I hate being wed in a fantasy world!

Extra 3 – Call for the Color Rangers

Hrarks enters the Dead Horse Inn. He split from the Bloody-Nosed Mercenary Company to follow the message he received. Two spells were used [Spirit Beacon] and [Far Call] to deliver the following: {Message to all rangers in the vicinity. Gather at the direction I send you.}

Hrarks also goes by the name Hrarks’naail, the Unseen. He got his moniker for his stealth-related aptitude. His alfr name references the supposed stench he gives off, according to his teacher. It’s just one of the many things people have to endure when receiving ranger-training, and Hrarks can’t take the claim seriously, as alfar have one of the weakest senses of smell from all the species.

Hrarks can’t see and hear well while he has his hood on, it also dampens his sense of smell, but he still senses the people in the common room. None of them had the fluent spirit of an alfr, but there was the one that beaconed him here, it’s coming from a small folksperson, apparently female. She also wears a hood over her face, the mark of a ranger.

Of course, everyone can wear a hood, but it’s the special kind of hood alfar make to hinder the senses, which teaches non-alfar to rely on their spirit senses more, and many rangers keep wearing them, as they represent hard work and repeated humiliation. Hrarks keeps his to hone his spirit senses to a degree where he won’t ever be messed with by an alfr again. Maybe most other non-alfr rangers feel the same.

Next to the folkswoman is a bearded human and an old human, both of them also have hoods donned. At the floor lies a saberthoothed wolf. Without exchanging a word, Hrarks sits down next to them.

“Welcome,” says the folkswoman while looking at the wolf. It has to be her companion, so she may check how it reacts to Hrarks, as animals have their own perception and may notice something that she missed. Pleased with the non-reaction, the folkwoman explains: “You’re the last one. Aside from us, there is just an alfr in another room.” She says these last words dryly and Hrarks can not only feel his own mood falling. “He helped me to set this up, so… Nonetheless, thank you for answering the beacon.”

Yes, a [Spirit Beacon] has to be answered. After thinking about it, Hrarks decided to do so and got the location and message, and then explained things to the mercenary pack. The ranger pack needs him but they have other talented scouts and hunters to get by until Hrarks returns.

“Thank you for coming-. First off, I’m Miax’hau, the Beastmaster.” Hrarks met another folksperson with the hau-suffix, so maybe it means something simple as ‘small’.

“Tols’vak, the Forestflight,” the bearded human introduces himself.

The human next to him speaks in the voice of an elderly woman: “Ilva’shein, the Fullhearted.”

“Hrarks’naail, the Unseen.”

“My alfr name tells alfar that I’m cute and cuddly.”

“Mine tells them that I’m clumsy.”

“Mine about my chicken-like cackle.”

“Mine that I stink.”

““““*sigh*”””” Whenever rangers meet, they start talking about their mistreatment. While being a ranger is one of the highest honors of the Wildlands and bring several sets of useful skills, it also is tied to discrimination, humiliation, all kinds of abuse, and being victimized.

Though it takes only seconds for everyone to straighten up and look at the newcomer. It’s an old alfr, his eyes are yellow-green, his hair was light green. “Good,” he says in a serious tone, while mustering all of them. “Seems like all of you have the basic awareness down.” Each of them have felt this alfr’s spirit which changes with his mood, giving a whole array of emotions away. This one is currently disappointed, which makes Hrarks glad. “I’m Oro’hekk.” He walks to Miax and starts petting her, like it’s the most natural thing of the world: “This kitty was at the door of Aroahenn, the nearby village and asked for help.”

Hrarks lifts his nose a bit. “You’re wounded.” The smell of herbs and closing wounds are surrounding this alfr.

“I’m much better now. I may have jumped into a big club to defend a fellow alfr, which wasn’t the best idea I ever had,” he answers nonchalantly before continuing what he began. “As the flea-colony said, I’m wounded and therefore more of an advisor. Kitty is the leader.”

Miax harrumphs, as all dignity as a leader she may have is destroyed by being treated like a pet by this alfr. “Now that all are here, let me explain my plight. My husband, Keow, is also a ranger. He and I wander the world together, mostly acting as guides. Sadly, Crescent here got sick, and while I stayed behind, he joined a caravan, which was heading to Déjuma. I was waiting for him at the meeting place we agreed on and a week passed after the time I expected him back. I left him a message, I tried to come his way, I looked for our usual signs. I found some of his arrows, and I found tracks. He was picked up by a group of riders, and it seems like he was suddenly overwhelmed, as if they were talking to him and then made a surprise attack. I followed the tracks north, but more and more riders came, so I headed to the next place that could help me. Sadly, I ended up in Aroahenn.”

