After a night of packing and preparation, Henry woke up thinking about Lucan.
Which was annoying, because he would’ve much rather preferred waking up with Sera on his mind. Really, what man in his position wouldn’t? They were already starting to get to the point where mere presence was comfort enough, where daydreams of the future became a common occurrence. But no – his brain had decided that Sir Dickhead deserved top billing this morning.
Tier Nine wasn’t anything to sneeze at, after all. Neither was the ego that came with it, apparently.
The worst part was that there wasn’t even anything to solve. The mission was clean. Armstrong’s update had confirmed as much – convoy on schedule and strike window clear. By Gaerran standards, this was about as close to a milk run as it got.
Henry stared at the ceiling for a while. He could either let the Lucan situation get under his skin, or he could chill and admire the dwarven stonework. He opted for the latter, continuing to lie in bed for another five minutes before he finally dragged himself up and went through his morning routine.
His hands did the work while his head continued to turn over the real question: how was he supposed to coordinate someone who most likely saw coordination as beneath him?
The thought desecrated the taste of the food, which was a real disappointment since it was actually pretty good. Roast and bread and eggs – wasn’t crazy, but it was good enough that he’d normally go back for seconds. Instead, he worked through the plate on autopilot, taste diluted, his head still stuck in a briefing room he hadn’t even walked into yet.
Sera caught his eye at some point. He tried to offer something reassuring, but she just gave him a look that said she was doing the same mental math he was.
It was comforting, in its own way.
He finished up and pushed back from the table. “Let’s get this over with.”
The walk was cold and short, Kharvûk lively as ever – merchants moving gear at frontier prices, adventurers too busy or too desperate to haggle. Henry didn’t pay much attention. His mind was more concerned with risk management.
He sighed as he approached the Guild. He’d rather be anywhere else, of course – even freezing his balls off up north – but such is life. Might as well just get it over with.
He pushed the door open to find Lucan already waiting in the lobby.
Annoyingly, Henry had deliberately arrived fifteen minutes early, and somehow Lucan had still beaten him there. The man sat there with his arms crossed, radiating the impatience of someone who wanted it known he’d been waiting.
How cute.
Henry had been on the receiving end of that one back when he was a butter bar, fresh out of the academy. It worked better when the other guy was actually in the same chain of command.
“Henry,” Lucan said.
“Lucan.”
And that was about as much warmth as either of them could muster, which was perfectly fine by Henry.
They collected the rest of Lucan’s Chosen – Tancred glued to his master’s shoulder as always – and headed to one of the Guild’s planning rooms. Henry had left the tablet behind for this one, opting for a physical map.
He spread the map out on the table and got down to business. “Here’s us. Here’s Velkrath. Here’s Korth Varren.” He tapped each point in turn. “Convoy runs this route between them. We’ll be setting up here” – he indicated the ridge – “overlooking the road, about four klicks southwest of Korth Varren.”
He traced a line from Kharvûk to the ridge, deliberately curving away from the observation post. “We’ll swing wide around the observation post, taking this route here. The path’s old, but it’s better than wilderness. It will add a couple hours to the trip.”
He looked up. “Speaking of which – what’s your transport situation? Horses? Carriage?”
Lucan’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he couldn’t believe he’d been asked such a question. “A carriage, naturally.”
Henry let that one slide. “Alright. We’ll be taking our vehicles. They can move a lot faster, but we’ll match your pace so we don’t accidentally leave you behind. As such, your carriage will be in the middle of our formation.”
Lucan was definitely prepared to respond, but he withheld his tongue.
Henry continued before the man could change his mind. “We leave from the northern gate thirty minutes after we’re done briefing; should be enough time to get your things in order. Travel time’s estimated to be six hours, all things considered. We should arrive on site by evening. From there, we make camp away from the ridgeline, out of direct sightlines. No fires, no unnecessary noise. We’re close enough to Velkrath that a patrol could stumble across us if we get sloppy.”
“We hold through the night and into tomorrow. At 1700, Korth Varren gets hit.” He tapped the fortress, then used a finger to trace the red line that represented the convoy’s route. “The convoy will be approaching the ridge right around then. They’ll have a front-row seat to their destination going up in smoke – and while they’re busy figuring out what just happened, we execute the ambush. We’ll return the following morning.”
He tapped the ridge one more time. “We’ll be up here, overlooking the entire route. No cover down there for the convoy. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Lucan studied the map, visibly unimpressed with the ridge positioning. Yet for all his obvious displeasure, he never actually said anything about it.
The man would rather choke on his own objections than admit the plan put him at a disadvantage. Henry had to admire the commitment, in a way. It wasn’t often he got to witness ego quite like this – let alone the satisfaction of knowing he’d get to humble it.
