The doors groaned as Ulrik pushed them open, revealing the interior of the massive building that stood at the heart of the war camp. Inside was a grand entrance hall, lit by rows of torches mounted on the walls. The flickering flames cast shadows that danced across the room, making the space feel both alive and intimidating.
The room was cavernous, built to accommodate large gatherings and meetings. At the far end was a raised platform with a chair that looked more like a throne carved from dark stone. The throne was flanked by two massive skulls mounted on the armrests. They appeared to be human, their hollow eye sockets staring blankly at the room.
Around the hall, weapons of all kinds hung on the walls—axes, swords, spears, even shields—each one polished to a lethal gleam. Interspersed among the weapons were trophies: the skulls of beasts Logan couldn't recognize, each one massive and alien. Some skulls had jagged horns; others had fangs as long as his forearm. Most were unrecognizable, but a few were unmistakably human.
---
Ulrik walked forward, his boots echoing loudly in the hall. "This," he said, spreading his arms wide, "is my home and the heart of the eastern war camp. Every decision, every strategy, every plan is made here."
He gestured to the weapons and trophies adorning the walls. "These are my victories. Each one tells a story of conquest, of strength, and of survival. They are reminders of the law of power: those who are strong endure, and those who are weak… don't."
Logan's gaze flicked to the skulls on the armrests of the throne. The implications were clear.
Ulrik approached the throne and lowered himself into it, leaning back with the confidence of a man who had earned his place. "Now," he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall, "it's time for you to meet my lieutenants."
---
At his words, Vidal stepped forward, standing in front of Logan and Emery. His ever-curious gaze darted between them, his thin fingers twitching as if itching to start explaining something complex. Logan and Emery followed, their footsteps hesitant as they stood behind him.
The doors opened again, and one by one, people began filing into the room. Their presence shifted the air, each person radiating power and authority.
"These," Ulrik said, gesturing to the gathering group, "are my lieutenants. My shield, my axe, my eyes, my bow, and my healer."
---
Ulrik began the introductions, pointing first to Vidal. "You've already met Vidal Thrainsson," he said, his tone lighter. "He's my Sorceror-stage Magi and one of my two vice captains. Fire, stone, and magma affinities. An exceptional mind, though a bit… restless."
Vidal grinned at the remark, his fingers tracing a small, glowing rune in the air. "Restless minds create the strongest spells, Ulrik. You should know that by now."
Ulrik rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Just remember not everyone has the patience for your lectures."
---
Next, Ulrik gestured to a giant of a man who stepped forward. He was easily 6'9", towering over everyone else in the room. His frame was massive, his shoulders broad enough to block the light from the torches behind him.
"This is Hakon Ironshield," Ulrik said, his tone full of respect. "Strength and endurance Qi. He's a Warden-ranked warrior and my other vice captain. If Vidal is my fire, Hakon is my shield."
Hakon gave a slight nod, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His face was like chiseled stone, devoid of emotion, but his sheer presence spoke volumes.
Logan couldn't help but think, *He looks like the Mountain from Game of Thrones.*
---
Ulrik's gaze moved to another man, shorter than Hakon but still imposing. Standing at about six feet tall, the man carried twin axes at his hips, their handles worn but deadly. His eyes burned with a feral intensity that made Logan's skin crawl.
"This," Ulrik continued, "is Sigurd Varnsson. Axe and stamina Qi. Also a Warden-ranked warrior. If Hakon is my shield, Sigurd is my axe."
Sigurd smirked, his hand resting casually on one of the axe handles. "Axes solve problems better than shields, don't you think?" he said, his voice rough but calm.
Ulrik chuckled. "Only if you've got someone strong enough to carry them."
---
The next figure was smaller, with a lean, wiry build. His movements were smooth and precise, his eyes sharp and calculating. Twin short swords were strapped to his back, their blades gleaming even in the dim light.
"Leif Skjorn," Ulrik said, nodding toward him. "Perception and speed Qi. A Warden-ranked warrior and the captain of my scouts. If there's a problem in my territory, Leif is the first to know about it—and the last thing our enemies see."
Leif gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I don't need axes to solve my problems," he said quietly, his voice cold.
---
Next was a woman, her long hair tied back, a bow slung over her shoulder. She was beautiful in a fierce, untamed way, her eyes bright and sharp.
"Yrsa Thorgard," Ulrik said. "Dexterity and stamina Qi. Warden-ranked warrior and the leader of my archers. If you see her, it's already too late."
Yrsa raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Always so dramatic, Ulrik. I just shoot the arrows—you're the one who calls it art."
---
Finally, Ulrik gestured to the last member of the group, a woman who stood apart from the rest. She carried a staff, its craftsmanship elegant and refined, and her presence radiated calm and kindness.
"This is Freya Grimskald," Ulrik said, his voice softening slightly. "Light and water affinities. Sorceror-stage Magi and the war camp's healer."
Freya smiled warmly at Logan and Emery, her gaze lingering on them. "You must be tired after your journey," she said gently. "Come find me later, and I'll make sure you're well taken care of."
Her kindness was so starkly different from the others that Logan found it almost disarming.
---
Ulrik leaned back in his throne, his gaze sweeping over his lieutenants. "These are the people who make this war camp what it is. They're ruthless, loyal, and strong. Remember their faces—you'll need to earn their respect."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the room, and Logan nodded, determination flickering in his chest.
Emery, standing close beside him, glanced up and whispered, "They're all terrifying."
Logan smirked. "Good. That means we're in the right place."