Cavalry for a single wizard?

Nictus wondered why Lord Randson seemed so determined to get this “Scourge”. As far as he knew, their lord didn’t care much for peasants. And cavalry? Thirty footmen and a handful of mage-knights should be enough to capture a single person — even if it was this “Scourge”.

The captain said something about a snail, but he probably heard wrong. Getting orders at the break of dawn didn’t help — and Nictus didn’t even have time to eat breakfast.

If the stories were true, the city would be coming for him soon — so why did they even have to play vanguard? Sure, anyone who rode a flaming bat and burned down houses deserved some sort of reckoning. He heard of wizards going insane in their pursuit of magic, but this Scourge seemed fairly young to be addled by mana.

Their lack of markings and colors also bothered the young knight. Some of the footmen even took to wearing masks to conceal their faces. What was this? Why were they acting more like bandits attacking a village — instead of conquering heroes bringing down an evil threat?

Nictus bit his lip. Asking questions might not be in his best interest — especially with the current state of Lord Randson.

The sound of running made him turn his head. Kids? What were kids doing on the road at this hour? Were they running for strength? They certainly seemed fit — none of them were panting, and he could hear merry conversation as they sprinted along. Some of the kids even waved as they passed the horsemen.

The kids were running quite fast. Their horses were keeping pace with the footmen, but he reckoned the kids were running as fast as small horses on a canter.

Wait, what?

One of the smaller kids seemed to glide on the ground before one of the older ones slapped him on the back of his head.

He rubbed his eyes — lack of sleep was making him see things.

***

Shelby noted the presence of the men almost immediately after they took to the road. She was keeping an eye, so to speak, on the children as they traveled to the Corner Shop™ — the men on foot and on horseback just happened to be on the same path.

Softies pretending to be hardshells — she found it almost funny.

There were a lot of men and horses. She struggled with numbers. Anything above five — she simply counted as many or a lot. She didn’t give much thought to counting — she didn’t have much use for it, and her master didn’t mind.

She felt for a strange stone inside her shell. Her master gave her the stone, saying it could probably make her think clearer. Shelby noted the hint of sadness in her master’s eyes when he offered it. He said the stone might change her, and she might not want to stay with him anymore — but he was thinking of her happiness.

Shelby was confused. She didn’t believe thinking clearer would make her any happier. She thought of the boys working their fields or the people that went inside the Corner Shop™, they didn’t seem happier than the — she counted — three little snails that kept speeding around their territory.

Still, she kept the strange stone. It stood apart from the five — yes, definitely five — stones her master gave her. The five stones linked her to her master, allowing her to absorb a portion of his power wherever she may be.

The other stone was simply loud.

It would make her feel and see things that she found boring. She didn’t care much for the life of a turtle — even if it was a fellow hardshell. So what if it lived for eons? She could probably live longer if she stayed in the Earth space — and staying with her master wasn’t much of a difference.

Even now, she could feel her life force getting stronger. She even stopped growing as it might inconvenience her master. He liked riding on her shell — growing bigger might make it harder for him to do so or make him uncomfortable.

She didn’t need to grow bigger anyway. There were hardly any predators in this place and most of the creatures she saw were tiny. She did hear one of the boys say something about eating boiled snail — but she dismissed his words. She would have an easier time eating him — if only she could remember his face.

Instead of growing bigger, she channeled her life force into strengthening her flails. She could even use her master’s mana to make her strikes deadlier — but that would be needlessly wasteful.

Softies were easy prey. Even the human Sebas made her get last night was horribly weak. It took her more effort to swim under the earth than to deal with the human.

She wondered why Sebas made her take the human back to her master — only for her master to take it back to the city. He probably had his reasons — or that Sebas might have made a mistake.

The boys finally arrived and Shelby waved one of her flails to welcome them. She approached one of the bigger boys to hand him a note left by his master.

The boy took the note and frowned after reading it. He talked to the other boys for a while before heading towards the Corner Shop™.

Shelby liked the boys. They were obedient, and they tended her master’s field — something she had trouble doing.

One of the boys seemed worried — probably talking about the men who wanted to play hard. She could only dismissively wave him off with her flail since the little one who understood her wasn’t there.

Maybe she should teach them to understand certain movements of her flails. Her master said they were her responsibility — which probably meant pets. Teaching them a few commands and tricks shouldn’t be difficult.

***

Warren was not happy. The boys were out in the field practicing while he was stuck playing shopkeeper. Sebas even provided shoes and a set of clothes so he wouldn’t appear like a barefooted farmhand — which he was.

He couldn’t even connect to the earth because of the wooden floorboards. Inside this room —he was just a normal person.

Of course, that normal person needed to be close to the peak of fitness, strength, and endurance. Even without his connection, the changes to his body from the constant toil of working paired with the fortification of earth mana made him stronger than the average person.

