Time seemed to crawl as I spoke with Albert. Within the stillness of that office, he painted a grim portrait of the Western Front—a reality worlds apart from the hollow peace I had known.
As a man who had been coddled by the tranquility of the Far East, perhaps I had no right to judge the waning morale of the soldiers there. Their courage had been hollowed out, replaced by a creeping rot of fear. Hearing that some had cast aside their titles and fled to save their own skins allowed me to imagine the sheer bitterness of the front lines.
I exhaled a heavy breath. The time for listening had passed; the time for action had arrived.
"Thank you for the information, Albert. I believe it is time I departed," I said, adjusting the sword at my hip.
"You could leave tomorrow morning, sir. Rest here tonight; I will provide the finest accommodations," Albert pleaded, his tone thick with hope.
"There is no need. I have rested for far too long, Albert. I won't waste another second."
Albert gave a solemn nod, though disappointment flickered across his face. I still found it difficult to grasp—that simply by slaughtering a horde of Orcs to save a nobleman, my name was now a legend whispered across the Continent of Valthera. It was even more surreal to learn that kingdoms had been scouring the lands just to find me.
Seeing Albert fall into a pensive silence, I rose to leave.
"Wait, sir! I will arrange special transport to hasten your journey," Albert interjected quickly.
"Will that not be a burden to you?" I asked, hesitant to overstep.
Albert stood tall, his posture a picture of unwavering respect. "Not at all. Assisting you is the highest honor of my career."
I offered a thin smile. Seeing the burning sincerity in the old man's eyes, I felt it only right to accept his aid. "Thank you, Albert. I appreciate your kindness."
The Awakening of the Vanguard
I descended the stairs alone. Albert had already rushed ahead to oversee the transport. The rhythmic thud of my boots against the wood felt deafening, for the guild hall, once a cacophony of life, had fallen deathly silent.
As I reached the mid-landing, I realized the space below was packed. Dozens of adventurers stood as still as statues. There was no clinking of glass, no boisterous laughter. A thousand eyes were locked onto me, as if I were the sole source of light in a dim, shadowed room. The air was thick, heavy with a tension that pressed against my chest.
The moment my foot hit the ground floor, a singular, unified sound shattered the silence.
Srak!
In one fluid motion, every adventurer in the room snapped to attention. I froze. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. What is happening?
A man of massive build stepped out from the throng. He approached without hesitation and, with a crisp, disciplined movement, dropped to one knee before me—the way a warrior kneels before his sovereign.
"It is an honor to kneel before the Sir Knight!" his voice thundered, followed by the heavy, synchronized thud of every other adventurer hitting the stone floor.
"What are you doing?" my voice wavered, struggling against a wave of misplaced guilt. "Stand up. I am but a Knight, not your King. You should not abase yourselves like this."
"Sir..." The man looked up, his eyes sharp yet shimmering with unshed tears. "Please, allow us to follow you. Let us stand with you when you tear down the Demon King's palace."
The request hit me like a physical blow. I looked at the faces surrounding me; I saw jagged scars, eyes hollowed by grief, and hands white-knuckled around sword hilts.
"Do you realize what you are asking?" I lowered my voice, a grim warning. "My destination is death. I have no guarantee that I will return with the breath still in my lungs."
"We know, sir!" the man shouted, his resolve unyielding. "We have been ready to die for a long time. We are the remnants of what was left behind. We seek vengeance for our families and our brothers in Velanor. We have only been waiting... waiting for a leader with the courage to step forward."
I drew a long, deep breath, letting the cool air steady the storm in my soul. Looking at the fire of vengeance and hope burning in their eyes, I knew I couldn't turn them away.
"Listen to me," I said, my voice calm but ringing with authority. "If you choose this path, know that once our feet touch demon soil, there is no turning back. I will not return until my blade pierces the Demon King's heart. If that is what you desire... then prepare yourselves."
The adventurers rose as one, slamming their right fists against their chests.
"We have been ready, sir!"
Their roar echoed, shaking the dust from the rafters. I stood transfixed. The boundaries of race had vanished; Human, Elf, Dwarf, and Beastfolk stood beneath a single banner of shared fury. The fire in their eyes looked bright enough to burn away the shroud covering the world.
"Sir Rowan!"
A familiar voice broke the moment. I turned to see Albert squeezing through the wall of muscle. He was flushed and out of breath, but his eyes sparkled with a wild excitement.
"I have prepared the transport," he announced loudly for all to hear. "Not just for you, sir—but for every one of them!"
A wild cheer erupted. The sound of weapons striking the floor and cries of war filled the air, creating a tidal wave of energy that vibrated through the floorboards. Albert had done more than I had asked; he hadn't just given me a carriage—he had given me an army.
I looked toward the Great Doors, where the sunlight of the world outside seemed to be calling us forth. I gripped my sword hilt until my knuckles turned white.
"Then," I shouted over the din, "we depart now!"
Through the Untamed Wilds
Thirty carriages thundered through the city streets, carrying fifty-four souls who had surrendered their lives to fate. I led from the vanguard, carving the first path toward the encroaching dark.
As we passed through the Western Gate, the air was thick with the cheers and waves of the citizenry. Amidst the crowd, I caught sight of Walter. The old merchant waved with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—perhaps a prayer, or perhaps a final goodbye. I gave a curt nod before the gate shrank into the distance behind us.
We were officially beyond the borders of comfort.
The journey to the Western Front would take fourteen days. I chose a shortcut through the untamed hinterlands, bypassing the major cities of Ardenfall to save time. But speed had its price.
Our path was no paved highway. It was a no-man's-land, now a breeding ground for Goblins and Great Trolls. The forest on either side felt sentient, watching us, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike. Deep down, I only prayed that the fifty-four lives behind me would remain whole until we laid eyes on the walls of the Western Bastion.
Ten days had passed since we left the gates of Harbinger.
I stood atop the massive carcass of the third Great Troll I had just slain. The creature's thick, black blood was still warm, flowing slowly over the toes of my boots. Above, a light rain began to fall, bringing a chill that washed the sweat and the scent of slaughter from my face.
Truth be told, the journey had been more grueling than I anticipated. We had been ambushed by goblin warbands eighteen times. The relentless skirmishes had battered our carriages, but a miracle had followed us—not a single life had been lost. I had to admit, the prowess of the adventurers following me far exceeded my expectations.
"Sir Knight!"
The call broke the silence of the woods, which had only just settled after the ring of steel had faded. I sheathed my sword in a single, fluid motion before turning toward the voice.
"Is there a problem?" I asked.
No answer came.
I frowned. From my vantage point atop the Troll's corpse, I could see every adventurer below had stopped their work. They stood frozen in the rain, gazes tilted upward, staring directly at me. Their faces didn't betray fear; instead, they were heavy with an awe that made me shift uncomfortably.
Perhaps to them, seeing a lone man bring down three Great Trolls was an impossibility. But to me, these Trolls were nothing but fragile, clumsy beasts.