“You mean luckily,” Oro’hekk corrects her while the other rangers could only agree to the ‘sadly’, as she will pay a hefty price for asking the alfar for help. “As Aroahenn had something like a crisis and is still rebuilding, and we have only few warriors in the first place, our elder decided that I should tag along, as a form or rehabilitation, and as a reward for my deeds.” Hrarks feels his fur spread apart, as recuperation might mean to pranking all of them into submission. The humans look like they want to run away.

Miax continues her story: “From their tracks, I rule out common bandits. Whoever took Keow are structured and able to ride in formation even for long times, and the remnants of their camp look like they’re military. We need only to get Keow out, but I can’t do it on my own without causing a massacre. So please help me.”

Hrarks lets out an affirmative growl. He’s here to help his ranger pack anyway, it may be dangerous, but it’s for the pack. The human also agree, showing the unity and camaraderie peculiarly to rangers.

The enemies are a large group of people with military precision, something nobody with some sanity would like to face without back-up. The goal is not to fight them, but to support Miax to find her husband, the fellow ranger Keow.

“Alright, then we’re all on the same page,” the alfr Oro’hekk says as he looks at the group. “I decided that for building a team experience,” everyone shudders at this word spoken out by an alfr, “we should all go by other monikers for this mission. Beardy,” he says to Tols, “you will be the Yellow Ranger, as your facial hair spread like the rays of the sun. Silver-hair,” he continues while pointing at Ilva, “to honor your almost alfr hair color, you’re gonna be the White Ranger. Stinky,” it’s Hrarks’ turn now, “as your fleas will leave many marks on our humans, you will become the Pink Ranger. Cuddelworth, you will be the Blue Ranger to tell how much I want to cuddle you right now. I will be the Green Ranger, and all of us will become the Color Rangers!”

The non-alfar sighs in unison, but years of training taught them to roll with minor punches, rather than arguing until the alfr decides to escalate the situation as you show to care about that issue. This particular alfr seems to be death-set to just give them a color code.

There is one big question though, a question asked by Tols, the newly announced Yellow Ranger: “Why pink and not red?”

“Because the Red Ranger is a very special spot and there is only one who can fill it.” So someone Oro’hekk has taught himself, someone who he adores and loves to torture.

―○●○―

Following the tracks was an easy task; the claws of horses, axeken and daiosars are easy to find for a group of rangers, even though they stuck to the roads as much as possible. However, at some point they strayed from the trade routes, and there were several groups coming and returning from a path that has been trampled by too many horses and feet.

Tols fold his arms, as he nods. “They have a camp that way,” he speaks out what everyone already thought. There are several forests close by, enough to hunt game, this is also close to the Mauerfelsen, the mountain-range that borders the fertile lands of Feuerberg, so more farmsteads would be here.

Food is the basis of every army.

“What do you think? Mercenaries or a city-state?” Ilva’s wrinkled face showed how much she despises both of them.

“You haven’t been in a town for a while, I presume?”

“Can’t stand them… ah, Crusaders, right? Seen their work, really noisy and brutal.”

Yes, recently the Crusader made a cleansing around the trade-route; which means they hunted down and chased off any monsters around them, so that it’ll be much safer to travel there for a while. Hrarks tries to remember what the leader of his mercenary company, Bloody-Nosed Ikkslibit, said about them, as Hrarks really don’t care much about other packs.

No, he has to ask. “Crusaders?”

“A free army, you could say. They say they hunt the profane, and want to participate in the war between Feuerberg and the demons, and for rations and gear, they made a huge cleansing. Guess they also made it to train their new recruits.”

“These swines!” Miax says in anger, while Crescent growls at her side, mirroring her master’s emotions: “They took Keow!”

“Why though? If he was a profane-” Tols starts, which earned him an evil look from Miax, “like I said, if he was a sinner or such, they would have killed him on the spot.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Yellow Ranger?” Oro’hekk says proudly, which can’t be seen on his face, though his ears and spirit are showing it more than clearly: “They want a ranger for their group, because we do really good work with you, and they decided to ambush one, as the moment they ask one to join they could get refused.”

While the whole idea is based on an absurd thought, there is also some truth to it. Many armed groups seek out rangers, as there are only few people who are that much in touch with the wilderness, including most non-ranger alfar. They may use spirit magic very proficiently, as it’s as natural for them as moving their arms, but many alfar never really learned how to survive in an untamed forest.

Hrarks had an alfr in his mercenary pack that tried to capture a human ranger. This incident ended with an arrow in her chest. It pains Hrarks to think back to that whole mess, which started with his mercenary pack not even knowing that they were hunting a ranger.

