Memoirs 187 - Expeditionary forces (Patreon)

The scenery outside the carriage slowly slid by as the vehicle rocked through the countryside near Bridgespell. Scarlett paid it little mind, however, as her attention was fixed on the two items resting in her lap.

[Old dagger (Common)]
{An old dagger once belonging to a young noble lady, a gift from her master. It appears utterly mundane}

[Old Journal (Common)]
{An old journal once belonging to a noble young lady, but long since abandoned by its owner}

These two items comprised basically everything of notable worth gained from her excursion to the Sunfire Shrine. Not that they seemed to hold much apparent value. The dagger looked about as ordinary as any other, and the journal only held significance if one considered Arlene and her siblings’ past interesting.

Which Scarlett did.

But appearances could also be deceiving.

She traced the tip of her index finger along the cold blade of the dagger, contemplating its nature.

A horse’s neigh from outside caused her to shift her gaze toward the window. A tall man in black plate rode past the carriage at a sedate trot, his hand patting the horse’s neck as he advanced to another rider ahead.

Scarlett’s eyes remained on the knight for a moment before returning to the items on her lap. The duke’s men were accompanying them towards their current destination, in adherence to the deal Scarlett had made with the man. However, there was still quite some time before they would reach where they were going.

She scrutinized the dagger in its unremarkable appearance once more, intrigued by the concealed potential beneath the unassuming facade.

Despite herself, Scarlett felt a twinge of envy towards Arlene, knowing that the dagger technically belonged to the woman and that she would have to relinquish it upon her return to Freymeadow. She hadn’t been expecting to keep it to begin with, but since she knew its true form and had it in her hands, she couldn’t help feeling this way.

Maybe it was a tad juvenile of her, but she liked to blame that particular emotion on the original Scarlett rather than taking responsibility for it herself, given all that Arlene had done for her.

Her focus shifted to the weathered journal placed beside the dagger. Its blank cover was closed, but she had spent time perusing its contents earlier. As she had initially guessed upon acquiring it, much of the journal consisted of notes related to magic theory, training, and other subjects that a young mage might jot down.

In a sense, it was intriguing, though much of it was things that Scarlett didn’t entirely understand due to her lacking much of the prerequisite knowledge that other mages would likely have been taught earlier. Though she might find those notes useful if she ever had a year or two to devote to studying the subject—which she didn’t—she was already receiving instruction from Arlene regarding that which she could learn.

The journal’s contents had confirmed one thing for Scarlett: her suspicion that Arlene and her fellow disciples held noble status of some sort. Although never explicitly mentioned, the information contained enough implications to suggest as much. Which specific house they would have belonged to was unclear, but given that over three centuries had passed, Scarlett doubted she would recognize it even if it were named.

What role Arlene’s status as a noblewoman played in her life remained somewhat of a mystery to Scarlett, though. Arlene herself didn’t appear particularly fond of nobility, and she hardly acted like one.

Although Scarlett found it hard to admit, she found herself empathizing with the journal’s author—Arlene’s older sister—who wrote numerous complaints directed at the woman’s behaviour. It appeared that their master, Deacon Emberwood, played favorites among his disciples, at least to a certain extent. While the notes seemed to imply that the author was decent enough at magic herself, as was the deacon’s third disciple—ostensibly the youngest brother among the three siblings—the spotlight unquestionably shone on Arlene, much to the author’s annoyance. Especially given Arlene’s less than ‘dignified’ demeanor.

Scarlett imagined that the original Scarlett might have harbored similar sentiments towards Evelyne. Reading those sections of the journal had even caused traces of those emotions to resurface.

Nonetheless, this was one of the most interesting parts for Scarlett when reading through the journal. It afforded her an entirely different perspective of Arlene than the one she was used to. The woman Scarlett knew always carried an air of seriousness and melancholy that was hard to ignore. The Arlene depicted in the journal, however, appeared considerably more cheerful overall. While certain characteristics remained consistent, such as Arlene’s laid-back disposition, the journal still painted a rather different portrait of Arlene than what Scarlett was familiar with.

Part of this discrepancy likely arose from the fact that Arlene was younger at the time—the journal seemed to have been penned during the siblings’ teenage years—but that likely wasn’t all. Considering the unfortunate set of circumstances that led Arlene to her current position in Freymeadow, Scarlett didn’t think it unreasonable for the woman to have changed as she did.

Most would.

