The Anomaly's Path-Chapter 71: The Iron Hound’s Choice

Roran sat at his desk, the candlelight flickering across the parchment in front of him. His quill moved slowly, each word deliberate, each sentence carrying the weight of years he had not spoken aloud.

Dear Marta,

It has been too long since I last wrote, and I am sorry for that.

The years have been busy, and I have not had a moment to sit still until now. I hope you are well. I hope the orphanage is still standing, and I hope the children still have food in their bellies and a roof over their heads.

I have sent what coins I could over the years. I hope it reached you.

I have taken a disciple. His name is Kael. He is stubborn and sharp-tongued, and he grows stronger every day—faster than I expected. He reminds me of myself at his age, though I would never tell him that.

Aldric is still at my side. The old bastard refuses to die, and I am grateful for it. He keeps me grounded when my head gets too high.

We have done well, Marta. We have killed demons, saved villages, and pulled people from the edge of death. I have never lost a battle. My name spreads further with each passing season. The common folk call me the Iron Hound now. It is a strange thing, being known.

I could boast more, but you would only scold me for it. Something has happened. Something I did not expect.

I received a letter from Duke Vane of Stormcrest. He has offered me—

Roran’s quill stopped moving. He stared at the half-finished sentence, the ink pooling at the tip of the quill and threatening to blot the parchment. His hand hovered over the page for a long moment, frozen by words he could not bring himself to write. He set the quill down.

He could not write it. Not yet. Not until he understood what he was going to do.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of his tent. The canvas was dark above him, and the candlelight cast long shadows that danced with every flicker of the flame. Outside, he could hear the muffled sounds of the camp settling for the night—the low murmur of voices, the clink of metal, the occasional burst of laughter.

It had been two days since Aldric brought him the letter.

It was absurd. Truly absurd.

Roran was a commoner. He had been born in an orphanage, raised on scraps and secondhand clothes. He had no family name, no noble blood, no claim to anything except the strength of his own sword arm.

...And yet a Duke wanted to give him his daughter.

Roran understood what the Duke was doing. He was not naive. The Duke needed manpower. His domain was being torn apart by monsters, and the Royal Army had abandoned him. He was desperate, and desperate men did desperate things.

The Duke was selling his daughter, offering her as payment for Roran’s sword. It was not about love. It was about power and survival, about giving the Iron Hounds a reason to fight for Stormcrest.

Roran understood the value of what the Duke was offering.

A noble backing would protect them. No one would dare crush a mercenary company that had the support of a Duke. No one would try to control them or destroy them. They would have a name, a place in the world that no one could take from them.

But at what cost?

His men would die for him. They would bleed for him. They would follow him into battle after battle, facing monsters and demons and things that should not exist.

And what would they get in return?

A few coins? A share of the loot? While Roran married a noble’s daughter and built a future for himself?

The weight of it pressed down on him, heavier than any battle he had ever fought.

The tent flap burst open. "Gods, man, you look like someone killed your horse."

Roran did not look up. "How many times have I told you to knock before you enter?"

Aldric waved a hand, already settling onto a crate across from him. He carried a bottle of something dark in one hand and two cups in the other. "You would still be sitting here brooding even if I had knocked. I figured I would save us both the trouble."

He poured the dark liquid into both cups and slid one across the desk toward Roran. The smell of strong alcohol filled the tent.

"Drink," Aldric said. "...Then tell me what is eating at you."

Roran picked up the cup and drank. The liquid burned its way down his throat, hot and sharp. He set the cup down, and Aldric refilled it immediately.

"The Duke’s letter," Roran said.

"What about it?"

"He wants to give me his daughter. He wants me to marry her."

Aldric raised an eyebrow. "I know. I was standing right there when you read the letter. I am not senile yet."

Roran let out a breath. "I know. I just... I do not know how to process it. He wants our power. He wants us to fight his monsters, to bleed for his domain. And in return, he is giving us his daughter. He is selling her to us."

Aldric leaned back, swirling the liquid in his cup. "That is what nobles do. They trade things. Land, gold, titles, children. It is all the same to them."

"It feels wrong."

"Maybe. But it is also an opportunity." Aldric looked at him. "You know that, do not you?"

Roran looked at him. "So... You think I should accept it?"

Aldric did not answer immediately. He took a long drink from his cup, staring at the flickering candle on the desk. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

"I have been with you since the beginning, Roran. I have watched you build this company from nothing. I have watched men follow you into battle against impossible odds. I have watched them smile while doing it. You are not just a leader to them. You are something they believe in, something worth dying for. That is not something you can buy with gold."

He set his cup down.

"The Duke is offering you something more than marriage. He is offering you protection, a noble backing, a name that no one can take from us. Think about it, Roran. What happens when the wars end? What happens when there are no more demons to fight and no more villages to save? What happens to men like us? We are mercenaries. We are useful now, but one day, someone will decide we have grown too large. Someone will try to crush us, and if we have no allies and no one to speak for us, we will be crushed."

Roran stared into his cup. "So I should sell myself for the good of the company."

