“The western fortress is truly an astonishing edifice. Did you know that the first architect that designed it, made it so that it would provide the very best defence against red dragons ? They all followed his directives and realized midway that the thing they has started to build would be perfectly useless against grey dragons because they did not breath fire. The next architect had the brilliant idea of making it sturdy against both grey dragons and humans. They demolished the previous junk they made, followed the new directives, then realized midway that there was no human country to the west, and that there were tens and tens of fortresses between here and the closest border. It was absolutely pointless, because in addition the terrain was the worst possible choice for defence against human invaders. In the end they settled for the current design, which is close to useless in the face of both armies, and the dragons' petrifying magic. As I said, this fortress is astonishing, for it is probably at the same time the most costing and the most inefficient thing the Empire has ever built.

-military architecture student”

* * *

Erin

“What are you doing ?” Azcheron inquired. Erin glanced to the side to see him looking above her shoulder.

They had left the capital a few days before. They were sitting on the carriage, and Erin was carving and cutting a large and long branch of wood.

“I'm trying to sculpt a longbow, somehow.”

“Ooooh.” He nodded several times.

Erin turned her upper body to face the Saint. They were so close that their skulls almost crashed together because of the bumpy road the carriage was moving on.

“What ?”

“No, I was just thinking.” Azcheron dismissed with a wave of his hand, as he sat back behind her.

Don't tell me. You think any proper epic tale needs an archer character in the protagonist's party or something like that.

“About ?” she asked with anticipation.

“How it'll be useful because we'll lack ranged offence without my magic.”

Eh.

Erin looked at the half-carved bow in her hands. She replied in a unconfident tone. “I thought the same, but truthfully I don't know. I doubt arrows would be very helpful against dragons and golems.”

He scratched his cheek. “True. But well... I'll still take anything I can, even if it doesn't seem effective. You never know. Are you any good with this thing, anyway ?”

“Mmh. I practised a bit in the past but I never really used a bow in real fights. I like swords more.”

Azcheron simply grinned and went back to whatever he was doing before. They weren't guarding the caravan right now. Erin looked around her, to see the men the countess provided. Out of the six soldiers that agreed to accompany them to the west, she only befriended their captain for now. The man was called 'Pat' by everyone, but his real name was Philemon. The origin of the nickname Pat was a mystery, but all that mattered to Erin was that the tall bearded man appeared to be skilled and reliable.

According to the countess, Pat used to be an elite soldier in the Imperial army, before becoming a mercenary captain. He seemed smart enough to recognize both the dangers of the expedition, and the peculiar position Azcheron had in the group. Since he was at the same time the organizer, the leader, the only mage with battle experience, the lone Dragon Tongue interpreter, and an unpredictable prick, it didn't take much time before Pat understood that the Saint was at the same time a blessing and a curse to the group's safety.

The five others were also mercenaries of various pasts, but each were willing to come to the Desolate Lands. Wilhelm and Isabella also did their time with the army. Caspar used to be a gladiator in the south. Jeffrey was a mercenary since his teens, and Rudolph had been a bounty-hunter all his life. Neither Erin nor Azcheron really knew their motivation for getting involved in such a dangerous operation, but it didn't take a genius to guess that it had to do with money and glory. Only, these guys weren't blinded by the prospects and had a clear awareness of what they should expect. They decided to come nonetheless.

Which wasn't exactly the same for the scholars that Talir had sent them. It seemed that the headmaster's choice was based rather on their skill and knowledge in field of research, instead of their willingness to take part in the expedition.

So here was professor Nathaniel, erudite in western history, not very eager to discover at first hand the Desolate Lands he spent so much time studying, back in the Academy. The man was rather young for a professor of this school, perhaps forty or forty-five years-old, and that was mainly the issue. He claimed he was way too young to go and commit suicide in this wasteland, but unfortunately for him, Talir knew he was one of the very few people in the continent who could hope to read and write the ancient western language, of which only bits and fragments were known.

Azcheron was curious and tried to learn it, but he failed miserably because the thing was once again an obnoxiously evil language, of a different enervative kind than the Dragon tongue however. Were they to find ruins of some sort, Nathaniel would be the one to shine.

Cowering next to him was an flabby old man named Yorl. Headmaster Talir insisted the guy would prove useful if they came across anything that looked like an artefact or a random stone with magic scribblings. Anything that may or may not be of runic nature, he'd be the one with the most chances to make something of it, without triggering anything unwanted – for instance if a rock turned out to be a receptacle for the sealed soul of a forgotten abomination.

