Plundering Worlds: I Have a Shotgun in a Fantasy World-Chapter 51: Departure

[Barracks Courtyard - Dawn]

The courtyard was cold and gray when Kael arrived.

The squad stood in formation near the stables. Kogan, Griggs, Jarek, Bren—and Silas.

Silas leaned against a post, arms crossed. A fresh bandage wrapped around his torso, visible beneath his open jerkin. His face was pale, his movements stiff.

Kael walked toward them, his gaze settling on Silas.

"You’re supposed to be in the infirmary."

Silas grinned weakly. "Healer cleared me. Said I’m fine as long as I take it easy."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "And you plan to take it easy on a reconnaissance mission?"

Before Silas could answer, footsteps approached from behind.

A man stepped forward—tall, lean, dressed in the dark leather of a scout. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp. A bow hung across his back, a quiver at his hip.

He stopped a few paces from Kael and gave a short nod.

"Captain. I’m Erran. Captain Valen assigned me to your squad for this mission."

Kael glanced at him. "To replace the injured scout?"

"Yes, sir."

Silas’s eyes lit up.

"Oh, thank the gods," he muttered, easing back against the post. His good hand hovered near the bandages wrapped tight around his left shoulder. "Captain, I was trying to be brave about it, but honestly—" He drew in a slow breath, jaw tightening. "It still feels like it’s tearing every time I move."

"The healer says I’m cleared," he added more quietly. "But between you and me... I shouldn’t be swinging a blade yet."

Bren looked away, grinning.

Kogan snorted.

Silas clasped his hands together, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "I’m just so relieved you found a replacement. Really. I was going to soldier through it for you, Captain, but now I can rest easy knowing the mission’s in good hands."

He sighed heavily, placing a hand over his heart.

"What a shame. Truly."

Kael stared at him.

Silas grinned wider.

Kael turned to Erran. "You can head back."

Erran blinked. "Sir?"

"We have our scout."

Silas’s grin froze.

"Wait—what?"

Kael gestured toward the horses. "Mount up, Silas. You said you were cleared."

Silas’s face went pale. "I—Captain—hold on—I was just—"

"You were just what?" Kael’s tone was flat. "Lying to the healer? Or lying to me?"

Silas’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"I—it’s—technically I’m cleared, but—"

"Then mount up."

"Captain, I really think—"

Kael’s gaze didn’t waver.

Silas swallowed hard. His shoulders sagged.

"...Understood."

He limped toward his horse, muttering under his breath.

Behind him, Bren was shaking with silent laughter. Griggs clapped Silas on the shoulder as he passed, grinning.

Kael turned back to Erran. "Appreciate the offer. Tell Captain Valen we’re covered."

Erran gave a short bow, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes, sir."

He turned and walked back toward the command building.

Kael swung into his saddle and glanced at Silas, who was struggling to mount his horse while favoring his injured side.

"Problem, Silas?"

Silas gritted his teeth and hauled himself up with a grunt. "Absolutely fine, Captain. Just... peachy."

Kael’s mouth twitched slightly.

"Good. Let’s move."

[Blackstone Fortress - Eastern Gate]

The squad rode in a loose column, their horses’ hooves echoing against the cobblestones.

The eastern gate loomed ahead—massive iron-reinforced wood, flanked by stone towers. Guards stood at attention as the squad approached.

The gates swung open.

Kael rode through first.

The morning light hit him immediately—pale gold, breaking through the low clouds on the horizon. It spilled across the road, warm against his face.

He felt it.

A pull.

Instinct.

Kael turned his head and looked back.

A window. High up. Third floor of the command building.

A figure stood there.

The girl.

Valen’s niece.

She stood at the glass, her hands pressed against the sill. Her face was pale in the early light, her eyes wide.

Watching him.

Kael inclined his head slightly.

A nod.

The girl stared at him.

She remained still. Frozen. Just watching.

She just stood there, frozen.

Kael turned forward and urged his horse onward.

The gate fell away behind him.

[Command Building - Third Floor Window]

The girl stood at the window, her breath fogging the glass.

She watched the riders disappear down the road, their forms shrinking into the distance.

Her hands trembled slightly against the sill.

"Elira."

She flinched.

Valen stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp.

Elira turned slowly, her hands dropping to her sides.

"Uncle."

Valen walked into the room and stopped beside her. He looked out the window, following her gaze.

The riders were gone now. Just the empty road.

"He’s a talent," Valen said quietly. "A rare one. The kind that comes along once in a generation."

Elira’s fingers twisted together in front of her.

"I know."

Valen glanced at her.

