TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 29 (RAW)

Chapter 29 - The Rescue

The age of chivalry is not yet dead, merely forgotten.

- by Unknown.

Riding her father's warhorse, one gloved hand gripping a halberd resting in a lance cup, was an entirely different experience. Unlike the smooth gait of her own palfrey, every powerful stride of the massive steed surged beneath Seraphina like a tempest. The raw strength between her legs stirred something within her—a thrill she had not felt in ages.

If her calculations were correct, they were nearing the spot where the Prince would soon be ambushed by ‘bandits.’

Behind her trailed her honor guard: Sergeant Frest and the two brothers, alongside her lady-in-waiting, Eloise, and her maid, Miriam. More than enough to handle a few lowly brigands. Convincing them to set out without a full squadron of her father's men-at-arms had been the true challenge. She had brushed aside their concerns, insisting that speed was of the essence, her raw charisma quelling their doubts. In truth, it was because she needed as much experience as possible and venturing out with a large number of men would rob her of much of that.

They traveled along a paved road that once wound through gentle farmlands. Now, the idyllic fields had given way to dense forest; towering trees stretched their gnarled branches overhead, casting the path in dappled shadows. Gradually, Seraphina began to hear it. The distant clash of steel and the sound of men dying pierced through the rhythmic clatter of hooves.

She raised her gloved hand, signaling her small party to halt. Timing was everything; she had to intervene at the most opportune moment. It would not do for the Prince and his retinue to be insufficiently grateful—or worse, to blame her father for allowing bandits to roam his lands unchecked. So she deemed it prudent to wait a moment longer, allowing the horses and her party to catch their breath.

Sergeant Frest nudged his mount beside hers, his expression caught between a grin and a frown. "So, milady, seems we've found the trouble you were seeking. You didn't have a hand in arranging this, did you?"

Seraphina met his gaze with icy calm. "And if I did?"

He shrugged lightly. "Not my affair. I serve and obey, milady."

She sighed softly. "I had no part in this ambush, but I intend to put an end to it."

"And... how did you know?" Frest pressed.

"Still doubting me, are you, Frest?" she replied, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Mi… Milady Seraphina," Miriam ventured cautiously, "perhaps the Corporal, I mean Sergeant, is simply concerned. Shouldn't we leave this to the Prince's guard? If it is the Prince... Not that I doubt you, of course..."

The two brothers nodded at this.

"Eloise," Seraphina commanded, cutting Miriam off, "you will stay back and support Frest and me with your magics. The two brothers and Miriam will protect you." She dismissed her maid's apprehension with a flick of her eyes.

"I'm not certain what help Miriam will be..." Eloise murmured.

"Another body between you and a crossbow bolt is always useful," Seraphina said coolly, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Eloise could only shrug her delicate shoulders, while Miriam's face paled with worry.

"Don't fret about Miriam," Seraphina added. "She's much tougher than she appears. It would take more than a bolt or two to send her across the Shallow River. We advance—slowly." Indeed, a Palisa Slug not only had the ability to assume a human form but also possessed an exceptionally high Constitution.

The former heir to a conglomerate had spent so long in this world, her memories entwined so closely with her new body, that the local nomenclature came naturally to her now. More than that, she was beginning to think of herself as Seraphina.

But that was neither here nor there.

They ventured forth, the clamor of battle growing louder with every second. Seraphina caught sight of rough-looking men locked in combat with the Prince’s guard. The guard desperately fought, valiantly protecting a carriage. It could only be the royal carriage, for it was adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts and glimmering gold trim and bore the kingdom's crest proudly on its doors. 

As she had foreseen, the Prince had chosen to travel ahead of the main body of his royal train, eager to settle the matter of his formal engagement swiftly.

Seraphina was not sure whether to feel irritated or flattered by his haste. Was it eagerness for her hand, or merely a desire to get this business over with so he could return to his life of indulgent idleness? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. What she had not expected, however, was the sheer number of bandits attacking the beleaguered guards.

This was not a simple ambush or attack—it reeked of planning, of intervention. It reeked of her mother’s meddling.

