CHAPTER 352: CHAPTER 351: AFTER THE STORM

The rain had softened into a drizzle by the time Lumberling and his three companions reached the outskirts of the battered town. Smoke still rose from collapsed rooftops. The air smelled of burnt wood, blood, and wet soil.

A weary guard stumbled forward from the outer camp, his armor dented and streaked with mud, eyes hollow with exhaustion. He raised his halberd weakly. "Identify yourselves," he rasped.

"It’s me," Lumberling said, lowering his hood. "I’ve come to see the Duke."

The guard blinked, and for a moment his fatigue was replaced by a faint spark of relief. "Lord Lumberling!" He hurried closer and gave a slight bow. "Forgive me, I didn’t recognize you right away. I thought you were protecting the city. Why have you come?"

"I left someone capable in my place," Lumberling said, his gaze drifted past the man toward the ruined walls. "Anyway, where’s the Duke?"

The guard hesitated, his shoulders sagging. "The Duke is... injured, my lord. It’s better if you see for yourself. Please, follow me."

They passed through rows of wounded soldiers lying under makeshift tents. Groans of pain filled the air as medics hurried from one man to another, their hands stained with blood. Bandages soaked through faster than they could be replaced.

Finally, they reached a large tent at the center of the camp. The smell of herbs and blood drifted from within. Standing guard outside was a man in damaged armor, his right arm bandaged from shoulder to wrist, Knight Corven.

When he saw them, his eyes widened in surprise. "Lord Lumberling, you came?"

Lumberling gave a small nod. "What happened here?"

Corven’s lips pressed into a thin line. The exhaustion on his face deepened, but then he managed a faint, weary smile. "The enemy was beyond us... but I’m glad you’re here."

"I had a feeling you might need help," Lumberling said quietly, stepping closer. "And it seems I was right. The situation here... looks bad. Where’s the Duke?"

Corven’s shoulders slumped. His gauntlets trembled slightly as he answered, "You’re right... Duke Hadric is inside, recovering from his injuries." He looked down, shame flickering in his eyes. "I... couldn’t even protect him."

"What about the Vikings?" Lumberling asked.

Corven drew in a shaky breath. "We... we lost," he admitted, his voice heavy with defeat. "The Duke managed to wound their leader, Sigvar, but the cost was too high. Many of our men... they didn’t make it. The Vikings are wounded too, but once they recover... they’ll attack again." His fists clenched, knuckles white. "And when that happens... I don’t know if we can stop them."

"...Let me see him," Lumberling said at last, his voice calm but firm. "I think there might still be a way out of this."

Corven blinked in surprise, staring at him for a moment before nodding slowly. Then, pushing aside the tent flap, he called out, "My Lord, Lord Lumberling is here to see you."

There was a short pause inside. Then came the Duke’s voice, weary, but still carrying a faint echo of authority.

"Let them in."

As soon as Lumberling entered the tent, a heavy silence filled the air. The smell of blood and medicine lingered thickly.

Duke Hadric sat on a cot in the center, his body wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. His left arm was gone, a rough stump bound tightly with cloth, and his face, once sharp and commanding looked pale and worn. He seemed to have aged decades overnight, his hair streaked with gray, his eyes dim yet still burning faintly with stubborn will.

Lumberling’s chest tightened at the sight. "What happened to you, Senior?" he asked quietly.

Hadric gave a weak cough, blood staining his lips. His voice was hoarse and bitter. "As you can see... we were defeated." He forced out a dry laugh that turned into another cough. "The capital refused to believe the reports. They called the Vikings savages, said they couldn’t compare to our Legates. But I faced one of their chosen myself. That man... Sigvar... he’s a monster."

His hand trembled as he gripped the edge of the cot, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as if mocking fate. "Now I see how wrong we were."

Lumberling frowned slightly, his gaze thoughtful. ’Someone at the level of a Legate... or maybe even stronger.’

He turned his head slightly and met Vaenyra’s eyes. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave him said enough, she had no intention of backing away from what was coming.

Hadric took a deep breath and looked up again, his tone sharpening for a moment. "More importantly, why have you come here, lad? We had an agreement, you were to protect my city."

Lumberling stepped closer. "Don’t worry, Senior," he said with a faint smile. "I left someone capable in charge. The city’s safe."

Hadric’s tired gaze hardened as he listened. "Go back to the city," he said firmly, forcing strength into his weakened voice. "Warn my people about the Vikings. Tell them to flee if they must. Once those monsters return, this town will fall. No one here can stop their leader."

Lumberling shook his head slowly. "It won’t matter if I go back, Senior. If you and your army are gone, then I can’t protect your city either."

Hadric’s brows drew together, his voice rising despite the pain. "You... are you going back on your promise?"

"It’s not like that Senior," Lumberling replied, his tone firm. "I’ll protect your city as I swore. But..." His expression turned serious, eyes meeting the Duke’s directly. "What if I said there’s another way? A way to end this before it reaches your city at all."

Hadric’s expression wavered. He studied Lumberling’s face for a long moment, there was no arrogance there, only calm conviction. The Duke exhaled slowly, leaning back against the cot. "Tell me. If there’s a way to save my men... to save my people... then I’ll owe you my life."

Lumberling nodded, then turned slightly. "These women behind me..." he said, gesturing toward his companions.

One by one, Vaenyra, Aurelya, and Liraeth lowered their hoods and removed their veils. The soft lamplight flickered across their faces, beauty that felt almost unreal in that blood-stained tent.

"They can help you," Lumberling said simply.

Hadric’s weary eyes widened in disbelief, his body tensing despite the pain. "So, it’s true then," he murmured. "They are elves, just as my men reported." His gaze shifted toward the dark-haired woman among them. "And you... I recognize you. Viscount Liraeth, isn’t it? We traded grain and steel years ago."

Liraeth gave a small, graceful bow, her voice calm yet warm. "It’s good to see you again, Duke Hadric. I apologize for not revealing myself sooner. Circumstances... have been rather complicated."

Hadric nodded faintly, though confusion flickered in his eyes. "I see. But tell me then, how would these women help us against those monsters?"

Lumberling smiled slightly and gestured toward the blue-haired elf behind him. "Lady Vaenyra," he said, his tone steady and sure. "She’s a magic circle seven."