"If you truly like him, I won’t stop you."

Elira’s cheeks flushed. "Uncle—"

"But understand what he is."

Valen’s tone sharpened slightly.

"He’s a hard man, Elira. One with a steady will. Disciplined. Focused. And when it’s required, he does what must be done."

He turned to face her fully.

"Men like that keep moving. Always moving, because standing still feels like dying."

Elira looked down at her hands.

Valen’s expression softened slightly.

"I’m not saying you shouldn’t care for him. I’m saying you need to decide if you can keep up."

He paused.

"He won’t slow down for anyone."

Elira swallowed and nodded slowly.

Valen watched her for a moment longer, then turned and walked toward the door.

"Get some rest. You’ve been standing at that window for an hour."

The door closed softly behind him.

Elira turned back to the window.

The road was empty now.

But she kept looking.

[The Northern Road - Kael’s Perspective]

The road stretched ahead, wide and worn from heavy use.

Kael rode at the front of the column, his gaze sweeping the landscape.

To the north, the mountains rose like jagged teeth against the sky. Snow clung to the peaks even now, in late autumn. The air was cold and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and frost.

To the south, the land flattened into rolling hills and sparse forests. Beyond that, somewhere far beyond the horizon, lay the heart of the empire.

But here—this was the edge.

The last civilized line before the wilderness swallowed everything.

Blackstone Fortress sat at the center of it all, a stone anchor holding the empire’s northern border.

And the town that surrounded it reflected that reality.

As the squad rode deeper into the settlement, the character of the place unfolded around them.

Taverns lined the main road—heavy timber buildings with iron-bound doors and shuttered windows. Smoke rose from chimneys, carrying the smell of roasted meat and cheap ale. Even this early in the morning, voices drifted from inside. Laughter. Arguments. The clatter of mugs.

Blacksmiths worked in open forges, their hammers ringing against anvils. Sparks flew in bright arcs as blades were shaped and horseshoes fitted. The smiths themselves were broad-shouldered men with scarred hands and soot-streaked faces. They worked without pause, their movements efficient and practiced.

A mercenary guild hall stood at a crossroads—a squat stone building with a wooden sign hanging above the door. The emblem was simple: a sword crossed with a coin. Men loitered outside, armed and armored, waiting for contracts. Their eyes tracked the squad as they passed, assessing, measuring.

An alchemy shop sat wedged between two larger buildings. The sign read Greymane’s Potions & Remedies in faded paint. Glass vials glinted in the window display—healing salves, stamina draughts, antidotes. A thin wisp of green smoke curled from a vent in the roof.

Everywhere Kael looked, the theme was the same.

Practical. Functional. Hard.

Jewelry shops, silk merchants, perfumeries—things like that had no place here.

Just iron, leather, and wood.

The people matched the buildings.

Men and women moved through the streets in heavy wool cloaks and fur-lined coats. Their clothing was patched and worn, built for warmth and durability. Leather dominated—boots, gloves, jerkins, all thick and weathered.

Lace and embroidery were luxuries the north had abandoned.

Survival came first. Always.

A group of hunters passed by, dragging a massive boar on a sled. Blood stained the cobblestones behind them. The boar’s tusks were as long as daggers.

A woman shouted from a second-story window, yelling at a man below. He shouted back. They shouted at each other for half a minute, voices rising. Then they both laughed and went their separate ways.

A child ran past, chasing a dog. The dog had something in its mouth—looked like a boot. The child cursed and tackled the dog. They rolled in the dirt, laughing.

Wild.

That was the word.

The people here lived on the edge of civilization, and it showed. They were loud, rough, unpolished.

Kael rode through it all, his gaze steady.

Behind him, Bren leaned toward Griggs and muttered something. Griggs snorted.

Kogan rode in silence, his eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced vigilance of a veteran.

Silas moved through the streets with a long face, his injured shoulder held stiff at his side.

Kael’s hand rested lightly on his sword hilt.

Lowmarket District was ahead.

And somewhere in its shadows, something was hunting.

---

[A room above the tavern]

The room was dim, the shutters drawn tight.

Two men sat at a small table, their voices kept low.

"Confirmed," the first man said quietly. "He left the fortress an hour ago. Heading this way."

The second man leaned back in his chair.

"Squad size?"

"Six. Including him."

"The others?"

"Kogan. The usual crew."

A pause.

"Do we move?"

The second man drummed his fingers once against the armrest.

"Follow them. Keep distance."

"And if an opportunity presents itself?"

"Take it."

The first man nodded and stood.

"Carefully," the second man added. "We only get one chance."