The Royal Guard, among the finest in the kingdom, was composed of the spare scions of the noble families of Aranthia. Usually third or second sons, many were former adventurers of the Gold or elite army veterans. Ostensibly the best of the best, they now looked on the verge of being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of men on horse and foot arrayed against them.

Except for one man.

At the center of the fray was a lone island of martial might: an armored warrior clad in the white-gold armor of a Royal Guard officer, his plumed open helm revealing a visage of cold focus. Mounted atop a midnight-black warhorse that nearly rivaled her own Kicker, he fought like a force of nature. His heavy cavalry saber swung with the power of an angry god, smashing through shields and crushing helmets with such force that the blade might as well have been a heavy warhammer. Men fell left and right beneath his blows as he brained them, cut, stabbed, or simply cleaved bandits in two with calculated abandon. Where he rode they were shattered, smashed down by his strong arm, or trampled under the ironshod hooves of his horse.

The young girl felt her heart quicken, but she was unsure whether it was the coursing adrenaline in her veins at the prospect of battle or something else entirely. She advanced at a fast trot with Sergeant Frest reluctantly covering her. 

Seraphina began to spin her sling in a figure of eight, letting loose a swarm of stones into the melee. The stones were indiscriminate, punching through bandits and smacking against the heavy plate of the royal guard alike. Half a moment later, Frest let loose a bolt from his heavy crossbow, felling a bandit on foot.

You have slain a human 30 experience gained.

You have slain a human 30 experience gained.

You have slain a human 55 experience gained.

Let the harvest begin, she thought, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she reached into her saddlebag. Using the enlarged cup, she scooped out more stones, her fingers steady despite the chaos around her. Once again, she spun her sling in a practiced arc and unleashed another volley of death into the fray.

You have slain a human 20 experience gained.

You have slain a human 25 experience gained.

You have slain a human 30 experience gained.

You have slain a horse 10 experience gained.

This time a horse went down along with its rider, its death song high and keening. The bandits had taken notice now and eyed her as a true threat. What was meant to be a simple operation had turned into a complicated mess with the emergence of this new problem that Seraphina represented for them.

A small group of bandits on horseback, clad in an eclectic mix of armor and gear of various quality, wheeled around to face her. Breaking away from the main force, they charged toward Seraphina and Frest, intent on cutting them down.

Across the battlefield, the warrior atop the midnight-black steed turned his gaze toward the approaching bandits. Even from a distance, Seraphina could almost feel the icy, focused intensity in his aura—a passion so cold and unyielding it bordered on the mechanical. 

Indeed, he was a machine honed for war.

With his monster of a mount, he pushed past the general melee and also headed in her direction. Seraphina hastily loaded another heavy handful of stones. She was still not used to Kicker’s gait; the bumpiness disrupted her aim. However, at this range, she only needed a rough guess to hit the bandit horsemen approaching her. Hedging her bets, she instead aimed for their mounts.

They fell amidst screams, rolling horseflesh and clashing limbs. The warrior continued onward, jumping over the scrum and decapitating a bandit who had the temerity to get up. Thinking he considered her a threat, Seraphina started to shout that she was a friend and ally... but the man's attention seemed elsewhere. As he drew close, their eyes met for the tiniest fraction of a moment, but it seemed to her that the moment stretched. She saw with almost perfect clarity that he had a face that could have been chiseled from marble—features both hard and soft, which could be called beautiful or handsome depending on the angle. Eyes the color of deep sapphire... Then time rushed back, bringing everything into stark focus.

And then she saw it—the true object of the warrior’s attention: the other pincer of the bandits' attack, another group heading toward where Eloise and her escort were. The girl’s attention was entirely focused on her chanting, an entreaty to the very Earth and Seraphina could only hope that she had noticed this new threat. 

Against all reason, it looked like the peerless warrior had chosen to come to Eloise’s rescue instead of defending the Crown Prince. The new group of bandits numbered a score or more, and it was doubtful that he, no matter how skilled, would be able to fend them off all at once.

