Inside the tent, Sigmund had settled into the chair reserved for the unit leader, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His piercing blue eyes swept across the interior like a predator surveying new territory. Mounted prominently on the canvas wall was the emblem of the Order of Lions, a magnificent lion's head with two swords crossed in an X behind it, the symbol seeming to watch over all who entered.
A few moments later, the captain stepped inside, his boots heavy against the packed earth floor. He positioned himself before the table, watching Sigmund, who continued his methodical examination of the tent's interior. 'What the hell is he looking for? I'd better start with my report, these pure-bloods always make my skin crawl,' the captain thought, unconsciously straightening his shoulders.
Clearing his throat to cut through the suffocating silence, the captain spoke up. "Young master, shall I give you my report?"
Without bothering to look directly at him, Sigmund gave a curt nod. The captain launched into his briefing like a soldier reporting to his superior.
"Sir, deep in the forest, we believe there are not just bandits, but monsters as well." He paused, studying Sigmund's impassive face for any reaction, finding none.
The captain pressed on, filling the silence that threatened to swallow his words. "We reached this conclusion after discovering a single horse from a merchant caravan bound for Eisenhart. The poor beast was covered in claw marks that looked like they came from something with razors for fingers. The horse died shortly after reaching our post, but we found no trace of the caravan members, not even their bones."
For the first time since the report began, Sigmund responded, his voice carrying the cold precision of sharpened steel. "So we're to assume they've been taken alive?"
"Yes, sir! That's our belief," the captain replied, his voice betraying a slight stutter as he marveled at how quickly Sigmund had grasped the implications.
"Then there's no point in delay. We move out immediately." The command fell like an executioner's blade.
The captain jolted as if struck by lightning. They would be raiding a bandit camp that potentially harbored monsters, hardly the sort of leisurely afternoon he'd hoped for.
"Young master," he ventured, somehow finding courage in his fear, "don't you think we should take more time to prepare? We haven't even—"
Sigmund's response came not in words but in a piercing stare that could have frozen hellfire itself. The captain felt his knees turn to water under that gaze and immediately bolted from the tent to gather the squad, his earlier courage evaporating like morning dew.
---
Minutes later, all the guards had assembled on the open ground within the camp, forming loose ranks that spoke more of nervous energy than military precision. Twenty men in total, each having reached at least the peak of advanced rank, with their captain himself having recently broken through to the initial stage of expert rank. The air buzzed with whispered conversations and barely concealed anxiety.
"Hey, I told you, didn't I?" one of the guards from earlier hissed to his comrades, his face pale as parchment. "Someone from the main family always means trouble brewing."
"Why do we have to raid these bandits anyway?" another guard replied, wringing his hands like he was trying to squeeze water from stone. "I heard their leader is at the peak of expert rank! We might as well be marching to our own funeral."
Their unit wasn't truly part of the Lion Order, the order only trained leaders, after all. This fact gnawed at them like a persistent ache. Their captain had only recently managed to break through to expert rank, and they couldn't bring themselves to trust their new leader. After all, he was merely seventeen years old, and even if he were some kind of prodigy, achieving expert rank required more than noble blood and pretty eyes.
The murmurs died like candles snuffed by wind as Sigmund approached the front of the assembled guards. His obsidian hair swayed gently to the rhythm of the forest breeze, and his eyes swept across each man with the methodical precision of a hawk surveying prey. He spoke not a word, simply stood there observing the crowd with an expression as detached as winter frost.
Then, without warning, the air itself seemed to come alive. Currents began to swirl and ripple around Sigmund as an energy formed over his body, something tangible yet otherworldly, magnificent yet terrifying. The invisible force hit the guards like a physical wall, sending several stumbling backward despite Sigmund not even directing the energy toward them. This was aura in its raw, unfiltered form.
Aura was simply the outward expression of one's refined mana, an energy with versatile applications. As one progressed in their mastery, their aura would become increasingly dense, making it possible to gauge their rank at a glance. Every man on the training ground felt the weight of invisible chains pressing down on them, their breathing becoming labored as if the very air had turned to liquid. In the next instant, Sigmund dispersed the energy, releasing them from its crushing embrace.
"I can't believe this!" one guard gasped, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and primal fear that made his hands shake.
"That aura, it's at the peak of expert level!" another managed to wheeze as he pulled himself up from where he'd been knocked to his knees. "Maybe even higher!"
The training ground erupted in shocked murmurs as reality sank in. They had just witnessed a seventeen-year-old release an aura that could kill someone who had barely awakened to mana, like crushing an ant beneath an iron boot.
Throughout the chaos of excited chatter, Sigmund remained as detached as ever. This had been his plan all along, he'd noticed the guards' reluctance about raiding the bandit camp and thought he could boost their confidence by releasing just a fraction of his mana. Perhaps he had gotten a bit carried away, but the effect was undeniable.
"Everyone!" Sigmund's voice cut through the noise like a sword through silk, instantly silencing the ongoing chatter. He turned his back to them, his stance radiating confidence that seemed to fill the very air around him. "We are from the war tribe! Since when have we ever feared battles or calculated winning odds like merchants counting copper coins? We will march into the bandits' camp and deal them a blow that will echo through these forests. We will kill them all!"
He raised his fist toward the sky like a war banner unfurling in the wind, and the transformation in his men was immediate and electric.
The guards who moments before had been worried about walking into the lion's den now felt their blood surge with battle-lust. Even their captain felt his spine straighten, they had become weak, and that was unacceptable for soldiers bearing the Eisenklinge name. They all raised their voices in a thunderous war cry, the sound echoing through the trees as they fell in behind Sigmund, who had already begun marching toward their destiny.
---
Meanwhile, in the capital city of Klingeheim, within the walls of Eisenhart, a man sat in his chair with his boots propped up on his desk like he owned the world, which, in many ways, he did. He looked every inch the seasoned warrior, with short obsidian hair and piercing azure eyes that had seen more battles than most men saw sunrises. A wide, confident grin spread across his weathered features as he lost himself in thought.
'The young cub has just received his assignment. I'm sure he'll do well, it's the guards at the border I fear for,' Count Daimon mused, then sighed deeply before smacking his forehead with his palm, producing a sound like thunder rumbling through his office.
He leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling as he silently prayed that the force he'd left under Sigmund's command wouldn't come back to bite him in ways he couldn't yet imagine. After all, giving a seventeen-year-old, even one as talented as Sigmund, command of seasoned soldiers was either brilliant strategy or spectacular folly. Only time would tell which.