Magus Reborn

71. Barbarians (2)

Ragnar huffed slowly, knowing his men could hear them. Not even the slightest sound went unheard by his men, and that’s how trained they were.

Right now, they were in front of a clearing a large travelling band had made themselves comfortable in. They had to pass the water lake to get here, and fortunately, the water didn’t go past their ankles. It was large, but shallow in depth. If it was the rainy season, the story might’ve been different. But it all happened in silence.

Ragnar looked at his second-in-command and raised his eyebrows.

It looks like most are at rest, the bald man signalled from atop a tree.

The oak trees they hid behind weren’t as tall as the usual trees they picked to hunt on prey (mostly beasts, but also nobles who would venture deep in the forest for their hunting games), however, trees— they helped them; they helped them blend, move faster, jump from higher, gain the upper hand over their enemies and mostly, spy without getting caught.

In most cases, more than seventy per cent of the time, most beasts would have no idea they were being trailed and even if they got a whiff of it, their stamina would always give up after a point. The less said about nobles, the better.

Humans rarely looked above them after all.

He watched his men again, their mismatched leather and furs coming into view. Every one of them wore the hide of the beast they had killed and from them, they made their armour. It was a long-running tradition, one that Ragnar had done well in himself.

He had brought along thirty of his best men to capture the strangers who were trying to cross through the Sylvan Enclave. They must know who they would meet, so close to the road going towards the capital, yet they had dared to come here.

Well, let us take a look here.

Ragnar walked closer to the nearby oak tree and peeked at the clearing. It was showered in the flickering orange glow of the campfire.

A lone man sat in front of a makeshift tent, his back turned towards the fire.

He grunted.

Are they stupid or what? To come in here, light up a big campfire and grab attention.

Ragnar looked at Wulfgar and tapped the back of his neck, right where the tribe tattoo was; a set of sharp, large teeth that were outlined with dots— a traditional tattoo that was given to everyone in their tribe, regardless of their age or sex.

Ragnar often used the signal when Wulfgar would spy on top of trees to get down and come behind him.

His second in command gave a questioning look to Ragnar who signalled at the camp.

"Just one guard, can you believe it?" Ragnar scoffed, a sneer twisting the scar that went in between his eyes from his forehead towards the end of his nose. "These nobles, they grow stupider with every passing month, Wulfgar."

Beside him, Wulfgar, the man with a shaved head and a single braided beard silenced him with a sharp elbow jab.

"Quiet, you fool," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "We don’t want to alert them before we’re ready."

Ragnar grumbled under his breath. He frowned at the tall and broad-shouldered man.

He shifted his gaze to look at the surroundings more.

Several large carriages, emblazoned with an unfamiliar crest and the flag wavering stood in the back. The image of a phoenix with ashes was on it and it fluttered gently in the breeze that came from the low stream.

For a second, the lone figure stood up slowly, almost as if he were looking at where his men were behind the oak tree.

Ragnar felt his heart squeezing in his chest.

He could feel the man’s eyes taking in the trees, or his men behind those large woods. But, there was no way he detected them. His men were trained to move in the darkness, especially after their raids in the last year.

Still, a single probability came to his mind. What if it was a trap? A single lone man guarding the camp was already an oddity. Were they simply being led on to drop their guards down?

As those thoughts were being born in his mind, the man quickly sat down, making him sigh in relief.

"The sigil?" Ragnar questioned in a whisper. "Don’t recognize the sigil," he muttered, his brow furrowing in thought. "Newcomer, perhaps? But clearly a noble, by the looks of those fancy carriages. Even the man standing by the fire looks to belong to a wealthy family. Maybe a knight’s son travelling with the noble."

A predatory glint shone in his eyes as he narrowed them, looking at the lone man.

He turned towards his men who had taken different positions and made a silent hand gesture snapping them to attention. His voice, though a whisper, carried his plan.

"We’ll hit them hard and fast," he said. "Most of them are just servants and baggage handlers. We’ll beat them into submission, leaving a few alive as a warning. Kill whoever tries to act smart, and find that noble in that group, he’s our main target," he pointed towards the lone figure by the fire, "him, we take alive. He’ll fetch a hefty ransom, and maybe some information as well."

Ragnar recalled how their spies had looked at a knight and a few other men hunting down a wild boar. The few other men on the hunt included people who wore clothes that were different to the ones that the guards did. Probably mercenaries— or some local fighting group. Regardless, They’ve witnessed how the crew had handled the weapons with practised ease, like seasoned fighters. There was no doubt about that.

Therefore, Ragnar knew he couldn’t go in without a plan and let his men follow their intuitions.

The man outside comes first, finish him with an arrow, then we’ll move to the camp. Ragnar signalled with his hands and they all nodded simultaneously.

His men at the back passed the message to the ones who couldn’t see Ragnar properly.

With a final, silent nod, Wulfgar raised his hand. It was the signal.

The trained bowmen in the back aimed at the lone man.

Ragnar looked at how the man was simply sitting still all the while looking at the forest with an interesting eye.