“I trust you can sort out your own provisions,” Henry said. “Food, water, overnight gear. We’ve got our own, so just worry about your people.”
Lucan's expression flickered – a moment of genuine confusion, as if the idea that he might have considered provisioning them had never occurred to him and was faintly insulting now that it had been raised. Surprisingly, he only nodded.
Henry waited a moment longer, half-expecting someone to ask something – anything – about the plan. They had nothing.
Either Lucan’s Chosen had already worked out the details among themselves, or they’d learned that asking questions in front of their leader was more trouble than it was worth. Probably both.
As for Lucan himself, the lack of questions likely stemmed from a much simpler motive: that he had his own plan, and attending this briefing was merely a matter of formality. The positioning, the engagement sequence, the careful coordination; none of it mattered to a man who’d already decided he was the main character.
“Alright,” he said, rolling up the map. “We’ll meet you at the northern gate in thirty minutes.”
Lucan rose and left without ceremony. His Chosen filed out after him, Tancred lingering just long enough to give Henry a glare that was probably meant to be intimidating. It wasn’t, but A for effort, he guessed.
The room cleared out, leaving just Alpha Team and the faint smell of whatever Lucan used in his hair. Sera wrinkled her nose.
“A pity we cannot simply leave him behind.”
Henry chuckled. “Don’t tempt me.”
They headed out to gather their gear, which took about ten minutes to do. Most of it had been sorted the night before, so it was really just a final check – ammunition counts, water, personal gear, the usual. They loaded up and rolled to the northern gate with time to spare. Lucan’s Chosen arrived a few minutes later, their carriage rattling up the cobblestones behind a team of dradaks.
Lucan dismounted and regarded the MRAPs with confusion. But where most of the Gaerrans they’d encountered had shown intrigue, Lucan’s gaze had only revulsion, like the machines were unglorious or something. He walked a slow half-circle around the nearest one, analyzing it, and came away unimpressed.
The rest of the Chosen were more in line with the norm, with their wizard revealing the most interest. None of them asked questions, though. Whether that was discipline, disinterest, or just not wanting to look ignorant in front of Lucan, Henry couldn’t say. Probably a mix of all three.
After establishing their formation, they hopped in their respective transports and set off. Hayes’ MRAP took point, the carriage settled into the middle, and Henry’s vehicle brought up the rear.
“Man, we’re really crawling, huh,” Ron said, eyeing the carriage ahead.
Henry glanced at the dash. Their current speed was a blistering ten miles an hour – apparently fast for carriages, but still painfully slow compared to what their vehicles were capable of.
“Nothing we can do about it.”
Ron slumped over the wheel. “Fuck. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I just wanna hurry up and wait already.”
“What, isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” Henry asked.
“Nah, bruh. ‘Cause see, hurry up and wait means I’m at the site, sitting on my ass, playing Bloons or whatever, maybe bullshitting with Hayes about nothing, just chilling.” He shook his head, then gestured at the windshield, at the carriage’s ass end moving at a glacial pace. “This shit, though, means we actually gotta pay attention. Can’t do shit. Just sit here and watch that thing go for hours. My brain’s already rotting.”
Henry chuckled. “Rotting? More like detoxing. Staring at nothing – that’s brain nourishment, buddy.”
Ron snorted. “Man fuck you, I ain’t addicted.”
“Says the crack addict going through withdrawals,” Henry said.
Ron didn’t have much of a counter to that. “I… yeah. Fair.”
Henry reached over and patted Ron on the shoulder. “Anyway, if you’re really that bored, well, that’s what we’re here for. Let it all out, man.”
Ron exhaled. “Ehh, I just need to be doing something. Scrolling, gaming, cooking, jerking off – something.”
Sera raised an eyebrow. “How dramatic. Do spare me that last one, if you please.”
“I’m not gonna – it’s an expression. Kinda. Whatever. Point is, I’m stuck doing nothing.”
Henry got it. But the more they talked about it, the more it’d get to them.
“Could be worse. Could be walking.”
“Could be flying,” Ron countered.
“Yeah, and hope the goblins just don’t notice us. Ain’t happening, unless the General clears some of the fancier shit for use. TR-3B, maybe?”
Ron let out a defeated sigh. “I know. I’m just saying, bruh. It’s gon’ be boring as hell.”
“Perhaps you might put that frantic mind to use and plan supper,” Sera suggested.
Ron perked up a little at that. “Okay, yeah. That’s something.” He nodded slowly, warming to the idea. “Mmm. Bulgogi. Yeah, I’m doing bulgogi.”
Henry’s stomach responded before his brain did. They’d had a decent breakfast, but that was hours ago now, and the mention of seared beef wasn’t helping. “That does sound good.”
