Midnight.
Galen wakes up suddenly with his cold sweating back. He believes… he just had a nightmare. Visions of the night raid on the Lorekleim Forest flash in his eyes. The memory is like a ghost haunting him. He pops up a pill from a vial and forces it down to his throat. He will need sleep.
Yet, that night, he cannot sleep. He reckons he should ask the master alchemist working for him to make something more potent.
In the end, Galen spends the night idly in a vigil. As dawn approaches, Galen comes to the altar of Boros by the training grounds and offers incense. After doing so, he engages in light exercises by swinging a steel sword to start the day.
Galen makes sure he is always physically fit, and despite being shy three years from reaching fifty, he still has a buff body that can compete among the best warriors of the province, and maybe even the Kingdom.
"Milord, you are always so early!" A bald gigantic man almost two meters tall comes to the training grounds with a full armor plate on him.
Drogba is Galen's chief knight, a juggernaut on the battlefield that has a fancy of collecting the tooth of his enemies but is even so crueler to elves. A string of ears elven in nature hangs to his neck.
"Milord, I have come to report to you this early in the morning, because I got too lazy yesterday."
Galen didn't mind the blatant way his chief knight is acting. He is long used to it, but it doesn't really change anything as this chief knight's assistant is very detail oriented and doesn't miss out on his reports.
"Is it about the sudden influx of refugees?" Galen casually comments.
Drogba nods his head with a hearty laugh. "Yes lord, yes lord! They are causing a lot of trouble. Some refugees are even resorting to banditry! This cannot be! Your precious subjects are asking for your help!"
The way Drogba is speaking is so fake it is getting amusing. Galen helplessly nods at the ridiculous chief knight's words. "I know you are just getting bored and you just want to bash some skulls, so just go… Just remember to be as merciful as possible."
With a big smile, Drogba thanks his lord and sets off to crush some skulls.
Galen proceeds on his day by engaging in pleasant talks with his fellow lords. It is a very peaceful day. The thought of the 'refugees' causing problems for him didn't even cross his mind. It didn't also come to him as suspicious as some barons are really idiots when it comes to managing their people… just like the Zaun.
How hard is it to protect the villages?
Night once again claims the sky.
And midnight, Galen once again wakes up from the nightmare. It is getting tedious already. He sighs at how aware he is of the conscience knocking on his heart. Once more, he stays in vigil for the night.
As the dawn approaches, Galen readies himself for this is the last day of the 'festivities' of the invited lords in his estate. If he wishes to achieve his objectives to set a united front and start a coup, the other provinces would have no choice but to follow as Galen's secretly accumulated military might is enough to shake the whole Kingdom.
The power of the technology he can wield is drastic enough to change the current concept of war. Galen will present his son with a prosperous Kingdom where he can rule and showcase his talents.
However, before even he can enjoy the fantasy of a bright future for his son, bad news comes knocking at his door. Drogba who barely has half of his steel plate stand by Galen's estate manor, his face is half-burned.
This cannot be the work of mere refugees.
"What happened?"
…
Drogba is so happy when his lord gives him the go sign to deal with the refugees. He is too happy to comply. It is just like playing outside,
After resupplying at Philmore, a township, Drogba had his soldiers of over 300 strong to form ten divisions with thirty soldiers at least each. Though Drogba is very carefree, he still takes his lord's orders seriously.
A baron has the right to raise an army of 200 soldiers, a viscount has a right to 500, and a count has a right of over 1000. Some nobles even have the habit of raising secret soldiers beyond their rightful limits. Count Urden would also love to do the same, but the eyes of the royalty are very persistent on him.
Drogba sometimes comments to his lord that will be just fine since he has him— the mighty Drogba! Even an orc who is said to come from a war-like race cannot compare to him. Drogba knows because he once had a bout with an orc. The end result was Drogba crushing the orc's head with his metal mug.
It is just a brawl fight and one of the many tales he loves boasting about! The story is true though and not just an empty boast.