Since he wasn’t moving, there was no better time.

He nodded, and Wulfgar flickered his fingers.

An arrow whistled through the air, aiming squarely at the lone man’s face by the fire. But it never found its mark.

A gust of wind— out of nowhere, deflected it.

Ragnar and Wulfgar narrowed their eyes.

What is going on? The wind should be seemingly calm at this hour of the day. Moreover, even the lake water was still when they crossed it.

Wulfgar on the other hand, didn’t wait another second to observe or think about it, he signalled from his wrist to attack with more arrows.

Soon, several arrows rained down on the man who simply stood with his arms crossed.

Once again, the wind over and over made the arrows miss the target.

Stop. Not anymore.

Ragnar signalled, frowning and not wanting to waste more arrows. He squinted his eyes at the man as a bad feeling settled in his gut.

"Boring," the man who stood alone drawled. A dramatic yawn followed after.

Wulfgar’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline as he looked at Ragnar angrily. Was that man talking about them?

"I expected more from the vaunted Barbarian warriors," he said, his voice loud and clear.

The lone man took a single step forward towards where they hid.

From behind, Ragnar’s men didn’t wait for further commands, three of them charged forward with axes in their hands— ready to cleave the man in half. As they lurched, the lone man immediately reciprocated. He crouched to pick up the spear that was close to him and moved briskly, almost as if something was pushing him forward.

How is he moving like that? Is he flying? No, that can’t be true!

Ragnar bent on his knees as he closely observed his men jumping on the lone guard.

They jumped four feet high in the air and launched themselves, their axes reaching different parts of his body. But the man moved in a blur.

He retracted a few steps as the axe hit the ground, and then he thrust forward with his spear. One of his men deflected the blow, but the spear moved like a snake, changing its trajectory and swiftly striking his collarbone.

His men yelped in pain as another stepped forward with the heavy weapon, but the guard dodged again, sidestepping a blow. The third man tried to steal a slash as he moved behind the guard, but his axe only touched the air as his opponent disappeared.

It was almost as if he had vanished for a second, but Ragnar knew he moved swiftly.

The guard appeared behind the third man and thrust forward with his spear. The man went down, blood spurting out of his chest.

The lone Barbarian shouted in fury, but his axe wasn’t able to touch the guard. He paced around the ground at a speed that was hard to follow and slapped aside the axe that was coming for his head. Then, he kicked his man on the ground, sending him rolling back.

As the guard moved to kill the third man, Wulfgar commanded the others to launch more arrows. The fighting men needed their help!

The arrows soon whistled through the air which made the guard stop. He flicked his wrist and suddenly, everyone felt the wind rustling through the trees.

A glow appeared in his hands and for a moment, Ragnar was tranced by it.

Out of nowhere, a torrent of wind rose and shielded the man.

The arrows hit the shield and broke, falling to the ground. Ragnar’s eyes widened.

He turned back to look at Wulfgar who had the same expression on his face— fear and panic.

They were up against a man blessed by the elements— A Mage!

Ragnar and his men had been trained for years in battle but against a mage? They’d probably get kicked in their asses. The chances of winning were extremely low.

He finally understood what was going on. They weren’t idiots to only have one guard up, it was a Mage.

Some of the men that were at the front next to Wulfgar started scrambling to get away as the Mage thrust his spear, impaling the third man.

"Cowards!" Ragnar yelled. "You can’t run like cowards! That’s not what we do!!" His loud voice made some of the fleeing heads turn.

His blood boiled at how the Mage was toying with his fighting men, and the rest who were not fighting— they were already running for their lives.

Before Ragnar could process what was happening, he felt something change in the air. He saw the Mage moving his hands in a motion and a glow emerging from them again as his eyes moved towards the fleeing men.

Suddenly, a giant hand, wreathed in flames materialised in the air. It went past the oak trees and reached down, engulfing the fleeing men.

If Ragnar touched it, he knew he would burn to death.

He could only stare in horror with his heart pounding against his ribs. So, he watched it happen in front of his eyes like a darn scared animal.

The Mage then brought almost all the men who fled to the air, unknown curses of his men filling Ragnar’s ears as he slapped them with the large flaming hand.

Some hit trees, and some fell on the ground with loud grunting noises. And almost all of them got burnt in different places of their bodies.

The men groaned in pain.

"Don’t just stand there—charge! We have no other option but to fight!" Wulfgar’s voice cut through the stunned silence, snapping the men from their stupor.

The warriors, abandoning all pretence of retreat, surged forward toward the Mage, their last hope to end this ordeal. But the Mage was unperturbed. His spear and the wind spells he used to move intertwined in a deadly dance, effortlessly cutting down Ragnar’s men one by one like a maniac.

He twisted his spear in the air, shifting its hold by the middle of the spear and moving it in circles. The grasp in his hand glowed as the movement of the spear fastened.

Four burly men circled themselves around the lone guard.

The middle one yelled and they started attacking. Two axes flew through the air in frenzied arcs, desperately seeking their target, who rolled on the ground in a blur. He sprang to his feet, as the spear parried an incoming strike, then twisted to deflect another.

