Clash of Steel and Stories Untold II

Roy stared at the half-bearfolk's hulking form and the fresh dents in Eryndra's gauntlets. The newcomer's face, despite the bruises and cuts, held genuine remorse. Teddy and Lincoln kept their arms raised, not trusting this abrupt shift in hostility. Eryndra relaxed only a fraction, glancing over her shoulder at Roy, waiting for his call. Roy swallowed hard.

"Join me?" he echoed, unsure how else to respond. The half-bearfolk's raw power could be an incredible asset or a massive liability. Freed beastfolk huddled nearby, staring anxiously. Slavers and random citizens formed a ring of onlookers, all stunned by the sudden violence.

For a moment, Roy had no clue what to say, but the man's plea hung in the air, begging for an answer. A small crowd inched closer. Roy steeled himself, deciding to play up his intimidating "Thunder Rider" act.

"Fine," he said at last, shifting into a theatrical stance. "Under one condition."

"Anything, my lord," the half-bearfolk murmured, still on his knees. He bowed his head.

Roy snorted. "No, no! None of that 'lord' nonsense." He paced around the half-bearfolk in slow circles, tilting his head in exaggerated arrogance. "Anyway, there's a real nasty, nasty boy in these parts. Goes by… oh, right, Trieger Hellroar. That's the name."

The half-bearfolk lifted his gaze. Even kneeling, he nearly matched Roy's height. "I know him. He tried to recruit me years ago, back when I ran with… another crew. Nearly killed me when I refused."

Whispers broke out in the crowd:

"Wait, isn't that the number three assassin in the Five Kingdoms?"

"Can't be—he supposedly quit after that orphanage fiasco. Heard he accidentally killed a kid, during his takedown of the Orphan Master."

"No, look at those burned ears. It's him. So what's he doing with the Slaver Crusher Iron God?"

Roy grimaced at yet another new title. He brushed a finger across the half-bearfolk's shoulder, silently marveling at how solid he felt. Feels like iron, Roy thought, then spoke with a lazy drawl, "so… assassin. If you want to join my crew…" He paused to let tension build, then let his voice drop to a menacing tone. "Go wipe out Hellroar's little gang, alone, and bring me his head by nightfall."

Some slavers in the crowd visibly paled and tried to slink off. Roy snapped, "And where do you think you're going?"

They froze, then bolted in a panic but multiple Presidroids dropped into their path, blocking any exit. Roy's mouth twisted in grim distaste.

"Typically, I just buy slaves and let the slavers go so they can keep bringing the slaves to me and no one else," he said, forcing his voice to stay cold. "I want their 'merchandise,' after all, someone's gotta supply me with fresh stock, right?"

Roy almost choked on the words. Up until now, he'd tried to avoid crossing that lethal boundary. "But you lot? You're no simple brokers dealing with debtors or criminals. You butcher entire villages, kill for sport. I can't allow that."

City guards arrived, clanking armor and pointed spears in Roy's direction. Eryndra shifted, energy crackling in her stance. Takara rushed to Roy's side, runic gauntlets ready if this got ugly. Freed beastfolk watched in fear, while the half-bearfolk remained on his knees, quietly catching his breath.

"Go," Roy said to him, dismissing the half-bearfolk with a flick of his hand. "I'll wait on my iron ship. As for these so-called slavers… you have three days to deliver every last slave you own, or I'm bringing down the wrath of my Nightshatter. I'll buy them all—then we're done."

A squadron of Presidroids ushered Roy's newly purchased beastfolk toward the Nightshatter. The half-bearfolk got to his feet, gave Roy a final nod, then vanished into the chaos.

Once things settled, Eryndra regarded Roy with a furrowed brow. "Why send him on such a dangerous mission?"

Roy forced a flat look, schooling his features into weary acceptance. "Win-win, right? If he survives, Hellroar's gone. If he dies, the innocents he's killed get a measure of justice then we wipe out Hellroar ourselves."

