Chapter 53: The Asar Hunt Riders

Previously, Joan hadn’t realized just how fast she had run. It was only after hearing Dick and Roger’s remarks that she became aware she had spent less than three minutes sprinting from the riverside to the town entrance—a speed at least twice as fast as usual. A thought struck Joan; she guessed this was likely the effect of her “Athletic Belt,” which not only increased her running speed but also enhanced her endurance, allowing her to race over a thousand yards without feeling fatigued.

“It’s probably because I’m wearing ordinary clothes, while you two are in full armor,” Joan replied, not wanting to reveal the secret of her “Athletic Belt,” and casually gave an explanation.

“That’s true enough,” Dick said without further thought, his spirits high as he changed the subject. “Let’s hurry to the barracks to collect our weapons and ask Instructor Flint what’s really going on.”

Joan was not an active militiaman and, strictly speaking, didn’t need to report to the barracks. Still, out of curiosity and concern, she followed the Tyndale brothers to the assembly point.

According to the “Militia Charter” established by the Delin Town Council, active militiamen were entitled to a set of leather armor, a shield, and a weapon, all paid for by the town’s treasury. In return, militiamen were obligated to defend their home and fellow townspeople against wild beasts or foreign invaders. In peacetime, armor and shields could be kept at home, but weapons were kept in the barracks and only distributed when needed. This rule was designed to prevent armed brawls among the militia and had indeed served its intended purpose.

Joan had no weapon to collect, so she went straight to find the militia commander, Flint Ironanvil. After some inquiries, she learned that the old dwarf was currently up in the watchtower, observing the situation outside the town through a spyglass.

Joan ran to the base of the watchtower and called up to Flint at the top. The old dwarf lowered his spyglass, leaned out, and looked down at her, his mouth—almost hidden beneath his beard—spreading into a wide grin.

“Well, well, the sun must be rising in the west today. Our little mage has come to join the militia muster!”

Joan felt a little embarrassed and shouted up, “Mr. Flint, what on earth is happening?”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you! If you want to know, climb up here and see for yourself!” the old dwarf bellowed.

Shaking her head helplessly, Joan grabbed hold of the bamboo ladder and started to climb. Each rung quivered beneath her weight; the bamboo-and-wood structure looked so fragile that Joan doubted it could support a second person after already bearing the fully armored dwarf. Fortunately, the “Athletic Belt” greatly enhanced her climbing ability, and she quickly reached the top without losing her composure or breath.

“Not bad, youngster—even a monkey couldn’t climb faster,” Flint Ironanvil laughed, hauling Joan onto the observation platform and thrusting the spyglass into her hands. “Take a look. Don’t be scared by what you see.”

Joan took the brass spyglass in both hands and looked toward the outskirts of the town. She quickly spotted a group of riders at the town entrance—forty or fifty in all—gesturing towards the watchtower and conversing in low voices.

These riders appeared human but dressed very differently from the local townsfolk. Most wore garments of tanned animal hide and cloaks stitched from whole wolf or bear pelts. Each carried a longbow slung across their back, with swords or knives at their waists. Black war paint streaked their faces, and their bearing was bold and formidable.

The two riders at the front caught Joan’s attention most. One was a tall, lean middle-aged man with a stern expression, draped in a deep green cloak embroidered with a prominent insignia—a ring of golden wheat stalks. Beside him rode a female knight in form-fitting leather armor, a longbow on her back and a pair of curved blades at her waist, dressed like a ranger. She appeared to be about thirty-six or thirty-seven, her flaxen hair tied in a ponytail, and her pretty face struck Joan as oddly familiar. What startled Joan even more was that the mounts of both the green-cloaked man and the female ranger were not horses but dinosaurs—two saddle-fitted, bipedal beasts!

These dinosaurs towered over the nearby warhorses, bearing massive lizard-like heads and long necks filled with sharp teeth, their backs covered in gray-green scales and their bellies striped with yellow. Their powerful tails and hind legs supported their massive bodies and riders. Compared to their muscular hindquarters, the dinosaurs’ forelimbs looked short at first glance, but in reality, they were thicker than a grown man’s thigh and ended in three scythe-like claws. Even from a distance, one could imagine those sharp and nimble talons easily seizing prey and, in a flash, slashing open a chest to pull out hot, steaming organs.

“Mr. Flint, are those huge creatures outside the town ‘Razorclaw Raptors’?” Joan asked.

“That’s right. Those two Asa tribesfolk are riding Razorclaw Raptors—the fiercest predators in the depths of the Alf Great Forest,” Flint Ironanvil replied, stroking his beard, his face grave. “Razorclaw Raptors aren’t like cattle or horses—they can’t be tamed easily. Only high-ranking druids or rangers can control such beasts. That tells you how highly esteemed those two are among the Asa.”

“The Asa?” Joan was surprised. “You mean those riders outside are Asa tribesmen?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The old dwarf shrugged. “Just look at their wild attire and makeup—they’re obviously hunters from deep in the forest, very likely from the Algonquin clan, since that’s the nearest Asa tribe to Delin Town.”

“The Algonquin clan!” Joan instantly thought of Conti, who hailed from that very tribe.

“It’s odd, really,” the old dwarf muttered, stroking his chin. “Our Delin Town and the Algonquin clan have always kept to ourselves. Why would these wild natives ride all the way here instead of hunting birds in their woods? Unless they’ve all gone mad, they couldn’t possibly think a force so small could raid Delin Town, which has at least two hundred elite militiamen.”

Joan remained silent. She had a vague feeling that the Algonquins didn’t harbor the kind of hostility Flint imagined. Their sudden appearance outside the town likely had something to do with Conti. With this in mind, Joan took a length of copper wire from her pocket and cast the cantrip “Message” from the watchtower, relaying everything she had seen and heard to Conti.

“They’re all my clansmen, and the ones riding the Razorclaw Raptors are my parents,” Conti replied quickly, her voice brimming with unconcealed joy. “Don’t worry, Mr. Tyre and I will be there soon! Oh, and Mr. Tyre knows my parents—they’re old friends!”