Marcus rode at the head of the convoy, the cold wind from the south biting at his face. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the barren landscape as they made their way through the winding paths of the Von Schwarzenwald lands. Behind him, a unit of seasoned warriors and mages of different ranks followed in disciplined silence. These were the elite soldiers tasked with protecting the borders—handpicked by his father, William Von Schwarzenwald, to carry out the family's will.
Marcus's grip tightened on the reins, his jaw set in determination. He had been waiting for this moment, the chance to prove himself worthy of the Von Schwarzenwald name. The southern borders had always been contested, but in recent months, there had been whispers of disturbances—raiders, mysterious creatures, and unrest in the neighboring lands. His father had not been concerned outwardly, but Marcus knew better. This mission wasn't just about maintaining order; it was a test, one his father expected him to pass without failure.
A flicker of irritation passed through him at the thought. It was always a test with Father. No matter how many battles Marcus won, no matter how often he demonstrated his strength, it was never enough. William Von Schwarzenwald's expectations loomed over him like a shadow, cold and unforgiving.
He glanced back at the soldiers following him. To them, Marcus was a confident leader, a skilled warrior who had never lost a battle. They had no idea of the weight he carried—the constant pressure to live up to the impossible standards set by his father.
Surpassing Father… it seemed like an unreachable goal. But that didn't mean Marcus wasn't going to try. He would prove, once and for all, that he was the strongest Von Schwarzenwald, stronger even than the man who had raised him.
As they neared the southern passes, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills gave way to jagged cliffs and rocky outcrops, a harsh reminder of the unforgiving terrain that marked the edge of their family's domain. Beyond these borders lay the unknown, territories that had always been a source of tension and conflict. Raiders often used the natural cover of the mountains to launch surprise attacks, and it was Marcus's task to ensure the family's control remained unchallenged.
The path narrowed, forcing the convoy to slow down. Marcus motioned for his second-in-command, a grizzled veteran named Varic, to ride up beside him.
"Scouts report anything unusual?" Marcus asked, his voice sharp.
Varic shook his head. "Nothing yet, but we're close enough to the contested zones. Expect trouble soon."
Marcus nodded. Trouble was inevitable. But trouble was also an opportunity—a chance to prove himself again. His thoughts briefly wandered to Elias. His younger brother, so quiet and withdrawn, had been little more than a ghost at the family dinner. Marcus barely registered his presence, and why should he? Elias had always been weak, a disappointment. Unlike Seraphina, who had her own strengths, Elias hadn't shown any value to the family.
He pushed the thought aside. Elias was irrelevant now. Marcus had more important things to focus on.
They rode in silence for a few more miles before the first sign of trouble appeared. A plume of smoke in the distance, rising lazily into the sky. Marcus's eyes narrowed.
"Varic, send a few scouts ahead. I want to know what's waiting for us."
Varic nodded and gave the order. Three riders broke off from the group, their mounts moving swiftly toward the source of the smoke. Marcus's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his senses on high alert. He had fought enough battles to know that smoke meant one of two things: either they were coming upon a village in distress or an enemy force was already burning the land.
Minutes passed like hours. The tension in the air was palpable, the soldiers behind him growing more rigid with every passing second. Marcus remained still, his mind calculating every possible scenario. His father had trained him well—never rush into battle blindly. Always assess, always strategize. It was one lesson he had taken to heart.
When the scouts returned, their faces were grim.
"Sir," one of them said, "it's a small village, about half a mile ahead. Looks like it was raided. Most of it's been burned to the ground."
Marcus frowned. "Any survivors?"
"None that we could see. But there were tracks—hoofprints, dozens of them. They're fresh."
Raiders. Marcus's expression darkened. He had expected as much. But this close to the border? It was bolder than usual.
"Prepare the men," he ordered, turning to Varic. "We move in fast, and we cut down anything in our way."
Varic nodded and rode back to the soldiers, barking orders. Marcus drew his sword, the weight of the steel in his hand a comforting reminder of his power. This was where he belonged—in battle, where strength was the only thing that mattered. Not in the halls of his father's estate, where approval was earned through politics and manipulation, but here, where blood and skill decided who would stand victorious.
As they approached the smoldering ruins of the village, the stench of smoke and death filled the air. Marcus's gaze swept over the scene—charred buildings, broken carts, and the bodies of those who had been too slow to flee. The villagers had been slaughtered mercilessly.
He dismounted, signaling for his men to spread out. "Find the tracks. I want to know where they're heading."
The soldiers moved with precision, scouring the ground for signs of the raiders. Marcus knelt beside one of the bodies, a woman clutching a small child to her chest. His jaw clenched in anger. These people had no chance against the kind of force that had swept through here. This wasn't just a raid for supplies—this was a message.
"They're heading south, toward the mountains," Varic reported, returning to Marcus's side. "Looks like they've taken some prisoners with them."
Marcus stood, his eyes hardening. "Then we follow. No one escapes."
This was what he had been waiting for—a chance to show his father that he could handle more than just the family's wealth and lands. He would not only defeat these raiders, but he would crush them, sending a clear message to anyone who thought they could challenge the Von Schwarzenwald name.
As they rode toward the mountains, Marcus felt the familiar rush of battle take over. His father's shadow still loomed over him, but for now, it didn't matter. This was his fight, and he would win it.
And one day, he would prove that he was more than just his father's son.