The first checkpoint was a cold, desolate place.
It stood at the edge of the northern plains, an imposing fortress of stone surrounded by snowdrifts that seemed to stretch on forever. Its towering walls loomed like silent sentinels, and beyond them, the vast emptiness of the white landscape spread out endlessly.
As Callian's group approached, a tall, bulky man with an eye patch stood at the entrance, waiting.
He looked gruff, his muscular frame wrapped in a thick fur coat, eyes sharp despite the bitter cold. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, and his posture suggested he was someone who had seen too much.
But what caught Callian's attention wasn't just the man's size or strength.
It was the feeling that this man, George, was more than just a gatekeeper.
George—just George, as he was known—was one of the elite knights of Ashville. He was a veteran, one who had fought alongside the Ashville family for years, and yet, there was something different about him.
Callian could see it in his eyes. The man was bitter, skeptical, and, despite his tough exterior, he wore his weariness like a cloak.
George had a reputation.
In time, he would die in the hands of Violet, the very child who was now resting in Callian's arms. She would be the one to destroy the Ashville family, leading to their eventual downfall.
But that was a future Callian could not yet see.
For now, George stood before them with a deep, calculating frown.
He glanced at the child in Callian's arms, then looked back at him, his gaze sharp and almost disbelieving.
"A six-year-old…" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. His voice was rough, not unkind, but laced with concern. "The main house has gone mad to send a child to the Northern Plains, of all places."
Callian met his gaze with a calmness that belied the storm brewing in George's mind. He wasn't intimidated—no, that would be foolish. Instead, Callian simply nodded, acknowledging the concern but not letting it show on his face.
"You're not the first to question it," Callian said quietly, his words carrying a quiet certainty that seemed to reach into George's very bones. "But Violet's a strong girl. She'll be fine."
George didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his eye scanning them both, like he was trying to figure them out.
Violet, her small, innocent face framed by the soft white of her hood, looked up at George with sleepy eyes, her little hand clutching at Callian's coat. She yawned, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
"I'm cold…" she muttered, curling closer into her father's chest.
Callian gently adjusted his grip on her, his eyes softening. He ran his fingers through her silvery hair, humming a soft tune under his breath.
"You'll be warm soon, sweetie," he whispered, his voice low and soothing.
George, for all his gruffness, couldn't help but feel a strange weight settle in his chest. The man, so solid and unflinching, was… human, after all.
"I suppose," George sighed, finally relenting. "We'll see about that."
With that, he motioned for them to follow.
Inside the checkpoint was a simple, functional room, not much more than a place to rest and plan. A wooden table sat in the middle, surrounded by maps, weapons, and supplies.
There were a few knights who stood in the corners, their faces hardened, their expressions tight, as if preparing for something serious.
Callian carefully set Violet down in a corner near the warmth of the hearth, making sure she was comfortable before returning to the table.
George gestured to the maps laid out before them.
"We're hunting the northern beasts today, but there's more to it," he began, his voice low, almost reluctant. "These plains aren't just home to wild creatures. We've received word of raiders moving in from the north."
"Raiders?" Callian's voice held a quiet curiosity. "How many?"
"Too many," George muttered, his eye scanning the map before him. "And these aren't your regular bandits. These are organized, well-armed. We'll need to be careful."
He glanced at Callian. "Not to mention, the beasts are already a problem. The northern plains are dangerous on their own. Even the king of the beasts will be a challenge."
Callian nodded, absorbing the information. He wasn't a man who lacked for knowledge. His past had taught him that in the world of war and survival, preparation was everything.
But as he stood there, thinking about what lay ahead, his attention was drawn back to Violet.
She was already starting to drift off, curled up against the wall by the fire. Her soft breath came in little puffs of warmth. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but she looked at peace, her little body swaddled in warmth and safety.
Callian couldn't help but smile as he watched her. The world may be cold, but at least for this moment, she was safe, and that was all that mattered.
He looked up at George, who had paused, watching the two of them. There was a moment of quiet understanding between them—an acknowledgment that while George had his doubts about the mission, he wasn't about to let harm come to a child.
"You should let her sleep," George said gruffly. "She's just a kid. The rest of us can handle the rest."
Callian's gaze softened.
"I'll be right here," he said, gently brushing a strand of Violet's silver hair behind her ear. "She's just tired. She'll be ready when it's time to go."
George let out a sigh.
"You should rest too, then," he said. "You're not exactly in the best condition either."
Callian chuckled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'll rest when I can. But for now… I'll be with her."
George nodded, his expression unreadable. For all his roughness, he seemed to understand.
The knights gathered around the table, discussing the mission, the number of enemies, the terrain.
Their voices were low and focused, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew the risks of going into the northern plains.
They had seen the beasts before, but these were no ordinary creatures. They were monsters, each more dangerous than the last, and they were hungry.
The wind howled outside, the snow swirling around in a dizzying dance. The storm had arrived, and with it, the certainty that nothing would be easy.
But Callian's mind wasn't focused on the mission. It was focused on the little girl who had fallen asleep in the corner.
He had learned long ago to be prepared for anything.
To keep his eyes open, to keep his senses sharp.
But when it came to Violet, he found it harder to care about anything else.
This was his family now.
And he would protect her, no matter what.
The meeting dragged on for what felt like hours, the knights talking in low tones, the sounds of paper rustling and the occasional murmur of agreement.
Meanwhile, Violet slept soundly, her tiny figure curled up by the fire, completely unaware of the looming dangers outside.
And Callian—ever watchful, ever vigilant—sat beside her, humming a soft lullaby, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the knights.
But his mind, as always, was on his daughter.
Her safety.
Her happiness.
His unwavering promise to protect her.
*****
The night was quiet—too quiet.