Eryndra said nothing, but her gaze flickered in silent understanding. Lutrian limped over, mask no longer on as it got lost in the mess. He attempted to hold his hood over his face but it wasn't working well. Several in the crowd began to gasp and whisper among themselves. 

That night, Roy was hunched over a monitor on the bridge, trying to track slaver movements via Serenity's drone feeds, when a dull thump rattled the deck. Serenity brought up a camera feed. The half-bearfolk stood on the landing platform, limping, battered and bleeding, one arm clutching a soaked burlap sack.

"It is done!" he roared, voice echoing in the stormy darkness.

"Well, look at that," Roy sighed, leaning back in his captain's chair. "Eryndra, go greet our new member. He looks like he needs medical attention."

Serenity appeared on the monitor as Eryndra left the bridge. "Captain, I followed his journey in secret, just for my own curiosity."

"And?" Roy said as he took a bite of a leftover snack bar.

"Hellroars band of unmerry men were extraordinarily powerful," Serenity said as she pulled up a birds eye view of the battle. "Despite being considered an assassin, he wasn't very stealthy, he took on the whole crew one after the other in seemingly fair fights until he got to the last group."

Roy watched in amusement as the man tore through bandit after bandit. four guys remained, including Hellroar himself. Trieger Hellroar was a towering brute of a man whose broad shoulders and thickly muscled frame betrayed years of violence and harsh living. A tangled mane of dark, greasy hair framed a face marred by scars, some deep, some superficial, and a coarse beard flecked with gray. His cold, calculating eyes were a pale blue, unsettlingly sharp, and always alert for threats or opportunities. Clad in worn leather armor reinforced with iron plates and adorned with grisly trophies from past raids, he carried himself with an arrogant confidence, like a predator who'd long forgotten what it felt like to fear.

The four attacked the half-bearfolk simultaneously. The movements were too quick for the camera so the feed switched to a ground level dog drone view armed with a highspeed camera. The beastfolk assassin weaved near flawlessly through the flurry of strikes. Arcs of minor spells sent by the groups mage streaked through air until three fast strikes dropped all but Hellroar who did nothing but smile.

Both combatants amplified their bodys with runic spells and clashed sword to axe. Dozens of strikes later, Hellroar managed toland several strikes followed by a long slash that carved a line down the arm of the half-bearfolk who didn't so much as wince. He retaliated with a rapid strike that Hellroar moved his sword to block. It was a feint, the half-bearfolk stopped to let the blocking strike sail by before cleaving Hellroar's head off in one motion.

"Dope," Roy said, trying to contain his hype.

"Indeed," Serenity responded, also containing her hype.

Later that night, once the half-bearfolk had been treated for his injuries, Roy gathered everyone on the bridge. Rain pattered against the hull in a steady downpour. The engine's low hum provided a backdrop to the meeting. The half-bearfolk sat cross-legged on the floor. Lutrian perched on a crate nearby. Eryndra leaned on the doorframe, arms folded, still studying this newcomer with a lingering wariness. Roy sat in his chair, pen in hand, occasionally drawing cartoon butts for his own enjoyment. Takara stood off to the side, arms around herself, half curious, half cautious.

The half-bearfolk closed his eyes. "I owe you an explanation and my name." He hesitated, then looked up, voice rough. "My name is Warrex. Warrex Arcturus."

Roy nodded slowly, waiting. Warrex exhaled, rolling his shoulders as though shedding an old weight. He described how his father was bearfolk, his mother human—a happy family until his father died. His mother took him to live with her relatives, who despised him for his animal ears. They cut them off, left him scarred and nearly killed him with fire. His mother nursed him back to health, only to die in a confrontation with her brother over healing the "freak". Warrex set the uncle's face ablaze with a torch in retaliation. An mildly sympathetic elder relative intervened, then abandoned Warrex in a forest miles away.

