S2:CH1

“Alvin… Alvin, wake up.”

The voice drifted through darkness—hazy, muffled, echoing faintly as though spoken through a long tunnel. His skull throbbed, his limbs felt heavy as stone. More voices followed, distant yet familiar.

“He still needs rest. Leave him be. We’ll return for him later.”

His eyes fluttered open. Cold air bit at his skin, and the sound of marching boots rolled over him like a tide. Alvin tried to rise, but his body refused him. Still, he forced himself upright inch by painful inch.

“Where am I…?” he muttered.

Horses snorted nearby. Before him stretched a sprawling camp set among the barren, rocky highlands—tents clustered tightly under the gray sky, their canvas snapping in the wind. The embers of a hundred campfires flickered against the cold, their smoke mingling with the mountain air. Refugees huddled near the flames, peasants pressed together for what little warmth remained.

It had been five months since their journey began. With every league they marched, more desperate folk joined them—people with no home left to claim. The Clan of Aeryth had butchered the royal lines, hunting House Valkyrie to extinction, leaving their dukedom a blackened ruin. To the common folk of Ravena, the kingdom was dead and buried.

But not to Kindred. Not to the rangers. As long as even one Ravenian leader drew breath, the threat remained—and the fight was not yet lost.

Alvin steadied himself and looked around. Soldiers were breaking camp, packing supplies, tightening straps on armor and saddlebags. Had he been awake sooner, he would have done the same, but others had prepared his kit for him while he slept. Tiffany approached with a bowl of food, relief softening her features. She had scarcely left his side since he fell unconscious. Gold, too, had kept constant watch over his tent.

“You’re awake, comrade.”
A deep voice rose above the mountain winds.

Kindred stood before him, clad in a new uniform, though his familiar hood still shadowed his face.

“Where…?” Alvin asked, still dazed. The last thing he recalled was throwing himself before the Queen as the arrows fell. The realization hit him like a hammer.

“Wait—where’s the Queen?”

“Dead,” Kindred said, cutting him short. “And today we reach Karthus, the kingdom that has agreed to shelter us. Now form up. On me.”

The regiments hurried into formation while the peasants gathered their few belongings.

“We enter their lands quietly,” Kindred called out. “No chaos. No disorder. Hold yourselves well. Good luck, comrades.”

They marched toward the towering gates of the kingdom. As they passed under the ancient stone archway, the people of Karthus stared—some with shock, some with curiosity, others with fear. They had not seen a military force of this size in generations, sheltered as they were in the deep-forested safety of their realm.

And stranger still was the sight of Kindred’s host: a regiment made of many races, marching under a single banner.

“General Kindred of the Red Blood Regiment,” he said with a bow. “Thank you, sire. We shall speak more of this matter later.”

After the regiment settled into their quarters, a young noble entered—white-haired, finely dressed, and wearing a smile too bright for the cold Karthian dusk. Kindred measured him carefully, though the man’s courtesy softened the moment.

“An honor to meet you, General!” the noble said.

“And you as well,” Kindred replied.

The boy’s eyes shone as though meeting a hero from a tale. He hurried to direct his servants, then turned back, nervousness creeping into his voice.

“Lord Uri, at your service. I own this tavern.”

“So I gathered,” Kindred said.

“And… I have a question.”

“Ask.”

Uri hesitated, swallowing, as though the words were sharp in his throat.

“I wish to join your regiment.”

Kindred had expected as much. Word of the Red Regiment had spread—among peasants, soldiers, even nobles hungry for purpose or glory. Yet nobles brought complications: ambition, politics, expectations. Kindred studied the young man, and in his trembling resolve saw sincerity, if not wisdom.

“Very well,” Kindred said at last.

Uri nearly burst with joy, rushing off to don his new uniform.

As the Red, Black, and Straznicy regiments settled around the tavern, Alvin approached, uneasy.

“General… may I speak with you?” he asked. “Alone.”

Kindred exhaled, already sensing the weight behind the request. They climbed the stairs to a quiet table in the middle of the loft. Drinks were set aside. Silence lingered.

Kindred leaned forward.

“Speak.”

"What is it comrade?"

Alvin took a short while to think about his reply. As he sipped his drink, he then said...

"I'd like to take my leave for some time in the Mountains of the Trost Region."

