''So why are we going to the docks, Eve?'' I asked the lavender-haired Half-Elf.
''To meet Darius,'' she answered. ''Mother asked me to bring you here.''
''Will things be safe?'' Selene asked from my right side, hand on the hilt of her sword.
''Yes,'' Evenagline responded before the two began talking among themselves.
That morning, the brunette returned, bringing good news: she had secured three bodyguards that we'd be meeting after the Pathfinders' introductions. At the same time, over two thousand veterans of the Eastern Wars have joined the Sword Cohorts I'm setting up. In the meantime, Garrick, Asmara, and Sahara had already set to work training everyone.
Pleased with the success of the recruitment drive, we made our way along Tidewater City's main thoroughfare, where the low morning sun cast long, slanting shadows across the cobblestones. Before long, I became aware of the sizable group shadowing my steps, a clear reminder that Asmara had no intention of being left behind.
My eyes lingered on the First Cohort Commander, curiosity and amusement warring for attention. I shook my head with a faint smile and pressed onward, following the road until it opened onto the docks. Massive wooden vessels loomed overhead, cranes lifting cargo; the place looked like it was plucked from the pages of a fantasy tale.
All around me, sailors, dockhands, and merchants bustled about their work, voices calling over the clamour of rigging and waves. From above, it looked almost like an ant colony, every figure moving with purpose in the organised chaos of the biggest harbour in this part of the kingdom.
We had to meet the Pathfinders at a nearby tavern that sat at the edge of the docks, its sign swinging gently in the morning breeze. Fishermen moved about their routines, hauling nets and calling out to one another, while merchants shouted prices from their stalls to entice people to buy stuff.
As we reached the inn, two figures stepped forward to meet us, one man and a woman, standing alert as if they had been expecting us. They both knelt as the older man spoke. ''My Lord. Our commander is inside; he ordered the finest food in the tavern.''
''Thank you,'' I replied.
Just then, Asmara shouted. ''Form up around the tavern! No one's allowed in or out until the prince has finished his meeting!''
I watched as the Legionnaires fanned out across the street, cutting off every approach to the building. Selene and Eve flanked me, the brunette's eyes scanning the crowd, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The Pathfinders ushered us into the tavern, and my gaze immediately fell on people clad in dark armour and red cloaks, unmistakably Veronian.
Moments later, I spotted Darius immediately. Broad-shouldered, tanned from years under the sun, and likely in his late thirties. His presence was imposing, but I didn't feel threatened. I was the Devourer Prince; the weight of my position demanded that he recognise it.
He straightened as our eyes met, an almost imperceptible bow of acknowledgement, though his posture remained firm. ''Prince Arthur,'' he said, voice steady. ''I'm Darius Nymor. I've been told you'd be here.''
I studied him briefly, noting the experience etched into his face and the quiet confidence he carried. ''Then you've been well-informed,'' I replied, letting my tone carry the command that came naturally with my station. ''I hope your skills match the reputation that follows you.''
A flicker of a smile crossed his lips, but it didn't diminish his deference. ''I do my best, Your Highness.''
I motioned Darius to a quieter corner of the tavern. ''Let's discuss terms,'' I said, letting my voice ring with authority, sharp and unwavering. ''I don't intend to undervalue your skill, and I'm sure the countess has already informed you.''
Darius straightened, cautious but curious. ''Prince Arthur, our current terms are clear: seasonal pay, standard obligations, and what are your long-term goals? Playing general?''
''I want to take Bleakmarch, then who knows what the future holds?'' I answered honestly; I saw no point in lying or being dramatic.
''You do know that place is a shithole? Full of bandit armies and roaming mercenary bands?'' The older man said, looking sceptical.
''Yes, and I know the kingdom has lost many legions trying to regain it,'' I revealed. ''But this time I will be the one who takes it, fighting alongside the Legionnaires.''
Darius nodded, looking curious before replying. ''Sounds interesting. Now the Eastern Wars are over, we have no work, and there aren't any fights to be had.''
I allowed a slow smile to spread across my face, and for a brief moment, I bared my teeth that could cut through steel. The tavern went quiet. I noticed Selene and Evangeline watching the soldiers with wary eyes. Even the Pathfinders, seasoned soldiers, instinctively leaned back.
''And yet,'' I continued, flexing my hands and my claws materialised into the light, catching it with a gleam. ''I intend to make this… profitable for all of you. Five hundred silver coins per season, double your usual pay. Fame, recognition, and the backing of the crown, all yours. Consider it… a reward for standing with someone who is not easily liked.''
A ripple ran through the Pathfinders. I could feel their apprehension and their fascination. My aura radiated danger, and it wasn't an act; it was who I was. They sensed it in the tension in the air, in the subtle weight pressing down from my presence. I was not merely a prince. I was something far more.
Darius met my gaze, then nodded slowly, voice steady but cautious as he knelt in front of me. ''We… understand and choose to serve you, Prince Arthur.''
The other Pathfinders followed suit, some with wide eyes, some with barely contained excitement. They knew instinctively that they weren't just signing a contract. They were pledging themselves to someone extraordinary, someone who could bend both fear and loyalty with nothing more than a glance.
''And remember,'' I added, letting my claws retract and my smile fade into something colder, ''One day, you will carry my banner across Aldoria. Danger will come first, but for those who stand with me, the glory you will earn will be unmatched.''
''Yes, we agree to your terms, Your Highness,'' Darius said, standing up and holding out his hand. ''It's a pleasure to serve the Devourer Prince.''
I took his hand and shook it. ''Anything you can tell me about Bleakmarch?''
The older man grinned and motioned for the nearby owner. ''Bring us some Veronian Ale!''
