Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

Allen pulled his sword free, intending to head toward the larger tent, but his sharp ears caught the faint sound of breathing from inside the tent he had just exited. He turned back, motioning for one of his knights to follow. Stepping inside, he gestured for the knight to pull aside the heavy curtain around the bed.

What he saw made his expression darken. Two young girls, naked and trembling, huddled together in fear. Tear stains marked their dirt-smeared faces, and bruises covered their frail bodies—evidence of the abuse they had suffered.

Allen exhaled slowly, suppressing the rage that surged within him. He gestured for the knight to let the curtain fall and began searching the tent for their clothes. Nothing.

With no other choice, the knight retrieved two clean men's robes from their supplies and tossed them behind the curtain. Without another word, they turned and left, knowing that time was pressing.

As Allen emerged, the battle outside was already in full swing. Jasper and Serena's forces had engaged what remained of the enemy—a ragtag group of about seventy soldiers. Many were caught off guard, some half-naked, others scrambling barefoot, clearly unprepared for the assault. It was almost laughable. Jasper, leading his cavalry, cut through them effortlessly, his men reveling in the slaughter.

The archers provided support, thinning out the enemy ranks with precise shots. Those too far away for bows fell to the deadly accuracy of crossbowmen. Allen, alongside Armen and four of his knights, observed as the battle swiftly tilted in their favor. Within minutes, they had seized control of the entire camp.

Jasper rode over, dismounting in front of Allen. "Sir, it looks like this was just a guard force. The main army must have moved out, leaving only a few behind."

Allen nodded. "Tell your men to leave some alive. We need information."

Jasper relayed the command to a nearby rider, who immediately set off to spread the word.

At that moment, Bale, Patt, and Elrod arrived in sight with reinforcements.

Serena approached, reporting, "Master, my men found four hundred prisoners in the center of the camp. There's also a large stockpile of food and supplies in the rear."

Allen glanced at Jasper. "That confirms it—this isn't a temporary outpost but a long-term base. Jasper, let Bale's team take over. Send a group with Patt to inform Hilter and have the convoy brought in. We'll be staying here tonight."

"Understood," Jasper replied, quickly departing with three light cavalry soldiers.

Allen turned to Armen. "After Bale comes here, take some soldiers from Bale's squad and release the prisoners. Keep them together in a secure area and ensure they're fed. We'll sort out the rest once the convoy arrives."

Armen nodded.

"Serena, have the archers and cavalry sweep the camp again. Make sure there are no stragglers. Also, secure the food supply—if there are any remnants of the enemy left, they might try to burn it."

"Yes, sir." Serena bowed slightly before setting off.

Allen paced near the large tent, waiting for the convoy. Meanwhile, light cavalry continued their search, checking each tent methodically.

Then, from a distance, a sudden burst of movement caught his eye. A silver flash of a blade. A knight was thrown out of a tent, blood streaming from his nose. Another fell, his head severed.

A dark figure tore through the tent's fabric, leaping onto a cavalryman's horse before galloping toward the camp gates.

Allen's eyes narrowed. 'A Silver-ranked enemy was hiding here all along.'

But he didn't move. He had no intention of chasing—not yet.

At the gates, two guards saw the rider speeding toward them.

Elrod reacted first, grabbing a javelin from one of the soldiers and giving chase. He was about forty meters away—too far to guarantee a hit. The gap between him and the Silver-ranked enemy was widening.

Then, suddenly, he halted. He shifted into a defensive stance, as if sensing something.

A twang echoed from the distance.

From the dense trees beyond the camp, a green streak of light shot through the air. The escaping rider was struck mid-gallop, the force knocking him six meters off his horse. His body hit the dirt with a sickening thud, motionless. His horse, now riderless, slowed and turned back toward the camp.

Allen saw everything. His first thought,'That wasn't Serena's work.'

He raised a hand, stopping the scouts who had just arrived. "Do not enter the forest." His gaze locked onto the area where the arrow had originated. "Elrod, retrieve the body. Be cautious—he might be faking."

Elrod nodded, moving toward the fallen enemy.

Allen's attention returned to the forest. In the shadows, a lone figure stood partially obscured by leaves and twigs, holding a massive green bow. Even at this distance, Allen could feel the man's gaze locked onto him.

Allen raised a hand in invitation.

The man didn't move. Instead, he slowly withdrew, vanishing into the trees without a trace.

Allen exhaled, impressed. An archer of that caliber… A shot from eighty meters, powerful enough to send a man flying off his horse.

He recalled something from a conversation days prior—Soria had mentioned a Gold-ranked archer named Josk. Could it be him?

Regardless, Allen had no time to dwell on it. The cavalry had secured the Silver-ranked enemy's body and were already bringing it back to camp.

The battlefield had long fallen silent, save for the occasional crackling of flames consuming the dead. The acrid stench of burning flesh mingled with the iron scent of blood, creating an oppressive atmosphere that hung over the captured encampment like a shroud. Allen stood amidst the carnage, his expression cold and unreadable.

The corpse of the fallen Silver-ranked knight lay sprawled at his feet, the green arrow still lodged deep in his torso. Elrod knelt beside the body, yanking the arrow free with a sickening squelch. He wiped the blood away with a torn piece of the dead man's tunic, revealing the faintly inscribed name on the shaft.

"Josk," Elrod muttered. "It's him, the Gold-ranked knight."