With Oro’hekk’s words still hanging in the air, Ilva gives her own thoughts: “It’s obvious that no ranger would voluntarily join the likes of the Crusaders. They’re just like a military.” Yes, being in a mercenary band like Hrarks is rare enough, as rangers tend to be mavericks. Only especially desperate people or loners would choose to seek out the alfar for their training, and they usually do the rest to destroy any personality trait that would match rigid hierarchical systems. “So let’s think about why a military would like to capture a ranger. They do have their own kind of magic, right?”

“They call it something like crusade, hence the name,” Tols fills her in, “it allows them to identify and damage the profane, individually and as a group.” Tols seems to know a lot about civilization, which is helpful, but strange for a ranger. “Like I said, they would have killed him on the spot, if,” he puts much emphasis on this word, “he was one. So my next best guess would be that your husband knows something he didn’t want to share, Miax.”

“This would explain the sudden attack… first they asked Keow about it, he refused, then they attacked. Even if Keow was on alert due to their question, he wasn’t prepared for the attack, and there are bound to be some capable people there…” Miax grinds her knuckles against each other. “So they will interrogate him. Torture him.”

Hrarks steps a bit back, as his instincts tells him to stay away from Miax right now, she smells like violence right now.

“Whatever he knows, he won’t break if it’s important,” Ilva says in a stern tone, “after all, we’re used to torture.”

“Why that?” asks Oro’hekk poisonously sweet, full knowing that his kind are the reason for that. His spirit shows satisfaction, as every other ranger here trembled in fear and anger.

They follow the tracks further, this time slower. For most people, they would just stare at the group of five and yet don’t think much of it, as they seem to be just simple blades of grass that are moving with the wind. This is the effect of the [Mask of Wildlife]-spell, which each of them has cast and is supported by Oro’hekk, who somehow weaved all of their spirits together to make them even less remarkable. Hrarks has a similar spell, a more powerful one, but he still admires this skillful work, which is more natural and less straining.

This is more than enough to pass by the guard posts without them noticing. The rangers could see the tents from afar, which are built on a meadow with several trees. Banners showing a claw clutching a sword by its blade serve as borders, showing everyone who resides in this camp. The mark of the Crusaders.

“Going further may be dangerous,” Oro’hekk explains calmly, “they have trampled the grass to the ground, and there are too many people. This is time for the Pink Ranger to shine!”

Hrarks snarls, but he has to agree, that this means that it’s time for [Mask of People], a spell he has developed and perfected by himself. As a mercenary, he had several run-ins with bandits and sometimes even other mercenaries or local armies, and being a ranger makes him a great scout. However, rangers are the best when surrounded by nature, which makes entering an enemy camp for intelligence gathering often a work better fitting for a spy.

Watching a spy’s work, he has worked on a spell that mimics one of their common skills: To blend in with people. [Mask of People] works a lot like [Mask of Wildlife] as it meshes the spirit of the user to the spirit of their surrounding. However, where [Mask of Wildlife] does so with plants, [Mask of People] does so with other people or even monsters. The higher the complexity of a spirit, the more straining it becomes though. Especially when he tries to include other people into this spell..

Leading an assault group into monsters to strike from within? Not much of a problem. However, doing the same with bandits won’t work.

There is an order of complexity of the spirit: Plants, beasts, and people, all with their own subcategories. A reptile’s spirit is less complex than a mammal’s, for example. Monsters, who show traits of several beasts, usually fall somewhere between their make-up, so a manticor is somewhere between the simple spirit of an insect and the much more complex spirit of a lion. A kobold is almost as complex as a person.

“I can bring two people with me.” This is a low estimation of Hrarks, as he may believe that the Crusaders don’t have [Spirit Magic], given how easy they could pass the guard posts, but they’re still people, which means that their spirits are complex and not as easy to trick.

“I will,” Miax says without hesitation. “So one other… Crescent can’t come with us as a bonus?”

“No.” This would make things even more complicated, as Crescent is a wolf and meshing a beast-like spirit with a people’s would be much of a stretch.

“Me! Take me!” Oro’hekk jumps on his feet, he seems to be willing and ready and his experience would be invaluable.

“Tols, would you mind?” Miax asks the bearded human instead, knowing that bringing an alfr into this camp might end up in a catastrophe.

“Sure.”

“Why not me…” mourns Oro’hekk this decision. “I’m much better suited for all kinds of situation, and I’m not as hairy as Yellow Ranger!”

“You’re our advisor, right? So we do the field missions,” Miax says without batting an eye. However, this calms down Oro’hekk quite a bit. In a sense, handling an alfr is like handling a pup.