Aldric shook his head. "That is not what I am saying. I am saying that you deserve more than a life of sleeping in tents and dying in muddy fields. You are twenty-eight years old. You have a face that half the tavern girls in the east would kill for."

"I know," Roran said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I am devastatingly handsome. A perfect genius, really."

Aldric snorted. "There he is. I was wondering when the arrogance would come back."

They laughed together, the sound filling the tent and pushing back the weight of the conversation for just a moment. But the weight returned, settling back onto Roran’s shoulders like a cloak he could not remove.

He set his cup down and looked at Aldric. "...You know the risks, don’t you? If I accept this, we are not just fighting for coin anymore. We are fighting for a Duke and for a domain. People will die for that."

Aldric met his gaze without flinching. "People die for you already, Roran. They do it because they believe in you. They will follow you into Stormcrest, and they will follow you into hell if that is where you lead them."

He stood up and placed a hand on Roran’s shoulder.

"We will follow you to the end. Whatever you decide. That is not a threat. That is a promise."

He walked toward the tent flap, then paused. "Oh, and Roran? They say the Duke’s daughter is beautiful. The jewel of Stormcrest, they call her. So at least you are not marrying an ugly one."

He left before Roran could respond.

Roran sat alone, Aldric’s words echoing in his ears. "We will follow you to the end."

He was quite for a moment and then he picked up his quill.

_

It was late when Roran gathered the men. The camp was quiet, the fires burned low, and the stars were scattered across the sky like seeds thrown by an indifferent hand. The men stood in a loose circle around him, their faces lit by the dying embers.

Roran stood in the center, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I have something to tell you," he said. "Something that will change the Iron Hounds forever."

He told them about the letter, about the Duke’s offer, about the marriage and the backing and the future that waited for them in Stormcrest.

He did not hide the risks.

"We will be fighting for a Duke now," he said. "We will be fighting for a domain, not just for coin. You could die. Any of you. The men beside you right now might not come back. I need you to understand that before we take another step."

He looked at each of them, one by one.

"If any of you want to leave, I will not stop you. I will not think less of you. You have already given me more than I ever deserved."

The silence stretched like a held breath.

Then Aldric stepped forward. "You are an idiot if you think we are leaving."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. "We have followed you through worse than this," another man said. "Aye. What is one more battle?"

A third voice called out, "A Duke’s daughter? You lucky bastard."

Laughter spread through the group, warm and rough, pushing back the darkness that had gathered at the edges of the camp. Roran felt something loosen in his chest, something tight and heavy that had been there since he first read the Duke’s letter.

"Then we go to Stormcrest," he said.

The men cheered.

Kael stood at the edge of the crowd, watching.

He did not cheer. He did not smile. His face was still, his eyes dark, and for a moment—just a moment—something flickered in his expression. Something cold and sharp, like the edge of a blade.

Then it was gone, smoothed over by the same mask he had worn since the day Roran pulled him from the mud.

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows between the tents.

Roran found him later, alone in the training yard.

Kael was swinging his wooden sword at a practice post, his movements sharp and fast, each strike harder than the last. The post was cracked down the middle, splinters scattered at its base like fallen teeth.

"You should be resting," Roran said, walking toward him.

Kael did not stop swinging. "I do not trust them."

"The Duke?"

"The nobles. All of them." Kael’s voice was flat, drained of emotion. "They are all the same. They use people like us and throw us away when we are no longer useful."

Roran leaned against the post, watching him.

"What if he is not planning to marry his daughter to you?" Kael continued, his swings growing faster. "What if he is luring you into a trap? What if he wants us to kill his monsters, and then he disposes of us like garbage?"

Roran was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "That is a risk."

Kael stopped swinging. He turned to face Roran, his eyes hard, his chest heaving from the effort of his training. "Then why are you doing it?"

Roran looked at him. At the boy he had pulled from the mud, at the scars that would never fully fade, at the fire that burned behind those dark eyes.

"I never thought a person like me could start a family," Roran said. "I never thought I would have a home or a future or anything beyond the next battle. People like us, Kael—people who walk the path of killing—we have nowhere to go. We have no place in the world. We fight, and we die, and no one remembers our names."

He reached out and ruffled Kael’s hair, the same gesture he had done a hundred times before.

"...Maybe this is a beginning. Maybe it is a trap. But it is also a chance. A chance for something more than just surviving."

He let his hand fall.

"Besides, even if the Duke betrays us, we will still have each other. We will still have our swords. And we will still have our name."

He turned and walked away.

"Come back to camp soon. Do not wander too long."

Kael watched him go. His grip on the wooden sword tightened until his knuckles went white. His eyes darkened, and something ugly twisted in his chest—something he did not have a name for.

He said nothing.

_

Author’s Note:

Hey everyone!

I know some of you might be wondering why we are getting a long backstory and why it is taking so many Chapters. Believe me, this is important. It is not just filler. This backstory sets up things for the future — characters, motivations, and events that will matter later in the story.

I promise you will enjoy it. It is going to be interesting.

Also, the next Chapter will be coming in a few hours. Stay tuned!

Thank you for reading and for your patience.