"Alright, Darryl. You'll get your first mission as a Black Bull today. Aren't you excited?"
Darryl was, in fact, not excited. His legs flailed helplessly as he hung in the air, gripped by the head in his Captain's iron hand. "My head's going to explode, Captain!" he groaned.
Asta raised an eyebrow. "That's not an answer. I just said you're getting your first mission."
"Excited!" Darryl blurted out in a panic as he felt Asta's grip tighten around his skull. "I'm excited, Captain! Totally excited! What even is the mission?"
Asta grinned, though he didn't release him. "That's the spirit. We'll start small. Apparently, there've been sightings of Gromps near Meltridge."
He gave Darryl a casual shake, which meant the boy's entire body swung like a ragdoll. "The little things look weak enough, so I guess you'll handle them."
"G-Gromps!?" Darryl stammered, eyes wide. "But squads of knights are required to fight those things! Even monster hunters don't take them on without a plan!"
"Where'd you hear that?" Asta asked, one brow rising in amusement.
"From the soldiers back home," Darryl said quickly. "They used to tell us stories whenever we weren't doing our chores."
"Good," Asta replied, dropping the boy unceremoniously onto the ground. Darryl landed with a thud and a small, pitiful ouch. "Then you know what to expect. Go pack what you need. We're leaving in a few."
"Didn't you hear me, Captain!?" Darryl shouted as he scrambled to his feet. "Gromps are tough! Their hides can deflect even the sharpest swords! The soldiers told us to run if we ever saw one!"
"Not as a Black Bull, you're not," Asta shot back with that trademark grin. His tone softened, but only a little. "And besides, how else are you going to push past your limits?"
Darryl froze when Asta's gaze locked on his. The young boy felt his heart hammer in his chest.
"You want to become strong, don't you?" Asta asked, voice calm but firm.
When Darryl managed a shaky nod, Asta smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Go get your things. We don't want to keep the nice lady waiting."
---
Standing near the stone archway of Asta's courtyard, Cithria watched as the foreign mage cheerfully tossed his recruit around like a sack of potatoes. The boy, Darryl, she thought his name was, looked moments away from fainting.
"Is this really how foreign mages train their squires?" she muttered under her breath.
One of the guard beside her cleared his throat, but wisely said nothing.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting!" Asta's voice broke her train of thought. He approached with a broad grin, sunlight glinting off the strange sword strapped to his back. The boy trailed behind him, still rubbing his head. "This little trouble maker decided to take his sweet time."
Ignoring that she had just seen him fling little Darryl over twelve feet in the air a few minutes ago, Cithria straightened her posture instinctively. "Captain Asta," she greeted formally, giving a small bow. "The Crown appreciates your quick response to the notice."
Asta waved it off with a laugh. "Hey, no need for all that. And besides, how else is the kid going to learn? This looks like a perfect first mission for him. How is Garen by the way?"
Cithria's eyes were still wide open, even as she almost instinctively answered that her Sword-Captain was doing well. Instead she focused on the early part of the statement. "He... Is the one dealing with the Gromps?" her tone dangerously close to disbelief. "You do realize those creatures can crush a man in full armor, don't you?"
Asta tilted his head. "Then it's a good thing he's not wearing armor."
Cithria blinked. "That's not the point!" she took a deep breath.
Asta only grinned wider, his easy confidence completely unmoved by her protest. "Relax. I'll be there to watch over him. This is how we do things in the Black Bulls." He started walking toward the stables, waving for her to follow.
Darryl trailed after him, half-excited, half-terrified. "Captain, do I have to fight them? I don't even know what a Gromp looks like up close!"
Asta turned back with a laugh. "A little surprise in your life will do you good!"
Cithria sighed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to the winged protector. She followed the pair as they reached the horses tethered by the gate.
Asta patted the flank of a massive Demacian steed, clearly admiring its build. "Demacian craftsmanship really doesn't play around, huh? This thing looks like it could headbutt a flaming boar."
"Please don't test that theory, whatever a flaming boar is." Cithria said, swinging onto her own mount with practiced grace.