I noticed Selene and Evangeline relaxed as I nodded at them. They stood by the exit, watching everything. Afterwards, I turned back to Darius, who began to talk after getting two tankards of a bronze-looking liquid. ''My Lord, I'm afraid to inform you, but the Black Briar Gang knows you're coming and intends to do battle.''
''How many men do they have?''
The Pathfinder leader rubbed his chin before taking a slow swig of ale. ''Over twenty thousand,'' he said at last. ''They've allied with the Black Talon Company, a rogue mercenary force that's been raiding the west.''
Seventeen thousand… against the Ninth? That's not a battle. That's a slaughter.
I kept my expression steady, betraying none of the calculation racing through my mind. Perhaps I should wait until the sword and spears are trained. Charging in now would be reckless, even for me. Seconds later, I returned to reality and spoke. ''How many men do you have?''
''Thirteen hundred, my lord,'' Darius answered. ''But we aren't frontline fighters, you should know that.''
I shook my head, laughing. ''I know, I won't waste you and your soldiers like that.''
Afterwards, I spent the next hour drinking with the Pathfinder commander, who told me everything he knew about Bleakmarch, the ale gradually dulling the edge of my thoughts. When it finally began to settle in, I exhaled, shook my head clear, and rose to my feet. The movement was enough to draw Selene's and Evangeline's attention.
''Report to the fortress south of Tidewater once your men are rested,'' I said, my voice firm despite the lingering haze. ''That will serve as my strategic base, and the rallying point for the recruits.''
''Yes, my lord!'' Darius responded at once, snapping into a sharp salute beneath Selene's watchful gaze.
He offered his farewells without delay before turning and striding out. As he left, I reached out with my senses, brushing against the strength he carried, Fifth Circle. The others followed in his wake, their presences flickering in varying intensities, Third and Fourth, seasoned, but far beneath him.
Not weak… but not enough on their own. I left the tavern and stepped out onto the street where Asmara and the century were waiting. Selene appeared, informing me. ''We have to head for the Adventurers Guild, then Baldurkar Slave House, rumours say they've got a strong Seventh Circle Warrior we could use as a bodyguard.''
Ah, slavers.
The word made me think, though I reminded myself that slavery was commonplace on Lumira. At least Verona treated its slaves well enough to avoid uprisings. I shook my head and spoke ''Alright. Lead the way.''
Selene guided me through the bustling streets toward the Adventurer's Guild. The Legionnaires fell into step behind us as soon as I stepped outside. Citizens hurriedly parted, granting us a wide berth, their eyes locked on me with a mixture of awe and fear. I ignored them and pressed on until Evangeline's voice broke the silence.
''Aren't you worried about the Black Briar Gang? Father has tried to root them out for years, and he's never succeeded.''
''No,'' I said, a smirk tugging at my lips. ''They want a fight? Fine. I'll give them one. When you and the soldiers see what I do, you'll be impressed.''
Asmara laughed then, sharp and confident. Selene's head snapped toward her, eyebrows raised. ''I'm sorry, my prince,'' she said quickly. ''But what do you know of tactics? We'll be facing twice our numbers, with no reinforcements, and their leaders are all Fifth Circle and above.''
''You'll see, Dunthera,'' I said, my voice brimming with confidence. ''I know enough to take on any Veronian general, and every enemy in our path.''
I pointed at Selene, concluding. ''My bodyguard is Sixth, and the new ones will be powerful. So I don't have to worry''
Following that, the city's hum faded into the background as I thought about the coming battle. After some time, we arrived at the guild, which was full of dozens of men and women going about their business, only stopping what they were doing when seeing the royal banners outside.
The Legionnaires blocked off the entrance, annoying some of the adventurers, but one glare from Selene, and they backed off, not wanting to cause trouble with the powerful Sixth Circle Warrior. The hall smelled of old leather, oiled steel, and the faint metallic tang of spilt ale. Just like any fantasy novel I read, I mused.
High-beamed ceilings soared overhead, festooned with trophy banners, dragon scales the size of shields, cracked wyvern skulls, and banners torn from fallen warbands. Dozens of adventurers milled about: scarred veterans nursing hangovers, fresh-faced hopefuls clutching quest boards, rogues haggling over bounties.
The moment our boots crossed the threshold, the noise dipped like someone had thrown a blanket over the room. Asmara had already sealed the main doors. Selene had done the rest; no one wanted to test a Sixth Circle warrior who looked like she was one wrong word away from turning the hall into kindling.
''My Prince, I will head back to the fortress,'' Evangeline suddenly said. ''I don't like visiting the Slave House.''
''Alright,'' I replied before turning to Asmara. ''Send the Century back with her. The roads aren't safe, I'll be fine.''
''Yes, Your Highness!'' the dark-skinned woman saluted.
Whispers rippled outward. Eyes flicked to me, then away. I felt the familiar weight of their stares, full of wariness. Selene moved ahead of me with that purposeful stride she always used when she was trying not to look protective. She scanned the crowd once, twice, then her gaze locked on a corner table near the roaring hearth.
Two figures sat there, backs to the wall, facing the room like old soldiers who never quite left the battlefield. The man was broad through the shoulders, silver threading his dark beard, a longsword with a worn basket hilt resting against his chair. He looks like a veteran, Selene was right, it seems.
The woman beside him had auburn hair pulled into a tight braid, a scar running from her left temple down to her jaw, and the calm, unhurried eyes of someone who'd killed enough times that it no longer required thought. Selene's shoulders eased a fraction, the only sign she ever gave that she trusted anyone besides me.
''My prince,'' she said quietly, voice pitched for my ears alone. ''These are the friends I mentioned. They've been waiting for us.''