Beyond The Frontline

Fragment Juliet

"Ho. Ly. Shit."

Colt stood at the village gate, staring in disbelief at the scene before him. A caravan of survivors stretched out along the path, led by a tall woman in worn, battered armor. She was clearly in charge, flanked by four other figures in similar gear.

Behind them, three weary horses pulled creaking, worn-down carriages filled with people—the elderly, women, and children. Their faces were etched with exhaustion and fear. A fourth horse dragged a cart carrying what little remained of their supplies. The contents were meager, nearly bare, a clear sign that their food and resources had been running low for some time.

There had to be at least forty survivors in total, but their desperation was unmistakable. A dozen able-bodied men were visible, armed and surrounding the group in a protective formation. Their attempts at guarding were earnest, but the strain and exhaustion were plain on their faces. Even the horses, though still pushing forward, moved sluggishly, showing signs of fatigue.

The survivors' gaunt faces and the nearly empty carts spoke volumes; they had been through hell, and it was clear they were barely holding on.

Suddenly, the woman at the front stepped away from the group and made her way towards Colt. She had likely pegged him as the one in charge, and her intense gaze locked onto him as she approached. Her presence was intimidating; her armor was battered but still formidable, and Colt could feel the weight of her authority with each step. Yet he remained calm. If they meant harm, they would have attacked already.

As she closed the distance and stopped within speaking range, she casually placed her weapon—a steel halberd as tall as she was—over her shoulder. Her eyes scanned Colt from head to toe, evaluating him.

"You the person in charge here?" She asked, her voice steady and stoic.

Colt scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words, "It's a bit complicated, but...in a way, yes."

Her expression remained unreadable, clearly unamused by his less-than-direct response. However, she seemed to brush it aside, focusing more on the situation than on formalities. Then, without hesitation, she proudly introduced herself, cutting the silence at the gate.

"Freya. Golden-ranked adventurer and leader of the Thorn Wardens," she declared, her voice carrying both pride and authority, leaving the stationed guards, Roth, and even Colt in awe.

Colt knew that golden rank was the second-highest adventurer rank, just below diamond. As an adventurer himself, ranked in the third-lowest tier, steel rank, he was familiar with the hierarchy. However, the Thorn Wardens were a different story; he had no idea who they were. In his time as an adventurer, he had seen a fair share of high-ranked adventurers, but silver-ranked were the highest he had ever encountered.

He glanced at Roth beside him, who, as if reading Colt's thoughts, leaned in slightly and said, "They're a well-known and respected group within the kingdom of Thorn."

Colt nodded, absorbing the information. For most, meeting someone of Freya's status would be a rare and remarkable encounter. But given the current circumstances, it felt like more than just a stroke of luck—it was a necessity.

Without wasting time, Colt introduced himself, "Colt Wilson. Steel-ranked adventurer and de facto leader of this village."

"Looks like you've all had a rough time," Colt added.

Freya's eyes stayed locked on him. "Believe me, we didn't expect to end up like this," she replied, motioning toward the caravan behind her.

"Where'd you come from?" Colt asked.