Allen nodded, his voice devoid of emotion. "Cut his head off. Display it at the main camp entrance. Strip the body of anything useful and toss the rest into the pyre with the others."

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. The severed head of the once-feared knight was swiftly mounted onto a pike, a grim warning to any who dared challenge Allen's forces.

---

Back at the center of the camp, Serena approached Allen with her report.

"We swept the camp again and found three more enemies in hiding. Two were captured alive, the other was killed in the struggle. No further casualties on our side, aside from two minor injuries."

Allen nodded, taking in the information. Serena hesitated before continuing.

"We also found thirty women—prisoners, abused and mistreated." Her expression darkened. "Two were already dead, their necks snapped. The rest…" She trailed off, knowing Allen understood.

He turned toward the large tent behind him. "There are two more inside. Go to the prisoner holding area and question them about the women's origins. Assign someone to watch over them. When the rest of the convoy arrives, have the herbalists assess their condition. Save the ones who can still be saved." His voice hardened. "For those beyond saving, grant them mercy."

Serena bowed her head. "Understood."

Allen turned his gaze to the fallen horsemen. "Cut off their heads and display them on stakes around the camp. Strip them of their weapons and armor, then burn the corpses. Make a record of the dead. Bring me the prisoners—I'll deal with them myself."

---

The interrogation was swift and brutal. The five captives were stripped naked, forced onto their knees in the dirt. Elrod loomed over them, a hammer in hand.

The first man refused to speak. He screamed as Elrod's hammer came down, crushing his toe to a bloody pulp. The others broke instantly, their terror overriding any lingering loyalty.

Through their trembling confessions, the truth emerged.

The attackers were elite troops under Count Cobry—specifically, two full companies of his pike cavalry. They had been sent to eliminate insurgents within his territory and to capture able-bodied men for forced labor. Leading them were the count's eleven illegitimate sons, three of whom had already perished by Allen's hand.

The camp itself had been a strategic resupply point. Normally guarded by garrison troops, it had been left vulnerable when most of its forces followed the main army into the mountains. The cavalry troops stationed here had assumed they were safe. Their mistake had cost them their lives.

"The main force will return in a day or two," one prisoner stammered. "They only brought fifteen days of rations… today is the thirteenth."

A squad had already been dispatched to meet them, unaware that the camp had fallen. Meanwhile, two other squads had gone on a 'hunt'—a euphemism for capturing refugees to sell or enslave. The 400 prisoners in the camp had been gathered through such raids.

Allen listened without expression. He already knew these men were dead; they simply didn't realize it yet.

One final question lingered.

"Why did the hunting squad attack us without hesitation?"

Silence. Then, understanding dawned in the prisoners' eyes. They realized their comrades' recklessness had led to their own slaughter. Several began cursing the dead men under their breath.

But one prisoner—an older man in his thirties—remained quiet. His eyes lingered on the banner carried by Allen's troops, the sigil of the Styles Family emblazoned upon it.

Allen narrowed his eyes. "You recognize that symbol?"

The prisoner hesitated before shaking his head. "No… but I've seen it before."

Allen folded his arms. "Explain."

The man swallowed hard. "Once, I was summoned to Count Cobry's chambers. I saw two boxes there—both bearing that same emblem."

Allen's interest sharpened. "And?"

The prisoner hesitated. Around him, his fellow captives were beginning to panic as Allen's men prepared to execute them. Their pleading cries filled the air.

Allen made a simple hand gesture. Blades flashed. The other prisoners' voices were silenced in an instant, their bodies slumping forward into the dirt.

The surviving man trembled. "I… I used to be a mercenary. I only joined the count's forces recently, by chance."

"Go on," Allen prompted.

The man licked his dry lips. "When I drank with some of the pike cavalry soldiers, I heard rumors. Count Cobry's rise to power… it wasn't just from war or politics. He worked with the First Prince before the rebellion. They say he funded his ambitions through banditry."

Allen remained silent, letting the man continue.

"The count would send his sons—disguised as bandits—to raid merchant convoys. They called him Redbeard. He wore a fake red beard whenever he led an attack himself. Under this disguise, he pillaged caravans, amassing wealth and resources."

Allen's gaze darkened. The truth was worse than expected. Count Cobry hadn't just been an ambitious noble; he had been a criminal kingpin operating under the empire's nose.

The prisoner continued. "The group that attacked you today… they were part of his old raiding forces. They must have thought they were reliving their glory days, plundering merchants."

Allen exhaled slowly. He had suspected Count Cobry's ambitions were greater than they appeared, but this information confirmed it—his ties to the First Prince, his secret raids, his hidden wealth. And now, those boxes with the Styles Family crest…

Allen drew a dagger and crouched before the prisoner. "Describe the boxes in detail."

The man did, and Allen quickly sketched them in the dirt. When he showed the drawing, the prisoner nodded.

"Yes. That's them."

Allen stood. His mind was already working ahead, piecing the puzzle together.

After that, Allen ordered that the prisoner be locked up and started pacing around outside the large tent.

"Something on your mind Milord?" Elrod asked.

Allen thought quietly for a moment before saying, "Those two boxes were ordered and made by my maternal uncle, he was a well known merchant from nothernlands. Who would have expected that the trip would be his last. "

"It seems Count Cobry, has a blood debt to pay." Allen said with a calm gaze. Although he was a different person and the real Allen's past relationship were not related to him. Allen's uncle was a good man taking care of the past Allen, much of what he had was because of him. Much of the good position that Allen had after coming to this world was also because of him.