Scarlett returned the journal and dagger to her [Pouch of Holding] for now as she reclined against the cushioned cabin seat. Her attention shifted out the window, losing itself in the backdrop as she tried not to think about anything in particular. She’d had her fill of somber thoughts lately, and a break seemed overdue.

It didn’t go too well.

Only a short while had passed before she found herself instead thinking about her current objective and the Rosa situation, and she mentally admonished herself for worrying about things needlessly.

There really wasn’t any point to it.

The carriage continued to traverse across the dirt roads, with Duke Valentino’s men occasionally riding by outside the window. Eventually, the vehicle pulled to a halt at a crossroads, surrounded by expansive, bare fields. Scarlett watched as a robustly built man in grey plate armor, his hair touched by silver and a scar cutting across his chin, dismounted from a horse farther ahead. He began making his way back towards Scarlett’s carriage.

She opened the glass window of the cabin, inviting the cool breeze inside.

“Baroness Hartford,” the man spoke in a deep voice as he stopped just outside, his head up to about Scarlett’s shoulders. “We’re still half a day’s march away from Liverline Marsh, but if we continue east from here, we’ll get there eventually. Are you confident this is the correct route?”

Scarlett’s gaze lingered on him briefly before sweeping over the rest of the procession that rode behind and ahead of the carriage. A sizeable group of knights and uniformed individuals on horseback remained alert, scanning their surroundings as if expecting a band of bandits to appear at any moment.

The duke had hastily arranged this group following her talks with him earlier that day. Comprising a few dozen or so of his most capable people who had been available, it was evident that most possessed experience in similar expeditions.

Duke Valentino had thought it best to wait another day before departing, but Scarlett had been the one to insist on doing so immediately. If she wanted to assist Rosa in any meaningful manner, she couldn’t afford to wait around and do nothing.

Drawing from her in-game knowledge, she knew exactly where to go to locate their objective. For once, she didn’t have any doubt about being able to find it. All she’d needed was a single glance at a map of the region to pinpoint their destination. There were only so many swamps in the area near Crowcairn, after all.

She returned her attention to the silver-haired man peering up at her through the carriage window. His name was Franke Home, and he was one of the duke’s most experienced retainers. He had apparently served as a Solar Knight during his youth and now held the position of captain for the Sable Knights directly under Duke Valentino’s command. Many of the knights that had joined them were members of that order.

Scarlett harbored no doubt that he was strong. All the people selected by the duke for this expedition were bound to be capable in their own right. The question, however, was whether their collective might would be enough to confront a threat on par with a dragon.

Though she had been the one advocating swift action, and considered it impressive that the duke had been able to muster a force for slaying a dragon this quickly, she did have her reservations about their chances. There existed a certain threshold in a monster’s power where sheer numbers stopped mattering against them, and individual combatant strength played a much more vital part. She herself couldn’t tell what level this group was at.

She had asked Fynn, who’d said they were impressive enough, but ‘impressive’ wasn’t always enough to fell a dragon.

She supposed she would simply have to wait and see how things unfolded. Worst came to worst, she and her party might help out a bit if she deemed it safe and that the odds could be balanced.

“While I entrust the necessary precautions and preparations to your competence, Sir Home,” she addressed the knight captain, “I ask that you leave the task of locating our quarry to me. If you lead our procession towards the Liverline marsh, I can assure you that we will find what we seek. The duke has already seen fit to assign me this responsibility, so I suggest you trust his judgement.”

The man regarded her thoughtfully for a few seconds before giving a measured nod. “Then we will continue from here. We’ll press on without breaks until the marsh comes into view. Keep that in mind.”

“Duly noted.”

With that, he turned around and retraced his steps towards his horse, signaling the resumption of their journey shortly thereafter.

Scarlett closed the window to stop the cool air from further entering the carriage, using her pyrokinesis to heat up the cabin again slightly, before directing her gaze towards the sky. Evening hadn’t fully descended yet, but darkness was swiftly approaching. They would likely arrive at their destination under the veil of pitch-black night at this pace. Not the optimal conditions when preparing for a fight, but there wasn’t much to be done about it.

At least she had her enchanted glasses, which allowed her to see no matter how dark it was. She assumed the duke’s men had their own methods for addressing the issue. She didn’t feel like serving as a living torch if they didn’t.

Their destination lay southeast of Bridgespell, situated on the edges of where the Faywild Basin started. Although Crowcairn was only an hour or two away, they weren’t headed directly to the village itself.

“So, we’re really going to fight a dragon?” Allyssa’s voice sounded out in the cabin. Scarlett shifted her gaze towards the young Shielder, who sat opposite her and beside Shin.