Hrarks feels relief, as now it seems like they won’t have an alfr throwing a tantrum in the midst of the camp because of boredom or something. Or to make their lives even more miserable.

It will be hard enough as it is.

―○●○―

“Hrarks’nail, the Unseen,” compliments Tols. He, Miax, and Hrarks sneak between the tents, still using everything they got to remain hidden for safety. While the very complicated spell that Hrarks uses will make it hard for the Crusaders to recognize them as something other than the people they expect, there is no need to overly rely on it.

It’s enough to bypass the guards though, which is plenty, as there are many magical wards here. Basically, every unused spot is warded with some kind of spell, while the main-paths of the camp are watched.

“I smell him,” Miax whispers, as she sniffs the air. Some rangers, especially those who have much contact with beasts, develop a sharp sense of smell. Tols didn’t, but he certainly adopted some other beast-like traits. “I also smell blood.” Her icy voice is so sharp, that Tols is worried for a second that this will somehow alert the Crusaders, but he doesn’t feel any lingering glances. He can rely on that feeling, which is why even a ranger would have a hard time ambushing him.

The tent Miax is heading to has its own guard before it. That’s why the three rangers go around it, Hrarks cuts the tent silently with a knife, which shows how good this hynoar in stealth is. No scratching, no ripping, not a single sound.

He takes a peek inside and then gives the sign to enter. It’s an almost empty tent, just a maimed body is lying on the ground. A folksman, bound in thick metal chains that won’t break by his immense strength. Though it’s questionable if he would have been able to even try, as he has cuts and bruises all over his body.

…he doesn’t breath. Tols can tell that Keow is dead.

Tols’ whole body becomes cold, while steaming hot anger wells behind his navel, but this is not the time.

Miax gently strokes her husband’s face. “Thank you,” she says with a broken voice.

He has been subjected to torture, and most likely the Crusaders didn’t tend to his wounds enough. Most of them are human, and therefore overestimate what other species can endure. This wasn’t the work of a professional, this was a bunch of dilettantes that basically think that cutting and hitting makes someone talk.

How many days has it been? Why is the tent still guarded? Did he die during interrogation and the one responsible for it wants to cover it up? Was it to lure other rangers into the camp?

It’s not the time for that though. Miax takes the chain: “Unseen, can you mute it?” The hynoar nods, and then the small woman tears the chain apart. It takes some effort, but this is the raw power of the Folk. “Forestflight?”

Tols nods as he picks up the body. It’s not colder than the air, but for the human it feels like it. “Let’s go.” It’s as easy as this: Sneak into the camp, retrieve the body, leave without being seen. There will surely be an uproar when they find out that the corpse has vanished, but leaving it there isn’t an option.

The three of them regroup with the other rangers. They catch on the moment they lay eyes on Keow’s body, sparing Miax any questions.

Except Oro’hekk: “What do you want to do now?” he asks.

“Kill every single one of them.”

The alfr nods in response. Same as Tols and the rest.

―○●○―

It has been five days since the dead ranger disappeared, but Knight Vice-Captain Julio Bandersneid just assumed that one of the few who knew about it back then got rid of the body, so that the soldiers won’t notice. By now, they have all learned of the demise, but not that it was Bandersneid himself who went too far, and now they think that the ranger took his own life.

In a sense, he did. He spat Bandersneid, a Lord Vice-Captain, in the face! Of course, Bandersneid was just promoted to one, but he still deserves the respect! Isn’t it him who has been trusted with the task to rally and equip the last troops of the Crusaders that has been sent to Feuerberg? He even took it upon himself to find a ranger, after Knight Captain Alchenain asked him to, the son of Knight Commander Alchenain!

It’s a shame that Bandersneid wasn’t able to get the info, but now he has to concentrate on bringing a group of one hundred and forty-six soldiers over the Mauerfelsen-mountains. “Why… why are there monsters still here!” He snaps at his adjutant, as he pulls his sword from a scaleetle, a bug-type with shark face. “Haven’t we cleansed them all?” He personally saw through it, as this was part of the deal the Knight Commander made with the city-states on the way.

“Sir, we did,” he says while cleaning his sword with a piece of cloth. “We drove them back into the deepest forests and highest mountains.”

“Then why are they still here!? We have a schedule!” While his deal with Flammenkreis, a city which serves as a gate for the mountain path they will take, isn’t time-bound, Bandersneid hates being late, as it’s improper and impolite.

“Sir, I don’t know.”

This wasn’t the first attack either. Who was responsible for this area? Maybe Lieutenant Ulgenain? Yes, that bastard surely just skimped that! He would need to punish her for this, doing sloppy work and then report otherwise.

