[ Tactical Overview ]
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– Route: Marching via Cliff of Echo
– Estimated Arrival: 2 Days, 8 Hours
The sun sat high in the sky, casting a golden shimmer across the grassy trail that wound toward the mountainside. A wooden cart creaked along, its wheels clattering over stones, pulled not by horse or oxen—but by two feathered beasts the size of buffalo. One was Kentucky, the other Lyssa's own cuckoo. Kentucky didn't mind the burden at all; if anything, he seemed to puff his feathers and strut a little, as though trying to flirt with Lyssa's mount while dragging the cart.
Several villagers trailed behind on their cuckoo, their eyes wide with awe.
"Is that thing really pulling that cart?" one of the younger women whispered.
"Aye," another murmured, fanning herself. "And not even breaking a sweat..."
Selene chuckled, her long black hair gleaming under the midday sun, like polished obsidian brushed with daylight. Lyssa, riding beside her, watched with a proud yet cautious glance.
The cart swayed gently as it rolled over the dirt road, its wooden wheels creaking in steady rhythm. Aexl lounged on top, belly heavy from lunch, the faint scent of fresh-stitched cloth still clinging to him. The villagers had sewn him a new shirt, the crude embroidery across the chest reading General.
He stretched his arms wide, letting out a lazy groan, then tilted his head down at the people marching alongside. His eyes narrowed—not at the shirt, not at the weight of their stares, but at one figure in particular.
Selene.
"Let me ask one thing," he said, voice casual but eyes sharp. "If I wipe out the orcs threatening this village... is the do whatever you like, part of the reward open?"
Selene blinked, turning to him. Her lips curled slightly, but not unkindly. "Anything for the village," she answered.
Simple words. But something in the way she said them—firm, honest, not teasing—made Aexl pause for a moment.
Yet within her, a different thought stirred. He came back… if this is like the others the have already bolted? but instead killed the orc rider as she remembers the head given to her. Why? There could be a lie on what I said? But he's still here?.
She didn't say it aloud. But the spark of quiet admiration flickered deep within her chest.
Beside her, Lyssa's brows twitched subtly. She caught the exchange. The way Aexl looked at Selene. The way Selene didn't slap him for the question.
Her fingers curled lightly around the reins.
Tch… showoff.
She didn't even know who she was annoyed at anymore.
The cart rolled on toward the distant ruins—its broken spires looming like jagged teeth against the midday sky. Once a castle, now a crumbled monument lost to time… and perhaps, fate was guiding them back to where the conquest would begin.
Despite the crumbling exterior, the moment they stepped inside, Axl was struck speechless.
Beneath layers of moss and dust, the grandeur was still intact. Ancient tapestries clung to the walls. Statues of past kings and warrior-queens lined the corridors like silent sentinels. The scent of history clung to the air, iron, stone, and old fire.
"This place…" Aexl whispered. "Is a gold mine of forgotten glory."
They headed into the west wing, where the stone corridors widened into a long hall lined with racks upon racks of weaponry. Dust-covered blades, pikes, axes, shields of every shape and make. Some were crude. Others were elegantly forged, possibly enchanted. But one section caught his eye.
A massive urn filled with javelins still sharp, lightweight, balanced for throwing.
Axl walked over like a child discovering candy. "Yes, yes, yes! These are perfect for Ain Jalut-style harass-and-retreat tactics."
He scooped up a bundle of them, strapping them to his back. Nearby, he found stacks of bows and arrows, though aged, still usable. He then spotted some rare mount armor, designed for large avian creatures.
He turned and beamed at Kentucky.
"Time for your glow-up, buddy."
The others followed getting some mount armor as they the change in kentucky get-up
As he fastened the armor to Kentucky's sides and neck, he turned to Lyssa. "Why hasn't this stuff been traded? You could've bartered all this for supplies, soldiers, mercs, anything."
Lyssa hesitated. "Maevra wouldn't take it."
"Maevra?" Aexl's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"
Selene and Lyssa exchanged looks. "She's… the only one we trade with. From the outside. She decides what's valuable and what's not."
Aexl frowned, but said nothing more. His instincts twitched.
One merchant? Only one trade line?
That's too clean. Too easy.
Suspicious.
But that wasn't today's problem.
He turned slightly intending to glance toward Selene only to have his eyes betray him. His gaze caught someone else entirely.
Lyssa.
