Chương 10: Tier 3 Vanguard

By the time the convoy ground to a halt, the sky had bruised into a deep, twilight violet. It had been three days since they departed from Ember-Watch and entered the territory beyond the Great Wall. The bone-rattling journey had offered few constants, save for the endless creak of wooden axles and the looming canopy of the thinning forest. The caravan had established its camp in a wide, grassy clearing where the trees drew back from a slow-moving, clear river.

The rushing water provided a soothing murmur against the standard chaos of evening camp life. Already, several large fires were roaring to life, their bright amber tongues crackling hungrily against the damp wood and throwing long, dancing shadows across the parked carriages. Stelle climbed down from the third carriage, her small boots sinking softly into the damp, mossy earth. She pulled her oversized wool cloak tightly around her shoulders, her bright blue eyes wide and vacant.

Around her, the camp was a symphony of survival. Merchants were busy tethering their draft horses near the water's edge, their voices low as they checked the bindings on their crates, while wounded vanguard soldiers sat on logs near the central fire, enjoying the steaming stew. Corin, the strange merchant, had already vanished into the shifting shadows near the edge of the clearing, keeping his brass-bound crate clutched close to his side.

As Stelle stood near the edge of the wagon, the firelight caught her pristine silver hair, making it shimmer like spun starlight against the dark backdrop of the woods. A few of the resting vanguard soldiers looked over at her, their rough faces softening with curiosity. They leaned together, lowering their voices over their meals.

"Hey, look over there," one of them murmured, setting down his wooden bowl.

"Is that the kid Rakan and Vira pulled off from the frost-veil?"

"Aye, that's her," another soldier replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Hard to imagine a little thing like that surviving the Frost-Veil all alone. She looks as if she'll fall over at any moment."

"She's cute," a younger conscript whispered. Suddenly, a massive shadow fell over the gossiping soldiers as a towering figure stepped out of the gloom behind them.

"Gossiping like a bunch of old washerwomen by the river, are we?" Rakan's deep baritone boomed from right above their heads. The soldiers practically jumped out of their armor, scrambling to their feet so fast one of them nearly spilled his stew into the dirt. Rakan stood over them like a mountain, a massive, teasing grin plastered across his rugged face, though his golden eyes carried the unmistakable weight of a seasoned warrior.

His greatsword rested behind his large back, its dark steel drinking the shifting amber light of the campfire.

"S-Sir Rakan!" the youngest soldier stammered, saluting with a trembling hand.

"We were just... uh..."

"Just admiring the scenery, huh?" Rakan chuckled, a rich, boisterous sound that seemed to chase the twilight chill away. He reached out and gave the kid a soft slap on the shoulder that still nearly dropped him to his knees.

"Don't let Vira catch you slacking on your watch, or she'll have you scraping horse hooves until we hit Oakhaven. Now eat up and get ready for the night rotation. The forest is restless tonight."

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers quickly scattered, retreating to the far side of the fire with their heads low. Rakan watched them go, his chuckle fading into a softer, gentler expression as he turned his gaze toward the small figure. He walked over, his heavy armor clinking softly with each stride, until he stopped right in front of Stelle.

"Hey there, snowflake," he said gently, tossing a small piece of dry firewood onto the nearby embers.

"You're drawing quite a crowd. Don't mind those idiots—they've just never seen anyone with hair as bright as yours. You doing alright out here?"

"I'm fine," Stelle murmured. She let her grip on the heavy cloak relax just a fraction, lowering the collar from her chin to expose the faint, quiet trace of a smile. Her bright blue eyes, previously wide with simulated terror, softened as she looked up at the towering warrior. Over the last three days, she had watched him closely. Rakan was a rare soul—visually intimidating and physically lethal, yet fundamentally soft-hearted and fiercely protective.

Back at the Ember-Watch garrison and throughout the grueling journey, he had consistently bypassed strict military stiffness just to slip her some food and check on her well-being. Realizing that playing too frightened might only make him worry, Stelle had decided to let down her guard slowly over these last few days. She chose to open up, letting herself appear like a child who was slowly learning to trust him. Rakan saw her small smile, and his own rugged face softened completely.

He reached out with a hand that could easily crush an iron helmet and patted her little head with surprising, gentle care, his rough palm barely rustling her silver hair.

"If any of 'em bother you, just call for me," he said, his voice dropping into a low, fiercely protective rumble.