Why is there a grove here? The scouts didn’t tell him about a grove, and as they haven’t returned yet, they didn’t think of this grove as unusual. Of course, Bandersneid has never been here before, as he only sent messengers to Flammenkreis so far, but he should know if the traveling route leads through a grove, because if his scouts would be working properly, they would have told him!

He notices how he is overreacting and takes long breaths to calm himself. He’s Vice-Captain now, so he shouldn’t be that small-minded. Bandersneid has to take things more composed. “Twenty on each side,” he tells his adjutant, “we need to be prepared for monster attacks.”

They enter the grove. The road may be older than it, maybe it started with planting some trees to tap the rain from the ground to make the street less muddy, and then it grew from there. Yes, the grove seems rather long, not wide, basically a grown avenue.

This may take some minutes, but nothing to be worried about. “Greetings.” Who is that!? A blonde-bearded man steps from between the trees, he has a hood… a ranger!

What a lucky day. Bandersneid rides forward: “I’m Knight Vice-Captain Julio Bandersneid of the Crusaders. Who are you?”

“I’m known as Tols’vak, the Forestflight. A ranger.” Yes! Bandersneid has another one! He only needs to get closer!

“Are you here to give us guidance?” Several rangers help groups of people to pass treacherous terrain, so waiting for some to pass the mountains here seems to be logical.

“Don’t come closer, Vice-Captain,” the ranger warns. “Tell me, why did you take Keow?”

Keow… the name of the ranger they captured. So this ranger knows, which means that surprising him won’t work. With the men under his command, it would be easy to capture him with violence, though. Crusaders are powerful, and at this distance, it would only need a second for Bandersneid himself to dismount and decapitate that ranger without breaking a sweat. Aside from him, there are four others under his command, who outweighs a hundred usual footsoldiers. Barto, the Red, who can level a building with a single strike. Tulia, the Quick, who can take down three men twice her side per second. Aswald, the Wild, whose mace can break open even the hardest shell. Jarod, the Brave, who uses magic to enhance himself and others to great heights. There is nothing to worry about with soldiers like those.

Therefore Bandersneid will just ask his questions and capture this ranger, if they’re not satisfactorily answered. “We’re looking for someone. The Red Ranger, as he’s called. He’s a sinner, and we will kill him. Help us find him, for the world’s sake.” There are the Divine Laws. Breaking them makes someone a sinner, and too many sinners will cause a calamity, which will eradicate the whole species of these numerous sinners.

Every sane person would see the need to kill every sinner the moment they’re found. Some Crusaders are capable of magic that allows them to detect those sinners, as the claim comes from Knight Captain Alchenain, who has this spell, there is no doubt that the Red Ranger is one.

Yes, every sane person would help the Crusaders to find every sinner they know of. However, “I see.” Bandersneid jumps from his horse, towards the ranger, yet something grabbed his cape from behind in the midst of the jump, causing him to fall. His horse? Why!?

At this moment, everything happens at the same time. Jarod’s and Barto’s head fall from their bodies, as suddenly a hooded hynoar appears between them, decapitating them the moment just before the horses and other mounts begin to rise up, throwing down their riders, many trampling and mauling them to death.

Tulia, the Quick jumps quickly from her horse to escape that fate, but the moment she’s in the air, branches of the trees fly at her and bind her arms and body before tearing her apart. Her flesh, innards, and blood rains down on the small army, including Aswald, who just received the fifth arrow, all of them puncturing his armor like it’s not there and aimed at his throat.

While the animals murder their riders, roots impale those who try to get away, and branches pick up those who try to fight back, while birds and other critters emerge to scratch and bite whatever they can reach.

Bandersneid quickly strikes down his own horse to free his cape from its jaws, but suddenly something takes his leg and throws him to the ground…. someone from the Folk, donning a hood. She uses him like a thresher, continuously lifting him up and smacking him to the ground, while her grip bends the armor on his legs inward. Bandersneid quickly cuts the straps of his leg protector, and while he’s flying away, he turns himself in the air, only to be pounced by a wolf. He can block it, cutting the beast’s snout lightly, but now that he’s back on the ground, he will show-

“Crescent? Attack!” The wolf suddenly growths, his fur becomes darker, thicker, and his animal features become more and more monster-like…

―○●○―

“These are the last three,” says Hrarks as he prods three simple footsoldiers, maybe new recruits even, with his spear. All of them are sickly pale and smell of fear, sweat and urine, as they witnessed the horrifying scene of having hundreds of their kinds, most likely some of them friends or targets of adoration, killed in effortless cruelty.

