between two pizzas. Slaughtering the entirety of modern world cuisine in a single stroke, he set to eating with ravenous appetite, relishing every single bite.
"Nom nom nom! Hahahaha! Igris has managed to strike right at my heart again! Nom nom nom..."
Bofur, sitting right next to him, rolled his eyes and offered a stern warning.
"Bombur, show some manners! We have quite a few women in our group now!"
Bombur flinched at the warning. He quickly cast a sidelong glance behind him toward the women sitting at the far end and immediately pulled himself together. He slowed his chewing and tried to continue his meal with as intellectual a demeanor as possible, making sure not to smack his lips.
By Igris's special instruction, the women had been seated at a separate table away from the men so they could be comfortable. They sat together, enjoying their food while diving deep into conversation. The stories of the newcomers, Matheld and Ciri, and the nature of the worlds they hailed from had particularly captured the interest of the other women in the group. Estel's mother, meanwhile, had returned to her own room to rest, asking that her son be sent to her once he arrived, meaning there were no strangers among the group. Umay turned to Matheld with inquisitive eyes.
"So, you are a descendant of the Nords."
Matheld quickly swallowed the bite in her mouth and nodded.
"Yes. And you must be the ancestors of the Khergits."
Umay tilted her head slightly with a thoughtful expression.
"Honestly, I don't know. I remember there being a clan called Khergit, but I never would have guessed they'd grow large enough to form a state in the future."
Matheld shrugged casually.
"Their men are entirely cavalry. You won't find infantry among them, except for castle defense."
Then, adding a tone of excitement to her voice, she asked.
"Have you ever fought the Huscarls? My father told so many stories about them! I would love to hear about it from someone who lived in that era."
Umay searched her memory for a moment and shook her head.
"Unfortunately, we never faced the Huscarls, who are sea raiders. Our settlements are mostly located inland. We don't have a port, nor are we close to a river large enough to accommodate a grand ship."
Even though a fleeting shadow of disappointment crossed Matheld's face, Umay continued.
"But there are certainly those who have fought them. If Lord Igris summons them in the future, you can ask them yourself. In fact, there's even a chance Huscarls might join our ranks; then you'd have the opportunity to speak with them directly."
Hearing this, Matheld's eyes sparkled.
"That's right! Those legendary warriors might join our group too!"
Her mood restored, Matheld took a massive bite of the Reibekuchen in front of her and chewed with relish.
"Wow, I never imagined vegetables could be transformed into such delicious dishes. Does Lord Igris always cook such tasty meals?"
Umay shrugged.
"I don't know, he was in a coma until this morning anyway. But judging by the dwarves, the kitchen has been entirely entrusted to him throughout the journey."
Matheld nodded and grinned.
"I've never seen a lord personally cook for his own men before. He seems like an interesting fellow."
Umay nodded in agreement and returned to her meal. As the two continued their chat, an entirely different conversation was unfolding at the other end of the table between Tomris and Ciri. Tomris spoke in a warm, admiring tone.
"Your hair color is beautiful, it makes you look very elegant."
Ciri grew a bit shy at this sudden compliment, touching her own hair in surprise. For the first time, instead of being judged by a stranger for her unusual appearance, she was receiving genuine praise.
"Thank you..."
Tomris immediately followed up with curiosity.
"Do you come from the same realm as us?"
Ciri shook her head.
"No... I am from a different place, but there are never-ending wars there too."
Unsurprised by what she heard, Tomris shrugged.
"War is in human nature. Wherever there is human breath, there is bound to be bloodshed and conflict."
Ciri sighed softly and agreed with Tomris. She had seen several different worlds, but their unchangeable commonality was always the same: War. Quickly pushing her thoughts away, she picked up the slice of pizza in front of her. As she took a bite, she stared in momentary astonishment at the stretching, melted cheese. Lifting the slice a bit higher and realizing the cheese wouldn't snap, she elegantly pulled it apart with her fingers and swallowed her bite. She found herself quite enjoying this new flavor spreading through her mouth.
"Not bad."
Then, turning her eyes to Tomris, she asked curiously.
"Does Igris always cook such meticulous meals?"
Chewing her bite, Tomris shrugged and swallowed.
"I have no idea. He was lying in a coma until this morning. We joined the group right in the middle of an attack. Lord Igris had been poisoned and fell into a coma during that very chaos. We only found out this morning that he is both the cook and the leader of our group."
Tomris slowly leaned across the table, drawing a bit closer to Ciri, and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I think he's a very hygienic person when it comes to food. That's why he never lets anyone else cook his meals."
Ciri raised her eyebrows, surprised by this theory.
"Do you really think he's that kind of person?"
Tomris nodded with a look of absolute certainty.
"My instincts are definitely telling me so."
Then her gaze drifted to the sword resting across Ciri's back.
"What about your sword skills? Are you confident in yourself?"
Ciri straightened her posture and replied with utterly calm self-assurance.
"I have complete confidence in my swordsmanship."
Tomris raised her brows and grinned with delight.
"I'd love to spar with you someday; it's hard to find female warriors outside my tribe. If Lady Asena were here, she would definitely want to test your skills."
Hearing the name, Ciri tilted her head to the side in curiosity.
"Who is Asena?"
Belen, who had been sitting quietly across from them listening to their conversation up until that moment, chimed in.
