The five days before the Wild Lands came and went like a long exhale—quiet, heavy, and necessary. There was no celebration, no idleness. Just work. Just training.
On the first day, Himmel and Texan were summoned by the Seventh Princess. The throne room shimmered in violet light; the air itself seemed to hum with restrained energy. Two attendants stepped forward carrying a velvet case.
Inside lay a small sphere, black as starless night, pulsing faintly with mana. Beside it rested a rune-etched tablet, glowing with a low, steady blue light.
"When the sphere moves," the princess explained, her tone even and precise, "the tablet listens. It sees fifty feet in every direction. People, beasts, even faint spirits. Press a mark, and it tells you what you're looking at—level, general strength, what's awake and what's waiting."
Texan leaned forward, grinning. "So basically a pocket tracker?"
The princess tilted her head, not amused but not displeased either. "Yes. Though it will not see beyond its own limits. Anything level five or higher will not appear."
Himmel studied the glow. "Fifty feet might not sound like much, but that's more than enough to survive a surprise attack."
"Use it wisely, here are these as well." She then threw a pair of earring with small gold loops with teardrop-shaped gems that catch light like liquid glass. But look closer, and the illusion fades. Inside the stones, faint veins of energy curl and twist, forming sigils too intricate to have been carved by hand.
"One for each of you, it's very simple, you can telepathically talk to each other with these on. It's just you need one and he needs one and yes you have to use a small amount of mana to activate them." she said, then dismissed them with a flick of her wrist.
Texan turned the sphere over in his hands as they walked out. "Damn, that thing's warm. Like it's breathing."
"Yeah lets keep it nice and safe," Himmel said as he attached one of the earrings to his left ear. Texan then followed along placing a piece to his right ear.
The mountains echoed with steel, wind, and grunts. Himmel's lightning scorched the cliffside each night, and Texan's voice carried like a hammer striking anvil each morning.
Texan focused on coordination—his fists, his shots, and his rhythm with Gumbo. The hybrid creature lumbered beside him, muscles rippling under thick hide, horn glinting faintly in the sun. It moved slow until it didn't, and when it charged, the ground shook.
"Alright, Gumbo," Texan said, crouching low. "Let's try that again. You swing left this time."
Gumbo's nostrils flared, and with a huff, the creature rammed a boulder clean in half. Texan grinned. "Yeah, that's it. Good boy. See? Timing, not brute strength. Remember that."
Across the field, Himmel stood before the runic dummy, hands wrapped in black cloth. He punched once—the dummy's runes flickered red. Twice—orange. By the fifth hit, the light peaked and the dummy retaliated, hurling a wave of magic straight into Himmel's chest. He went flying into the mountain with a crack that made the rocks groan.
Texan dropped what he was doing and howled with laughter."Ha! Ain't no way! Bro, you just got folded by a stick!"
Himmel groaned and stood, dusting off the dirt. "Keep laughing, and I'll fold you next."
He returned to the dummy, this time tightening his stance. When it flared again, he blocked the burst with his palm. The energy crackled and dispersed harmlessly.
"Huh," he muttered. "Guess I really do need to level up my defense."
Texan crossed his arms. "Nah, man, I think the dummy just got scared."
By the fifth day, the air had changed. The princess gathered everyone at dawn, her cloak trailing like storm clouds.
With a snap of her fingers, the slave marks branded on Himmel and Texan's skin shimmered once and vanished.
"Freedom is not a gift," she said. "It's a chance to prove you can hold it."
Then came their assigned subordinates—faces that would follow them into the Wild Lands.
Vanessa was the first—sharp posture, clean armor, the kind of noble polish that didn't quite hide exhaustion. When she saluted, Himmel noticed faint burn scars up her wrist before she tucked them under her sleeve.
"It's an honor, sir," she said, voice level but practiced. "I'm trained in swordsmanship and water-based casting. If there's sewing involved, I'll fix your gear too."
Texan raised an eyebrow. "Sewing, huh? Real deadly."
Vanessa didn't even blink. "You'd be surprised what a needle can do in the right hands."
Winter came next, an orc scout with eyes like cold rain. She didn't salute—just nodded once and adjusted her cloak. The way she moved was quiet, light-footed, but her gaze kept flicking between exits and shadows. She said almost nothing, but the way she kept her hand near her knife said plenty.
"Got the look of someone who doesn't trust a soul," Texan whispered.
"Or someone who's seen too much," Himmel replied.
Then there was Tyler, the shaman. He walked barefoot, a harmonica hanging from his neck, smelling faintly of crushed herbs and ink. When he spoke, his tone was light, but his eyes wandered.
"Nice to meet ya," he said. "If you ever need healing or music, I'm your guy. Can't promise I'll remember the lyrics, though."
"Long as you remember the spells," Himmel said.
Texan's recruits were less polished and more chaotic.
Redd, an ogre with a laugh louder than thunder, clapped Texan on the shoulder the moment they met. "Heard you fought a crossbow orc in the pits. That true?"
Texan grinned. "You heard right."
"Damn good hit you landed at the end. I owe you a drink."
Piper, a siren like Texan, lounged nearby—long hair half covering her face, humming quietly to herself. Her smile was soft but detached, the kind of person who lived between moods.
Texan studied her for a second. "You sing, or you fight?"
"Depends who's asking," she said without looking up.
And finally, Merrik, a beastman marksman with a glass eye that reflected firelight in strange colors. He moved slow, spoke slower, but when his gaze landed on a target, it didn't leave.
Texan smirked. "Alright, looks like we got a team."
Merrik tilted his head. "You sure about that?"
