The Yakra Winged Legion is an strongest host of winged warriors directly selected and trained by the Mosrow Clan., recorded in the history of Damu as the strongest force and a source of the most secret and lethal terror.
Only those among the Muwa who could ride the air currents against the rugged rocky mountains and hunt targets in silence amidst pitch-black darkness were permitted to don the red cloaks of the Yakra. The selection process of the Mosrow to discern them was nothing short of cruel.
Applicants who wished to become the finest wing-soldiers of Damu first had to refrain from touching the ground for even a single moment for three days.
As time passed, the strength supporting the wings would fade, and bones would begin to creak under the weight, but if they did not keep their wings moving while braced against the blowing currents, they would immediately plummet.
Most Muwa would struggle to right their wings, eventually lose their balance, and fall, being excluded from the test.
Those who passed the first trial were immediately given an even more rigorous period of training. Through that time, they had to prove they could 'fight in the sky' while fully armed.
Since the Yakra wing-soldiers must graze the ground and cut down enemies in actual combat, the applicants had to repeatedly perform maneuvers in the forest that most closely mimicked those conditions.
Once training began, they had to glide low, with the forest floor, bushes, and rocks directly beneath them. At this stage, thin wing-blades were attached to the wingtips, and they had to maintain speed without a single wingbeat faltering. However, the moment a wingtip brushed a branch or caught on a rocky protrusion, the unbalanced body would fall straight to the ground.
For those who endured and survived, another harsh stage followed. This time, they had to learn with their own bodies how to fly quietly and quickly while bearing the weight of armaments, equipped with wing-blades and spur-blades. In the process of gliding low through the forest while silencing their movements and maintaining speed, many Muwa encountered their limits again, but they had to be able to make all these motions a natural part of flight.
Only the Muwa who endured these processes to the end earned the right to stand on the battlefield and headed for the western wastelands.
Since a Muwa who had not experienced actual combat could not become a Yakra wing-soldier, they had to learn the battle for survival firsthand there, raiding large and small Orc settlements or facing groups of Minotaurs.
When night fell, they used the darkness of the sky as their strength to circle silently over the heads of the Orcs; the moment the signal was given, the black shadows threw their spears all at once.
Their flight, which even moonlight could not catch, was a silent death to the Orcs. Only when a spear pierced a throat would a scream finally erupt, but by then, the Muwa were already flying toward their next target.
The Orcs of the Badlands feared looking up at the night sky.
The silent shadows falling and blotting out the starlight, and the sight of comrades having their throats pierced before they could even scream, were objects of terror even to the Minotaurs.
Only those who returned alive from this wasteland received the red cloak. The moment they donned that cloak, they finally became Yakra wing-soldiers. They were the warrior group that inspired the most fear throughout Damu, and they were the ones recognized as the sword and wing of the Mosrow Clan, whom even the Council of Damu could not easily touch.
*****
Salma descended into the central square of Arna village, a distance away from Damu.
Talons scraped the stone floor, and with that movement, the spur-blades reflected the light. The blades, mounted over bronze claw-sheaths, extended short along the outside of the talons, their tips honed sharp. Every time he took a step, the blades brushed the ground, making a metallic sound.
Blades were also attached to the wingtips. They were equipment called wing-blades. Metal plates were fixed along the outer edge of the wings, where the longest feathers grew, and thin, long curved blades were attached to them.
The blades followed the curve of the wings exactly. When folded, they rested neatly against the sides of the body; when spread, they extended long to both sides.
The helm tightly encased his head, the metal plate continuing smoothly from the forehead to the back of the skull. On both sides, wide plates protecting the ear-feathers descended to cover the sides of the face, leaving only the upper part of the beak exposed. Beneath the helmet, Salma's eyes moved slowly, scanning the square.
Over the leather armor protecting his chest and back, a red cloak was draped, upon which a sun crest embroidered in gold thread shone in the sunlight. The golden tassels along the edge of the cloak shook lightly with the wind, moving along the silhouette of the fabric.
The village square was empty.
The windows of the surrounding houses were all open, as were the doors. No light could be seen within, nor could any trace of Dawi or Muwa be felt. In the middle of the square, a wooden water bucket lay overturned by the well.