He remembered being found by a crew of hardened mercenaries, led by a foxfolk who'd lost his own family to bigoted humans. The group slaughtered Warrex's relatives to avenge him, then raised him as one of their own—teaching him lockpicking, stealth, poison-crafting, marksmanship, axe combat, anything a half-wild child might need to survive. They became his second family, a true family. Eventually, they too were wiped out by a betrayal in the underworld, leaving Warrex alone.

"I racked up kills," he admitted quietly, gazing at the bandages on his forearms. "Some deserved it. Others… I'm not so sure. I drifted, did odd jobs, tried to fight 'tyrants', but I never..." He clenched his fists and trailed off.

Roy let out a long breath. "What matters is you are in the right place. If you really want redemption, there's plenty to do."

Warrex folded his arms, nodding in genuine gratitude. "Count on it."

Three days later, Roy returned with Warrex, Eryndra, Takara, and a phalanx of Presidroids to the same shady district where he'd first dealt with the slaver boss. The man seemed jittery, but he'd delivered on his end of the bargain—over seven hundred beastfolk caged in an old warehouse, awaiting purchase.

The slaver crossed his arms, his smirk almost predatory. "Eight hundred gold," he said, "no less. Take it or leave it."

Roy bit back a grimace. "That's… steep, but fine." He pulled out his coin pouch and began counting, stacking gold pieces on an upturned crate. The slaver hovered over him, watching every coin like a hawk.

After several minutes, Roy muttered under his breath, "Four hundred… five hundred… six hundred…" He stopped, peering into his pouch with mounting dread. "Damn it."

He shook the pouch, cheeks flushing. "I'm short. Two hundred gold short."

The slaver tapped his foot impatiently. "So you walked in here without even knowing how much you'd need?"

Roy cleared his throat, trying not to sound defensive. "I, uh… miscalculated, all right? Just... give me a moment to figure this out."

A low chuckle rumbled from Warrex. "Let me help," he said, pulling a hidden pouch from under his belt. "I've been paid in gold for a long time and never had much reason to spend it."

He dropped enough coins on the table to cover the deficit and then some. Roy exhaled in relief. "Thanks," he mumbled, ignoring the astonished stares of the slaver's men.

Moments later, the final paperwork was done, the gates opened, and over seven hundred beastfolk poured out into the sunlight. Some gaped at the sky as though they hadn't seen it in weeks; others wept with relief. Roy felt a genuine smile tug at his lips as they lined up behind the Nightshatter's ramp, ready to board.

"Get them onboard," he told Teddy, who led the Presidroids in corralling the new arrivals. The flight deck quickly turned chaotic as families huddled together, rummaging for spare blankets and water. Takara guided them gently, Lutrian and a few Presidroids handing out dried food. Warrex kept watch at the perimeter, glaring daggers at anyone who looked like they might cause trouble.

It looked almost peaceful until a regal carriage rolled up, gilded wheels glinting in the midday sun. A handful of uniformed guards jumped out, taking one look at Lutrian and bristling.

Roy caught sight of a gilded carriage pulling up to the docks, its ornate crest glinting in the midday light. The door flung open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in rich, imperial garb stormed out. His bushy mustache bristled with indignation as he surveyed the freed beastfolk milling about. A cluster of well-armed guards followed at his heels.

Lutrian went rigid under the man's glare. "Oh, great," he murmured under his breath.

"You know him?" Roy asked.

"My great uncle, Midmoon's Baron," Lutrian responded before lowering his hood.

The baron's gaze swept over the scene, nostrils flaring. "What is the meaning of this?" he barked. "I heard report of a fresh delivery of slaves here only to find them all gone, purchased by some… nobody!" He rounded on Lutrian with a sneer. "And you, the second prince, this is where you've been hiding for months?! Consorting with criminals and degenerates?! This is unacceptable!"

Warrex snorted, folding his arms. "Degenerates, huh?" He sounded more amused than offended.

Ignoring him, the baron jabbed a furious finger at Lutrian's chest. "You will rejoin your kingdom at once. No more prancing around with outlaws and swindlers. I'm taking you back by force if necessary."