However, for the rangers, this was a big task. Hrarks spend most of the last few days within their camp, learning who of them were the biggest threats. Tols and Oro’hekk have replanted several trees, while Miax and Ilva gathered and enchanted monsters and beasts. Hrarks also smuggled Miax into the camp every night to befriend the mounts for this strike.

This battle lasted five days, the Crusaders just didn’t realize it. However, killing all of them would also kill the purpose of this slaughter.

“Good job, Pink Ranger,” says Oro’hekk, who directs a tree to mulch another corpse. “Blue Ranger, your turn!”

Miax turns around from the horse she has just calmed down, as the smell of blood and innards makes them nervous, even though they took part in that slaughter. The folkswoman builds herself up before the three captives. Despite her small stature, she’s overflowing with malice: “You survived because we need someone to deliver our message to whoever is in charge. Are we clear?” The three soldiers nod hastily, well knowing that this woman won’t hesitate to kill whoever displeases her. “Now listen well, I won’t repeat it, and if a single word doesn’t reach your commander…

So wash out your ears: No ranger will ever sell out one of their own. I will spread the word to our brothers and sisters that for every single ranger you Crusader capture or kill, we will murder at least a hundred of you. Remember, to eradicate your battalion or whatever you call it, it took five of us. We can strike whenever, wherever, with whatever. We will send monsters, animals, and plants against you, and even if you barricade yourself in your fortresses, we will infiltrate them and begin our killing spree. There is no safe place.

You may believe that the Red Ranger is a sinner, and you may be right. But: We don’t care! We will never tell you where he is. If you find him, be sure he’s actually a sinner, so that the hundred we will kill in retaliation are worth it.

Understood?” Miax overshadows the three humans, who try to make them as small as possible, their fear-smell has intensified once again. “Then scram.”

Two of them ran sobbingly, the last one silently. For Hrarks, it shows that they understood the point. He also is reminded of the ranger his mercenary pack tried to corner, and how many died doing so. As well as the boy himself. “…Oro’hekk,” he snarls while turning to the alfr.

“It’s Green Ranger, Pink.”

“Is the Red Ranger a human boy with black hair and red armor?”

“Oh, you know him?” It makes sense. Oro’hekk seems to make a point of giving every one of them a color, so a ranger he has trained himself may actually get that moniker officially. At least as official as they are in the first place.

So the real question is: “Is the Red Ranger a sinner?”

“I don’t know. Will it make a difference?”

Hrarks’ ears shake, as he already knows the answer to it, but can’t help but be startled by the contradiction of his thoughts. Miax looks like she wants to vomit, while Tols and Ilva, both able to hear this conversation even from afar, grimace. “No.”

The ranger pack is important. Yet having a sinner endangers the ranger pack as well. Killing a ranger is unforgivable, but selling one out or hunting one themselves are taboo.

Miax gives her thoughts: “It was the Crusaders. They killed Keow, not because of your student, but because they’re a bunch of brutal fools that grabbed onto the next possibility, involving and murdering my innocent husband. We did what we could to prevent more bloodshed. It’s not our responsibility to judge any other ranger. We’re siblings in spirit. Thank you for coming and helping, all of you. Return to where you came and do whatever you did before. I will lay Keow to rest and mourn.”

With this, the rangers decided to not look for their red-hooded brother and just to spread the word. Maybe the Crusaders will try to retaliate, maybe they will declare all rangers as sinners, and maybe people will believe them without further proof, but rangers tend to be loners by nature. If they want to waste their time, spreading out their forces to find and judge any one of the rangers by themselves, accompanied by the people they had coaxed with lies and their glory, so be it.

―○●○―

Two weeks later, Knight Captain Archibald Alchenein is called to his mother’s, Knight Commander Tifferia Alchenain, provisional office in Esse. He lowers his head, as he doesn’t know if she called him as a son or as a Crusader.

“Archibald,” she begins, showing that it’s an informal talk. “Have you heard about the ranger incident?”

“I’m deeply sorrowed by this, Mother. I have given Bandersneid the order to find a ranger, yet I still find it hard to believe how this turned out. A handful of rangers, able to destroy one hundred of us?”

“Never underestimate rangers. While I knew of their prowess, I also underestimated their vengefulness. Trying to find a sinner is recommendable, but this has bitten us back.”

“So we should let a sinner escape!?”

“Don’t be silly, of course we won’t. Yet this isn’t something we can do by brutal force, especially given how we’re fighting the demons right now.” Her disgust of these unnatural beings is clear as day, Archibald also thinks of them as an affront to the real gods. “With negotiations with Feuerberg at their final phase, we can’t use our numbers, so we need to use our wit.”

“So send out a small force to judge the sinner?”

“Yes. And you will lead them.”

