"I feel like," Elstan said as he and Kjaran walked toward the barracks, "I'm slowly losing my edge."
"I wouldn't agree." Kjaran encouraged him, and for a moment, that was what Elstan thought—but when he looked at his face, he saw that he was dead serious.
"Well," Elstan continued, "to be honest, I'm still bothered a bit by what happened in Ogrvol." he said, dissatisfied.
"Screw that," added Kjaran, "you lost men. I've lost men before, and so have you. We both know what it means to serve the kingdom." Kjaran's tone was cold and sharp; he didn't like self-pity.
"You're right," Elstan lifted his head, "I guess I've become soft, haven't I?" he smiled.
"Seems like it." Kjaran concluded.
The streets were full of people, mostly merchants looking to make good money before winter, to have enough for firewood and supplies. Winters in Luganor were long and cold, and one could never truly get used to them. Everyone knew this and wanted to prepare as quickly as possible. The streets were mostly busy with carts carrying wood to dry so it could provide better heat.
"Have you decided who you'll take to Ganalor?" Elstan asked Captain Brin.
"I'm not entirely sure…" Kjaran pondered, looking around, making sure no detail in Tlum escaped him.
"Kjaran seems tense today, even though he never shows it," Elstan thought to himself. "As if he's searching for something out of the ordinary."
"I was thinking of taking Art or Faolan, both are experienced warriors," Kjaran continued as wooden carts and carriages passed through the streets around them.
"Looks like the king has some internal matters again. That carriage usually brings the masters of royal affairs," he thought to himself. Elstan didn't pay much attention to carriages, focusing more on the context of the mission.
"Ah, those two served under the former captain of the 1st division, right?" Elstan spoke, though it wasn't a question but more a statement for Kjaran to agree with, which he did.
"That's right, both are ten years older than me, and former Captain Gudbrand is five years older than them." For a moment they fell silent, then Kjaran continued. "He would be, if he hadn't died seven years ago in that clash with mercenaries."
"Yes," Elstan recalled, "the strongest captain in Luganor's history, yet he always said you should be his successor in the future."
"Tch," Kjaran clicked disapprovingly, "that old fool. I never got the chance for a rematch." Elstan smiled at the moment, knowing it wasn't said in hatred but in regret for an old mentor.
"Well, who do you think you'll take?" Kjaran asked curiously, tired of reminiscing.
"I already have someone in mind. In fact, a few days ago I sent him a letter via pigeon, inviting him here."
"I almost forgot that Elstan's primary city isn't Tlum. The entire second division is stationed in Avifast," Kjaran reminded himself.
"And who did you invite?"
"You'll see soon enough," he said as they entered the barracks for lunch, and everyone stood as they arrived. Kjaran merely waved them to continue eating.
At a corner table sat a tall, lanky man—not thin in the sense of being muscular and toned, but in the sense that, looking at him, one would think he hadn't been fed well as a child. He was dressed in the casual military uniform of Luganor, but without chainmail or the rest of the war attire. He only wore a shirt tucked into pants that were tucked into boots. He was wrestling hands with a bulkier, shorter man, bald with a round head glistening with sweat. As his hand approached the table, his face reddened, veins popped at his temples; he looked like he was about to faint from the effort.
"Guess that's your man," Kjaran said as the two captains watched the contest.
"Appearances can be deceiving, right?" Elstan replied. At that moment, the tall man slammed the other's hand on the table, breaking it with his own fist. The bald man fell off his chair, while the tall man straightened in front of him. The only thing the bald man could think was how someone so seemingly weak could be so strong.
"Gah," the tall man said, looking down at him, "looks like anyone gets accepted into the first division." Most had heard that, but Kjaran's division didn't take the bait, and the man just clicked his tongue.
"Seems you're looking for trouble again," Elstan said nonchalantly with a slight smile, and the lanky giant turned as soon as he heard his voice, "Sergeant Brann."
"Captain." He said sternly, standing calmly, then after a few seconds smiled, clearly pleased to see his captain. He then shook his hand firmly.
"A bit too firm," Elstan thought.
"Care for a sparring match, captain?" he said, holding his hand. "I suppose you haven't softened since being with these softies." He continued teasing, laughing at his own jokes.
"Maybe later," he finally managed to release his grip, "we have more important matters at the moment." The sergeant looked around and noticed Kjaran, previously unnoticed. Slowly he approached, standing upright and broadening his shoulders. He was at least a head taller than the captain.
