Rauan's eyes snapped open, and he gasped convulsively for air, as if he had just surfaced from deep, dark water. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and a phantom ringing still echoed in his ears.
He lay motionless on his back for a few seconds, staring at an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. The commander tried to get his bearings, but his thoughts were muddled. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around—it was a small, modest room that smelled of dried herbs and old wood. Soft morning light poured in through a small window.
Fragments of recent events began flashing in Rauan's mind. The battle on the road... the appearance of... Lucius Feramir... the grueling fight, and finally, the victory when Lorand took his head off.
We won... But what happened next? How did I get here? Rauan frowned, trying in vain to remember anything after the end of the battle.
One thing he understood clearly: since he was alive and in one piece, the squad had managed to make it out somehow.
The commander quickly got out of bed. He threw open the door and found himself on the second floor of some residential house.
Wasting no time, Rauan rushed down the old, creaky staircase, shouting anxiously through the whole house:
"Guys! Are you here?!"
Reaching the first floor, he skidded to a halt. Oswin was sitting completely calmly at the dining table. The mercenary had his head propped on his hand and shot the commander a displeased look.
"Why are you yelling first thing in the morning?" Oswin grumbled, yawning.
Rauan flew over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders, his eyes gleaming:
"What happened?! How did we get here? What happened after the fight with Feramir?"
Oswin frowned in confusion and shrugged, gently freeing himself from the commander's grip.
"I have no idea myself. I remember the fight, I remember us beating him, and then—bam, darkness. Woke up here. But there is something really strange... Our carriage... is intact."
"Intact?!" Rauan stared at his comrade. "That's impossible..."
"I'm surprised myself, but it's true," Oswin confirmed.
Rauan caught his breath, trying to digest what he'd heard.
"And the others? Where's Kron? Lorand? Torin?"
"Kron is sleeping in the next room," Oswin replied, nodding at a door deeper in the house. "And Lorand... Lorand went outside. Trying to find Torin."
While Rauan was trying to process this, the front door of the house creaked open quietly. A short old woman in a simple apron walked into the warm room. Seeing the commander frozen by the stairs, she smiled welcomingly and threw up her hands.
"Oh, you're awake! Good morning," she greeted Rauan warmly.
"And a good morning to you. My name is Rauan, nice to meet you. I apologize if I scared you with my yelling."
"Oh, what a polite young man," the old woman marveled, walking over to the lit stove. "Have a seat, sit down with your friend at the table. I'm just about to brew some fresh tea. You all need to get your strength back."
Rauan obediently sat down on the wooden bench next to Oswin. Catching his breath, he leaned in and whispered barely audibly:
"Who is this old lady? And where are we?"
The old woman, possessing surprisingly sharp hearing, turned from the stove and answered his question herself:
"I'm a local. My husband and I found you yesterday towards evening, not far from our village. You, along with your carriage and horses, were just standing in the middle of the road staring straight ahead. You wouldn't react to words or shoves. My husband and I got scared, thought some tragedy or a curse had happened, and decided you needed help. We took the horses by the bridles and brought you to our yard."
"Village?.." the commander swallowed a lump in his throat. "Could you tell me what your village is called?"
The old woman approached the table, setting down clay mugs emitting aromatic steam in front of the mercenaries.
"Elmvik."
Rauan instantly froze, his hand never reaching the hot mug. Elmvik! This village was on the complete opposite side of Dornheim.
Could we have already delivered the letter and were on our way back? the thought flashed through his mind.
He looked down at himself and only now truly realized that he was wearing neither armor nor his utility pouches—just a light undershirt.
"Excuse me," Rauan looked up at the hostess. "Where are my things? My clothes?"
"They're upstairs, in the room you were sleeping in," the old woman answered softly. "My husband carefully took off your armor so you could breathe easier, and laid it on the chest."
"Thank you. I'll be right back," Rauan stood up abruptly from the bench and flew back up the stairs to the second floor at a brisk pace.
