The Realmsic Conquest: The Hero of Legend by Demethius Jackson
Leoden’s hands were calloused from the hard living he’d endured during his young existence. Surviving in the wilderness of the northeastern Realm was a daily reminder of the fragility of life. Who needed an endless war when the brutal elements of nature could just as easily kill you? The changing season would soon bring with it an all-too-familiar cold that stung his limbs. Walking purposefully, he ventured into the forest outside his village to collect firewood for the approaching winter.
It was a few hours walk to his favorite spot in the woods. Although much farther than he’d like to have traveled on this day, it always proved reliable for quality wood. On his back, he carried a satchel that contained food and an extra change of clothes. Holstered on his hip sat a wood axe. Behind him, he dragged the heavy sled that would carry the wood back to Cyperus Village. Leoden never carried a sled this large, but he hoped to gather enough wood to burn through the entire cold season.
An overcast sky darkened the forest more than usual. Leoden smelled rain in the air. He strode without fear amidst the gloom of the desolate surroundings. He was one of the Cyperus Clan—nomadic warriors who prided themselves on the ability to thrive in any environment. Walking through the forest reminded Leoden of when he was a young boy. He learned the ways of the warrior from his elders within these very same towering canopies. Day after day, he practiced with them, enhancing his survival and combat skills.
After hours of travel, Leoden halted. His awareness tingled with the familiarity of his surroundings. Finally, this is the spot!
Relieved, he released the shoulder strap of his satchel and dumped it to the ground. Approaching a medium-sized birch tree, he pressed his hands against the ruggedness of its bark. From their outward appearance, the trees in this location seemed no different than the others throughout the forest. But inside, the wood was rich with sap, which would cause it to burn slowly in his campfire. He removed his axe from its holster. Gripping it tightly, he swung it into the tree.
Although he favored no particular battle weapon, Leoden became quite fond of the simple wood axe. Its weight felt good in his hands. When striking trees with its iron blade, he loved the chomping sound, and the way the wooden handle vibrated his palms. By his current age of sixteen, he’d developed the swing of a master woodsman.
Each whack against the birch tree echoed through the forest. The blade drove deeper into the trunk with each strike, but he was startled from the rhythm of his work by the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.
Lowering his axe, he paused, listening to the sounds of the forest for the slightest trace of anything out of the ordinary. Birds chirped in the distance. Wind rustled the leaves of the towering tree branches. Squirrels scampered through the grass in search for food. Nothing seemed unusual. Leoden laughed. What did he really expect? It wasn’t likely that anyone else would be this far into the wilderness. He hefted the axe and continued chopping. Several hours later, he’d collected enough firewood to pack the sled and return home.
It wasn’t so much the chopping of wood that tired him out, but more so the long trek back to his village. His muscles were sore and his feet hurt severely. By the time he returned that afternoon, he longed for a good night’s rest, but was doubtful he’d get one. Lately, he hadn’t been sleeping well for reasons he couldn’t explain. His mind wandered as he lugged the heavy sled towards his hut. Ever since that weird incident in the forest, he’d felt uneasy about something. He focused upon the distant western mountains that sat ominously under the gray clouds. Out of nowhere, an elderly man startled him with a brisk pat upon his sore back.
“Leoden, you look troubled,” the Elder said. “Is something wrong?”
Leoden peered deep into the western sky. Something about it surely bothered him.
“I feel a storm—or something—is coming,” he replied.
• • • • •
Damian’s Legion had successfully pushed through most of the Western Nations by late afternoon. The Realmsic border was in their sights. With each step closer, he breathed with excitement. Although a full day away from Centre Pointe, he felt minute traces of the Realm’s magical energy teasing the edge of his senses.
By the thousands, the Legionarie ranks marched behind Damian, who led them upon the back of a fully-grown silver panther. The snarling beast was twice as large and savage as his most brawny Legionaries. He petted the side of the panther’s silky head. Years ago, he found the abandoned cub in the woods and nurtured it. Now the animal was obedient only to him, and was yet another symbol of his dominance.
General Thane accompanied Damian on horseback. The Warlord turned in his saddle to survey the unending uniform line stretching back across the landscape’s patchwork of crops, fallow fields, and forested groves. This part of the region was once loosely populated, but now it was abandoned. The few who lived off the western frontier had already fled the Warlord’s approach.
Damian quizzically watched Thane maneuver off the path and peer into the distance. “Is there a problem, General?” he called out.