In front of a house at the corner of the square, a chair lay fallen, its backrest broken. Beside it, ceramic shards were scattered—fragments from a shattered jar strewn here and there.
The door of the blacksmith's shop was also open, but not even smoke rose from within. The fire in the forge seemed to have gone out long ago, and a hammer remained atop the anvil. Several iron plates had fallen to the floor.
Turning his gaze toward the small village bakery, empty display cases were visible through the window. Not a single piece of bread remained on the shelves, and white powder spilled from a torn flour sack covered the floor like drifting snow.
Every house had its door left open, and looking inside, only dishes remained on the dining tables; the food was already gone. Chairs were not in their places, leaving traces of people standing up in haste. Clothes hanging on the walls remained as they were, showing signs of a departure so sudden there was no time to pack them.
On the porch of a small house at the end of the square sat a pair of shoes; from their size, they clearly belonged to a child. Only one shoe remained, speaking of the hurried departure.
Meanwhile, the wind blew, causing the awning of an open window to flap loudly, and a creaking sound echoed through the silence. A door that had not been closed swayed in the wind, and in the empty square, no one remained but Salma and his adjutant, Nerum.
Nerum landed beside Salma. His greyish feathers were clad only in armor, without a helm. Folding his wings, he turned his head to slowly scan the surroundings of the square.
"It seems all the residents have fled."
Nerum's voice was low.
"Everyone packed their bags and left in a hurry."
Salma did not answer, moving only his eyes to slowly scan the square.
Nerum raised a wing and pointed to the west.
"There is a forest path behind the village. If you follow that path, a hill appears, and beyond the hill, the Velus River flows in the distance. The river is wide, so it is not easy to cross. There are two fords, but it will take a long time for a large army to cross."
Salma's eyes narrowed.
"The Velus River."
"Yes, Warchief Salma."
Nerum looked around once more. He saw the empty square, the open doors, the fallen chair, and the overturned bucket.
"This silence now... shows that war is right before us."
Salma nodded.
"Where are the Orc and Minotaur hosts?"
"Further Moonside. Likely, they are somewhere across the Velus River."
Salma's beak opened slightly, revealing the tip of his tongue briefly before closing again.
Retracting his gaze, he walked slowly toward the center of the square, the spur-blades on his talons scraping the stone floor with a metallic ring.
'The Velus River.'
Salma thought.
'If they bypass this place by heading Starside or Landside along the river, they will not come here. But it is difficult for a large army to move like that. Supplies would be an issue, and it would take too long. Eventually, they will try to cross the river... by using the fords, or by making rafts…'
He looked toward the end of the square. The western forest was visible.
'If we are to fight, we can use this place as a base. Arna is empty, but the houses are intact. There is no food, but there is water. If that well has not run dry.'
Salma's gaze grew sharp.
'It is impossible to face the entire host. Especially with only a handful of winged-soldiers for scouting... but it is different for small, scattered groups. Before they cross the river, pass through the forest, and reach this place, we take flight and attack first. We raid at night and withdraw at dawn. We use Arna as a rallying point and repeat. I cannot let them pass through this forest easily…'
He turned his gaze back to the well. He saw the overturned bucket.
'If the fight drags on, some winged-soldiers might lose their way in the dark forest. But it does not matter. We fly the skies. Even if we lose our way, as long as we gather here again…'
Nerum approached Salma.
"Warchief, do you have a plan?"
Salma turned his head to look at Nerum.
"Arna is empty, but it will be useful."
"What do you mean…"
"I will explain later."
The moment Salma finished speaking, the sound of wingbeats was heard from the sky. It was dozens of Yakra winged-soldiers.
Salma and Nerum looked up.
Muwa were descending in line, their red cloaks flapping greatly in the wind. Among them, at the very front, Salma's adjutants, Bejede and Sebire, were descending ahead of the rest.
Bejede was the first to land in the square. The tips of his talons struck the stone floor with a light ring, and he immediately folded his wings while surveying the surroundings. His feathers were already mottled with dried, brown bloodstains, and the same marks remained faintly on his beak.
A moment later, Sebire landed beside him. Bloodstains were also on his armor, and red smears spread thinly on the spur-blades of his talons. A few missing feathers revealed the traces of combat.