Out of nowhere, a man lunged out of the trees, an axe in his hand.

He let out an unmanly noise which made the four on the ground attack at the same time in a collaborative effort.

Ragnar’s heart thrummed in his ears as he watched the battle.

The man who flew had his axe extended like claws, aiming for the Mage’s head.

But in a heartbeat, the mage crouched and muttered something that Ragnar couldn’t hear. He stood sprawled on the ground, as some sort of a shield covered him.

Ragnar frowned as he saw the wind blending into place promptly, positioning the shield to throw his men away.

As the man clashed with the shield, they went flying like ragged dolls, almost as if their weight meant nothing. By how they grunted, Ragnar knew they had broken a few bones.

"You are going to die here!"

One of his men yelled, gaining the Mage’s attention. He held a bow in his hand, ready to fire it towards him.

The mage’s lips curled upwards for some reason. He lifted his hands and started circling the fingers in the air.

Ragnar knew he was preparing another spell and as the arrow got taken out by the shield around the man, he saw flames suddenly carving out of the air.

They materialised into sharp, pointy arrows. Dozens of them appeared and the archer gulped, immediately bolting off to safety with a pale face.

Seeing it, the Mage smiled and launched a few of them towards him.

The archer lunged sideways to dodge one of them, but another wounded his leg, making him crash into one of the trees.

The others stared at the Mage, too terrified to move, and seeing that, he launched the other flaming arrows at them.

In an instant, a massacre began.

One of the arrows came for Ragnar who blocked it with his mace, taking a few steps back from its impact and looking back at the clearing.

The Mage kept firing more and more arrows towards his men and as he wondered if it was the end, Wulfgar lunged at him from his back.

His bulky muscles twitched with every step he took forward in anger. He went for a horizontal strike, ready to cut him in half, but the Mage side stepped effortlessly, his spear thrusting forward and catching the man in the side. He spun, showing off his skills as another attack came crashing down at him.

Wulfgar gritted his teeth as he put distance between them, but the spear stuck to his side, blood oozing out. Still, he put on a bloody smile on display and kept fighting, powering through the pain and going for another strike.

Ragnar knew his men were wild for fights like these, but the smile on his face quickly vanished when the Mage blocked the axe with the haft of his spear, got to his feet with windy speed and kicked back with a swift, powerful blow on his face.

As he watched the battle between his second in command and the Mage, he felt like rushing into action. Till now, he had been waiting for the Mage to exhaust himself before making a move, knowing that the ones blessed also had to preserve their mana.

But maybe, that would be too late.

He took a step forward and just then, he noticed some movements from back in the clearing. The tents opened up and more of the Mage’s men appeared, clearly having woken up from all the noises.

They were more than them in numbers and he saw one of them, the knight the scouting team had reported, ordering them to attack.

He had a sharp sword in his hand and was the first one to rush towards them.

He jumped to one of Ragnar’s men without hesitation. His sword found ways to attack the axes and the men who held them. His feet moved with excellent speed, easily outnumbering his men.

This wasn’t how Ragnar had hoped it would end. Not here. Not now. His grip on his mace tightened as he saw his men getting overpowered and let out a scream.

To hell with the plans.

Ragnar hefted his mace onto his shoulder and sprang back, leaping towards the Mage who was done trading blows with Wulfgar and was about to finish him off.

He swung his weapon with wild fury but got noticed and each of his strikes was effortlessly deflected by the Mage’s shimmering wind barrier, leaving Ragnar unable to break through.

He tried again, fury burning up his insides. But his attempts went futile as the Mage threw a gust of wind right at his heart, throwing him off of him.

"AGHR!" Ragnar grunted loudly as his back collided with one of the tent’s pillars.

He breathed hard as all the blood rushed to his head from the position he was in. He quickly composed himself, trying to stand, but two flaming arrows hit right in front of his legs on the ground.

Ragnar took a step back, his back plastering to the tent.

"Who are you?!" he questioned, his voice loud and hoarse. "You fight with the elements. If you are a true warrior, fight without it."

Ragnar’s eyes momentarily went around the ground, taking the sight of his men choking in pain as they were either on the ground or losing a battle to the guards who surrounded them.

"Elements?" the Mage chuckled. His eyes— they were dancing in amusement. Ragnar could feel his fists clenching involuntarily at how he was looked down upon. "Are you in charge of this raiding party?"

Ragnar smiled confidently, his bloodied teeth probably showing off. His tattooed tongue swirled over his teeth, showing the symbol of his leadership. "I’m Ragnar," he straightened himself. "Son of Yafgar, chieftain of Lombards!"

The mage smiled slowly. "Are you a tribal leader’s son?"

Ragnar nodded slowly, an ominous feeling building in his heart as the Mage’s smile grew by the second. He again looked around, wondering if there was a way to run, but he knew it was the end.

As he closed his eyes to prepare for the Mage to finish him off, he heard unexpected words coming out of the elemental-gifted man.

"Okay, I will let you go."

"What?"