“Commander, the second group has yet to return. There has been no word from our foraging parties since yesterday.” The young man couldn’t have been older than sixteen years of age, barely a man. Yet here he was acting as a soldier within the pursuit force organized to hunt down their target.

Morale remained high within the camp for now, there was somewhere around two hundred soldiers, mainly light infantry, and a squad of ten cavalry. It had been less than two days since they had departed from Myrmien at the behest of the city’s Lord. Many of the men were not even men, a gathering of vagabonds, mercenaries, and children, most with only the barest of combat experience. The pursuit force could be said to encompass the ideology of quantity is its own quality.

However, the reality was that their force was designed for the fight against the caravan, a simple, brutish strategy of overwhelming with numbers. Yet they had been unable to scout the surroundings since yesterday, in fact the scouts had been sent out but had yet to return, not a good start to any campaign. Although a concern for any force, it was the foraging parties not returning that was a much larger issue, as there was only enough food for the next two days, three if they began rationing immediately.

The nominal Commander of the operation was Iphiclus, a captain of the Myrmien guard cavalry, the most units he had ever commanded was around eighty men. He himself did not wish to be granted the “privilege” of this command, but those above him forced the task upon him. It was not that he was incapable, he was in fact a capable leader and the lower rank and file troops respected him. Yet he was very much a by the book man, he was not known for thinking outside the box, and remained a cautious commander.

He was known throughout the city as a man with honor and a moral code, he did not treat his men badly and did not throw their lives away needlessly. This mission would require that he do just that, to consider they were all expendable save for one squad of elite veterans at the rear and the true leader of this expedition, the Butcher.

Most residents of Myrmien had heard rumors, all of which were associated with Black Rock, the notorious fortress prison off the coast. Many of those stories revolved around the giant man, said to be a mix breed, born from the tryst between a fury and a giant. Yet any person with sense could understand absurdity in that, but what was true was that Menos the Butcher was larger than most and resembled a demon in his appearance. None knew of his background, save for the fact that those who were taken by him were never heard from again.

Iphiclus was the complete opposite, he had spent almost twenty years within the guard, commanding his cavalry against both bandits and beasts; witnessing many deaths, and many atrocities. He was tired, possessing neither the wealth or prestige of the established houses or lower nobles, a mere honorary noble, with not a deed to his name.

Pay was good enough in the guard, but this would be as far as he could go, his only wish was to retire and earn his plot of land, to work the earth and feed his family. Two weeks was all that was left for him, but instead those who considered him an eyesore had made their move; and he had but two paths ahead, success or failure. For now, all he could do was make the most of what he had and struggle to succeed and return home to his family.

“Ummm… Commander? Do you have an order you wish me to relay to the officers?” Iphiclus had ignored the young messenger for too long, his attention focused solely on the map in his hands. “Apologies, I was lost in thought… have the men prepare camp. The sun will be setting in a few hours, ideally I want a perimeter established and the patrol schedule figured out before the sun dips below the horizon.” The boy presented a respectful salute before rushing away only to slam into a human wall. A thick shaggy mop of unkempt hair black as night, coupled with the towering physique and unique red tinted eyes glaring through an iron lion’s mask easily identified the new guest.

“Supreme Commander Menos, so nice of you to join us, I was just finishing up here. Is there anything I can assist you with?” Iphiclus rapidly moved his eyes from the boy to where the army was resting in the distance, expressly telling him to leave immediately. It didn’t take long at all for the boy to get the message. He quickly stood back up, shook away the dizziness, saluted both commanders and sprinted away.

“Cancel…Order…Continue… Chase.” What Menos wanted was simple enough to understand, keep up pursuit. The problem was that he was not understanding that the men needed rest, and for that they would need to establish a safe and secure camp. Just pitching tents in the middle of the camp would leave them exposed to attack, the Butcher was fine, he could easily slaughter whatever emerged from the forest. The rest would not or have difficulty doing so, and that would be a terrible omen if they were to lose manpower before engaging the enemy.

“But sir, we need to-” Iphiclus was not given the opportunity to complete his suggestion, as a gust of wind passed his face. The edge of the large two-handed cleaver was resting between his feet, the ground below having been split from the impact. As much as Iphiclus might have wanted to protest, any such statement from that point forward would be met with more than a warning.

Menos simply reached down, grabbing the hilt of his weapon, lifting it from the earth. The weapon was meant to be wielded with two hands, Menos on the other hand raised it easily with only one, placing it upon his shoulder before waltzing off without another word. Releasing a long-held breath, Iphiclus could do little more than glare at the shrinking figure. At this point he had no choice but to rescind his earlier command, draw up the men and continue the march, only when the sun was close to setting would they be allowed their reprieve.