Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

The first rays of dawn stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and crimson.

A light breeze fluttered through the camp, rustling the fabric of the tents. Inside the largest one, Allen sat at the head of a long wooden table, his fingers rhythmically tapping against the surface as he waited.

One by one, his key subordinates arrived.

First came Hilter, his ever-dutiful butler, dressed impeccably in his tailored black and white uniform. His every movement was precise and refined, his posture perfect. Despite his role, Hilter was no ordinary servant—he was a five-star silver-ranked swordsman, a deadly warrior who wielded his blade with the grace of a nobleman at a ballroom. His obsession with aristocratic etiquette was evident even in the way he adjusted his gloves before taking his seat.

Next entered Serena, the ever-calm archer. Her bow was slung across her back, her quiver of arrows resting lightly against her hip. With her sharp eyes and steady hands, she was unmatched when it came to striking targets from afar. Her quiet confidence spoke of years of discipline and skill.

Seraphine followed, her golden hair catching the morning light, her deep blue eyes filled with wisdom and power. A gifted magician, she was Allen's most trusted spellcaster, capable of weaving enchantments that turned battles in their favor. She nodded slightly to Allen, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between them.

"Milord, I have requested Fredrick and a few key subordinates to various tasks but their exclusion from these meetings make them restless." Seraphine notified, whenever something that involves Allen powers is under discussion he only request to meet his summons, but that is something that worries them. Even more so when a newcomer in their eyes 'Bale' is involved in Allen's inner circle but they aren't.

"I understand their worries, but I have already made Frederick, the captain of Knights, noblest position in the army, and also gave key position to many people under him but it seems they remain a bit indignant."

"Knight Fredrick is an outstanding character, it's some people under him that sees their non-involvement in inner circle as a danger sign, an alarmist group." Stroud arrived next, his twin curved blades secured at his hips. A swordsman through and through, he lived for the thrill of combat, always seeking the next challenge to refine his technique.

"Shall we make them disappear in next battle Milord?" His piercing gaze locked onto Allen as he took his seat, his eagerness for action barely concealed.

"No need, being a careerist isn't a crime. I understand their eagerness also their ambition. An unambitious army is an uninspired army." Allen said.

Jasper, entered last. He was the youngest and also most eager one, working under Stroud as Vice- Captain of calvary unit, surely didn't curb his battle lust in the least.

Allen let his gaze sweep over them all before he leaned forward slightly.

"Today, I will be summoning another warrior to join our ranks," he announced.

A ripple of anticipation ran through the group.

Raising his hand, Allen activated the Mark of Styles. A deep, silver light radiated from his palm, illuminating the tent with an almost divine glow. The air crackled with energy as the spell took effect.

Then, in an instant, a new figure materialized before them.

The man who emerged was unlike any they had seen before. A warrior clad in dark, worn robes, his hands covered in fierce metal claws that gleamed under the light. His eyes were sharp, carrying the wisdom of battle-hardened years, yet they held an arrogance that was impossible to miss.

The summoned warrior was Elrod, a two-star silver-ranked martial artist.

He glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group before immediately dropping to one knee before Allen. "My lord," he said, his voice deep and unwavering. "Elrod is at your service."

Allen gave a satisfied nod. "Rise, Elrod. Tell us about yourself."

Elrod stood, a confident smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I am a master of hand-to-hand combat, a warrior who needs no blade to cut down his enemies. My weapons are these,"—he lifted his clawed hands—"and my body itself."

A scoff broke the moment of silence.

Stroud leaned forward, his lips curling into a smirk. "A martial artist, huh? Fighting without a sword, spear, or saber?" He let out a low chuckle. "How barbaric."

Elrod's smirk widened. "And yet, I can break men like you with my bare hands."

The room tensed as the two warriors locked eyes. Stroud's fingers twitched near the hilt of his twin blades, while Elrod raised his hands slightly, his claws catching the light.

Allen leaned back in his chair, watching with mild amusement. "It seems there's only one way to settle this," he said. "A duel."

Stroud grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that Milord."

Allen turned to Seraphine. "Boost Stroud's strength to two-star silver. I want this to be a fair fight."

Seraphine nodded and began to chant under her breath. A soft, shimmering aura surrounded Stroud, his muscles tensing as power surged through him.

Allen gestured toward the training ground outside. "Let's see who's truly stronger. Also bring all the Silver Rank Battleforce swordman in the camp right now. Let them see why I value you all so much."

The makeshift arena was a wide, open clearing, encircled by gathered soldiers and subordinates eager to watch the battle.

Stroud drew his twin curved blades, their edges glinting menacingly in the sunlight. His stance was steady, balanced, prepared for either attack or defense.

Elrod, in contrast, carried no weapon but his own body. His fingers flexed, the sharp metal claws on his hands gleaming like the talons of a beast. He stood light on his feet, ready to pounce.

A tense silence filled the air.

Allen raised his hand. "Begin!"

Stroud was the first to move. He surged forward, his twin blades flashing as he slashed at Elrod in a rapid flurry. His attacks were precise and relentless, aiming to overwhelm his opponent with sheer speed.

But Elrod was faster.

He ducked, weaved, and sidestepped each strike with ease, his movements almost inhumanly fluid. Then, in a blur, he struck—his claws swiping at Stroud's exposed side.

Clang!