The last scholar, Baestar, was also a mage, though he claimed he wasn't. Indeed, it did not seem like he was very interested in using magic in any sort of dangerous situation. He probably hoped he'd only have to cast a few utilitarian spells to study the sand, the atmosphere, and maybe the golems. As long as they were strictly unmoving and possibly dismembered. He was the less reluctant of the three, but that didn't mean he was a jackass who'd try to study a moving golem. Not even a jackass would do something like that anyway.

That was the gist of what Erin knew. It was more Azcheron's job to manage the scholars and organize their search with their help. The Verald knight and the other soldiers were more preoccupied with the overall safety of the group, even now.

Just because we're going to the continent's most famous deathtrap, should not outshine the fact that our caravan is not safe on these roads. Jormas' cargo is military-grade gear, which would make for a good profit in any thief's mind.

The escort wasn't numerous at all, but at the same time the caravan wasn't as huge as it was during their trip toward the capital. There was only four carriages this time, and Erin was confident that Azcheron, the mercenaries and herself would be enough to deal with any kind of threat. Jormas wasn't worried and had no trouble convincing his staff, and the scholars were too busy dealing with feelings of denial and impending doom to care about getting attacked by bandits.

These people from the Academy are truly unreliable. Hopefully they won't be so scared that they'd miss important findings once we get there.

Erin, same as Azcheron, wanted to make the most of this trip. She wasn't hungry for glory like the Saint, it had more to do with not wanting to go back to the Desolate Lands a second time because some idiot researcher was pissing his pants instead of properly doing his job.

Erin was willing to risk her life for Azcheron's dubious quest, but it didn't mean she wasn't scared. She could not afford to show it however, even to Azcheron. She was to be the one he'd rely on, if something went awry.

It surely is an ungrateful job I agreed to take. But I knew what I was getting into when I said yes. No way I'll back away now. It's stressful as hell, but I have to admit I'm also excited.

She looked at the almost-finished bow she was holding. It was really crude, clearly not a masterpiece – not even of a regular quality, the wood had not dried yet, and the measurements were sloppy –, but it should do the trick. In the west, there would probably not be any kind of situation where an arrow fired from a proper bow would make a difference anyway, but even then with her half-baked weapon she could use flaming arrows and create a diversion, or it could serve as a signalling tool. There were many non-offensive uses for a bow, and now she could also hunt for food with it. She could only hope the piece of junk would not suddenly break at the first occasion.

* * *

A month later, the western fortress appeared in the horizon.

It was Erin's first time seeing it. The fortress had nothing in common with the usual Imperial architecture. It also had nothing in common with the usual stronghold. It was much larger and taller. Brown bricks, lot of tall square towers, high sturdy walls, the castle was standing out against the greenery of the landscape. Were it not for the huge mountains right behind it, it would look even more spectacular.

As they got closer, Erin noticed the terrain and the environment. Plains and hills where anyone could easily manoeuvre whether they were a single rider or a whole army. It was clearly not designed to protect the Empire from human attacks, against which the fortress gained no advantage through its location. It was here for only one reason : dragons. As such, its defences were all facing the mountains. Erin and Azcheron were approaching the stronghold from behind.

“So our journey comes to an end,” Jormas said, walking to the side. Azcheron, who was also next to Erin, replied to the merchant in a merry voice.

“Indeed. See ? Nothing bad happened. Your worries were unfounded.”

Jormas scoffed. “Pfah, I'm still afraid that you'll do something very stupid, like bringing dragons back to the fortress. Where I'll be waiting because I'm supposed to return to the capital with you.” He paused and Erin noticed a faint sadness in the tone he carried on with. “Who knows how long I'll have to wait here. You may not even come back.”

Azcheron glanced at Jormas and smiled. Erin knew that her friend was fond of the old merchant. Or was fond of annoying and messing with the old merchant. Those things were the same for him, she'd say.

She silently chuckled, as they slowly advanced toward the fortress. Pat approached them.

“How long are we staying at the fortress ?”

Azcheron put his hand to his chin. “Hmm. Depends on what we need to prepare. I want to check the armoury to see if I can find useful things to make up for my magic. We'll stay the night, at least.”

“I see. I know a few people serving here, I was thinking of catching up with them, if it's fine with you.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Do as you see fit, we don't know if we'll come back alive after all, hahaha !”

No one else was laughing. They didn't take it the wrong way, though, everyone had the time to get 'acquainted' with the often inappropriate ways of Azcheron.

Eventually, they entered the fortress through a large iron door, on the east face. Erin felt fairly oppressed as soon as she was inside. The high walls casted a shadow on the courtyard, and there wasn't much space between each of the numerous tall and thick towers, giving off the impression that there was a second, even higher, imposing wall. It made her feel like a little rat at the bottom of a well.