He believed he would probably be stronger than his father in five to six months. His father was no ordinary farmer, serving as an adventurer for most of his life before retiring to the fields — surpassing him in strength was no easy feat.

Perhaps he would try his hand at adventuring. He could earn gold and glory risking his life in pointless quests — while his brothers and cousins spent their time toiling on the fields.

Warren shook his head.

His brothers and cousins would probably surpass him in strength and ability within a month of his adventuring — he wouldn’t give them that chance.

He knitted his brow.

The soldiers on the road bothered him. They were dressed like mercenaries — but he knew soldiers when he saw them. The men had the marks of discipline in their steps and the horses were well-fed. The identical bridles probably meant they were part of some noble’s personal troops.

Was it the fire?

He heard something about a fire inside the city. People living outside the city walls usually didn’t care about the happenings inside — but there was talk of a giant bat that piqued his interest.

Rumors said it was the Scourge but he dismissed it. He hasn’t seen any bats near the shop — certainly not flaming ones.

He hoped the soldiers didn’t see Dylan’s antics. His cousin had a tendency to show off at the most inopportune time. Slapping the back of his head didn’t do much good. He probably needed to sincerely talk to Dylan properly and explain why the risks he took affected everyone. It was either that or a proper beating — involving most of the boys.

Shelby didn’t seem to care about the soldiers or she just didn’t understand the threat. It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand words — it was just… what could even threaten Shelby? Her shell was hard as iron and probably ten times thicker than plate. No sword would even get past that. Her flails would make short work of the soldiers — especially since they’ve grown thicker.

Too bad the little ones didn’t have flails. But they didn’t need to fight — not with Shelby on guard duty.

Warren chuckled. A part of him wanted the soldiers to come to the shop — just to see Shelby give them a thrashing.

***

What the hell happened?

Nictus struggled to get up, his horse long gone — chasing away after one of those boar-sized snails. He saw the rest of the horsemen similarly down on the ground — but he could faintly hear screaming from a distance.

Was that Gordo? Did he manage to stay on his horse?

He didn’t know whether he felt admiration or sorrow for the rider — now alone with more than a dozen crazed horses and a snail leading them on.

It all started when they arrived at the Scourge’s place.

He saw the kids that overtook them working the fields, The captain said they were probably the Scourge’s work slaves, seeing that they had to run all the way from the outskirts of Bountiful.

Somehow, he doubted that. The kids looked too happy, as if enjoying their work.

One of the masked foot soldiers approached a kid to ask him a few questions. When the kid’s answer didn’t please the soldier, he gave him a hard punch to the gut.

To his credit, the kid didn’t even flinch, or fold, or even cry in surprise. He did notice a worried look on his face.

Later he would realize the kid wasn’t worried for himself or his friends — he was worried for the soldiers attacking the shop.

It was then that the ground rippled like water and a monstrous snail seemed to float up to the surface.

The captain called for a charge, and he was one of the men who didn’t hesitate. Subterfuge and secrecy were not his thing — but this… this was a monster that needed vanquishing.

He readied his lance and charged.

His aim was perfect, his strike was true, and he had the weight and power of his horse driving his lance into the snail’s fleshy center.

It felt like hitting a wall.

His spear broke and his arm got knocked out of its socket. He managed to pop it back in while steering his horse, and he realized he was one of the lucky ones.

The flail-like protrusions on the snail’s head started to bash riders left and right. Seeing his riders falling off their mounts, the captain ordered a change of tactics. They would use their spell-enchanted swords to harry the beast while their mounts rode circles around it.

He was surprised it even worked, at least for a while. The snail could have easily barged through their encirclement and trampled them — horse and all — but it seemed hesitant to do so.

After suffering a series of cuts from their enchanted swords, the snail seemed to give a sharp shrill whistle. The men cheered, thinking it was in its death throes.

The whistle was a call for reinforcements.

A smaller snail, though small is merely relative since the thing was as big as a boar, flew out from the back of the shop carrying what seemed like a white flag. A wet white flag.

The men laughed at the smaller snail that seemed to circle with their horses — thinking it was pleading for its mother.

It wasn’t.

Whatever was on the flag the snail carried drove the horses wild. He faintly recognized the scent of lavender before his horse bucked, throwing him to the ground.

The snail then glided towards the forest, leading the crazed horses — and apparently, the screaming Gordo.

Nictus considered running, but he saw another two snails gliding after fleeing footmen. They carried a plank wrapped in barbed wire between themselves and they used it to come from behind the fleeing soldiers and trip them.

He could hear the cries of his captain as he tried to rally his troops to try and overwhelm the bigger snail.

Then Death came.

It didn’t come on black wings but through a door — a literal door.

A doorway materialized in the middle of the battlefield — complete with frames, hinges and knobs. Nictus saw what looked like a butler opening the door, bowing as he let Death pass.

He felt his soul getting wrenched from his body the moment the figure crossed the threshold.

“Oh my poor Shelby, did the mean men hurt you?”