Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

The sea had been their only companion for the past week, but finally, Port Talbot Harbor came into view.

Jasper scowled, eyeing the small harbor with distaste. "This is it? I thought Loran's contacts had something more substantial in mind. This place is barely a speck compared to Redbrook."

Serena didn't hide her amusement. "Little Jasper, you're comparing this tiny harbor to Redbrook's Golden Bay? Not even close. This place was just a collection of fishing shacks before the war. It only gained any significance after the formation of the Lormo Duchy. Even now, the place still has the stench of smuggling and conflict. The Redbrook Empire used to run its illegal operations here. That said, give it a few years, and this might turn into a halfway decent port."

"Populous or not, it won't matter much to us. But where are the people Loran promised to send?" Allen's voice was clipped, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone.

"The letter said they were supposed to meet us outside the town," Hilter replied in a measured tone. "We'll find out once we ask around."

Though the harbor appeared around noon, the ship didn't dock until nearly three in the afternoon. The winding, shallow waterway was treacherous, and only with a local guide had they avoided running aground.

Once ashore, Allen's group quickly realized something was wrong. No one from Loran's faction was waiting for them.

"This doesn't make sense. Loran's contact and Stroud should be here," Allen muttered under his breath, scanning the docks.

Hilter gave Allen a quick glance and nodded toward a nearby tavern, its sign featuring a crude painting of a beer mug and a fish. "Milord, I'll see what I can learn inside. Someone must know something."

The group lingered on the docks as the tax collector and Eman disembarked. Allen waved him over, a strict look in his eyes.

The officer approached, his demeanor respectful but wary. "Milord, is there something I can assist you with?"

"Yes," Allen said, the sharpness in his voice belying the calm expression on his face. "A group of around three thousand arrived here ten days ago. Do you know where they've set up camp?"

The officer's face lit up when he noticed the gold coin Allen slipped into his hand. "Ah, yes, of course. They're camping south of the town, near a small pine grove. From the flags they flew, I would assume they are yours. The black flag with the white symbol—hard to miss."

Allen nodded once, confirming the officer's words.

"However," the officer hesitated, his face turning more serious. "I should warn you, milord. The camp you're asking about is very close to the Steven Slavers' encampment. There's been some trouble between your people and his—reports say that your camp has been stuck in place for four days, unable to leave."

Serena's curiosity piqued. "And who is this Steven?"

The officer swallowed nervously, glancing around before lowering his voice. "Steven is the leader of a mercenary group. Not just any mercenary, mind you. He's well-connected, especially here in Port Talbot. If I were you, milord, I'd think twice before confronting him without first offering some form of apology. A gift, perhaps. He's not someone you want to anger."

Allen's eyes narrowed, but he remained calm. "I see. Thank you for the advice."

The officer bowed deeply. "It's my duty, milord. I'll leave you to it."

Once the officer was out of earshot, Allen turned to his group. "It seems like we've walked straight into a hornet's nest..."

Soon, Hilter returned to the ship with a face like carved stone, his usual strict demeanor darkened further by a frown that spoke volumes. Without a word, he stepped onto the deck where Allen and the others waited, the weight of his news evident in his cold expression.

"The situation is worse than expected," he began, his voice low but carrying across the deck with authority. "Steven isn't just some mercenary. He's the head of a powerful slaver syndicate, the real power in this port. The local lord tolerates him—turns a blind eye in exchange for keeping business flowing and taxes paid. Steven's influence is so great that no one dares oppose him openly."

A heavy silence settled over the group, the meaning clear. This wasn't just some common gang they had to deal with.

Hilter continued, his tone grim. "Stroud and his men set up camp in the pine forest south of town, right on the edge of Steven's territory. For some reason, they caught the slavers' attention. Fighting broke out. Without proper weapons and armor, Stroud had no choice but to barricade his camp with felled trees. They've been under siege for four days."

Serena's eyes narrowed. "Casualties?"

Hilter's expression hardened. "Some captured. Some dead."

Allen's fist clenched at his side, his knuckles turning white. There was no need for further discussion. The weight of those words, some captured, some dead, was all he needed to hear.

"The slaver syndicate has a formidable force," Hilter went on, his voice carrying the weight of cold reality. "Two Gold-ranked warriors, over thirty Silver-ranked fighters, and at least a hundred Iron and Bronze ranks. The local lord fears them, and there are even rumors that Steven's brother is a peak Gold-ranked battle aura expert. If he gets involved, this could turn into a real battle."

A tense silence followed. None of them had expected an obstacle like this so soon.

But Allen? His blood boiled.

He turned to his men, his voice sharp as steel. "Armor up."

Jasper, sensing the bloodlust rolling off Allen, immediately sprang into action. "Five carriages. Load them with crossbow bolts," he ordered, already moving.

Serena's expression was unreadable for a moment before a smirk tugged at her lips. "So we're skipping negotiations?"

Allen's eyes were cold. "Negotiations? No. We're making a statement."

The camp had spent two weeks recruiting fighters—thirty-eight senior students from different academies, warriors eager for glory or gold. Ten had already left with Stroud. Another ten remained with the ship, but eighteen were here, standing ready. Each one wore full-body armor bought from the Divine Academy, armed with crossbows and five javelins apiece.

Allen selected a high-class knight's armor, the weight familiar as he fastened the high quality sword given to him by Instructor Claude at his hip.

Satisfied, he swung onto his horse. "Serena, get your bow and three slave horsemen. They'll carry extra arrows. Seraphine," he turned to the magician girl, "reinforce us."

Seraphine nodded, closing her eyes as she began casting. A soft glow enveloped their strongest warriors—Jasper, Serena, Hilter—amplifying their abilities.

Jasper, an Iron-level 3, now stood at the strength of a Silver-level 2.

Serena, an Iron-level 4, was now comparable to a Silver-level 3.

Hilter, already a Silver-level 4, now stood at the threshold of Gold rank.

Seraphine herself followed closely behind Allen, shielded by four knights who would ensure no harm came to their magician.

At the docks, five transport carriages were rented at a steep price, the coachmen given clear instructions. "Follow us to Stroud's camp," Hilter told them. "If a fight breaks out, abandon the cargo and leave. No one will hold you accountable."

With their eighteen fully-armored knights at the vanguard, Jasper and Serena took point. The procession moved south, leaving the port behind as they took the highway toward the pine forest.

The air grew tense as they traveled.

Allen, astride his horse, kept his gaze fixed ahead. He was already planning his approach. There was no point in negotiating with slavers. These weren't men who deserved diplomacy. They only understood power.

The first obstacle came into view—a makeshift roadblock, trees stacked high across the path. A group of men loitered around it, watching the approaching force with wary eyes. One of them stepped forward and raised a hand, signaling for them to stop.

Allen didn't slow.

Jasper, riding beside him, didn't hesitate. He lowered his lance, pointing it straight ahead. The other knights followed suit.

The realization hit the roadblock guards all at once.

"Gah! They're all Silver-ranked knights!"

Panic set in. Some of the slavers bolted, running for their horses. Others scrambled to draw weapons or fumble with their bows.

It didn't matter.

Jasper struck first.

The moment his lance connected with the blockade, the wood exploded into splinters. The trees that had once blocked the road were now nothing but shattered debris, clearing the path forward.

The carriages surged ahead without hesitation.

Swearing in rage, some of the slavers mounted up, giving chase. Others loosed arrows in frustration.

Amidst the chaos, Allen's voice cut through the din, cold and clear.

"Men, ready your javelins."

A pause.

"Kill them all."