Callian had been leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching the flickering light of the fire reflect off the fortress's cold interior. The knights were still discussing strategy, though Callian had already tuned them out.
He had no reason to listen.
After all, he wasn't supposed to be here to fight—just to bring Violet.
But then—
A loud screech split through the night air.
It was a sound that grated against the ears, sharp and shrill, like the cry of something that had never known fear—only hunger. The vibrations of it trembled through the fortress walls, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.
Violet stirred from where she had been sleeping, her tiny hands gripping Callian's coat as she let out a soft, confused whimper.
"…Papa?"
Callian sighed. So much for hunting tomorrow.
"Looks like they couldn't wait," he muttered under his breath, annoyed. He had planned to sleep, enjoy a little more peace, but the monsters had other ideas.
Violet, still groggy, rubbed her eyes before blinking up at him.
"Are we fighting?" she asked sleepily.
"Hmm," Callian hummed, standing up while adjusting Violet in his arms. "It looks like it."
The knights were already moving. George barked out orders, his rough voice cutting through the chaos. "To the walls! Get into position!"
The first wave had arrived.
Callian carried Violet as they ascended the stone steps leading to the fortress's high walls. When they reached the top, he looked out at the horizon.
And there they were.
A horde of monsters, barely visible in the moonlight, their grotesque forms crawling over the snowy plains. Their bodies were twisted, unnatural, shaped by some cruel force that had long since abandoned beauty in favor of raw, brutal efficiency.
Hundreds of them.
Hungry. Restless. Loud.
The knights around him tensed. Their hands gripped weapons tightly, breath shallow, eyes sharp. Some of the younger ones swallowed nervously, their first real battle weighing on their shoulders. Even the veteran knights looked uneasy.
Callian, however, only had one thought.
"…They're too ugly."
George, who had been standing next to him, stiffened. "…What?"
Violet frowned, her small fingers gripping Callian's sleeve.
"Papa, they're ugly."
Callian nodded solemnly. "That's what I was thinking too."
A pause.
A long, tense silence as the knights processed what they had just heard.
George slowly turned his head toward Callian. "Are you being serious right now?"
"Of course," Callian replied, genuinely displeased. He gestured vaguely at the monstrous figures below. "They're hideous. Look at them."
"…They're monsters," one of the knights finally spoke, unsure whether Callian was joking or just completely insane.
"Yes. And they're ugly," Callian confirmed.
Violet pouted. "I don't wanna look at them anymore."
Callian hummed. Then, his golden eyes softened as he gently asked, "Violet, do you want to see some magic?"
Violet's eyes lit up in excitement. "Magic? Really?"
Callian smiled, pressing a finger against his lips. "Shh. Watch closely."
Darkness gathered.
The air shifted, growing thicker, heavier—as if the very night itself was bending to his will.
At first, it was just a single lance, forming in his open palm—deep black, edges sharp, crackling with unrestrained magic. Then, another appeared. Then more.
More.
More.
Until the sky above them was filled with them.
Hundreds of Dark Lances.
A storm of blackened spears, floating high in the night, waiting.
The knights, already gripping their weapons, had stopped moving.
The mages, who had been preparing spells, had frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the sky.
Even George—grizzled, battle-worn George—was struck silent.
"…The hell…" someone whispered.
Then—Callian moved.
With a flick of his fingers, the lances fell.
Like a rain of death, they plunged downward, slicing through the air at terrifying speed. The moment they made contact, the ground shook. The impact was instant. The first row of monsters was skewered, their grotesque bodies impaled before they even had a chance to react.
[434/2000]
The quest notification flickered in the corner of his vision, but Callian ignored it.
The battlefield below was no longer chaotic.
It was silent.
The remaining monsters hesitated, their bestial instincts suddenly screaming at them to run.
But before they could, another wave of lances formed.
This time, twice as many.
Callian tilted his head, unimpressed.
"They're still too noisy," he said flatly.
Then he dropped the second wave.
The fortress was completely silent.
No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound that remained was the distant wind howling through the night.
Violet, still in Callian's arms, gasped.
"So cool!" she cheered. Her little hands clapped excitedly as she turned to look at her father, eyes sparkling. "Papa, that was amazing! They all went—" She mimicked an explosion with her hands. "Boom! Whoosh! Pew pew!"
Callian chuckled, ruffling her hair. "I'm glad you liked it."
Meanwhile—
George had not recovered.
Neither had the knights.
Or the mages.
Every single one of them was frozen, staring at Callian with expressions ranging from horrified awe to sheer disbelief.
"…What in the name of the gods…" one of the mages finally choked out.
Another knight whispered, "That wasn't magic… that was a massacre."
George, ever the experienced warrior, could not comprehend what he had just seen.
They had all assumed—assumed—that Callian was nothing more than an average commoner.
A merchant, maybe. A hunter at best.
And yet, before their very eyes, this "commoner" had just annihilated over six hundred monsters in seconds.
"…Who…" George finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Who the hell are you?"
Callian blinked, looking at him with mild confusion.
"…What do you mean?"
George stared.
The other knights stared.
Even the mages stared.
"W-What do you mean, 'what do you mean'?!" George's voice rose slightly, his composure finally breaking. "You just wiped out six hundred beasts in one move! And you're acting like—like it was nothing!"
Callian tilted his head. "Was it not?"
"NO! IT WAS NOT!"
The knights collectively nodded in agreement.
Callian blinked. Then, he glanced down at Violet, who was still grinning.
"They were too noisy," he explained simply, shrugging. "Violet couldn't sleep."
George's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
Then, finally, he let out a deep, long-suffering sigh, rubbing his face.
"…I need a drink."
The other knights nodded vigorously in agreement.
Callian, meanwhile, just held Violet a little closer as she giggled.
He had no idea why they were so shocked.
Honestly.
It was just a little magic.