“Right? We’ve finally got an opportunity to use all that shit we packed.”
“What manner of dish is this ‘bulgogi?’” Sera asked.
“It’s a Korean dish – from another country back home. Thin-sliced beef marinated, seared hot and fast. Usually you’d do it over rice, but we can figure something out. Bread, maybe. Lettuce wraps if we’ve got lettuce.”
“We’ve got lettuce,” Henry confirmed.
“Then we’re set. It’s gon’ be fire. Trust.” Ron drummed his fingers on the wheel, clearly pleased with himself. “Ay, I might even say it’s gonna be some real campfire cooking, like that one isekai. You seen that one yet or nah?”
“Yeah, downloaded it before we left Armstrong. But don’t remind me, dude,” Henry said. “Remember, we can’t cook until after.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ron sighed. “I’m just saying. Something to look forward to. Motivation.”
Henry shrugged in his seat. “Well, I guess it’ll make the MREs taste better, at least. Just pretend the beef ravioli is actually just bulgogi.”
Ron looked at him like he’d suggested eating dirt. “Brother.”
“What? They’re not bad. Well, they’re not that bad.”
“I woulda said the same thing a couple months ago,” Ron admitted. “But this time, we’ve got actual food. Fresh ingredients. A whole fridge. Why would I eat an MRE?”
“I’m just saying, it’s an option.”
“A fuck-ass option is what it is.” Ron shook his head. “Even if we can’t cook, we still got sandwich stuff. Ham, turkey, y’know. Sum’n slight.”
“Toast the bread on the engine block,” Henry proposed.
Ron laughed. “Don’t think I ain’t considered it.”
They rode for a while. The terrain shifted outside – Kharvûk’s outskirts giving way to actual wilderness: rocky shit, sparse trees, the road narrowing as it wound up into the mountains. Ron kept the speed steady, matching the carriage, muttering something under his breath every time it slowed for a curve.
The silence lasted for maybe half an hour before Ron popped up again. “Oh shit,” he said, turning to Henry, “did I tell you about that girl at the Guild? Did you see her? Right before we left?”
Henry blinked. “Huh?”
“Catgirl. Ears, tail, whole deal. She was at the front desk, talking to one of the clerks.”
Henry tried to recall. Front desk, this morning… he vaguely remembered someone being there, but he hadn’t really been paying attention.
“Can’t say I noticed,” he said.
“Can’t say you – how?” Ron glanced at him in the rearview, genuinely incredulous. “You walked right past her. How you miss that? How you miss a whole catgirl?”
Henry already had his answer. “I’ve only got eyes for one girl.”
Sera’s smile turned proud, smugness radiating off her. “But of course.”
Ron caught it in the mirror. “Right. Yeah.” He snorted. “Must be nice, man. Having that tunnel vision. Rest of the world just don’t exist no more, huh?”
Henry leaned back in his seat. “What can I say? I know what I like.”
“Yeah, clearly.” Ron shook his head, but he was grinning. “Well, some of us still out here looking, and I’m telling you – she was bad. Top tier baddie. Woulda said something, but we were already heading out. Tragic.”
“Heartbreaking,” Henry affirmed, nodding as sagely as he could.
“Right? Guess I just gotta keep an eye out.”
Sera angled her head, studying Ron like he was some interesting experiment. “I confess, I’d not truly understood this fixation, Owens. Truly, ‘catgirls’? They shed abominably, you know. Float about the house like thistledown. What is it about the Felinae that so captivates you?”
“I mean, yeah. Shedding – that’s fine though. Fur ain’t a dealbreaker. I can deal with fur.”
Henry suspected Ron hadn’t really thought that through, but kept his mouth shut.
“Look, you gotta understand where I’m coming from with this,” Ron said, clearly itching to explain this to someone. “Back home – Earth, I mean – catgirls ain’t real. Then I come here, and now they’re real. Real ears that move and shit, real tails, everything. It’s like finding out you had a type that you never had before. Y’know what I mean?”
Henry didn’t say anything. He wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.
Sera, on the other hand, very much was. “You seem rather… taken. Enamored? No – more than that. Quite undone, really. Positively besotted in the most humiliating fashion.”
“Down bad?” Henry offered.
Sera grinned. “Yes, ‘down bad!’”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds kinda sad.”
“My dear Owens, I would describe it as pitiable. Though I admit, I do find this most diverting.”
“Cool. Great. Love that for me,” he muttered.
Sera brightened at once, hand to her heart. “As well you should. I am being nothing if not uplifting.” Her expression turned cherubic – and smug. “Truly, Owens, I hope you find a catgirl patient enough to abide your… spontaneity.”
Henry let them talk, listening in while watching the mountains roll past. Nothing to do now but enjoy the show for the next five hours.