“I put a bounty on their heads, Mother. Let bounty hunters take care of them!” Archibald wants to earn glory and a name for himself on this battlefield!

“Because of your order and the man you promoted, we lost one hundred and forty-three Crusaders.”

“Most of them weren’t even properly trained!”

“So you won’t take responsibility, Captain?”

“I— I will, Commander!” He has no choice.

“Good, use whatever is here and take any reasonable measure. Take or hire whoever you need, and do just deeds while on the mission. You will also deliver some messages on the way.” Her voice then becomes softer: “This is a test, Archibald. In a war, you only need to show your power and your tactical understanding. However, now you can prove how much you can think outside the battlefield.”

While these words encourage Archibald, they can’t dispel his worries about how difficult and long this task will be. He may know a lot more about Katsuragi Kenta now, how he’s a hero, how his supposed sister isn’t even related to him and another hero, how he kidnapped the princess and seemingly converted her to his side, and that they’re traveling with an elf; but with the head-start they have, a Feuerbergian force on their heels, and the lack of proper pathfinders and seekers, he can’t help think that he’s way too late to the hunt.

To get him, he needs a bright idea, and he only knows that capturing a ranger will be detrimental at best.

Extra 4 – Legend of Hagen

Once upon a time, when the sun was dark, and the lands were gray, there was a lad, who lived in a country that was broken while arrogantly holding its head high. The lad was neither a knight nor a sage, he was just a humble son of a farmer. Though sowing and plowing was supposed to occupy him, he rather took off in the noon to dream about a life of adventure, of defeating dragons, rescuing princesses, earning titles and deeds, and ruling his own kingdom.

Therefore the lad swung his hatched like a sword, cutting down branches like they were bandits, and in the evening he collected the branches and brought them to the farmstead so they could be dried as firewood.

However, one evening would change everything. A god spoke to him, promising the adventures the lad always dreamed about. The dull world faded away, only to be replaced with black stone, dry air, and a snap.

The lad grabbed a cold metal collar that had been put around neck, in wonder and in fear. Then there was a man, whose skin was colored in a way the lad had never seen before, with large rings of different metals around his ankles, wrists, and even through his earlobes. Then the eyes of the lad wandered around the room He heard sniveling and yelling, and he saw more people, some looked like the people the lad knew from home, the other looked as exotic as the man before, some clothes were as frilly and detailed as what the lad had dreamed of about royal courts, others were as plain as his. Though most of them had collars around their necks, just like the lad.

There were also more people like the ringed man before, the same faces, the same clothes, the same skin. They pushed down the people of different colors and forcefully put more of those metal colors around their necks.

The lad stood up, not out of wrath or despair, but out of righteousness. He had seen how people used violence and the threat of it to force people to do their bidding, no matter what they wanted nor deserved.

With a single word of the ringed man from before, three forms of pain assaulted the lad. The first pain was the tightening of the collar, which caused him to lose his breath. The second pain was the feeling of a barb running down his veins, uncounted scratches and cuts inside his body. The third pain was his heart, which was crushed by an invisible hand.

Being subjected to unbearable agony thrice, the lad lost his balance and fell to the ground, his breath rattling in his own ears. His voice failed to sound, though his strangled heart refused to give in, rushing his righteous blood through all of his veins.

The lad was a hero in name, yet he was enslaved and held in a cage like cattle. Despite that, his heart and mind was as free as when he was cutting wood with a hatchet.

Whenever the lad refused an order, the three pains assaulted his body, and while he fainted and cried in anguish, he never yielded.

He didn’t yield to the order to fight his fellow heroes in an attempt to train them.

He didn’t yield to the pain of a thousand whippings to make him call his captors master.

He didn’t yield to the exhaustion of running a hundred laps around the city with balls of iron on his ankles.

He didn’t yield to the humiliation of standing in the pillory, being thrown at with insults, fruits and stones by children and adults alike.

He didn’t yield to the hunger of being denied food and drink for thirteen days.

He didn’t yield to the despair of being locked in darkness for two months.

He didn’t yield to the promise to make him stand above all other heroes in status, as long as he acknowledged his captors as his superiors.

After refusing to yield seven times, his captors were puzzled of what to do with the lad. They couldn’t break his body, as he was supposed to fight on their behalf. They couldn’t break his heart, despite all the attempts they made.

Therefore, he had to die. Killing him would be admitting defeat, so they sent him to the battlefield, being the hero with the weakest body, waiting for him to be cut down like a blade of grass. The captors made a mistake of sending him against their enemies, whose hearts were as black as theirs, alongside the fellow heroes he sought to protect.

After the first battle, he was stronger than every other hero.