Her golden hair shimmered like honeyed silk beneath the sun, damp at the edges from the heat. As she lifted a hand to brush sweat from her collarbone, her fingers trailed downward slowly, deliberately wiping along the edge of her neck, then lower… tracing the curve that disappeared beneath her low-cut blouse.
The sunlight glinted across her skin. Her movements were graceful, almost unaware… yet far too perfect to be accidental.
Aexl stiffened.
...Focus, dammit.
He looked away, ears red not from heat.
But the image lingered longer than it should.
***
The carts rumble into Eldenthyr as they return to the village, groaning under the weight of spoils. Bundles of leather, rows of rust-bitten helmets, and crates packed with over a thousand javelins, bows, and arrows. Forgotten tools of war, returned to the land that had long abandoned them.
Villagers gathered like moths to flame, murmuring in awe as they helped unload the treasure. Hands brushed over steel edges with reverence. Some flinched at the cold bite of iron. Others smiled, as if recalling stories passed down in whispers.
Then, Aexl vaulted onto the stone lip of the village well, claiming it like his personal stage.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted,
"Alright! Time for everyone to learn how to fight while riding a cuckoo like proper warriors!"
A beat of silence followed.
Then came the skeptical voices.
"…He's joking, right?"
"Cuckoos? In battle?"
"how are they supposed to charge an orc? Outrun them?"
Aexl only smiled.
He raised two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle.
Amidst the crowd the answered.
Whooom... whooom... whooom...
Thunderous wingbeats shattered the still air. Leaves scattered. Branches snapped.
From the one the village house emerged Kentucky.
A beast that defied gods, nature, and common sense.
Its frame, broader and more imposing than before, was now wrapped in silver-studded plate armor. It moved with the weight and poise of a seasoned warhorse. Its head, unmistakably avian, caught the sun in obsidian feathers that crowned its crest like jagged steel.
Golden wings unfurled, each feather rimmed in silver, rippling like silk caught in a storm. The saddle, sleek and blood-red, hugged its spine with the precision of master craftsmanship. Mounted just below the stirrups, a bronze-laced helmet gleamed like a relic from an empire lost.
Kentucky didn't just arrive.
He descended, heavy with power.
Then he bowed.
The creature bent its long neck low and dipped one armored knee, the gesture solemn and regal, like a knight honoring his sovereign.
Gasps rippled through the village square.
"By the stars…"
"It... it bowed to him."
"No wonder Sinia called him... the Cuckoo King."
Even Lyssa blinked, lips parted slightly. Her arms remained folded, but the tension in her posture betrayed her surprise.
She hadn't expected this.
Aexl, now astride the armored beast, scanned the crowd below. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was no mistaking it—he held every gaze.
"Fighting while riding cuckoos?" Lyssa asked, arms folded, one brow twitching upward.
Aexl grinned like a man holding all the cheat codes.
"Easier than you think," he replied, voice brimming with confidence. "They're docile, agile, loyal, and fast. I took down most of the scouts thanks to this guy right here."
He gave Kentucky a fond scratch along the neck. The armored war-cuckoo clucked once, deep and noble, before flaring its golden-silver wings. Sunlight caught the metallic shimmer of its feathers, scattering golden rays like a divine standard unfurling across the field.
The villagers, drawn by the spectacle, began to gather. Curiosity slowly pushed back doubt.
To Aexl's surprise, they were quick to respond.
He broke them into squads of five and led them past the village gates, into the open plains just beyond. There, under the twin suns hanging overhead, he explained the basics of mounted strike tactics.
"Javelin teams, listen up!" he barked, walking between riders as their cuckoos fluffed and shifted restlessly. "This isn't a death charge. It's sting-and-fade. Hit them, run them around, bleed them down."
He drew a quick diagram in the dirt with the butt of his spear.
"Three up front throw, two guard the flank. Then you rotate. Distance first, defense second. You move fast. You think faster."
He clapped his hands once.
"First squad, start the drill!"
The first formation launched forward. Javelins flew from awkward angles. Some bounced short. One rider's arm flailed wildly and sent his weapon soaring backward, nearly skewering the tail feathers of his own mount. Another fell off entirely with a yelp as his bird swerved too sharply.
Aexl winced, but didn't shout. He let them fumble.
Then he whistled—short, sharp, commanding.
"Shift grip to the midshaft! Don't throw from the shoulder—snap from the elbow. Let your mount's rhythm guide your release."
The next few runs showed improvement. Riders began syncing with the natural bounce of the saddle, their throws snapping outward in cleaner arcs. Javelins struck more true. The guards kept tighter formation, anticipating gaps.