"Lady Asena is one of the most elite warriors our tribe has ever raised, and she is Bamsı Alp's biological older sister. She serves as a commander in the Khan's Guards, the most elite unit of our state. She is an absolute storm on the battlefield; she wields the glaive flawlessly but also works wonders with twin blades. Our tribal chief always says Asena was born to be a general. She is a legendary commander who completely annihilated a massive Sturgian army of exactly 1,000 men with only 200 cavalry."
Ciri was left stunned, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"She defeated a thousand men with two hundred? Isn't that... a bit of an exaggerated folktale?"
Frankly, she knew very well that most stories became heavily exaggerated as they were passed from tongue to tongue. Tomris smiled and shook her head.
"No, this story is true in every single detail. In fact, thanks to this monumental achievement, our Khan Monchug was going to appoint her directly as a Marcher Lord."
Ciri's curiosity was now thoroughly piqued.
"What exactly is a Marcher Lord?"
Belen immediately began to explain.
"Oh, my apologies, we forgot for a moment that you are not from our world. A Marcher Lord is like the highest-ranking general guarding the borders; you could even call them a sort of 'king' in that region. They have absolute authority along the frontiers; they are the Khan's shadow in those lands. Unless the Khan himself gives a direct order or strips the Marcher Lord of their position, no one can override their command. Their authority is absolute."
Tomris elaborated further.
"All settlements, castles, and tribes located along the border and its immediate vicinity must obey the Marcher Lord's orders without exception. To defy their command is equated directly to rebelling against the Khan's authority."
Grasping the gravity of the situation, Ciri nodded, indicating she was truly impressed by this woman's power.
"So how did she defeat that army of 1,000 men?"
Tomris smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Through a simple but effective method. Speed and psychological attrition tactics."
As Ciri gave her full attention, Tomris continued explaining.
"First, she divided those 200 men into two equal groups and aligned them to sandwich the enemy from both flanks. The moment the Sturgians began to approach our Khuzait borders, she gave the order for the first strike."
Belen took over the narrative.
"The area where our people are undisputedly the best is horse archery. Every Khan's Guard carries more than 100 arrows in total between their own quiver and their horse's saddle. Naturally, the Khan's Guards are the sharpest horse archers in our military. Without letting the Sturgians get close, they constantly harassed them with a rain of arrows from afar."
Tomris interjected again.
"She kept this up for days. She employed a simple hit-and-run tactic; thanks to the speed of her horses, she managed to do so without ever being caught by the enemy. But what really made the difference was how she executed it."
Picturing the battlefield in her mind, Ciri asked.
"What kind of difference?"
Belen smiled.
"She didn't execute these harassment attacks on a regular daily schedule. Sometimes she would attack every other day, sometimes she'd wait six days, and sometimes she wouldn't be seen for ten days before suddenly striking out of nowhere."
At that moment, Ciri deciphered the entire strategy.
"She was exhausting the enemy psychologically..."
Yes, that was exactly what Asena had done. She condemned the Sturgians to a constant state of high alert for days on end, and right when they relaxed, thinking "the danger has probably passed," she would crash down upon them. This was the most insidious and effective method one could apply to collapse the morale and psychology of a massive army from within. She never let the enemy sleep, keeping them in a constant state of nerve-wracking warfare. Sometimes before dawn broke, sometimes exactly when they fell asleep, sometimes during their lunch break, and sometimes while the army was slowly marching—she struck from a different direction every single time. She rotated her troops to rest, preserving the energy of her men and horses while ensuring their supply of rations and ammunition never faltered. Analyzing the depth of the strategy, Ciri appreciated that this female commander named Asena truly possessed a brilliant military mind.
Just then, Tomris chuckled mockingly, leaned across the table, and lowered her voice.
"Let me tell you a little secret too; Lady Asena is the single person in this life that Bamsı fears the most. Because not only can he not overpower her with sheer strength, but he also cannot raise a hand against her out of respect for her being his older sister."
Belen covered her mouth, giggling at what she heard.
"That madman, who thinks wrestling bears and tigers is a game, immediately snaps to attention and turns to stone with just one stern look from his sister. He can't even twitch an eyebrow out of fear."
Barely holding back her laughter, Tomris added.
"But don't misunderstand, Lady Asena is actually a very tender-hearted and gentle person... It's just that because her brother sometimes acts up, she lightly 'disciplines' Bamsı."
Ciri smiled, picturing this colorful family in her mind.
"After everything you've told me, I would really love to meet her."
Belen sighed with a hint of sorrow on her face.
"I wish she was with us right now; everything would be so much easier then."
Then, changing the subject, she fixed her curious eyes on Ciri.
"Anyway, enough talk about us and our tribe. Let's talk a bit about you. What exactly is that dwarf named Zoltan to you? Is he your father or something?"
Ciri jolted at the sudden question and vehemently objected with both her hands and her head.
"No! Absolutely not! He is just a very old family friend! A very close comrade of my adoptive father..."
As the overly protective behaviors Zoltan had been exhibiting at her every step recently flashed through her mind, she understood why the women thought this way and quickly added.
"He just... has a slightly overprotective nature, that's all..."
While the women continued their sweet conversation and bonded amongst themselves, a little further away at the table where Thorin sat, an entirely different discussion was taking place...