After cleaning off some village settlements of refugees, and destroying a bunch of bandits, Drogba realizes something wrong is going on. The county isn't so big, and most often, the soldiers from the different divisions should be making contact once in a while.
Did a big bandit group appear somewhere without his own knowledge?
Drogba issues a command to his soldiers to gather at Philmore, and while at it, change their tactics so that they can clean up the bandits and refugees in a more methodological manner.
As the soldiers gather at Philmore, Drogba realizes his situation to be more serious than he imagines. Half of their original count did not return. A total of five divisions is missing just like that. It is dusk, and night is yet to come, but the township of Philmore is too quiet.
The bizarreness slowly registers itself to Drogba's head.
And fire suddenly comes forth, moving the gales, flames surround the very township of Philmore, and one by one, the soldiers start falling. Perching on the structures of the tall buildings of the township are the mysterious figures of unknown archers.
With the pull of gravity adding to the velocity of the arrows, the steel bolts find their mark and embed themselves in the refined iron armor of the soldiers. Drogba watches in disbelief at the powerful archers.
Arrows fall, soldiers fall, and flames rise.
It is a hellish landscape.
Drogba covers his vitals with his steel armor. The arrows collide with his armor and ricochet into the other soldiers. Drogba's steel plate manages to resist the arrows, but the soldiers surrounding him didn't as their armor find dents in its metal. That would as equally hurt.
"Form in groups! Rush on the buildings!"
At his screaming command, the soldiers gather themselves and approach the buildings in groups. Drogba comes crashing down at the door of an inn. He smells the scent of blood and looks over at the counter. There lies an old man dead, he should be the owner of the inn. Now, he is just a corpse.
Drogba approaches the dead owner and realizes at the touch of their skin, the body is still warm. "Be careful, someone might still be here. Form a team of pairs!"
Whoever is attacking them is not ordinary.
Drogba runs upstairs with swift steps unlike what his size suggests. He catches the whiff of citrus around the place. He reckons this is what is responsible for hiding the bloody smell. "They prepared such a large ambush! Ha ha ha! These people sure are bloodthirsty!"
With fearlessness in his heart, Drogba makes great strides forward. A shadow appears by a corner from the attic's stairs. "Hello, there!" At the sight of the shadow, Drogba runs into a sprint. Suddenly, the wooden floor under him makes a creaking sound.
And then… Wooden splinter scatters as the floor gives up on him.
Drogba falls at the pull of gravity. He looks below and sees spears and pikes protruding upwards. Drogba imagines himself dying in this ridiculously funny trap and starts regretting his hasty actions earlier. He feels the spears and pikes inserting themselves into the gaps of his armor. Thanks to his armor being steel, some of the spears curve off and just create sparks, whereas the pikes just split in half because they are merely made of wood.
Because of his survival instincts kicking at the last second, he manages to tilt his thick neck forcefully to evade the pike that is ought to meet his face. "Ha ha ha! I am alive!" He rejoices. With his monstrous strength, he pulls off his left arm with a spear piercing his elbow. If he were just like any normal human, the spear would end up severing his arm halfway to the elbow.
Drogba tilts his head and looks above him. He sees the shadow holding a bottle of… wine? No, not wine but something else. The bottle has something sticking to it. It is burning with fire. The shadow drops the bottle, and hot fiery flames fill his sight. Drogba cries as he summons his every strength.
The only thing on his mind... is that he doesn't want to die.
…
Drogba retells his story with manic glee in his eyes. Suddenly, Drogba drops to his knees without any more strength anymore to his limbs. "Milord, I am so tired… I will get some shut-eye first…"
The chief knight dozes off while kneeling. Only through Drogba's strong desire to survive did he manage to escape Philmore. Despite all that, he didn't even catch the face of his attackers. It is terrible.
If not for Drogba's monstrous physique that Galen's Urden family has been nurturing since Drogba's youth through potions, Drogba would have been long dead already.
"Send him to the master alchemist…" Galen calls to a servant, and with a stern voice, he adds. "Strengthen the security of the estate! I cannot have my plan for unification be disturbed!"