At least I can't say it doesn't look safe. I don't know how it fares against dragons, but I wouldn't even worry about magic-propelled cannonballs and siege weaponry here. These walls and towers are damn high.

Erin's group was briefly greeted by some high ranking official, who was already expecting the convoy's arrival. The expedition members handed out lord Farril's letter, which asked the officials to grant them housing in the fortress and passage toward the mountains. The man told them it posed no issue, because it was no one's business to interfere with an sponsored expedition, even when it had to do with the Desolate Lands. The fortress's soldiers looked like they either thought that it was brave and exciting, or that it was suicidal and meaningless. In any case it probably wasn't worth bothering the concerned people, especially when the whole thing was backed by important houses from the capital.

Not that Erin expected any trouble. She figured that the guys here were so bored they'd gladly send them to the west with everything they needed, just so that they'd have something to talk about in the coming evenings.

Everyone was given some free time for the rest of the day, and they'd have a meeting this evening. Pat went to meet his acquaintances while the uneasy scholars were led to the mage quarters. The other mercenaries went to do their own things, Jormas and his staff unloaded their cargo, and so Erin and Azcheron were left alone and free to occupy themselves however they wanted.

“Let's go to the armoury. I'll need a proper sword, even though I won't really know what to do with it,” he said, striding without waiting for her.

True. You couldn't swing a sword to save your own life, she mocked in her mind.

Well, to Azcheron's defence, he had tried, but quickly convinced himself that it would be much more stylish to hold and swing his weapon with magic. Only a few could even hope to do something like that, seeing as it required a lot of mana to wield a sword with strength, speed and accuracy, with one's mind. Not that he made any progress, seeing as his swordsmanship was fairly unremarkable, both the real one and the 'magical' one. His extravagant use of raw mana didn't compensate much for poor sword skills, although it could turn out to be very interesting in the long term. This time however, he'd have to use his own mana sparsely.

On the other hand, Erin couldn't say either that her own training proved very successful. Azcheron was a surprisingly great teacher, but for all the months they spent at the Academy she had only managed to learn one enchantment – the most basic spellblade enchantment, sword hardening. There was one silver lining though, she had spent to much time studying this single spell, and with Azcheron's knowledge of raw mana, she didn't need the incantation anymore. Chanting was still faster, but it was her small pride nonetheless. As the years passed, she had come to believe that she'd never be able to use magic, and yet...

As Azcheron wandered in the fortress, Erin followed him, not bothering to wonder about how he had already managed to learn the armoury's location.

They walked through many corridors, passed in front of various rooms, among them the battle-mages' armoury – it was more like a large warehouse filled with artefacts and magical junk – and the infirmary. Apparently the healers here were quite skilled, as expected of a stronghold supposed to fight off dragons. The people here all looked bored, but the truth was that most were actually elite soldiers or mages.

Some time after, they arrived at a large room that looked like a another warehouse, filled with weapons, armours and tons of... stuff. There were too many things to try to describe the contents of the room.

While Azcheron was busy rummaging through whatever caught his attention – it seemed like he didn't care about swords anymore –, Erin took a look at the weaponry and the plate armours. She didn't believe for a second that her own equipment would be outclassed, but she was curious as to what kind of gears the soldiers here used. It was basically the same as Jormas' cargo, except wearier and older. Nothing that would make her envious. Her weapons and armour were also old and dented, but sturdy nonetheless. She found a nice and not too heavy sword that Azcheron would be able to wield easily. It was a plain longsword, but it seemed well forged. Hopefully no one would care if they took a few things from here, since the fortress had just received a new batch of weapons.

Not that Azcheron seemed to care about what people would think if they saw him pillaging the armoury. She noticed he had already made a small pile of random things he apparently deemed interesting. Containers, barrels, various things. She came closer to observe the mysterious pile of stuff.

Oh. I see, that's what he meant by replacement for his magic. Indeed, that could work.

Azcheron had gathered two barrels of powder, small pouches, bottles and containers, strings and rope.

Gunpowder and other materials for bomb making. He'll only have to cast a small spark to trigger it. This way he has a substitute for fireballs and smokescreens.

She watched silently for a moment, arms crossed, as Azcheron kept finding things to compensate for his magic, amidst the junk-filled armoury. She wasn't exactly sure if letting Azcheron dabble with explosives was a responsible thing to do, but oh well.

Finally, he turned to Erin, a proud grin plastered on his face.

“Think we can make something interesting out of this ?” he said as he started to grab some materials to craft new and terribly unsafe weapons.

She smirked and went to help him. They'd have work to do before they departed the next morning.