A line of soldiers stepped forward, spears clacking into formation around Lutrian. Eryndra tensed, ready to intervene, and Takara stood perched on the railing, ready to jump in in a moment, but Lutrian held up a staying hand, mask tilting just enough to reveal a cold, determined glint in his eyes.

"Stand down," he murmured to the Nightshatter crew. "I'll handle this."

"You aren't fooling anyone with that mask, take it off at once!" the baron yelled.

Lutrian inhaled sharply, then moved. Before the guards could even thrust their spears, Lutrian's silhouette blurred with faint arcs of light magic. In rapid succession, he disarmed the first soldier, knocking him aside with a blinding flash across the man's visor. The second soldier tried to lunge from behind, but Lutrian twisted, flaring a shimmering shield to parry the spear and then sending the guard sprawling with a well-placed kick. Three more closed in, only to be swept off their feet by a dazzling burst of luminescent arcs swirling around his arms and legs.

In the span of seconds, five men lay groaning on the dock, spears clattering to the boards. Lutrian lowered his mask again, breath only faintly ragged. Warrex let out a low whistle, impressed.

"Not bad," he murmured. "Could've used that show earlier."

The baron's face turned crimson. "You dare raise a hand against my royal guards—!"

A sudden boom shattered the air. Roy had fired a warning shot from the Nightshatter's side guns, the shell landing inches from the baron's polished boots. Chunks of cobblestone shattered upward, forcing him to stagger back in alarm. Smoke curled around his trembling ankles.

Over the loudspeaker, Roy's voice crackled across the dock. "You heard my friend—Lutrian's not going anywhere. He's Nightshatter property. Hands off."

The baron's eyes darted from the smoldering impact crater up to the warship's intimidating metal silhouette. Knowing he was outgunned, he muttered a half-coherent threat under his breath and hurried back to his carriage, gathering what remained of his guards. In moments, they were gone, leaving only the scuff marks and echoes of Lutrian's brief showdown.

Eryndra snorted, turning on her heel. Takara exhaled in relief. Warrex shook his head, still smirking at Lutrian. "Man. You've been holding out on us, Princey."

Roy and the others wasted no time. Freed beastfolk continued shuffling aboard the Nightshatter, aided by Presidroids who maintained orderly lines. Within minutes, the crew cast off, engines churning water into foam as the warship pulled away from Midmoon's docks. Roy, standing on the bridge, watched the baron's carriage vanish into the distance.

"Next stop: Otherrealm," he murmured, half to himself. Then he flicked the comm off, leaving behind the city's tension, alliances, and enraged nobility in their wake.

The Nightshatter began churning down the river, now carrying all seven hundred rescued beastfolk, plus the extra they originally purchased. Midmoon's outline faded behind them. Roy watched from the bridge, palms pressed to the window, half-dreading some riot among the crowd. A part of him worried that so many new faces, desperate and traumatized, might cause chaos. But as he scanned the deck, he saw them gradually settle—a few weary smiles here and there, relief overtaking fear.

Eryndra slid up beside him, crossing her arms. "Looks like our warchest is now empty, should we go plundering for more," she asked, voice low.

"Probably," he murmured. "But don't say it like that, I'm taking out bad dudes, okay."

Eryndra only chuckled in response.

"Serenity," Roy said loudly, "inform the triplets that we need roughly five hundred temporary shelters. Take the helicopter and load as many base Presidroids as you can to Otherrealm ahead of us to help do that." Serenity beeped in confirmation.

On the deck below, Warrex paced the rail, gaze locked on the riverbanks, as though daring any threat to emerge. Takara knelt with a group of young beastfolk, distributing water and bits of fruit. Roy's chest still fluttered with leftover adrenaline, but he felt a faint surge of pride. At least for the moment, seven hundred more people were safe. That was enough to keep him going. But now, the open ocean awaits.