However, it did not seem that such fickle things as the odds being against him would stop him from trying. Her breath stilled for a moment as she watched him charge the new group on his horse. Her heart went out to him, and she felt torn. The logical part of her mind demanded attention, and though she wanted to pay it no heed, she was forced to listen.

The dashingly handsome man had all but abandoned his post, and now the other Royal Guards were most definitely in hot water.

She needed to stop gawking and focus on her mission.

“Frest, it is time that we save the Prince. Stay back and engage with that crossbow of yours, and harry their flanks. Once they break, go back and help the others,” Seraphina commanded. “Kill as many as you can. Retreat if you feel that your life is endangered.”

“I would think just being here puts me pretty much puts me in danger milady. I feel very endangered, right now,” he responded acerbically. 

“Well then, you had better fight well, Sergeant. I believe in your skills and courage. Show the Royal Guard that it is talent and experience that makes a true warrior. Try not to cross the Shallow River,” she smiled at him, digging gently into Kicker, urging him to full charging gallop as hooked her sling and drew her halberd from the lance cup.

Behind her Sergeant Frest almost preened in raw pride, before his eyes took on a dangerous glint. He would fight. Damned if he was going to let a slip of a girl show him up, titanic Strength or not, the cynical former bandit thought to himself.

As Kicker thundered forward, Seraphina's heart pounded in rhythm with the horse's hooves. The road was a whirlwind of chaos—clashing steel, anguished cries, and the thick scent of blood filled the air. Her eyes locked onto the royal carriage ahead, besieged by a swarm of bandits.

An arrow whizzed past her ear, but she didn't flinch. Raising her halberd high, she let out a fierce battle cry with the full power of her voice. So loud was her roar that it seemed to momentarily halt the fray. Bandits turned just in time to see her sweeping arc slice through their ranks, the sheer force of the blow sending them reeling.

You have learned Polearms (lvl.1)

You have slain a human 30 experience gained.

From behind her, Frest unleashed a succession of crossbow bolts. Most of the bolts found their mark, causing confusion among the enemy. "Keep them off balance!" Seraphina shouted, her voice cutting through the din.

She charged deeper into the throng, wielding her halberd one handed in a blur of deadly motion. Despite her relative inexperience with the weapon, its weight and reach gave her an unexpected advantage. Her raw Strength more than made up for that. The speed and power it lent her blows crushed through any defense her enemies could offer. And where skill or experience failed her, the valiant Kicker protected her with savage bites and kicks at men on foot or other lesser horses. The raw Bandits fell back, unsure how to counter this whirlwind of steel and determination.

Reaching the royal carriage, she dismounted in one fluid motion. The door was barricaded from within. Without hesitation, she gripped the handle and tore the door clean off its hinges with a roar. Inside, Prince Vellens stared at her, eyes wide with a mix of shock and relief.

Seraphina's gaze locked onto Vellens, and for a heartbeat, the chaos around her faded into silence. The Crown Prince was exactly as he had been in the game—a figure pulled from the depths of her imagination. His shoulders were broad beneath his fine cloak, hinting at a strength honed from years of wielding sword and shield. Yet his frame remained lean and long-limbed, suggesting an effortless grace.

His short hair fell in waves the color of gold, a touch darker than her own. It framed a face so striking that it seemed almost unfair—a beauty wasted on a man. High cheekbones cut sharply above a strong, clean-shaven jaw. His nose was straight, and his full lips held a perpetual hint of a grin, as if he knew secrets the world had yet to uncover.

But it was his eyes that held her captive in that moment—eyes the deep grey of a coming storm, holding an angry depth. They were the eyes of a young man who had seen too much and yet not enough. Eyes she had seen so many times before, and her heart felt another tug. The treacherous thing! she though, biting down on her lower lip.

"Seraphina! What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, his voice trembling an octave higher than usual. Despite herself, Seraphina almost laughed.

"There's no time to explain. We have to get you to safety," she replied, extending a bloodied hand. “I guess you had best come with me if you want to live…” 

When she saw his almost tangible reluctance, she decided to change tack. “Actually, stay there for a bit it might be a bit safer,” she amended slightly annoyed.