The winged-soldiers following them landed one by one around the square. All had faces that had just finished a battle, but they showed no sign of exhaustion. Rather, they seemed full of energy as if the heat of battle still remained, and their eyes looked even sharper.
Salma looked at the two adjutants.
"Report."
Bejede shook his wings once. Bloodied feathers swayed in the wind.
"It was barely a warm-up, Warchief!"
Sebire added.
"It was a small group of Orcs. Stragglers from the main host."
As Bejede opened his beak, the red tongue inside was revealed. The sight gave an impression as if he were smiling.
"There appeared to be about thirty of them. They were in the forest, but they didn't notice us at all. Looking down from above, they were gathered in one place lighting a fire... I didn't miss that chance and wiped them out in one stroke."
Sebire raised a talon. He showed the blood on the spur-blade.
Nerum asked the two adjutant Muwa.
"Was there no resistance?"
"There was. But it was short."
Bejede's tone carried the confidence characteristic of the bellicose Yakra winged-soldiers. To those who had taken the heads of Orcs and Minotaurs on countless battlefields, a small scouting party was nothing more or less than prey.
"They were likely a scouting and looting party. While the main host advances, they split into small groups to find nearby villages to pillage before joining the main force. There are probably a few more groups scattered throughout the forest."
Salma's gaze turned cold.
"How many more do you think there are?"
"There will be at least three or four more groups nearby. Given the size of the host, there will be many detached groups."
Bejede answered as he spread and then folded his wings.
"Besides the ones we finished off, there will be at least a few more groups. It is highly likely they have scattered in different directions looking for villages."
Sebire's voice dropped. It was laced with anger.
"The nearby village of Bylril was already burned to ruins. We checked it as we passed; the houses were collapsed and only smoke continued to rise. The residents seem to have left early... but the houses had all turned to ash."
Salma's beak closed with a sharp snap.
"You said the location of the main host is somewhere by the Velus River?"
Bejede pointed to the west.
"Yes. They will likely be near the Velus River. They should be making camp by the riverbank by tonight. When I checked from a distance, I could see a great cloud of dust... Judging by the scale, it is certainly the main host."
Sebire added.
"In three days at the earliest, five at the latest, they will reach Damu. One day to cross the river, one day to pass through the forest, one day from Arna to Damu. That is the extent of it."
Salma nodded. He organized his thoughts while listening to the reports of the two adjutants.
'Three to five days... There is not much time. But it is enough. I must confirm their position tonight and move when the opportunity arises.'
Bejede spread his wings and raised his body.
"Then I shall go out once more to hunt the remaining Orcs."
"Do not let a single one escape. Our position must not be exposed."
Salma said, nodding.
"Understood! My talons were itching so much I could hardly stand it anyway."
Bejede replied boisterously, then gestured to the winged-soldiers standing behind him.
"Did you hear? It's an Orc hunt! Scour the forest and cut their breaths!"
As Bejede gestured to his subordinates, his squad spread their wings again. They soared into the air, creating a harsh wind. Watching their backs as they vanished instantly toward the forest, Sebire let out a sigh.
"To think Arna village would end up in such a state."
Salma looked at him.
"Now that I think of it, how did you handle the remains of the Orcs you killed?"
Sebire wore a grim smile.
"I gouged out all their eyes and piled them high on top of the heap of corpses. So that any other Orcs passing by might see them."
Salma nodded.
"Well done."
He looked up at the sky again. The sun was leaning toward the west. Shadows were beginning to lengthen.
"I must confirm the exact location of the enemy. We depart as soon as Bejede returns."
Sebire bowed his head.
"Understood."
Salma stood in the middle of the square and gazed toward the west. The blades on his talons flashed in the sunlight, and the wing-blades on his wingtips swayed lightly in the breeze. As the red cloak behind him flapped greatly, his gaze looked straight toward the direction of the Velus River, and toward the place where the great host of Orcs and Minotaurs was gathered beyond it.
'Tonight, I shall see for myself.'
While Salma's eyes glowed fiercely and a yellow light flickered beneath his helmet, he spread his wings wide and folded them again, and the wing-blades struck each other with a metallic ring.