"The Royal Capital" (Part 1)

The dust from the road had barely settled when Roland looked back and could no longer see Leo, swallowed by the bustle of Gothia.

His chest tightened—pride and worry tightly knotting his heart. Pride in the warrior he had trained, but terrified of the dangers that silently awaited him.

"The capital, ah, the capital... a nest of snakes, intrigue, and treachery," Roland thought.

It was definitely no place for a youngster like Leonard. "May the Seven Gods protect him," murmured Roland. A prayer lost to the wind.

Four long days would crawl by on the road, the monotonous landscape stretching endlessly under the weight of Roland's anguish.

His mind swam through a torrent of possibilities and fears, drowning him under their weight. A flicker, a ghost of a thought, surfaced: "Maybe... maybe it'll be okay. I've faith I can do it.".

The capital, Lumeria, drew closer, and the urgency of Roland's mission was becoming increasingly palpable.

The Duke's retinue, a clumsy jumble of carriages and guards, trundled along the dusty roads, unaware of the gathering storm in Roland's heart.

He had a premonition, that one he had when he was a commander. Something big was about to happen. Something that would change not only Leonard's fate but perhaps the fate of the entire kingdom.

The drowsy silence of the journey was shattered on the third day, near dusk.

An urgent scream tore through the air, followed by the sound of clashing metal.

"Damn it! Ratmen! Take cover!" someone shouted behind Roland.

The fetid and sneaky creatures, swarming like a plague, poured out of the forest's shadow like a black tide of teeth and sharp claws.

Chaos ensued in the convoy.

The Neumond's army, battle-hardened warriors, cold as ice, displayed the calmness of those who had danced with death many times.

The Duke's guards, on the other hand, despite their bravery, did not have the same experience and soon found themselves in dire straits.

Roland drew his sword upon feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. A veteran Frosteel sword that had tasted blood in countless battles.

In the pale dusk, the blade shone with an ominous sheen. Without hesitation, his body moved in perfect sync with his thoughts, posing him as a predator.

A rare ratman, bolder than the others, charged at him, brandishing a rusty, crooked scimitar.

Roland dodged the upward slash with a fluid side roll and countered with a precise strike.

The attack split the creature's throat from ear to ear as ratman collapsed, lifeless.

All hell broke loose. The Neumonds' wrath and expertise, however, outweighed the ratmen's numbers.

Roland choreographed a monstrous performance. The dark silver flash from his blade sliced through life with pinpoint accuracy. Every strike was driven by the urgency to keep the mission and his promise.

One by one, the rodents were felled in a horrific mess. 

Around him, the other Neumonds also fought like demons.

Gregor, a hulking brute of almost two meters, felled two ratmen with a single swing of his battle axe.

Claudia, agile as a cat, danced among the enemies, her short daggers opening precise and fatal wounds, a true artist of death.

The Duke's guards, less experienced, fought bravely, protecting the carriages and each other as best they could.

Finally the last ratman fell lifeless, letting out a final sharp squeal.

The forest, now painted in a bloody and visceral ruin, returned to silence, tainted by the scent of death. The air was thick with the metallic odor of blood and the sickening stench of corpses.

Roland, breathing heavily, surveyed the battlefield, his sword dripping blood. The adrenaline subsided and exhaustion took over his body. But there was no time for rest.

They needed to get to the capital.

Lumeria stood before them, an imposing city whose pinnacles and towers clawed at the sky with arrogance.

A city of stark contrasts, where the opulence of a few entwined with the misery of many. The retinue entered the monumental gates.

Roland found himself in a mixture of colors, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed him.

The streets, wide and paved, were bustling with activity. Luxurious carriages vied for space with humble carts, while a crowd, a mixture of all kinds of people, circulated on the sidewalks.

Street vendors hawked their wares like a towncrier, and the smell of spices, food, and humidity mingled in the air, creating a unique aroma.

Roland separated from the Duke's retinue.

He had other plans.

He headed for the Sleepy Owl Inn, a discreet place known for its eclectic clientele and its owner, Elizabeth.

A woman of sharp intelligence and an even sharper tongue. She was an old acquaintance, a valuable source of information, and Roland desperately needed answers.

He needed to know how much the king knew about Leonard.

The Sleepy Owl Inn hid in a narrow, dark alley, far from the main streets.

A place where secrets were whispered like prayers and shady deals were sealed with a handshake.

The inn itself was a two-story building, a mixture of stone and wood, with a worn sign that depicted an owl with one eye closed and the other wide open, as if it were spying on everyone and everything.

Elizabeth, a woman with gray hair tied in a severe bun and eyes that read his soul, greeted him with a smile that was anything but innocent.

"Roland, my dear! What a surprise... pleasant, I suppose. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I need information, Elizabeth," said Roland, getting straight to the point. "About Leonard. How much does the king know about him?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, an undeniable glint of interest in her eyes.

"Leonard... the young Neumond from Besen, isn't he? Information about him is a rare and therefore expensive commodity." She leaned over the counter. A mischievous and irritating smile played on her lips. "What do you offer in return, my old friend?"

Roland sighed impatiently. Elizabeth's game of push and pull was as predictable as it was irritating.

She loved to test the limits of her clients, making them practically crawl for their information. But he didn't have time for these ridiculous games.

"Whatever you want, Elizabeth. You know I'm a man of my word." Roland said.

She let out a hoarse, amused laugh. "Always so direct, Roland. That, I must admit, pleases me." She stepped away from the counter.

Elizabeth went to a shelf, grabbing a bottle of dark wine and two slightly dented tin cups.

"Let's talk then. But know that my information comes at a price, and it's not cheap." She filled the cups and handed one to Roland. "To old friendships," she said, raising her cup in a somewhat ironic toast.

"To old friendships," Roland replied, clinking his cup against hers with a little more force than necessary.

The wine was strong and full-bodied, burning pleasantly in his chest as it went down his throat.

"So, what do you want to know about young Leo?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes fixed on Roland as her fingers drummed on the rim of the cup.

"Everything," he replied without hesitation. "What does the king know? Why is he so interested in this boy?"

Elizabeth shook her head slowly."Are you sure you wanna enter this quicksand?" She looked at him enigmatically.