Manifest Fantasy

Chapter 9: The Baranthurians

Author's Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

I will release one free extra chapter for both Manifest Fantasy and Summoning America if any of the following milestones are met:
- RoyalRoad: 3,000 followers on Manifest Fantasy (2013/3000)
- Scribblehub: 1,300 followers on Manifest Fantasy (137/1300)
- r/HFY: 600 concurrent readers (based on average upvotes per chapter) (40/600)
- Patreon: $1,000/month creator income milestone (700/1000)

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READ AHEAD: Chapter 10 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher!

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Eldralore, Duchy of Eldralore

Sonaran Federation

November 18, 2024

Ron eased their MRAP into a parking spot near the Guild's stables, taking an empty space marked for larger carriages and cargo. Henry glanced back at Ryan and Isaac's MRAP as they maneuvered into a space beside them, struggling a bit with the trailer. Their cargo: samples and collected artifacts from Hardale – proof of their recent endeavors and vital components for Dr. Perdue's and Dr. Lamarr's requests.

"Alright, let's make this quick," Henry said, unbuckling his seatbelt. As he stepped out, he was met by a snarl – or perhaps a neigh, from dradaks in the stables. Failing to recognize Henry, they returned to their hay and meat, as if uninterested in anyone but the local handlers and their owners.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Henry opened the door for Dr. Anderson and Sera, whose sight drew a few discreet glances from passersby. Ron joined Henry stretching his arms and back. "I'll help Yen and Hayes with the trailer. You guys go ahead," he said, tilting his head toward the Guild's entrance.

Henry nodded, leading the way to the Guild with Dr. Anderson and Sera in tow. They rounded the corner before entering the main plaza, where they saw a large group of people standing by the fountain in the center. Several carriages were also parked near the road adjacent to the plaza, with numerous people moving back and forth from them carrying crates. "Look at that," he murmured.

It was a diverse crew, easily three, maybe four dozen strong. Some were clad in leather and chainmail, others in robes that screamed 'mage' from a mile away. Well, they wore robes, yes, but their clothing was also reinforced with pieces of light chainmail and padded leather – much more practical than what he had seen in Ron's fantasy anime shows or Ryan's DnD campaigns. The robes themselves were marked with subtle runes and symbols seemingly woven into the fabric. Enchanted gear, perhaps?

The others had similarly practical getups, and matching gear to boot. Swords, staves, you name it – they had it. Each one of them was busy in his or her own way: analyzing maps, loading carriages, checking weapons, and double-checking supplies with a seriousness Henry knew all too well.

Henry's eyes followed one figure in particular, a woman who stood out even in the crowd. It was the same person who approached him with a Clan invitation – Elara, the Tier 8 swordswoman. And if she was here, that meant the group was –

"The Mithril Order," Sera muttered, confirming what Henry was already thinking. "It appears they are preparing for the Campaign."

Henry watched them for a moment longer. Elara wasn't kidding when she said her clan revolved around martial discipline. Everything about the preparation was professional, even down to the logistics. It was like watching his own team, just... more medieval fantasy.