“My Lord,” Thane shouted across the path, pointing beyond the troops. “Our men move swiftly. But the Sacred Forest lies at the Realmsic border up ahead. Its depth obstructs our path.”
“And?” the Warlord replied, crossing over the path to Thane.
“To push through the forest will significantly slow our progress. Yet, to circumnavigate it may also delay us several days.”
“Then burn the forest.”
Thane’s head jolted upwards. “My Lord?” he asked, reining in his horse. Damian also slowed to a stop and glowered into the distance as though he would cut down the forest with a look. “If we cannot go through it, and if we cannot go around it, General, then burn it.”
Thane stared at Damian. Anxiety tightened his voice. “It’s the Sacred Forest, sire. The animals within it have been cherished and protected for a thousand years. It’s the only place that remains untouched by war.”
“Remained,” Damian corrected, without any trace of regret.
Focusing on the small traces of magic already within his body, his eyes began to glow. He shot a massive fireball from his hand. It sailed from their short distance and hit the forest with a devastating impact. The trees of the Sacred Forest instantly caught fire. Yards away, he could see the animals scurrying from the flames. His eyes squinted from the distant firelight, yet his gaze flared with the same intensity.
“If you ever hesitate to execute my orders again, General…” Damian pointed a finger at Thane. “Keep our Legion moving. At whatever cost!”
• • • • •
A nearby explosion startled Corporal Rikker’s horse. He pulled on his reins to regain control of it while scanning the area surrounding them. “Jeren, what was that?” he asked his comrade. The two Realmsic soldiers had been patrolling the western border for most of the day.
Private Jeren spun his horse around and immediately gasped. “It came from there!” he pointed. A plume of smoke rose above the Sacred Forest.
“Dammit! Just when I thought we’d actually have an easy patrol. Come on!” Rikker commanded. At top speed, the two galloped towards the border, which was less than a mile from their location.
“Whooooaaaa, girl,” Rikker halted when the Sacred Forest came into full view, followed by Jeren. He saw the flames engulfing the trees.
“What the...” Rikker exclaimed. His heart pounded heavily and his adrenaline pumped stronger than if he had been in battle.
Suddenly, a small rank of foot soldiers emerged from the burning forest.
Rikker immediately recognized their spear-shaped helmets and midnight-black body armor. “Legionaries!” he shouted.
Hacking away through the outer ridge of the forest, they chopped at burnt branches and debris, as if clearing a path for a much larger force.
“Jeren!” Rikker yelled. “Get out of here! Send word to Centre Pointe immediately!”
Chapter Six
It was a few hours walk to his favorite spot in the woods. Although much farther than he’d like to have traveled on this day, it always proved reliable for quality wood. On his back, he carried a satchel that contained food and an extra change of clothes. Holstered on his hip sat a wood axe. Behind him, he dragged the heavy sled that would carry the wood back to Cyperus Village. Leoden never carried a sled this large, but he hoped to gather enough wood to burn through the entire cold season.
An overcast sky darkened the forest more than usual. Leoden smelled rain in the air. He strode without fear amidst the gloom of the desolate surroundings. He was one of the Cyperus Clan—nomadic warriors who prided themselves on the ability to thrive in any environment. Walking through the forest reminded Leoden of when he was a young boy. He learned the ways of the warrior from his elders within these very same towering canopies. Day after day, he practiced with them, enhancing his survival and combat skills.
After hours of travel, Leoden halted. His awareness tingled with the familiarity of his surroundings. Finally, this is the spot!
Relieved, he released the shoulder strap of his satchel and dumped it to the ground. Approaching a medium-sized birch tree, he pressed his hands against the ruggedness of its bark. From their outward appearance, the trees in this location seemed no different than the others throughout the forest. But inside, the wood was rich with sap, which would cause it to burn slowly in his campfire. He removed his axe from its holster. Gripping it tightly, he swung it into the tree.
Although he favored no particular battle weapon, Leoden became quite fond of the simple wood axe. Its weight felt good in his hands. When striking trees with its iron blade, he loved the chomping sound, and the way the wooden handle vibrated his palms. By his current age of sixteen, he’d developed the swing of a master woodsman.
Each whack against the birch tree echoed through the forest. The blade drove deeper into the trunk with each strike, but he was startled from the rhythm of his work by the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.
Lowering his axe, he paused, listening to the sounds of the forest for the slightest trace of anything out of the ordinary. Birds chirped in the distance. Wind rustled the leaves of the towering tree branches. Squirrels scampered through the grass in search for food. Nothing seemed unusual. Leoden laughed. What did he really expect? It wasn’t likely that anyone else would be this far into the wilderness. He hefted the axe and continued chopping. Several hours later, he’d collected enough firewood to pack the sled and return home.