Asta only chuckled as he lifted Darryl by the collar and dropped him onto the smaller horse beside her. "You'll be fine, kid. Just try not to die. Trust your caption."
Darryl gripped the reins nervously. "You said that last time, Captain. We ended up breaking through three fences and a chicken coop!"
"Exactly," Asta said cheerfully. "Those chickens were delicious weren't they?"
"That's not the point!" Darryl yelled at his Captain and Cithria couldn't help but agree with the boy.
Asta just laughed harder as the three of them rode towards the entrance to the city.
---
The ride from the Great City to Meltridge had taken them the better part of a day. The sun now hung low over the plains, dyeing the grasslands gold as the foothills of the Graygate Mountains rose ahead.
Cithria tugged gently on Cloudfield's reins, guiding her trusted steed into a slow turn as the other two riders followed close behind. The air carried a crisp bite that hinted at the coming dusk, and the rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt road filled the quiet between them.
She stole a brief glance over her shoulder and was mildly surprised to see Darryl handling his mount with practiced ease. Then again, he was Demacian. "His parents must have taught him." Most citizens spent at least three years serving in the military, long enough to pick up the fundamentals of horsemanship, swordsmanship, and discipline. It was part of what made Demacians so dependable, unyielding in both spirit and skill.
A thoughtful hum broke her train of thought.
Cithria tilted her head slightly, catching the mage's voice from behind.
"I get it now," Asta said, as though he'd just uncovered some grand secret.
Darryl glanced toward him. "Get what?"
The mage inhaled deeply, his expression twisting into frustrated despair. "That this..." he threw his hands up dramatically "...is the slowest method of transportation ever!"
Cithria couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips as Asta groaned in frustration, glaring down at his horse as though it were the one personally offending him.
"Next time, Darryl," Asta said, pointing a gloved finger at his young charge, "we're flying here. Remind me to get you a broom when we get back."
Darryl blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "A broom? What do we need a broom for? And how are we supposed to use it to fly?" His eyes widened suddenly, lighting up with excitement. "Ooh! Are we getting a Silverwing?"
Asta grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Just wait and see, Darryl. Your captain's about to blow your mind."
Cithria sighed softly, though amusement flickered across her expression. 'Brooms? What's he even talking about? And flying? Don't tell me he actually has a Silverwing hidden somewhere.'
"We're already here," she said, reining Cloudfield to a halt as the faint orange glow of dusk washed over the treetops ahead. "But it looks like night's coming sooner than expected. We'll secure lodging and continue at first light."
Ahead, the faint outline of Meltridge came into view, a modest town of stone and timber nestled at the base of the Graygate foothills. Evening light spilled over the rooftops, and lanterns were already flickering to life along the main road.
"Finally!" Asta exhaled, half relief, half impatience. "If I had to sit on this horse for another hour, I'd have started running instead."
"You probably should have," Darryl said dryly. "You'd have reached here faster."
Asta gave the boy a mock glare. "I might make you run laps back to the capital."
The road leveled out as they approached the stone archway that marked Meltridge's entrance. A pair of local guards stood watch, older men with well-worn tabards, looking more tired than alert. They straightened a little when they saw the insignia on Cithria's shoulder.
"Evening, Vanguard," one greeted, glancing briefly at Asta's foreign clothes. His tone carried curiosity more than suspicion. "You three traveling through or here on assignment?"
"On Crown business," Cithria replied simply, keeping her tone neutral. "We're looking into reports of Gromps near the outer ridge."
The guard's expression shifted at once. "Ah. That mess. You'll want the old barracks up the hill, Captain Rehn's in charge of the town watch. Not much of a night for scouting, though."
"We'll manage," Cithria said.
Asta waved cheerfully. "Thanks! Nice town you've got here!"
The guard blinked, caught off guard by the enthusiasm. "Er… sure," he muttered, stepping aside to let them pass.
Meltridge wasn't large, but it was alive, the air smelled faintly of burning oak and stew, and the sound of merchants closing their stalls echoed through the narrow streets. Children darted between doorways, while a few soldiers patrolled lazily near the square.
Just a few moons ago, this place was at the cusp of rebelling. Cithria tried to avoid the gazes of the villagers as she walked.