"So you're Captain Kjaran Brin," he said, trying to intimidate him, and in the blink of an eye, the first division captain was no longer in front of him.
"Shall we, Elstan?" Kjaran, now behind Sergeant Brann, asked. The latter turned, a drop of sweat running down his cheek; the only thought on his mind was, "He's… like a shadow." The rest of the barracks were silent, only the sounds of wooden spoons scraping wooden bowls as everyone tried to extract every last bite.
The silence was loud, though most thought this move by their captain would silence him, even if only a little.
"Let's head to Landan's room," Elstan said, moving toward the door, "we'll brief them on the plan there."
"That's what I thought, we'll pick up Sergeant Art along the way."
"So he's the one you'll choose in the end," Elstan concluded.
"Yes," Kjaran said as they left the barracks, heading toward Landan's chambers.
Nuro dodged Ujiyoshi's hook with a backward step, then followed with an attempted kick from the captain, which he blocked with both hands, barely moving. Ujiyoshi then attacked again with a straight punch, which Nuro easily avoided. Sweat streamed down Ujiyoshi's face as he struggled to breathe.
"He's clearly expended a lot of ki," Nuro thought to himself, but he couldn't dwell on it for long because Osgar, moving with his characteristic zig-zag motion, approached him. He crouched low and aimed an uppercut, but Nuro dodged it as well.
"Close," he thought, after Osgar's fist brushed his chin.
"Osgar is at a fantastic level today," Captain Hino thought to himself as he stepped back, gathering natural energy. "He seems the most advanced of the four."
Here he comes again, Osgar thought, observing Nuro sidestepping and measuring the two of them. "He's gathering natural energy again, even if the fluctuations are barely noticeable."
Both of them slowly closed in, sweat dripping down their faces, the wind carrying the same chill. They were calculating Captain Nuro Hino's next move.
"Ujiyoshi still has the strength for one more attack. I suppose he's ready to be bait." That was the look Osgar gave the samurai, who smiled sourly, understanding his task.
"I know, I know," Ujiyoshi thought to himself. "You don't have to look at me like that." Osgar's eyes were fiery, full of determination.
"Today we will strike him," the young tactician thought, keeping the goal in mind. The wind stopped, as did Nuro. For a moment, everything fell silent.
"Osgar today," Desimir said to Ervin, leaning on the fence, closely observing the duel, "seems different, doesn't he?"
"He does," Ervin added, "determined."
Ujiyoshi first attacked low, trying to sweep the captain's legs, but he jumped and avoided it.
"I'm in the air—will he attack now?" Nuro's gaze shifted to Osgar, who wasn't close enough for a strike.
"But this is a good opportunity."
"You're not focused, captain," Ujiyoshi shouted, raising his legs from a low stance,standing on his arms.
"This is—" Nuro thought, but Ujiyoshi's leg was already too close to his torso to avoid. He had to block, but the ki Ujiyoshi had concentrated in his lower leg was immense and heavy.
"Excellent concentration," Nuro couldn't help but admire the young warrior. Ujiyoshi's face showed the effort he was enduring.
"My calf muscles feel like they could snap at any moment. This is amazing." adrenaline surged as the ground trembled beneath them.
Nuro smiled, then felt Osgar behind him, radiating natural energy so strongly Nuro sensed him immediately.
"I can't block both, can I?" Nuro thought. Osgar swung his fist, hitting the captain's right side of the leather tunic covering his upper body. At that moment, Ujiyoshi collapsed from exhaustion, breathing heavily, in pain everywhere.
"You should've connected it," Ujiyoshi thought. Through the thin cloud of dust rising, he saw Osgar's fist hitting the captain's unprotected side. Both of them laughed, then Osgar fell on his back.
"Clean hit!" shouted Ervin, leaning on the fence, holding the bucket of water he had prepared earlier.
"Bravo, boys. That was a clean hit," Nuro applauded while Ervin splashed them to refresh them.
"Captain Nuro," Desimir entered the training field, "if it was a clean hit, why are you not in atleast some pain?"
"Well," he explained with a smile, "when I realized I couldn't block both strikes, and saw Ujiyoshi slowly tiring, I concentrated all my natural energy into the part of my body where I took the hit."
"Brilliant," Osgar said, smiling, admiring the captain, knowing he had achieved his goal for the day.
