The Iron Fangs' camp was alive with activity the following morning, the tension in the air palpable as mercenaries prepared for their mission. Garrik and Elyra barked orders, their voices cutting through the din, while the rest of the group sharpened blades, strapped on armor, and checked supplies.
Kieran, meanwhile, was doing his best to remain inconspicuous. Sitting on a log at the edge of the camp, he watched Fredrick and Meliora with a practiced air of detachment. His disciples were busy packing their gear, their movements steady but subdued. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on all of them.
"Master," Fredrick said, breaking the silence as he adjusted the strap on his broom. "Do you think this will work? Intercepting the Baron's caravan, I mean."
Kieran shrugged, fiddling with a stick he'd been using to poke at the dirt. "Plans like this usually don't survive first contact. But hey, if everything goes south, at least we'll have front-row seats to the chaos."
Fredrick frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. "That's... not reassuring."
Meliora looked up from her pack, her tone sharp. "He means that we should be prepared for complications, Fredrick. The Baron's forces won't roll over just because we've decided to challenge them."
"Exactly," Kieran said, pointing at Meliora with the stick. "Listen to her. She's got the brains in this operation."
Fredrick sighed, his grip tightening on his broom. "I just wish I could be as calm as you two. Everyone else here seems so... certain."
Kieran snorted. "That's the trick, Fredrick. They're just as nervous as you are. They're just better at faking it."
Fredrick didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. Meliora, meanwhile, turned her attention to Kieran, her gaze piercing. "You seem unusually relaxed, Master. Do you have a plan of your own?"
Kieran hesitated, the system's familiar interface flickering in the corner of his vision as if waiting for him to say something reckless. Do I have a plan? Ha. When have I ever had a plan?
"I always have a plan," he said aloud, feigning confidence.
Meliora's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps. "I see. Then I'll trust that your 'plan' will guide us through this."
Kieran suppressed a groan. Great. More expectations. Just what I needed.
+
By midday, the Iron Fangs were on the move, their forces spread out along the forest path to intercept the Baron's caravan. Kieran, Fredrick, and Meliora found themselves stationed near the center of the ambush point, their position marked by a dense thicket that provided ample cover.
Elyra appeared shortly after, her sharp eyes scanning the group. "You're in the most critical position," she said, addressing Kieran. "If the caravan's guards break through here, the whole operation falls apart."
"Good to know," Kieran said dryly. "No pressure or anything."
Elyra ignored his tone, her focus shifting to Fredrick. "That skill you used against Garrik—Flash Steps. Can you do it again?"
Fredrick nodded, though his posture was tense. "I can. But it takes a lot of energy."
"Save it for when it counts," Elyra said. "We can't afford to waste resources on showing off."
She turned to Meliora next. "Your magic will be crucial for crowd control. Think you can handle it?"
Meliora inclined her head, her expression calm. "I'll manage."
+
The sound of approaching hooves and wagon wheels soon filled the air, the tension in the forest growing thicker with each passing second. Kieran peeked through the foliage, spotting the caravan—a line of wagons flanked by heavily armed guards.
"Here we go," he muttered.
Garrik, stationed on the opposite side of the path, raised a hand, signaling the attack. The Iron Fangs surged forward, arrows and spells flying as they descended on the caravan like a pack of wolves.
Fredrick and Meliora moved into position, their movements precise and practiced. Fredrick darted forward with his broom, his strikes disarming guards and knocking them off balance. Meliora stood back, her hands weaving intricate sigils in the air as bursts of light magic erupted around her, blinding and disorienting their enemies.
Kieran, true to his word, stayed behind, doing his best to look like he was overseeing the chaos.
[System Notice: Disciples' belief in your plan is strong. Action opportunities unlocked.]
The notification caught his attention, and he frowned. Action opportunities? What does that mean?
Before he could ponder further, a guard broke through the line, charging straight toward him with a raised sword.
"Great," Kieran muttered. "Just what I needed."
Fredrick turned, his eyes widening as he saw the danger. "Master!"
Kieran held up a hand, feigning calm. "Relax, Fredrick. I've got this."
The guard closed the distance, his sword aimed directly at Kieran's chest. Thinking fast, Kieran pointed at the ground beneath the man's feet. "Uh... land mine! Watch out!"
The guard faltered, his gaze snapping downward. For a moment, nothing happened—then, with a loud boom, the ground beneath him erupted in a spray of dirt and debris, sending him flying backward.
Kieran stared, his mouth hanging open. "Did I just...?"
[System Notice: Belief level: Maximum. Reality adjusted accordingly.]
Fredrick skidded to a stop beside him, his face a mix of shock and awe. "Master, that was incredible! You set a trap without us even noticing!"
Kieran blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "Uh... yeah. That was totally intentional."
"Can you do it again?" Fredrick asked, his excitement evident.
Kieran hesitated, glancing at the system interface. Can I? Or was that a one-time thing?
Another guard charged toward them, giving Kieran no time to think. He pointed at the man's weapon. "That sword's cursed! Drop it!"
The guard froze mid-step, his eyes widening as he stared at his sword. A second later, he flung it to the ground as if it were a venomous snake, scrambling back with a look of pure terror.
Fredrick's jaw dropped. "Master, your powers are amazing!"
"Yeah," Kieran said weakly, his mind racing. What the hell is happening?