Some villagers attempted bows, but Aexl noticed quickly that their accuracy worsened while mounted. Too much motion. Too little discipline.
"They're hunters, not archers," he muttered to himself. "Throwers by instinct. Not elves, but they've got arm."
A few groups adapted faster than others—but none faster than two particular riders.
Lyssa and Selene.
Lyssa rode with composure, her strikes clean and calculated. Her mount followed her weight shifts with uncanny precision, as though it read her intent before she acted.
Selene, by contrast, was raw force in motion. Her dark hair whipped like a banner behind her as she leaned into each throw. Her javelins struck the target with predator-like precision. Her cuckoo flared its wings wide, charging with wild abandon, perfectly in sync with her ferocity.
Aexl crossed his arms and watched in silence.
"They're not just warriors," he murmured. "They were born for this."
Beside him, Kentucky let out a single cluck, as if agreeing with pride.
But something else began to catch his attention.
The cuckoos… were adapting too.
Some nudged their riders gently after a successful strike. Others pecked lightly at cheeks when ignored, affectionate like loyal dogs. One refused to move unless its rider gave it a pat on the head first.
Aexl raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his amusement.
"Affection-based morale? I didn't code that into the App," he muttered. "This is real. Alive. Responding."
Suddenly, a sharp voice rang out behind him.
"Again!"
Aexl turned to see Old Roderick pacing the line, arms crossed, eyes like steel. His voice cut through hesitation like a sword.
"Elbow higher! Don't baby the throw—snap with purpose!"
"You two on guard, eyes forward! Shield wall posture even while mounted. Don't look down unless you're already dead!"
The old veteran moved like a drill sergeant from a past life, snapping corrections, steadying stances, calling tempo. The villagers listened. More than that—they responded.
Roderick was no longer just watching. He was in it. Helping. Guiding.
Aexl walked up beside him as a fresh squad launched their javelins.
"You're good at this," Aexl said low. "More than good. I'm impressed."
Roderick didn't look at him at first. His eyes remained locked on a young woman correcting her grip mid-run.
"Been a long time since I drilled rookies like this," he muttered. "Feels like I've been waiting to do it again."
Aexl nodded, then leaned in slightly.
"I need more from you. Choose ten of the best guards. Let them rest early. We'll need them sharp tonight."
Roderick's brow rose slightly. "Tonight?"
"We've got something special to handle," Aexl replied, voice dropping just enough to add weight. "They'll need full clarity. Not sore arms and spent lungs."
Roderick gave a single grunt of agreement. He turned immediately and began calling out names.
"Rina, Kaela, Siria—off field. You three, too. Weapons check. You're on night duty."
The chosen guards blinked in surprise but complied without hesitation. Some looked to Aexl. He gave them a nod. That was enough.
When Roderick returned, Aexl handed him a small baton—a short length of wood he'd whittled during the session. A symbol of authority, simple but clear.
"Yours now," Aexl said. "Keep them moving. You've got their respect."
Roderick took the wood in one hand, inspecting it with a puzzled look.
To him, it was just a carved stick.
No runes. No magic. No blade.
"…It's wood," he said flatly, as if expecting it to turn into something else.
Aexl shrugged. "It's a command symbol. Where I come from, we pass the baton to mark leadership during drills."
Roderick gave him a long look, still holding the stick between two fingers like it might bite him.
"Strange world you're from," he muttered.
But he didn't drop it.
Instead, he gripped it tighter, as if some part of him understood anyway. He stood a little straighter. His posture shifted. Authority settled across his shoulders like an old cloak rediscovered.
For a moment, his face remained its usual weathered stone.
Then, just faintly, a smile cracked his lips.
"I didn't trust you at first," he said quietly. "Thought you were another outsider bluffing through a bad hand."
He looked directly at Aexl, no longer as a superior—but as an equal.
"But you're a real bastard. And a damn good one."
Aexl chuckled. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me since I landed here."
From the edge of the training field, villagers watched the exchange. Whispered chatter drifted between them.
"Did Roderick just smile?"
"Gods, I didn't know his face could even do that…"
"He trusts him now. Really trusts him."
And as Roderick took full command of the drills, the training transformed.
The pace quickened. Formations tightened. Shouts turned into rhythm. Guards moved like squads. No longer villagers pretending to be fighters.
They were becoming soldiers.
Aexl stepped back, arms folded, Kentucky standing beside him like a statue of war.
This wasn't desperation anymore.
This… was the beginning of a fighting force.