The Dralven region, a small town hidden behind the Glynthar Mountains, rarely drew the attention of the nobility of the Kingdom of Delos. The mountains themselves were notorious for their treacherous terrain, steep cliffs, and the thick mists that often obscured visibility. Despite its isolation, the region remained under the jurisdiction of Viscount Eremund Varnell, a nobleman better known for his indolence than his administrative skills.
Rumors of something unusual in Dralven began to spread when a group of merchants returned with harrowing tales. While traveling through a narrow pass in Glynthar, they heard a deafening explosion echoing from the distance. Fearing an attack by a dragon or other deadly creature, the merchants abandoned their goods and turned back for safety.
Their story reached the ears of the nobility at Eremund's castle, where the incident was met with a mix of curiosity and concern. Explosions in a remote place like Dralven were rare but not unheard of. The world of Althera had seen its share of such events: dragons awakening from centuries-long slumber, monsters emerging from caves, or even skirmishes between rogue factions.
What set this incident apart was the report that the region was now under the control of a foreign power. This was enough to catch the attention of Marquis Althaire Vandemar, an ambitious ruler who held sway over Glynthar and its surroundings. He ordered Eremund to investigate and report on the situation in Dralven immediately.
In the gloomy meeting hall of Castle Varnell, Eremund sat in a large wooden chair, his demeanor half-bored. Standing before him were five mercenaries, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and caution. The table in front of Eremund was cluttered with old maps, documents, and several pouches of coins meant to incentivize the mission.
"Alright," Eremund said lazily, tapping the table with his finger. "I don't want to waste too much time. Marquis Vandemar wants me to investigate what's happening in Dralven, but frankly, I neither have the time nor the interest to deal with that little backwater myself. That's why I've called you here."
The eldest of the mercenaries, a bearded man named Garran Wulfhardt, folded his arms. "And what exactly do you expect from us, Viscount?"
"Go to Dralven, find out what's going on, and return with a clear report," Eremund replied bluntly. "I don't care who's taken control of the place, as long as I know whether they pose a threat to Marquis Vandemar."
A young woman in the group, a novice mage named Lyria Kaelith, raised an eyebrow. "And what if we find something… unusual? Say, a dragon or some other kind of creature?"
Eremund scoffed. "If that happens, just run. No one's asking you to die there. I only want information."
Garran nodded slowly. "Fine, we can take the job. But we'll need proper equipment and a guide. The Glynthar Mountains aren't easy to traverse, even for us."
Eremund snapped his fingers, signaling a servant by the door. "You'll be provided with updated maps and some supplies. But don't expect anything more. Don't make me regret hiring you."
"Understood," Garran said. "We'll set out early tomorrow."
Eremund waved them off, dismissing the meeting. As the mercenaries left the room, Eremund leaned back in his chair, staring idly at the map before him.
The mercenary group, led by Garran Wulfhardt, moved cautiously with their four-horse wagon. The narrow path at the base of the Glynthar Mountains began to slope upward, marking their approach to the treacherous Windscar Pass—the only route to Dralven.
Lyria gripped her staff tightly, her eyes scanning the towering cliffs around them. "So, after this, we'll be entering that steep pass, right?" she asked, seeking confirmation about their route.
"Exactly," Garran replied curtly. "Windscar Pass. A perfect spot for an ambush. Stay alert."
Lyria snorted. "You really know how to put someone at ease."
Another member of the group, a bowman named Aldrin, chimed in with a playful tone. "Hey, if you're nervous, I can lighten the mood with a joke."
Lyria rolled her eyes. "Don't, Aldrin. Your jokes are scarier than an ambush."
Unfazed, Aldrin grinned, already preparing his punchline. "Listen to this: why don't poor farmers ever pick apples from tall trees?"
The group fell silent, waiting for his answer.
"Because they're afraid of falling deeper into poverty!" he exclaimed, laughing loudly at his own joke.
The group stared at him in silence for a few seconds before Kellen, a swordsman in the group, sighed heavily. "That wasn't even funny."
"Exactly why it's funny!" Aldrin countered, his grin unshaken.
High above them, near the cliffs overlooking Windscar Pass, three of Cero's soldiers observed the group intently. Dressed in modern camouflage uniforms and equipped with advanced gear, they stood out starkly from anything the world of Althera had seen. Their helmets were equipped with internal communication systems, and one of them held a small tablet displaying a live monitor feed.
"This group looks like ordinary adventurers," said a soldier named Leo as he scanned the group with binoculars. "Are they a threat?"
"Doesn't seem like it," replied his comrade, Victor, who was monitoring audio from a remote microphone connected to the tablet. "They're just chatting. But I don't understand their language."
"Are they discussing tactics?" asked the third soldier, Clara, holding a rifle with a grenade launcher attachment slung at her side.
Victor chuckled softly, though he seemed puzzled. "No. I think they're joking around. Listen to this." He activated a small speaker, playing the adventurers' conversation about Aldrin's joke.
Leo and Clara listened for a moment before exchanging confused looks.
"So… that's their sense of humor?" Clara asked, baffled. "It's… dry."
Leo nodded with a blank expression. "I can't tell if I should laugh or feel sorry for them. But we're not here to critique their jokes."
Victor switched off the speaker, resuming a more serious tone. "Should we report this now? They're getting closer to Dralven's territory."
Clara shook her head. "Not yet. Let them get further in. The Director's orders were to report only if they show signs of hostility."
"Understood," Leo said. "But let's stay sharp. They might not seem dangerous, but you never know."
Below, the adventurer group continued their slow trek through the narrowing pass. The atmosphere shifted noticeably. Lyria, usually chatty, now appeared tense, her eyes darting toward every shadow around them.
"I don't like this place," she muttered. "It feels like we're being watched."
Garran, leading at the front, glanced back at her. "You're being paranoid, Lyria. Windscar Pass is a grim place, but there's nothing stalking us here."
However, Aldrin stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes. "Hold on a second. I think I heard something… like rustling. Up there."
Kellen raised his hand, signaling the group to stop. Every member immediately readied their weapons, their grips tightening with practiced ease.
"So, do you believe me now?" Lyria asked, though her voice trembled slightly.
Garran hefted his axe, scanning the cliffs above them. "Stay calm. If something's up there, we won't give it the chance to strike first."
From the cliff above, Victor frowned as he observed the group through the tablet in his hands. "Hey, they've stopped. I think they might have noticed something."
Clara adjusted her binoculars, her tone alert. "They're reaching for their weapons. Maybe they've picked up on our presence."
Leo spoke into his internal microphone. "We don't want to give away our position unless absolutely necessary. Stay silent and let them move further along."
Victor nodded, lowering the volume on his audio device. "This is the first time I've encountered technically hostile individuals, but I'm more curious than concerned."
Clara allowed herself a small smile. "Curious or not, stay sharp. If they make a move, we'll need to respond."
After several minutes of tense silence, the adventurer group resumed their journey, their pace slower and more cautious. Garran led at the front, keeping their speed steady, while the others remained vigilant, their eyes darting to every shadow along the narrowing path.
On the cliffs above, Cero's soldiers maintained their watch, noting every movement. Leo tapped a quick report into their communication system, sending it to the nearest command post.
"This group appears to be ordinary adventurers," Leo reported. "No signs of hostile intent so far. We'll continue monitoring."
"Understood," a voice from command replied. "Maintain your position and do not engage unless absolutely necessary."
As the adventurers drew closer to the borders of Dralven, the tension in the air began to ease—if only slightly. Yet both sides remained on edge, their wariness a constant reminder that the situation could change in an instant.
For now, the shadowed pass held its secrets, but the true challenges still lay ahead.