Texan laughed. "Not even a little."
That night, the soldiers gathered around the fire to see what their new captains had learned.
Himmel stood first. He unsheathed his blade and swung once, flames licking the metal before fading. "Flaming Parry," he said. "I created this move so that when I parry a move I might start weakening their blades."
Then he flicked a dagger; lightning crawled across its edge before it hit a dummy, freezing it mid-swing. "Flashing Throw. If it connects, they're paralyzed."
He took a defensive stance, blocking a slow jab from Texan and redirecting it in one motion. "Counter. If I time it right, nothing touches me and I redirect every ounce of force back to the enemy. I got this from the dummy, it's more of a spell if anything since I can't use it over and over again."
Texan grinned. "Show-off."
He shadowboxed a few punches, chaining movements together. "I mix things. Boxing, creature instincts, wombat flow—whatever works. You dodge, I confuse. You swing, I parry. Sometimes I even talk 'em into missing."
Someone chuckled in the back. Texan grinned wider. "Hey, it's worked so far."
They knew only a few things about the wild lands.
First, they will all meet at a rendezvous. This includes all other factions and in this rendezvous there will be no violence, otherwise it is immediate death. Most attempts of violence never even happen because the King's younger brother was on watch. He is level 7 and known as the second strongest combatant right behind the king himself.
Second, they will all step into a five foot radius magic circle. Meaning each squad can teleport together. They will then be teleported randomly in the wild lands.
Third, the wild lands is completely dangerous as everything there is at level 3 or much higher. The alpha which is a level 7 lava snake roams there as well. The other anomaly is the surplus of dungeons there, dungeons literally pop into existence and leave just as quickly at times. Not only are these dungeons dangerous, they also have a plethora of loot in them.
Finally, they have to find each other as soon as possible, which will mainly be luck but they do have a plan. Himmel's party will mark a territory, with a certain magical essence that only their faction knows. After they mark this area they will move around for an entire day in a cardinal direction. Texan and the other's will keep moving, constantly so. Once they find this magical essence they will add onto the essence with their own specific frequency of magic. After they do so they will also continuously move, making sure they can kill and hunt as much as possible. Once they meet with each other they will do whatever seems fit.
Five days later, the armies gathered on a vast white plain carved with teleportation circles. Each faction stood under its banner: red for the Second Princess, gold for the Fifth Prince, violet for the Seventh.
The air was tense and sharp with mana. Himmel could feel it on his tongue—like biting copper.
Texan scanned the crowd and froze when he spotted an orc pushing through the masses. The man's armor gleamed gold, his tusks chipped, his eyes burning with anger. Around his neck hung a familiar necklace—the same invisibility charm Texan had stolen from the guard weeks ago.
"You," the orc snarled. "You killed my brother."
Texan blinked, then smirked. "Wait. The guy I sent running into the mountains? Damn. He didn't make it?"
"He made it," the orc spat. "The prince executed him when he came back."
Texan scratched the back of his head. "Oh. Yeah, that's rough. Guess that's on your boss though."
The orc's aura flared bright red. His hands twitched toward his weapon.
But above them, the King's younger brother—the royal overseer—stood, silent and watchful. The orc froze. He couldn't touch Texan without dying for it.
Texan leaned closer. "Guess we're done here then. Condolences and all that."
He walked back toward Himmel, who raised an eyebrow. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"
Texan shrugged. "He started it."
When the teleportation circles began to glow, Himmel tightened his cloak and looked out over the crowd. "This is it."
Texan rolled his shoulders. "Yeah. No turning back now."
The Seventh Princess raised her hand in salute. Mana surged, and in an instant, their bodies dissolved into light.
And just like that, they were gone—swallowed by the spell, carried toward the Wild Lands where the real fight would begin.
The light split—and then, silence.
When the magic faded, the world returned with a hiss. Himmel landed first, boots sinking into thick, waist-high grass slick with dew and ash. The air was heavy, carrying a low hum that seemed to vibrate inside his bones. Each blade of grass shimmered faintly, catching ghost-light from a sun that refused to rise. It was beautiful in the way a storm is—too still, too charged.
He turned, scanning the horizon. Nothing but rolling green gold, stretching endlessly until it vanished into fog. The smell of iron and something rotten hung faintly in the air. He gripped the sphere and tablet at his hip, but didn't activate them—not yet. The others followed his lead, quiet, uneasy. Vanessa kept her sword half-drawn. Winter tested the wind, whispering something under her breath. Tyler stared upward, murmuring a prayer. Himmel simply nodded once, more to himself than anyone else.
"Stay low," he said. "And stay sharp. We're not alone here."
Elsewhere, only a few ridges away—Texan coughed up a mouthful of dirt.
He pushed himself up, shaking bits of crushed grass from his hair. The stalks around him towered like green spears, each one thick enough to hide behind. The sound here was different: not silence, but breath. The rustle of creatures unseen. Gumbo rumbled low beside him, nostrils flaring.
"Yeah, yeah, I smell it too," Texan muttered. "Let's hope it's not bigger than both of us."
The air was warmer here, the soil damp. The grass swayed even when the wind didn't. Texan glanced over his shoulder at his new squad. None spoke—eyes scanning, hands near weapons. Good. At least they weren't idiots.
He whistled softly to himself, more to fill the quiet than anything. "Well," he said, loading his short crossbow, "welcome to hell's lawn."
And somewhere between them, separated by only a few hills and a curtain of fog, the Wild Lands waited—patient, breathing, alive.
Every rustle was a whisper. Every shadow was watching. And neither Himmel nor Texan knew how close they truly were.