Last time she was here, she has made a promise to a very desperate woman. To find her daughter, who had been taken by MageSeekers, and bring her back to her.
It had been many moons since then. Cithria hadn't been back here since. 'What do I tell her if I run into her."
"People are staring," Darryl whispered.
"They've probably never seen anyone from Clover before," Cithria said.
"Maybe it's the muscles," Asta added, grinning as he waved at a group of wide-eyed children. Even flexing a few times.
A few women had swooned, and Cithria rolled her eyes.
"I doubt it," Cithria muttered, "Demacia isn't scarce in muscular men."
Asta looked over his shoulder and shrugged. "Fair point."
They stopped near the town square, where a small inn sat beside the well. Its windows glowed warmly, the faint hum of laughter spilling from inside.
"This'll do," Cithria said. "We'll get rooms for the night and head out at dawn. If the Gromps are nesting near the riverbanks, we'll need clear light to track them."
"Fine by me," Asta said as he swung off his horse. "As long as there's food."
Darryl slid off his mount more carefully. "Captain, maybe you shouldn't..."
But it was too late. Asta had already pushed through the inn door, his voice booming before he even reached the counter. "Evening! Three rooms and something to eat!"
Cithria rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Give me strength," she muttered under her breath.
When she followed him inside, the innkeeper, a middle-aged woman with the weary look of someone who'd seen too many adventures, was already setting out mugs.
'Ex soldier perhaps?' Cithria thought.
"...right." The woman nodded, her eyes flicking to the strange insignia on Asta's cloak.
Cithria hid her small smile as she moved past him to speak quietly with the innkeeper. "We'll be out before dawn," she said, placing a few coins on the counter. "If you have a stablehand, see that our horses are fed and watered."
The inn had been quiet after the rush of travelers settled in. Cithria retired early, preferring the stillness of her room to the raucous laughter drifting from the common area below, mostly courtesy of Asta, who seemed to make friends wherever he went, whether people wanted to or not.
By the time sleep claimed her, the sounds of the tavern had long faded, replaced by the steady whisper of the wind outside.
---
"Bleeurgh!" Cithria groaned, doubling over as she emptied the entirety of her breakfast into the grass, bread, and whatever was left of her dignity.
Beside her, Darryl wasn't faring any better. The boy was on his hands and knees, dry heaving with the kind of despair that only came from near-death experiences.
"There, there," Asta said cheerfully, crouching behind them as he patted both of their backs, far too enthusiastically for someone responsible for their current condition. "Let it all out."
"I hate you, Captain!" Darryl wheezed between gasps, and for once, Cithria felt she shared the sentiment completely.
They were justified too.
It had all started so simply that morning. After breakfast, Cithria had suggested meeting Captain Rehn to gather information on the Gromp sightings, a reasonable, disciplined plan.
Then Asta had said, "I already know where they are!" grabbed both her and Darryl by the shoulders, and before she could even ask how, the world had turned inside out.
The next thing she knew, they were plummeting through cold air, her stomach somewhere above her head, and the ground rushing up far too fast.
Now, they were here, deep within the forests that bordered the Graygate foothills.
The experience had been… jarring, to put it mildly.
"Better get used to this, Darryl," Asta said, arms crossed proudly as if he hadn't just defied several laws of nature. "Flying's the fastest way to travel."
"I would not," Cithria said through clenched teeth, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove, "call what you just did flying, Captain Asta."
Asta raised a brow, looking genuinely amused. "Oh? You called me captain that time. I sense that you're mad at me."
Darryl slumped against a tree trunk, still pale. "I'm angry too, Captain… really angry."
Asta scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Maybe I should've waited before bringing the Gromp here."
Cithria froze mid-breath, her blood running cold. "...What did you just say?"
RIBBIT!!!
The sound reverberated through the forest, low, wet, and heavy. The ground beneath them shuddered as a massive shape moved beyond the trees, its croak echoing like rolling thunder.
Cithria slowly turned her head toward the noise, dread prickling down her spine.
Darryl whimpered. "...You didn't."
Asta grinned. "Your first mission begins now."