"I see potential in you," Gerde, who had been watching the entire time, approached, silver cloak fluttering over his broad shoulders, showing the wind's direction. He hung it on the nearest fence, removed his belt holding a long sword, resting it beside Nuro, who had stepped out.
"Well, why shouldn't Nuro rest a bit?" he said, stretching and cracking his neck, entering the training area. "I haven't had a proper training session since we arrived in this icy environment."
"So that is the situation," concluded a slender man, the same height as Kjaran and Elstan, with short brown hair and a goatee shaping his triangular face. A few strands of gray could be seen in his beard, even though he was forty, and a large scar ran across his eyes, yet both still remained sharp.
"That's right," Kjaran replied briefly.
"You two are the last to be briefed on the plan," Elstan added.
The four of them stood around the table, looking at a map marked with miniature ships and lines indicating the routes they were supposed to take to Ganalor. Landan sat at the head of the table, sipping his favorite blueberry tea, which he liked with a spoonful of honey, believing that it made it just sweet enough. He also enjoyed eating cranberry pastries that were tart with each bite.
"Seems simple," Brann said, crossing his arms as he studied the map carefully, examining every line and mark.
"At least in theory," added Sergeant Art. At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
"Come in," called the strategist Grey.
"Excuse me, masters," said the messenger, placing his hand over his chest in salute. "King Anir has summoned you, Captain Brin. He says it's urgent."
Everyone in the room fell silent. Kjaran looked at Elstan and nodded.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said and followed the messenger.
Gerde quickly gathered his energy and sent it to his legs to avoid Ervin's attack. Where he finished, Desimir awaited with a prepared straight punch, but Gerde dodged it. He didn't back away; instead, he closed the distance quickly and struck Desimir with a swift motion, first targeting the inside of the elbow, then attempting a slicing strike toward the neck. Desimir noticed and blocked with his left hand, droplets of sweat flying as he leapt back to create distance.
"He really doesn't mess around," Desimir thought. "If I hadn't blocked that slicing strike, I think he would've taken my head off."
Ervin followed the fight, giving Gerde no moments of rest, closing the distance and swinging as if to strike from above. At the moment of the captain's block, Ervin flipped into a handstand and spun, kicking the captain.
"Where did they see this?" Gerde thought, blocking again, pushed back by the weight of Ervin's legs. "His control is good, they clearly learned something. This will be interesting."
Kjaran moved through the corridors, his pace brisk and serious, his face still cold and calculated. He already assumed he knew what it was about.
"This must be related to the mission."
Two guards stood outside King Anir's chambers. As soon as Kjaran arrived, the left one nodded in approval.
"Your Majesty," he said, entering.
"Kjaran, I won't waste time. You leave for Ganalor tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" The captain was surprised. "What happened?" he asked, seeking an answer, which Anir provided.
"We received a message from our man at the customs. They are closing it in four days."
"Tch," Kjaran clicked his tongue. "I suppose they realized something was happening since King Jin hasn't reported back for a while."
"Seems so," Anir approached. "Gather everyone and deliver this message. Tomorrow morning, you leave for the port of Qricho."
"Understood," Kjaran replied, exiting the room.
The sun was up, slightly past four in the afternoon. The wind blew just enough to chill everyone in the training field.
"All right," said Gerde, tightening his belt and putting on his cloak. "We're done for today." Four of them refreshed themselves and washed up while Nuro explained how to more efficiently channel natural energy and ki to specific parts of the body. At that moment, the rest of the team arrived: Kjaran, Elstan, Sergeant Art, and Sergeant Brann.
"Change of plans," Kjaran said, the others watching him ears perked. "Tomorrow morning, we leave for the port of Qricho."
Everyone was surprised, though the two captains didn't show it, setting an example.
"Tomorrow?" Desimir asked, astonished. "But why?"
"We received intel that our enemy at customs allegedly made a move."
"What would that be, Kjaran?" Nuro interrupted.
"They're closing it in four days," he informed them, their expressions showing confusion and surprise.
"All right then," Nuro said seriously.
"At dawn tomorrow, we meet in front of the gate and ride to the port of Qricho. Until then, rest and say goodbye to whoever you need to. See you."
After that, everyone dispersed. Elstan and Osgar went home, where Atala awaited them for dinner.
