“Whoever’s did this is a scary bastard,” said a man as he examined the corpse of a giant and the blood on the rocks. The rain had subsided, but the pool of brown water in the hole on its stomach and the wet rocks on the ground made it apparent that it had rained very recently. If you looked closely, you could see dark clouds far to the North and the sun peeking through —it was already morning.

There were forty of them, all able-bodied men riding horses. They wouldn’t fit together side-by-side on the road, so they had made lines. And they were resting now, examining the surroundings. They had either axes, hammers, or swords; but all of them had bucklers that hung from their horses.

“It was the hunter-mage,” said Fillmore, at the front. He was the only one that knew the road up. He stared at the hut and pointed at it. It took up almost the entire road with its size, “There’s a hole in there. We’ll have to take the hut down to not stumble into it.”

It was titanic and the height was at the very least 6 meters. From afar, it’d look deceptively small. But from close? It was humongous, clearly belonging to a giant. From the side came Ian, the leader of the group under Richter and spoke. He was a tall man with dirty brown hair and freckles around his nose, “So it is true. That they’re as large as houses?”

“You took me for a liar?” asked Fillmore with a grin, “They are. Helthur is even larger, with almost three houses stacked together. But we won’t have to fight him. The hunter-mage will.“

“Do you think Brandon is alive? Against those monsters” asked the man.

“You think he isn’t?” retorted Fillmore, “He’s got the berserker’s blood.”

“He may be. But I don’t like his odds. So did our ancestors, and look where they are,” said Ian and let out a deep sigh, “Richter’s not going to like it if he’s passed on.”

“If he has, then he is feasting with the gods,” said Fillmore as Ian gestured for his people to take the hut down, “Not such a bad fate. The ancestors should be itching for some news from our world.”

It was easy, taking down the hut. The bottom of it had dug into the ground, but after you pulled it up, it was almost too easy to push it aside. It dropped down to the lower circle and then tumbled down numerous times before it fell down the cliff. The road was cleared, save for the carpets and blankets on the ground and a piece of the fur that the giant wore. It was torn.

On foot, it took around three to four hours of running to get up to the second hut. But on horses, it took them a mere two hours. Riding up was tiring for the horse, but they saved time nonetheless. It was a relatively quiet ride up if you could ignore the sound of hooves clanging on the rock ground —all of the horses had horseshoes. As per Fillmore’s suggestions, only the ones with them were used as mounts.

The road wasn’t for the average farm horse.

They were a circle too short when they saw the body of a giant on the ground. It was injured, clearly from a sharp weapon rather than magic, and was blocking half the road.

It was clear who’d done that.

“He’s been busy,” said Ian as he trotted toward the body of the giant. The damage it had sustained from magic was small, to the point that it looked like it had almost died from… the fall. Then he turned to the rest of his troops. Over half of them were from Richter's village, “Hey, look! Brandon’s almost killed a giant!”

Fillmore was cautious and looked up at the next hut. No movement. It was clear. This wasn’t a trap. Finally, he examined the giant. Indeed, it had been slashed to the point of bleeding —a feat that not many of them were capable of.

Had he gotten a Class?

To get a Class, one had to participate in a fight actively and kill the monster in question. He’d failed, but Brandon seemed to have succeeded. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been possible. The giants may be manageable for mages who relied on Mana, but it was nigh-impossible to defeat for those who relied on their physique to fight.

The number of people who still knew of Classes was small, with the shortage of monsters in Veidrheim. That was the true reason for their fall —if the warriors had Classes, then they would have easily defeated the giants. Of course, only a handful of people knew of the fact. More specifically, the lineage of the Jarls.

But they didn’t.

Not anymore.

Fillmore didn’t wait for them. He rode up the mountain alone. His old bones weren’t what they used to be and ached after an entire day’s worth of ride later. Of course, he wasn’t left alone. They followed.

There was no time to waste now. They’d strike at the giants with the hunter-mage and they’d defeat them. Then they’d get back the power of Classes and open the gates again. Power came hand-to-hand with strife, and without strife, pathetic monsters like giants had taken over the land. Fillmore wouldn’t let such an incident happen again. Not during his lifetime, and certainly not in the lives of his children.

A circle took them only ten minutes, and they were near the hut. There laid another giant, and Fillmore narrowed his eyes as he looked at it. From horseback, the top of the giant was easily visible. There was a pool of water on a hole in its chest —near the heart.

Had Sean eaten the heart?

But when his eyes strayed from the giant’s body and toward the hut, Fillmore’s eyes widened. There was a bulge on the ground. It hadn’t been there before, and the rocks near the area were gone. It could only mean one thing…

Fillmore hopped off his horse before the others came and walked over to the pile of rocks. The horse was well-trained enough not to jump off a mountain to its death. Just when he’d gotten near it and knelt next to it the others came, and they circled him, on horseback.

On top of the mound was his ax, attached to charred wood, the metal itself tinted with black color. Fillmore had crafted it with his own hands for the boy when he was of age.