It wasn’t so much the chopping of wood that tired him out, but more so the long trek back to his village. His muscles were sore and his feet hurt severely. By the time he returned that afternoon, he longed for a good night’s rest, but was doubtful he’d get one. Lately, he hadn’t been sleeping well for reasons he couldn’t explain. His mind wandered as he lugged the heavy sled towards his hut. Ever since that weird incident in the forest, he’d felt uneasy about something. He focused upon the distant western mountains that sat ominously under the gray clouds. Out of nowhere, an elderly man startled him with a brisk pat upon his sore back.
“Leoden, you look troubled,” the Elder said. “Is something wrong?”
Leoden peered deep into the western sky. Something about it surely bothered him.
“I feel a storm—or something—is coming,” he replied.
• • • • •
Damian’s Legion had successfully pushed through most of the Western Nations by late afternoon. The Realmsic border was in their sights. With each step closer, he breathed with excitement. Although a full day away from Centre Pointe, he felt minute traces of the Realm’s magical energy teasing the edge of his senses.
By the thousands, the Legionarie ranks marched behind Damian, who led them upon the back of a fully-grown silver panther. The snarling beast was twice as large and savage as his most brawny Legionaries. He petted the side of the panther’s silky head. Years ago, he found the abandoned cub in the woods and nurtured it. Now the animal was obedient only to him, and was yet another symbol of his dominance.
General Thane accompanied Damian on horseback. The Warlord turned in his saddle to survey the unending uniform line stretching back across the landscape’s patchwork of crops, fallow fields, and forested groves. This part of the region was once loosely populated, but now it was abandoned. The few who lived off the western frontier had already fled the Warlord’s approach.
Damian quizzically watched Thane maneuver off the path and peer into the distance. “Is there a problem, General?” he called out.
“My Lord,” Thane shouted across the path, pointing beyond the troops. “Our men move swiftly. But the Sacred Forest lies at the Realmsic border up ahead. Its depth obstructs our path.”
“And?” the Warlord replied, crossing over the path to Thane.
“To push through the forest will significantly slow our progress. Yet, to circumnavigate it may also delay us several days.”
“Then burn the forest.”
Thane’s head jolted upwards. “My Lord?” he asked, reining in his horse. Damian also slowed to a stop and glowered into the distance as though he would cut down the forest with a look. “If we cannot go through it, and if we cannot go around it, General, then burn it.”
Thane stared at Damian. Anxiety tightened his voice. “It’s the Sacred Forest, sire. The animals within it have been cherished and protected for a thousand years. It’s the only place that remains untouched by war.”
“Remained,” Damian corrected, without any trace of regret.
Focusing on the small traces of magic already within his body, his eyes began to glow. He shot a massive fireball from his hand. It sailed from their short distance and hit the forest with a devastating impact. The trees of the Sacred Forest instantly caught fire. Yards away, he could see the animals scurrying from the flames. His eyes squinted from the distant firelight, yet his gaze flared with the same intensity.
“If you ever hesitate to execute my orders again, General…” Damian pointed a finger at Thane. “Keep our Legion moving. At whatever cost!”
• • • • •
A nearby explosion startled Corporal Rikker’s horse. He pulled on his reins to regain control of it while scanning the area surrounding them. “Jeren, what was that?” he asked his comrade. The two Realmsic soldiers had been patrolling the western border for most of the day.
Private Jeren spun his horse around and immediately gasped. “It came from there!” he pointed. A plume of smoke rose above the Sacred Forest.
“Dammit! Just when I thought we’d actually have an easy patrol. Come on!” Rikker commanded. At top speed, the two galloped towards the border, which was less than a mile from their location.
“Whooooaaaa, girl,” Rikker halted when the Sacred Forest came into full view, followed by Jeren. He saw the flames engulfing the trees.
“What the...” Rikker exclaimed. His heart pounded heavily and his adrenaline pumped stronger than if he had been in battle.
Suddenly, a small rank of foot soldiers emerged from the burning forest.
Rikker immediately recognized their spear-shaped helmets and midnight-black body armor. “Legionaries!” he shouted.
Hacking away through the outer ridge of the forest, they chopped at burnt branches and debris, as if clearing a path for a much larger force.
“Jeren!” Rikker yelled. “Get out of here! Send word to Centre Pointe immediately!”
Chapter Six