"Take care of your father, Osgar," she said while cutting a carrot and dropping it into the pot. "You know how clumsy he can be." She added the remark with a smile, which made Elstan laugh.
"Don't worry, mother. I'll take care of him just as he would take care of me." The fire crackled beneath the pot as she cooked, soft light still streaming through the windows. Night slowly fell.
Desimir sat in the kitchen, staring at the lantern on the table illuminating that part of the room. His mother sat opposite, knitting winter socks, the ball of gray yarn growing smaller as the sock took shape.
"Instead of sitting there, shouldn't you be going somewhere?" she asked him.
"Who knows how long you'll be gone. You should say goodbye to Nastja."
Desimir was silent, then spoke after a sigh.
"I don't want to worry her. If she doesn't need to know I'm leaving, maybe it's better that way."
"You know, your father's work was mostly safe. As a seafarer, he didn't face much danger. He usually said goodbye to me every time he went away for long." She recalled.
"Yes, I remember that," he said.
"But I remember that morning, I wasn't home. I had rushed to the castle to help with the queen's child's birth." She stopped knitting, putting the needles on the wooden table.
"That morning I didn't get to say goodbye to him, and I will regret it forever. After that, I stopped working as a midwife and began staying at home more.All I am saying is..you never know when you will say your last goodbye to someone."
At that moment, Desimir stood from the table and left. She continued knitting with a smile. The wind began to blow a little stronger, and it was chilly outside; the sun was nearly set, but its rays still painted the horizon.
In the wheat field, under his favorite tree, sat Nastja. Desimir ran, breathless and sweaty, until he reached her. She stood when she saw him, hair loose and falling, wearing a beautiful light blue dress.
"I never noticed," he said, gasping, leaning on his knees, "how beautiful your hair is." The wind blew it across her face, hiding her flushed cheeks.
"We haven't seen each other in a few days, and then you say something like that?" she said, partly annoyed but mostly embarrassed.
"Sorry, Nastja," he said, then hugged her. "I came to tell you that we won't see each other for a while again. We leave on a mission across the sea tomorrow, and I don't know when we'll return."
She was silent at first, surprised, feeling his hands around her waist and his head resting on her shoulder.
"I understand," she said, running her fingers through his hair, then hugging him back.
"It doesn't matter how long you're gone, just come back."
Ervin's grandfather tore bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
"So, you leave tomorrow," he said.
"Yes," his grandson replied, also eating bread and thick parsley-mushroom soup. "Do you have any advice, otherwise don't talk while you eat."
"Look who's telling me that," they exchanged glances, both with mouths full, then laughed.
"I can only tell you to watch your comrades' backs and hope they watch yours." He became serious. "Also, never lose your head. Being rational and calm is the most important in any situation."
Ervin looked at him again, realizing that even though an elderly, fragile man sat opposite, he was still a great warrior.
"When I return, we'll make a goose stew, how about it? I'll invite the whole crew so you can meet them." They laughed, continuing their meal.
Naitu sat on the bed in his inn room, cleaning his katana. A silk cloth slid over the blade, reflecting his image. His long dark brown hair was still damp from washing, falling over his face as he stared at the blade which reflected in his dark brown,almond-shaped eyes.
Kjaran had dinner with Nuro, Gerde, Brann, and Art at the tavern, following Nuro's suggestion. They ate and drank, then returned to their barracks to prepare for the next day.
And tomorrow came very quickly. The rooster crowed, dogs barked, and the citizens of Tlum were busy with their usual duties. The weather was cloudy, but a warm wind blew. The morning mist had cleared, and in front of the gate, all the people leaving for the mission stood with their horses. Everyone was dressed in special black uniforms—from black shirts under chainmail to leather tunics, belts, pants tucked into black boots, and finally black cloaks adding secrecy. No one was late. They were riding early, so few could notice them leaving the city.Even if they did see them,most were too busy with their own tasks, or perhaps assumed they were just scouts going on another mission.
"Let's go," Kjaran said, mounting his steed. Black cloaks billowed as the gate slowly closed behind them. At first, everyone was gloomy, then a smile appeared on Desimir's face. He and Ervin had been learning to ride from Elstan since their arrival.
"Let's go!" he shouted. "Ganalor awaits us!" The youthful optimism brought smiles to everyone's faces—some faint, some bitter. The more experienced thought he had no idea what awaited them, but still laughed at his energy. The journey to Ganalor had only just begun.