Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

Under Allen's command, Eman and Patt led a force of knights through the town, raiding the mansions and estates of Steven's highest-ranking subordinates. Gold, weapons, fine clothes, and priceless jewels were seized in abundance, further cementing their dominance over the remnants of the slaver network.

But wealth was not the only concern—escaped slavers posed a future threat. Allen issued a standing order: hunt them down, eliminate any resistance, and bring useful captives back for interrogation.

Meanwhile, Steven's personal ship proved to be a treasure trove. It was stocked with provisions, high-quality rations, and a small fortune in coin. Recognizing the morale boost that wealth could provide, Allen generously rewarded his forces—knights, adventurers, and mercenaries alike.

One sum, however, was set aside for Seraphine. Allen knew her worth. Her magic could become the foundation of something far greater, something that might one day change the tide of wars.

"Use this to get whatever you need," he told her, handing over a sizeable purse of gold. "Materials, research, plants—anything that will advance your magic cultivation."

Seraphine's eyes gleamed as she accepted it. "I won't disappoint you."

Allen had even assigned scouts to seek out any relics or arcane materials from the Magi Era, hoping to accelerate her progress. If she became strong enough, she could tip the scales of any future battle in their favor.

Days passed in preparation. Allen's forces gathered supplies and prepared for their next move northward. Just as the final logistics were being settled, the sharp beat of hooves shattered the quiet. A lone cavalry scout raced into the central plaza, dust kicking up in his wake.

Reining in his horse sharply, the scout dismounted and saluted. "Milord!" He caught his breath before continuing. "An armed group is approaching the bastide. Sir Stroud believes they belong to the local dominion lord. Their numbers range between 1,500 to 2,000 men, mostly civilian farmers with some knights leading them. Sir Stroud asks whether he should attack. Our light cavalry is currently observing them from a distance."

Silence fell over the plaza. The news was unexpected, but not entirely surprising. The local nobility would have noticed Steven's absence, and now they sought to reclaim what was once his.

Allen's mind worked quickly. "Mostly farmers," he murmured. "That means they're likely conscripts, not trained soldiers." His gaze turned to his officers.

Jasper cracked his knuckles. "Want me to wipe them out?"

Hilter frowned. "We should consider whether this is truly the dominion lord's main force or merely a probing attack."

Seraphine, added, "If we kill them all, the dominion lord will have reason to raise a larger army against us. We could set a trap instead—make them fear advancing further."

Allen weighed their words carefully. Attack, ambush, negotiate, or set an example?

He turned to the scout. "Where are they now?"

"Roughly five miles out, moving cautiously. They haven't spotted us yet."

Allen looked over his assembled leaders. The next move would shape their campaign in this region.

"Tell Stroud not to act recklessly," Allen ordered. "Send an emissary to communicate. If they're hostile, use hit-and-run tactics, minimal casualties. If they want to talk, inform them I'll meet their leader personally."

The scout saluted and rode off. Allen turned to Patt. "Prepare a gift. Take Steven's and Roger's heads, pack them properly."

"Bale, you're coming with me." The silver-ranked spearman nodded. Allen continued, "Hilter keep things in order here and prepare to resume our journey north as soon as possible."

"As you wish, Master."

---

Guided by Stroud, Allen arrived at a vantage point overlooking the approaching force. Below, disorganized farmers wielding pitchforks and axes milled about, some even resting.

Atop a distant hill, armored knights stood beneath a banner depicting a white flower.

Stroud smirked. "Milord, we could crush them easily."

Allen shot him a look. "And then? Turn the entire noble class of this region against us? This isn't our land, Stroud. Ethically and legally, we are the aggressors here."

Stroud grunted in reluctant agreement.

"Patt, bring our family standard flag. Bale, carry the 'gift.' We're going to meet them."

Stroud hesitated. "Milord, wouldn't it be dangerous?"

Allen gestured toward the assembled ranks behind them—heavy-armored troops, crossbowmen, and Serena's archers stationed strategically. "They won't dare try anything."

Allen's army was structured with clear leadership over each battalion. Jasper commanded the cavalry, leading swift and decisive charges. Stroud oversaw the heavy-armored brigade, ensuring the frontline remained impenetrable. Serena was in charge of both the archery and crossbow units, directing volleys of deadly precision. Fredrick led the knights, maintaining their discipline and ensuring their charge struck true. Hilter, as second-in-command, was responsible for Allen's safety, accompanied by a few knights, Bale, and the formidable magician Seraphine. Eman managed logistics, keeping the army supplied, while Patt, ever reliable, handled errands and personal tasks for Allen.

---

At the foot of the hill, Allen dismounted. Patt carried the Styles family banner high while Bale followed with the box.

A fully armored man at the front removed his helmet, revealing a tired yet sharp-eyed middle-aged face. "I am Baron Miranda, Lord of Talbot Harbor. And you are?"

Allen bowed. "Allen Styles of the Northlands."

"Styles… I know that name." The baron narrowed his gaze. "A noble family recognized for military merit. Why is someone from the Northlands in my domain, sealing off my harbor?"

Allen shrugged. "Lord Baron, I am merely traveling to inherit my family's title. I did not expect to be attacked by slavers in your dominion, who tried to capture and sell us."

Miranda cursed. "That damned slaver group…"

"We dealt with them," Allen continued. "Wiped them out. Their bastide is now under our control. The harbor was sealed to ensure no remnants escaped. I bring you proof."