Running into the small room, he indeed found his travel uniform and armor pieces neatly folded on the old chest. He rushed to search the hidden pockets of his travel doublet. His fingers checked the false bottoms of the pouches, the seams, and the inner lining.
Lord Walter's secret missive was nowhere to be found.
Rauan stopped, leaning heavily on the chest with his hands.
"So, the mission is complete?"
Rauan slowly walked back down to the first floor. His face was focused, and a deep thoughtfulness could be read in his eyes.
Oswin immediately looked up at him, pausing from his mug:
"Well? Did you find it?"
"The letter is gone," the commander answered hollowly, sitting back down at the table. "Most likely, we managed to deliver it."
"Yeah, but then what are we doing here?" Oswin frowned in bewilderment, rubbing his chin. "How did we end up on the other side of the world if our destination was in a completely different direction?"
"I don't know," Rauan admitted honestly, accepting the hot tea from the old woman. "Maybe we fulfilled Lord Walter's order and simply got lost on the way back? Or someone attacked us, and we lost track of time?"
At that moment, the front door creaked open again, letting a burst of morning chill into the house. Lorand appeared on the threshold. He looked disheveled, and a grim, displeased expression was frozen on his face.
"Well, what's the word?" Oswin turned to him.
"I searched the whole area," Lorand grumbled in annoyance, walking deeper into the room and pulling off his dirty gloves. "Torin is nowhere to be found."
Oswin just waved it off, not surprised in the least:
"Ah, he'll turn up, where's he gonna go? There's nowhere to run from the middle of nowhere anyway. Maybe after the mission, he just stayed behind in his hometown."
"Mission?" Lorand blinked in shock, shifting his gaze from one comrade to the other. "Ah, right... Wait, we completed it? Did we actually get there?"
Rauan, who was just taking a sip of the aromatic herbal tea, nodded affirmatively.
"I don't have the letter," the commander explained calmly. "So, most likely, we delivered it to its destination."
"Or maybe we just lost it?!" Lorand threw up his hands, squinting skeptically. "What if the letter fell out along the way?"
"If we had just lost it, then what are we even doing here?" Rauan cut him off sharply, setting his mug on the table. "Use your head, Lorand. This place is on the complete opposite side of Dornheim. There is no direct road here from our initial route. Besides, if we had been heading here on purpose, we would have inevitably passed right by Torin's hometown. It's logical that he could have just stayed there."
Lorand froze for a second, digesting the commander's arguments, then let out a resigned exhale and dropped onto the empty bench next to the guys with a groan.
"Well, makes sense, damn it..." he admitted, burying his face in his hands. "But still, I don't remember this trip. Kill me, I don't remember a single thing after that damn battle."
"Yeah..." Rauan trailed off thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the wooden tabletop.
A little while later, the door to one of the downstairs rooms opened, and the coachman, Kron, emerged, shuffling heavily in his boots and yawning. He ruffled his thick hair, looked at the mercenaries gathered at the table, and asked hoarsely:
"Guys... What happened? Where are we?"
"Everything's fine, Kron," Lorand smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "We completed the mission. Consider the contract closed, nothing's holding us here anymore."
The old woman, noticing the newly awakened guest, immediately bustled by the stove, looking welcomingly into Kron's face:
"Would you like some hot tea? It's fresh, just brewed!"
"Yeah... I'll take some, I suppose," mumbled the coachman, still understanding nothing, as he sat down with the others.
While the rest noisily discussed things over their morning tea and built theories, Rauan went back up to his room. He quickly donned his travel doublet, tightened his armor straps, and fastened the metal cube to his belt.
When the commander came back down, fully geared up, Oswin immediately looked him over.
"Where are you heading?" the swordsman asked, setting his empty mug aside.
"There is nothing keeping me here anymore," Rauan answered in an even tone. "The mission is complete, the squad is safe. Besides... I need to get to the capital. I must report to the Crown that Lucius Feramir is dead."
