Chapter 4.2
“One battle, one hunt, one victory. That is all it will take."
The rangers watched in silence as the camp around them stirred to life.
After days of exhaustion, they had rested only for a few short hours, but there was no time to spare for real recovery. The hunt was set for dawn, and the noble commanders were moving with certainty, their men preparing for war.
Eirik, the ranger leader, sat on the edge of the crude wooden palisade, observing the organized chaos below.
He had seen many armies prepare for battle before. But this one…
Something felt off.
The soldiers of the noble’s house moved with trained precision, their armor polished and their weapons meticulously inspected.
In contrast, the rescue party’s survivors were a disordered, ragged bunch—mercenaries, common levies, and knights of lesser noble families. Many of them had despair in their eyes.
Eirik had no doubt who was being sent in first.
Near the center of the camp, he noticed a group of specialists—men wielding strange, oversized matchlock arquebuses unlike anything he had seen before.
Vigdis, crouched beside him, whispered, "Have you ever seen an arquebus that size?"
Eirik shook his head. "No… but that barrel looks thick enough to punch through armor."
The massive firearms had extended barrels reinforced with ornate silver inlays, and near the stocks, engraved runes faintly glowed.
Enchanted firearms.
A noble privilege.
Few had the means to infuse firearms with magic, and those who could came from royal bloodlines of the great noble houses.
Mages stood nearby, chanting incantations, passing their hands over rows of weapons, leaving behind a faint shimmer.
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There weren’t many of them.
Eirik wasn’t surprised. True battle mages were rare. Magic, though coveted, was still a luxury of the ruling elite.
Most lesser nobles barely had enough magical ability to light a candle without flint.
That made these three mages valuable assets.
And it meant that if they fell, the battle would fall with them.
The rangers had no interest in standing idly by while nobles prepared their war.
They approached one of the noble officers and offered to join the forward scouts—an easy request, since nobody cared if common-born rangers got themselves killed in the wilds.
By nightfall, they had moved ahead of the main force, traveling light through the dense forest.
The noble-led scouts insisted on pushing farther, eager to gather every bit of terrain information possible before the battle.
Eirik reluctantly agreed, knowing that he and his men could always pull back on their own if things turned bad.
And then they found it.
A clearing.
Barely illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the canopy.
At the center of it lay the Hr?zla-Bein.
Its enormous bone-plated hide rose and fell with every breath, the beast completely at rest.
Eirik felt his blood turn cold.
They were too close.
How the hell did we not see it sooner?
It was perfectly still, its color blending with the frost-covered stones around it. Had they moved just a few meters more, they might have stepped directly into its range.
The rangers froze. Even the noble scouts hesitated.
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then, very slowly, they backed away.
They had found their prey.
But they hadn’t noticed what they missed.
When they made it back to camp, the rangers reported their findings.
The noble officers were pleased. The beast was resting. Vulnerable.
Tomorrow, it would be slain before it could even react.
Eirik still had doubts.
But doubt had no place in the presence of nobles.
Instead, they listened as the lord’s aide delivered a rousing speech, his voice ringing through the cave.
"Tomorrow, we purge this horror from the forest. We will strike with the fury of our ancestors, with the might of our kingdom, and with the blessings of the gods!"
"Our arquebusiers shall fire as one. Our mages shall bind the beast. And our steel shall finish the hunt!"
"This shall be a hunt sung of for generations! A victory that will be ours alone!"
The soldiers cheered. Even the demoralized commoners seemed reignited.
The rangers stayed silent.
The plan was simple.
They would ambush the beast before dawn, opening with the most powerful spells their mages could cast.
Then, the arquebusiers would unleash a volley, their massive enchanted barrels designed to punch through anything.
The infantry would charge, cutting the beast down before it could react.
And finally, the mages would pin it down with chains of magic, ensuring its death.
It was flawless.
It was precise.
It was confident.
Eirik wanted to believe it.
He really did.
But deep in his gut, something was wrong.
Something felt too easy.
Something felt too perfect.
Yet before that doubt could take root, the noble aide spoke once more.
"One battle, one hunt, one victory. That is all it will take."
And the rangers knew.
Tomorrow, there will be no turning back.