Bale stepped forward and opened the box. The severed heads of Steven and Roger lay inside.

Miranda's eyes widened. "You killed them both?"

"An hour ago."

Laughter erupted from the baron. "Hah! Those bastards… finally got what they deserved." His men muttered among themselves, some peering eagerly at the heads.

Then, Miranda's expression stiffened as he glanced at the opposite hill, where Allen's disciplined army stood in formation. His tone shifted. "Your forces… they rival a kingdom's army. Why would slavers even think of attacking you?"

Allen sighed. "When we arrived, I ordered my men to keep a low profile. We were unarmed. The slavers mistook us for merchants and demanded half our people. When we refused, they attacked. We retaliated."

Miranda considered this. The story was easy to verify—ask the townsfolk.

After a long pause, he smiled. "Well then, Lord Styles, I owe you thanks. Those slavers have long been a thorn in my side." He turned to his knights. "Ransack the slaver-owned shops in the harbor. They've evaded my taxes for years."

Allen also told Bale to let the Baron's knights go through the barricade, but he internally smirked. Unfortunately for Miranda, Allen's men had already looted those stores clean. But the baron would at least regain control over the harbor's economy.

As the two noblemen sealed their newfound understanding, Allen knew—this was only the beginning.

...

In the evening, a grand banquet was held in the main hall of the bastide, its long wooden tables lined with plates of roasted meats, fresh bread, and overflowing goblets of wine. Allen had spared no effort in organizing the feast, ensuring that Baron Miranda and his entourage of five knights and fifty guards were received with proper respect. The hall bustled with conversation, the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished armor of both Allen's knights and Miranda's men.

Seated at the head of the table, Baron Miranda observed the gathering with a sharp gaze. He had brought only a small force with him, a sign that he didn't perceive Allen as a threat. However, his expression shifted as Allen introduced his own knights one by one. These weren't ordinary warriors but skilled men who had trained under Allen's command, each of them exuding confidence and strength.

"This is quite the force you have gathered, Lord Styles," Miranda remarked, swirling his wine. "Strong men, disciplined. I must admit, I envy your luck in securing such talent."

Allen smiled, raising his goblet. "Talent alone is not enough, Baron. It must be nurtured, guided. That is the duty of a leader."

Miranda chuckled. "Spoken like a true noble."

The feast continued, filled with pleasantries and discussions of politics. But when the plates were cleared and the servants withdrew, Allen leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Baron Miranda, I must ask for your assistance," Allen said. "Without your support, I cannot restart my journey north. No matter how strong my men are or how much wealth I have, Talbot Harbor is key to securing the resources I need—both in manpower and supplies."

Miranda's relaxed demeanor hardened. He set down his goblet, studying Allen carefully. "That is no small request. Talbot Harbor belongs to the Lormo Duchy, and the Redlis Kingdom watches it closely. If I provide you with support, I risk drawing their attention."

Allen nodded. "I understand the risk. But consider this—Redlis is already entangled in a war against the allied duchies. The First Prince's forces are stretched thin, his lands overrun with bandits. We have a chance to move unnoticed if we are careful."

Miranda remained silent, contemplating Allen's words. Finally, he exhaled. "Very well. I will aid you, but know this—once you enter Redlis territory, you will be on your own. No one will come to your rescue if things go south."

Allen met his gaze firmly. "That is a risk I am prepared to take."

---

The Strategy Meeting

That night, Allen gathered his trusted men in the war room—a large chamber within the bastide, its stone walls lined with maps and reports.

Hilter stood beside him, along with several of his summons who had been aiding in planning their movements.

Allen pointed at the large map spread across the table. "We have over five thousand people traveling with us, along with an immense stockpile of resources. If we take the main highway through Redlis, the First Prince will see us as a prime target."

Hilter nodded. "It's too dangerous. The First Prince has a personal grudge against the Styles family. Even if we were just a small merchant convoy, he would strike without hesitation. With the numbers we have now, we would be an irresistible prize."

Stroud leaned over the table, tracing a different route. "There's an alternative. A northwest path, avoiding the main roads and passing through the dominions of minor noble families. They lack strong forces, and if they resist, we can suppress them."

Allen folded his arms. "And the bandits?"

"They're scattered, but they thrive in these territories due to the nobles' weakness," Hilter said. "It will be dangerous, but if we eliminate them, we gain two advantages—one, we clear a safe path for our convoy, and two, we earn the goodwill of these nobles."

Allen considered this. "That's assuming the nobles don't try to take advantage of our situation."

Jasper smirked. "If they do, we deal with them like we deal with the bandits."

A brief silence filled the room before Allen spoke. "The First Prince is already in trouble. His war with the four duchies has drained his resources, and he's rumored to be taking loans just to keep his army intact. If he loses any more ground, his kingdom will collapse."

"But that also makes him desperate," Serena pointed out. "If he learns of our movement, he might throw everything he has at us to claim our resources."

Allen exhaled. "Then we stay unpredictable. We avoid major roads, move quickly, and hit hard when needed."

The decision was made. The convoy would take the longer, riskier path northwest, through the lawless lands of minor nobles and bandit lords. It would be dangerous, but if they succeeded, they would arrive in the Northlands stronger than before.

Allen glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of his knights and summons. "Prepare the men. We leave at first light."