Kindred, taking a sip, looked at his eye and stared at it for quite some time, then smiling. He then looked down as he saw a man in brown hair walking amidst the crowd of soldiers in red, black, and gray. Wearing what seems to be a woodland-olive hood, he took his guesses and looked back at his current colonel. He then said...

"You may. But may I know why?"

Alvin took a sigh. As he looked away, he said with a bit of dread, "I watched Jonathan die, Emilia as well. And from what I heard from Tiffany, she told me how I failed to protect the queen as an arrow hit her as I collapsed when I tried to retain the barrier." Alvin's voice grew and grew, filled with disappointment and frustration, but Kindred sat calmly, as he observed how his comrade would react to such emotions. Alvin then looked down and said...

"I wasn't strong enough."

Kindred then sat there, knowing full well how guilty his comrade was in that situation. He then said to him...

"Now now, don't blame yourself."

"But-"

"Alvin..."

As Kindred Interrupted, he pulled out his dagger to show it to his colonel, who also seemed to be his brother at this point. That is how he treats all his comrades anyways - bound by a code of comraderie and brotherhood. There were stains of blood however to the dagger. And as he pointed at it, he said...

"Our job revolves around the lives of people. Their blood, will always be in our hands, whether good or bad."

Alvin sat there listening to Kindred, who was obviously not finished talking. And as he put the knife town on the table, the dried blood stains of it were ever present and imminent. And as he would look at the knife closer, the general said.

"That blood stain isn't someone's. It was mine. Someone stabbed my shoulder before when I threw my body to protect a mother and her child. That stain keeps reminding me, to this day, that you do not strength to ensure the safety of your people. Sometimes all you need is courage and your wits to do it. Remember that Goner could've died if it wasn't for you. May that lesson guide you on your journey comrade."

As Alvin nodded, he stood up and walked away. But he then he turned around and said..

"Oh, I forgot to mention that someone will be replacing me while I am gone. Just be sure to trust him, as he seems to be wary of ensuring that people would not betray him."

Kindred only nodded as Alvin turned around again to walk off. But then he bumped ito a man with an olive hood. As Alvin apologized, Kindred's eyes locked into the man.

The hooded figure sat on a table near them. And as Kindred stood to walk past him, he noticed something near his pocket. A silver insignia of some sort. And as he went nearer, it was evident on who it was.

"Hello Harling."

The hooded figure quickly stood up, but the person's head was slammed down to the table by Kindred. He locked his hand on the right arm and neck of the enemy. "Nice to meet you comrade." He continued.

The man struggled, and some of the other regiment soldiers heard the loud thud. So Morticia, and Conan went to the scene to see the general holding what seems to be a mysterious figure with his head on the table. The man groaned in pain as he tried to recover from the bashing of his head on the table. As Conan took off the hood of the olive wearing man, they could not believe who it was.

"Harling?" Morticia said, baffled as she was of the fact that a soldier from Ravena would even go as far as Karthus to follow them.

"Seems like the journey has been rough. Welcome to Karthus comrade, what business do you offer here?"

Harling did not answer, and only prolonged the situation as more and more people seemed to notice the situation. "You don't really have a choice good sir. So just talk." Kindred said.

"Ye bastard. You regiments bloody be serious with me drink innit?"

His strong Vonturian accent was heard, but Kindred pushed his face down further. Which made the ranger even groan more in pain, "Fine fine! I was sent here to burn a village! Those bullocks haven't agreed to my bloody terms."

Kindred sighed. His smile gone, and his sarcastic tone out, he then faced Conan and gave Harling to him. "Let's go." He said. "It seems like we're not the only ones seeking refuge in this kingdom.

"You should've given bird lady a visit bruv." Harling then said.

Kindred looked at him in annoyance, but also in intrigue. The Vonturian man continued...

"The bird lady's been cryin' every night since you left Ravena. Seems like she's been very unhappy with your disappearance an- AAGH!!!"

Harling's words had not been finished as his arm was twisted a bit to put pain, while not breaking his bone. They continued to move.

With the Red Blood Regiment successfully putting Harling in prison, the king was even more positive of having their help in keeping the kingdom safe. And with this, the people seemed to like them more. But as they would move out, doubt seemed to grow more as they see from the church.

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