Stroud barely blocked the strike with his blade, sparks flying from the impact. He countered with a twisting slash aimed at Elrod's neck.

Elrod bent backward, dodging by mere inches, and retaliated with a fierce kick to Stroud's midsection.

Thud!

Stroud was sent skidding back, but he quickly regained his footing. His smirk returned. "Not bad."

Elrod chuckled. "You're not bad yourself. But let's see how long you last."

Stroud attacked again, this time using a feint—his right blade faking an overhead slash while his left curved blade aimed for Elrod's ribs.

But Elrod saw through it.

At the last moment, he twisted his body, allowing the feint to pass harmlessly by, and slammed his metal-clawed fist into Stroud's chest.

Stroud coughed as he staggered back, the power behind the strike making his ribs ache.

He gritted his teeth. Damn, he's fast.

But he wasn't done yet.

Spinning on his heel, he unleashed a whirlwind of slashes, his curved blades moving in intricate arcs too fast for the eye to follow. This time, Elrod had no choice but to defend.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the arena as the two warriors clashed, neither willing to back down.

Then, in a sudden burst of movement, Elrod ducked low, spinning like a beast on all fours, sweeping Stroud's legs out from under him.

Stroud hit the ground hard.

And before he could recover—

Slash!

Elrod's clawed hand stopped inches from Stroud's throat.

A deathly silence filled the arena.

Stroud, panting, stared up at Elrod's victorious smirk.

"I win," Elrod said, withdrawing his claws.

Stroud exhaled sharply before laughing. "Heh… Looks like I underestimated you."

Allen clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "Enough. That was a fine match."

Stroud climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. "I'll admit it, Elrod. You're strong."

Elrod grinned. "Of course I am."

Allen looked around the stunned swordman and smirked. This is exactly what he need—for everyone to see how powerful his inner circle is.

"Welcome to the team, Elrod," he said.

The old martial artist bowed. "An honor, my lord."

The battle was over, but the rivalry had only just begun.

.....

The campfire crackled as Fredrick returned from his scouting mission, his expression stern. Stroud, sitting nearby, looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"What did you find?" Stroud asked.

Fredrick dismounted and dusted off his cloak. "Count Cobry is engaged in a battle not far from here. The situation is tense, but it seems he's too preoccupied to bother with us."

Allen, seated at the center of the gathering, listened intently. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before speaking. "Then there's no need to change course. Our convoy is simply passing through. Cobry won't risk depleting his forces just to attack us—he has bigger problems."

Stroud nodded in agreement. "If he's wise, he might even consider trading with us for weapons. That could help him consolidate his control over the region."

Allen leaned back, considering the options. "And if he's foolish?"

Stroud smirked. "Then he'll bleed himself dry fighting both insurgents and us. Either way, it's not our concern."

Fredrick folded his arms. "The insurgent groups won't target us unless they unite. As long as that doesn't happen, we have nothing to fear."

Satisfied with their conclusion, Allen stood and addressed the gathering. "We proceed as planned. Stay vigilant, but there's no need for unnecessary delays."

---

The convoy moved forward in its usual formation. The vanguard battalion, led by Stroud and Jasper, rode ahead with their scouts and a company of pikemen. Their task was to secure the safest route and prepare defensive positions when needed.

Behind them, the main battalion stretched over one and a half kilometers, consisting of six hundred carriages carrying supplies, weapons, and personnel. It was heavily guarded—Fredrick's knights, Serena's crossbowmen, Bale's heavy-armored troops, and additional pikemen ensured that no enemy could easily breach their defenses.

At the rear, the rearguard battalion handled repairs, baggage, and stragglers. It was lightly defended compared to the front, but Duglas and a few silver-ranked warriors were stationed there to ensure its safety.

By the first evening, scouts reported distant figures watching their campsite from afar.

Serena approached Allen. "Shall I have my crossbowmen take them out?"

"No," Allen replied. "Let them watch. But if anyone enters the camp, shoot them without hesitation."

That night passed without incident.

The following noon, Duglas rode in from the rearguard. "We're being followed," he reported. "A group of unknown riders has been trailing us since morning."

Allen barely reacted. "Ignore them unless they show hostility. If they're just observing, let them be."

The convoy pressed on, covering over thirty kilometers that day.

---

By the third day, they came upon an abandoned town. The buildings were burned, their walls blackened with soot. The air carried the stench of decay, and shattered bones littered the roadside. It was clear a massacre had taken place here.

No one spoke as they passed through. Even the hardened soldiers felt uneasy.

That afternoon, disaster struck.

One hundred mounted men in leather armor, wielding pikes, charged out of the forest, heading straight for the main battalion.

A scout galloped ahead, his voice urgent. "Hostile cavalry approaching!"

Allen, who was at the front, immediately spurred his horse forward. "Seraphine! Hilter! With me!"

The three rushed to meet the attackers, arriving just as a senior student overseeing security sent three riders ahead, led by Hilter, to negotiate.

"Do not draw your weapons," Hilter commanded. "We will attempt diplomacy first."

The horsemen slowed down, and Hilter exhaled in relief. He prepared to dismount and approach them in good faith.

Then—A sudden glint of steel.

Without warning, one of the riders hurled a spear.

It shot through the air like a viper, aimed directly at Hilter's heart.

___

A/N: Requesting a review from the readers, the book has already passed 20 chapters. Hope people are liking it.