The journey to the Royal City was long, winding along fields and woods where the air seemed cleaner than the burnt remains of Kael's village or the stench of dungeons. For the first time since the disaster, the group permitted themselves to laugh openly. Rina taunted Thargrim for going too slowly, Lyrielle's soothing voice defused Azrak's sarcastic comments, and Elira hummed as she gathered herbs beside the path. Kael, however, remained alert—his hand never leaving the sword at his side.
That watchfulness came in handy.
At noon, they chanced upon the sound of combat: clashing steel, pounding hooves, and anguished cries. A small caravan—two carts and a few knights—was attacked by a group of Derans, their huge wolf-beast bodies covered in armor. Unlike typical monsters, Derans were cooperative, surrounding the knights in hunting pattern.
"B-rank," Lyrielle spat, her runes already flashing along her staff. "These are not men those men can defeat on their own."
Kael didn't wait. "Form up—we move!"
The fight progressed like a tempest. Kael struck first, sword into the side of a charging Deran. Its armor-hide roughened his strike, sparks flying from impact, but his replicated skill of Heavy Cleave cleaved the creature's ribs.
"Kael, left!" Elira cried, her staff glowing as she cast Barrier Veil. A Deran's claws raked the shield instead of his back.
Thargrim roared, his axe cleaving into another beast's skull. "Come on, mutts! I've split stone harder than yer bones!" He became the wall that anchored the field, shield up as three Derans slammed against him, teeth gnashing.
Above them, Lyrielle's runes glowed like stars, calling down a wave of cold that slowed the monsters' legs. "Now, Azrak!"
Grinning too hard for comfort, Azrak swooped through the slowed pack, his shadow-daggers etching streaks of black flame. He sliced tendons, blinded eyes, his blows wild but merciless.
Rina's arrows trailed after like lightning, each and every one of them finding an opening in the Derans' natural defense. "Eyes and joints—don't throw arrows anywhere else!" she snapped, already nocking three shafts simultaneously.
The knights, bruised but not broken, looked on in amazement as the adventurers worked together like a practiced unit. In moments, the battle turned. The final Deran, shot by Rina's arrow and Kael's final blow, crashed to the ground with a whimper.
The caravan was saved.
From the lead wagon, a small cry echoed. A girl no older than fourteen peeked out, dressed in silks far too fine for the forest road. Her golden hair was matted with tears, but her blue eyes lit with relief when she saw the Derans fall.
"My lady!" one of the knights stumbled toward her, bloodied but alive. "You're safe now."
Kael wrapped his sword and stepped forward cautiously. "Who is she?"
The knight stood, grimacing from his injuries. "Lady Seris of West City… daughter of Lord Smag."
At the mention of the name, even Thargrim's brow twitched upwards. "Smag… the Lion of the West? That Smag?"
The knight nodded solemnly.
Kael glanced at his party. He'd heard of Smag—a former royal knight, who'd killed a dragon alone, now retired and rumored to wield vast influence in West City. Bringing his daughter home safely would not pass unrecognized.
When they arrived in West City at sundown, the community was awestruck by it. Tall walls of stone lined with pennants, thronged trade streets, and the clamor of markets bestowed the city with a vitality they had never witnessed. Unlike the somber dwarf halls or the subdued elven communities, West City throbbed with human drive.
They were taken to a large estate where Smag was waiting.
The man was older than Kael had anticipated—gray streaking his hair, but his personality was overwhelming. His build, still wide with muscle, and his piercing gaze reminded Kael of a lion guarding its grounds. When Seris dashed into his arms, Smag's expression softened for her alone, then stiffened again as he turned to the adventurers.
"You have saved my daughter," he said, deep voice like thunder. "That bond cannot be measured."
Kael bowed. "We did only what was right."
Smag regarded him, then each of his friends, pausing on Azrak's devilish presence with a spark of distrust. But he did not speak. Rather, he gestured them in. "Then maybe you can do more."