“Our objective is to assist in locating one, at the very least,” Scarlett said. “We will not be engaging in battle with it unless it is safe and absolutely necessary.”

Calling it a dragon was also a bit of a lie, but she couldn’t very well share that under the current circumstances.

Allyssa pressed her lips together. “That doesn’t really fill me with confidence, honestly. Dragons aren’t exactly the type to let you stroll by unbothered. I’m not saying I’m worried about coming across one, although I kinda am, but I feel like there are so many things that could go wrong here. There are very few members of the Shields Guild who have experience dealing with dragons.”

“You’ve encountered one dragon before,” Fynn said. “That should help you relax a little. They’re similar in many ways. Except for their color, size, intelligence, and unique abilities, they’re all basically the same. Not much to worry over.”

The girl glanced at him with a skeptical expression, then turned to Shin. “Okay, next time, you’re responsible for pep talks, because that didn’t help at all.”

Shin offered Fynn an apologetic smile, and Scarlett observed the white-haired young man shrug his shoulders, as if to say that he at least tried.

She wasn’t certain whether to be proud or disappointed that he had failed so miserably in what was such a blatant lie.

Allyssa shook her head. “To start with, I happen to think there’s a pretty big difference between a dead dragon and an alive one. Any reasonable person would be concerned in my shoes.” She looked at Scarlett. “I do trust your judgement, though. It just has my nerves in a bundle, thinking that we might encounter a real, living dragon soon. Doesn’t help that Rosa isn’t here.”

“That is understandable.” Scarlett imagined that most other Shielders would simply have declined to join her on a venture this seemingly dangerous. “As for Rosa, I am sure she would have accompanied us if she could. As it is, we will have to wait until she has concluded her personal matters before her return.”

Though she had informed the group that Rosa was away to deal with some private affairs in the region, she had omitted the details. While she personally believed Rosa would fare better by being more open about these things, Scarlett had no intention of disclosing anything herself.

“The timing might not be ideal, but we understand that she has sensitive matters to deal with on her own,” Shin said.

Allyssa nodded beside him. “Yeah, of course. It just feels a bit quiet without her, that’s all.”

Scarlett glanced to her left, at the space between her and Fynn, where Rosa typically sat. It was true that the bard’s absence cast a noticeable stillness over the group. In a way, that tranquility made things more relaxing. Scarlett might even have enjoyed it if not for the other pressing matters consuming her thoughts.

Yet, she had to admit that she preferred having Rosa around, despite the woman’s quirks.

She kept those thoughts to herself, however, as she turned her attention back out the window, watching the fields pass by in the dimming light as the cabin descended into a soft silence. Both Allyssa and Shin brought out some books to read—the former some texts related to alchemy, while the latter was reading about some treatise between the Rising Isle and the empire—and Fynn simply went into one of his meditative trances.

They traveled for several more hours, the scenery gradually shifting from fields and small hills to occasional woods and wetlands. Eventually, Scarlett brought out her enchanted glasses as it turned too dark for her to see much beyond the dirt road.

As they approached their destination, the landscape transformed even further. Oaks and birch trees gave way to willows, gums, and bald cypresses. The terrain grew marshier, and Scarlett observed some of the duke’s men occasionally swatting at insects as they rode by the carriage.

It was a pretty distinct transition between biomes, and probably not something one would see many examples of, even in this fantasy world. The Faywild Basin didn’t get its name from nowhere, and even on its periphery, the otherworldly influence of the Wandering Realm could be seen.

As they reached the border of what appeared to be a swamp, the wetlands had overtaken the area, and the dirt road had devolved into little more than a muddy trail along the swamp’s edge. The procession finally halted, with the carriage coming to a stop at its center. Scarlett watched as the other members of the troupe dismounted, producing magical lanterns and setting up a makeshift camp at the side of the trail.

Her gaze shifted towards the nearby swamp, where the thick vegetation seemed to drip with a weight of its own.

Not many ventured into the wilds unless they were experienced in doing so, or aboard one of the ships that traveled its numerous rivers from deeper into the empire.

Admittedly, she didn’t feel enthusiastic about venturing into those murky depths either. Regrettably, progressing any further by carriage wasn’t an option.

But complaining by this point didn’t serve much purpose. What needed to be done simply had to be done. With a mental command, she swapped her warm dress into her usual expedition attire, then opened the carriage door and stepped out onto the sodden ground.

It was time to get to work.