Grave goods.

“He’s gone,” said Ian from behind ever so quietly, not even bothering to check the contents of the stone grave. Fillmore turned his head and nodded, his lips contorted into a frown, but that was expertly hidden behind his beard. Then Ian looked at the others and shouted, “He’s gone! Brandon fell, after killing not one, but three giants with the hunter-mage! He’s feasting with the gods! Are we going to fall behind, brothers? Have we fallen so far that a boy not yet a man is the only one that stands for us?”

They didn’t quite shout out their nay in unison nor the same manner, but it had its own charm.

Fillmore respected Ian. He was a man that could rile up the spirits of others, and that was what they needed in this battle. But he had to admit, he missed that youthful vigor of the young’uns. He let out a deep sigh and mounted on his horse.

The road was far wider now, and the hut could be crossed without being thrown into the abyss. They’d grow increasingly wider until the upper circles became enough to be circled within five minutes. Then within the caverns inside the mountains lived Helthur. Even Fillmore himself had never entered it.

With newfound vigor, all of them rode further toward the top. There were two extra horses, one for Brandon and one for Sean. But one of them was not needed anymore and was left behind.

***

The sound of hooves wasn’t easy to miss, but the whistling of the wind at least made it a tad bit quieter. Regardless, it was easily noticeable. As they came near the duo of huts, Sean turned his head to look at them from below the grass door of the hut. All of them were the same, and in a particularly wide part of the road, two of them had been placed. It likely meant that the three he’d killed before lived in the single hut down below and the two up here, from the fact that it was empty when he came.

He’d been sitting there to have breakfast, but nothing went past his throat. It was a weird feeling. His stomach grumbled but he couldn’t get anything in there. The body said one thing and the mind said another.

It was awfully quiet up here. Even if Brandon didn’t speak much, at least the sound of another pair of legs pounding on the rocks near kept him company. That solace was gone, replaced with an eerie silence.

He saw people.

There were more than ten, no, more than twenty. Sean’s eyes narrowed slightly as the sun was behind them and he couldn’t make them out.

It felt like some fantasy movie he was in.

But he remembered.

He was in some fantasy world

If they were riding up this mountain, then they probably knew the risks and came here despite that. But more importantly, who were they?

Sean left the hut and stood outside it, near the entrance of it. These had only one exit, unlike the first one. He didn’t know how many the second one had, as he hadn’t entered it. His clothes had already dried, but the foul odor that clothes got when the water hadn’t been wrangled out of it could be smelled. If your nose hadn’t grown used to it already, that is.

They didn’t stop and kept on riding, and only after they came close enough for their shadows to fall on Sean did he see more than their silhouettes. He could see they had bucklers hanging from their horses much like how Brandon carried his.

And he noticed the familiar voice that sounded out —it was Fillmore.

“You’ve been busy, kiddo,” he said and one of the men brought him a horse by the reins. It was a blue one. Well, grayer. Sean himself did not know what they were called and would have most likely called it a blue one. The man then handed the reins to him. Sean simply stood there, staring for a bit before he finally extended his hands to hold it.

“You should return,” said Sean after a few moments of silence. He didn’t even look at Fillmore when he said that, simply staring at the ground, “It’ll only get more dangerous from now on. I can’t die, but you will.”

Fillmore opened his mouth, but before he could, another one spoke. He had a wide grin on his face and was ginger. His beard that reached his solar plexus made him look old, but he was most certainly young. Everything other than his beard screamed youth.

“Then that means you’ve been denied a seat,” said the man, “We aren’t afraid of death. Death on the battlefield is a reward for us, and the only way we’re having death with honor is by riding into that nest of monsters, you dig?”

It was ridiculous, how they wanted to lunge into their deaths. They were borderline suicidal, charging into a hopeless battle for some sort of glory. The modern-day logic of Sean couldn’t fathom that. He was brave, but that was because he had an extra life in his pocket. They didn’t and were far too happy to throw their only lives away.

“What he means is,” started another one of them, this one with brown hair and freckles. His eyes were noticeably large, “We’re here to charge at them, whether you like it or not. So use it to your advantage if you will, ignore us if you will, but we’re getting our fight. One way or another. So don’t worry about the goons and take Helthur.”

The frown on Sean’s face didn’t ease nor did it turn into another expression. He simply nodded and hopped up on the horse.

If they wanted to die, then he… surprisingly, didn’t care. Not for anyone other than Fillmore, to be exact. But he didn’t feel like talking. Even if he wanted to say something, his words were stuck in his throat.

It was one thing to kill a monster, another to accidentally kill someone, and a wholly another thing to lose someone akin to a friend —especially when he died on your watch. But if Sean was asked which was the most difficult to get past, he’d instantly say it was the last.

He felt something in the pit of his stomach.

Was it even the right thing to do, letting them charge into their deaths?

But before that line of thought finished, they’d started marching.