After the second battle, he stood above most of the captor’s forces.

During the third battle, the ringed man from before inflicted the three pains, but during the agony, the lad swung his sword five times, killing seven enemies with each attack.

The thirteen generals, proud and mighty, saw the lad and feared him. While they claimed to have him under control, they only could bestow him with pain. With his unbound power, they were greedy to use him, but dreaded him alike.

So they sent him with some other heroes to a far-away land, led by the ringed man, to claim the beads of the gods. On their way, disaster struck, the mountains spewed fire, and the earth was hungry. The lad was swallowed whole and went into the underworld.

There he wandered for a year, then he met four deities. The deities were impressed by the ideals in his head, the purity in his heart, the might in his arms, and the justice in his veins. They gave him three gifts: The freedom of shattering his collar, the ember to set the fire in his soul ablaze, and the way out of the underworld.

Judgment day had come.

The lad returned to the realm that has been his prison and looked upon its injustice with flaming eyes. He then brought the Fire of Freedom, which engulfed the realm and its capital.

A thousand soldiers faced him, but it only took three strikes to create a whirlwind to blow them away.

The thirteen generals faced him, yet he defeated seven of them with his fiery wrath while the rest fled into the blue.

Then the gods of the realm themselves faced him, but in the end, he cut each of them down so that their evil blood covered the ground and made the burning soil infertile.

The lad freed the slaves and heroes, and asked them to follow him to a bountiful land, which they would cultivate, so they would never need to hunger again. He asked them to help him build a kingdom, where even a mere farmer would be free and could afford justice, and many decided to follow him.

So the lad brought the new people to the land where he met the four gods. They first wanted to rule this kingdom, but the lad refused, saying that he had lived in two lands ruled by gods, and wanted to create a kingdom of men. If the gods wanted to stay, they would stand next to the ruler of these lands.

Seven years passed by, and the lad had grown to a man and a king. Envious eyes looked upon the once wild land, which was surprisingly fertile, and tried to claim it. The king single-handedly repelled three kingdoms, as he was a true ruler, on the same level as the gods.

Even more years passed by, and the king decided that to make a kingdom ruled by true men, he had to abdicate the throne. He put down his crown, his gown, and his sword, and dressed as the farmer he was born. He whispered something into the ear of his oldest son, before he stepped through the door and was never seen again.

His son was even a wiser ruler than his father, and the descendants of the once enslaved people grew stronger and freer than anyone.

And they all lived happily ever after.

―○●○―

“Like I said before,” Ara-san continues, while I need a second to realize that it’s still her, as the heavy, fairy tale like tone of her voice is replaced by her more light-hearted, aloof demeanor, “this is only one version, there are several minor differences between them, like how Hagen prayed to make fire fall from the sky to burn seven generals to ashes, while six burrowed themselves into the ground to never reveal themselves, and such, but if I take every version, take the most common themes and events, and put them into a single narrative, then this is the version I obtain.”

“But he stomped on the ground three times, and then the earth melted, drowning their walls and buildings!” Rine objects, ignoring what Ara-san just explained.

“He also pet their snakes, which causes them to transform into fire snakes, I know,” the alfr sighs, most likely retelling another version.

“No, that’s just silly.”

Ara-san’s ears rotate a bit, maybe she’s pissed to be told off by Rine.

Well, for me, it’s clear as day. “This is just a fairy tale, we have tons of them in my world as well, and there will always be some differences.” Not that I’m much of an expert, I know some Japanese classic ones, like Momotaro, the Issun-boshi, or Urashima Taro, but never had an interest to read other versions or watch movies of them or something. Western ones I only know by name for the most part. If I recall correctly, most of them are solved by kissing a sleeping girl. Nonetheless, it’s just a story and even if it happened in one way or another, it’s exaggerated. I mean, one man taking down a despicable empire on his own, changing earth to magma, calling meteors, creating natural disasters, even in this fantasy world, it’s too much. I mean, I’ve been here for several months, and if there were people like that, I would know, right?

“However,” Ara-san speaks up, her voice carrying importance, while her body language is as unreadable as usual: “There is one secret that isn’t ever explained, and today marks the day, that I, Ara’ainn, the hero sage, may find out the truth! Katarine-san!”

“Yes?”

“At the end, Hagen whispers something into Heinrich’s I ear. You, as their descendant, have to know these important words, that one of the most remarkable heroes to have ever existed bestowed to his child and heir! What did Hagen say?”

“He said: ‘You’re able to rule now, right? I’m outta here.”

“…” Ara-san froze, as the so-called remarkable hero turned out to be someone who ditched his duties the moment he could.

Well, he was too good to be true, after all.