Oswin nodded understandingly:
"Alright, it needs doing."
"Good luck in the capital, Commander," Lorand raised his hand.
"Take care of yourself on the road, Rauan," added the coachman, Kron.
At that moment, the hostess chimed into the conversation. She threw up her hands and stared anxiously at the commander:
"Wait, how are you planning to travel? On what?"
"The Kingdom of Eldoria is fairly close to here," Rauan explained calmly. "So it's fine, I'll walk."
"Are you out of your mind?!" the old woman objected categorically, waving a towel at him. "On foot in these times?! There are bandits in the woods, and all sorts of creatures! Absolutely no walking. You'll take a wagon and travel like a normal person!"
Weighing the risks and realizing he'd get there three times faster on wheels, he agreed fairly quickly:
"Alright. Thank you for the concern."
He and the old woman went outside together. Rauan turned back one last time and waved to his comrades remaining in the house. Standing in the yard, he cast his gaze over Elmvik. Simple wooden houses, the smell of manure and freshly cut grass.
The old woman led him to the barn, where a sturdy, gray-haired old man was tinkering with a wagon.
"Look here, Alfred," the old woman called out to him loudly.
The old man tore himself away from the harness, wiped his calloused hands on his pants, and grunted hollowly:
"Finally came to."
Rauan immediately stepped forward, intending to politely introduce himself:
"Good afternoon. My name is..."
"No need," Alfred cut him off dryly, waving a hand. "Oswin already told me everything while you were asleep. I know what your name is. Rauan."
"Alfred, Rauan needs to leave urgently. He was going to walk, can you imagine? And walking right now, you know yourself, is dangerous. Give him a ride... Where do you need to go again?"
"To the Kingdom of Eldoria," Rauan replied.
"Alright," the old man sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Eldoria it is. Let me get the wagon ready, and we'll head out."
"Alright. I'll go grab my bedding from our old carriage in the meantime," Rauan let him know.
Receiving a nod of agreement from the old man, the commander walked briskly to the old carriage in which his squad had arrived. He jumped inside, neatly rolled up his travel blanket, pillow, and sheets, grabbed his personal belongings, and returned to the old man. By this point, Alfred had already finished tinkering with the horse—the transport was fully ready for departure.
Seeing them off at the gate, the old woman looked anxiously at the road and whispered to her husband:
"Listen, Alfred, maybe I should send a few big guys from the village with you? For protection?"
"There's no need," Rauan cut her off softly but confidently, settling onto the wooden seat next to the old man. "I will personally protect Alfred at all costs if anyone attacks along the way. My weapons are more than enough."
The commander looked at the old woman and added:
"And when we arrive in the capital, I will find the best knights to safely escort Alfred on his way back to the village. Consider it my humble gratitude for you saving my squad."
Taken aback by these words, the old woman pressed her hands to her chest:
"Oh, my, you really shouldn't go to such trouble..." but she didn't dare argue with him any further.
"Get in already," Alfred commanded, jerking the reins. "Let's go while the sun is high."
The horse snorted, and the wagon lurched forward with a creak.
The steady clatter of hooves from Alfred's wagon gradually faded in the distance. And many miles away from quiet Elmvik, life was already boiling in bustling Dornheim.
Here, in the middle of a massive cleared square, construction was underway.
In the foreground stood Iron. With blueprints in hand, he was commanding the process. His mind saw this construction site as a single, perfectly tuned mechanism, which was why his orders sounded precise.
Thanks to this level of control, the work was progressing at a good pace.
Toward evening, as the sun began to rapidly dip below the horizon, the day shift came to an end. The tired builders started putting their tools away in boxes and heading home in noisy groups.
The site gradually sank into a pleasant evening coolness and a ringing silence. Iron remained sitting alone in the middle of the emptying square. He slowly raised his head, peering at the tower, and said quietly:
"Just a little bit left."
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