"Doesn't matter if it's the soldiers, the merchants, or anyone else. You just yell my name, and I'll come running."

"Even if it's Lady Vira?" Stelle asked, tilting her head slightly. For the first time, a tiny, genuine spark of curiosity warmed her otherwise soft tone. Rakan froze, his massive hand hovering in the air just above her silver hair. His golden eyes went wide, and for a split second, the fearsome Vanguard warrior looked entirely defenseless.

He cast a frantic, panicked glance over his shoulder toward the center of the camp, where Vira was currently unrolling a map over a wooden crate, her expression as sharp as her dagger.

"Uh," Rakan stammered, lowering his voice to an urgent, frantic whisper. He leaned in closer, his boisterous confidence instantly evaporating.

"Well... now, let's not get carried away, snowflake. Vira is... she's a special case." He rubbed the back of his neck, his rugged face twisting into a grimace of pure, unadulterated dread.

"Look, if Vira is yelling at you, it usually means you did something dangerous, which means I'd probably be getting yelled at too," he muttered, shuddering slightly as if remembering a past trauma.

"Between you and me? If she gets that scary, quiet look in her eyes... your best bet isn't calling for me. Your best bet is hiding behind my back and hoping she doesn't see either of us." Stelle blinked, her internal systems quietly logging the absolute hierarchy of the caravan's command structure. Even a combat titan like him possessed a psychological vulnerability when faced with the wrath of Lady Vira.

Amused by his sudden shift in demeanor, Stelle unconsciously let out a tiny, soft huff that sounded remarkably like a stifled chuckle. She felt something a little different at that moment... a tickling sensation in her brain that she didn't quite understand. Seeing that he had amused her, Rakan's panicked expression melted back into a sheepish grain. He gave her cloak one last gentle pat.

"But seriously. Anyone else? I've got your back." Stelle tilted her head, her bright blue eyes locking onto his. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Is she stronger than you?" Rakan let out a dry, theatrical wheeze, leaning back on his log and looking up at the canopy of leaves as if asking the stars for strength.

"Stronger? Cultivation-wise, we're technically sitting in the same tier—we are Tier 3," he said, gesturing vaguely to the glowing blue runes etched into his own heavy breastplate.

"If it came down to a pure contest of brute strength, lifting boulders, or smashing through a castle gate... yeah, I've got her beat. My heavy plate and broadsword can shatter just about anything in front of me." He leaned in again, his voice dropping into that same conspiratorial whisper, his golden eyes darting nervously toward the central fire.

"But Vira? She's a different kind of nightmare, snowflake. She's a Wind-Attribute Vanguard while practicing the path of Stalker and Catalyst. She doesn't fight fair. While I'm swinging this giant slab of iron, she's already slipped behind me, cut my armor straps, and taken three of my rations before I even realize she's moved. She's fast as the wind, and her temper is twice as sharp." He rubbed his shoulder, a sheepish grin returning to his rugged face.

"And besides, strength isn't just about how hard you can hit. She's one of the brains of our unit. Captain Alden trusts her to run the logistics, the strategy, and... well, me. So, is she stronger? Let's just say I'd rather face a horde of wild snow-wolves, goblins, or a scaled Shiv in the dark than face Lady Vira when she's angry."

According to the gathered information and specific literature data she had since her awakening, the gap between tiers in this world wasn't a linear progression—it was an exponential leap. A single Tier 3 combatant possessed enough compressed mana and refined technique to systematically defeat ten Tier 1 fighters. To ordinary folk, a Tier 3 was a force capable of turning the tide of a skirmish all on their own. And this caravan had two of them, alongside a few Tier 1 and Tier 2 vanguard soldiers.

Deep within her active knowledge archive, a cross-reference query flashed. One of the fictional books she possessed The Elite Regressor detailed this exact ranking architecture. In this world, Tier 1 was merely the initial, stumbling step of an Awakened. Tier 5 sat at the very top of what any living entity could attain on this planet, according to the fragments she had cross-referenced. It was described that there was a wall limiting the awakened to climb further than tier 5, a limit imposed by the world itself.

Beyond it lay Tiers 6 through Tier 9, and even a Tier 0 above those. By only stepping in a Upper Realm. That one can continue. Furthermore, an Awakened's destiny was heavily dictated by their Mana core rank, which measured the quality of a person's awakened core on a strict scale spanning from F to S. [KNOWLEDGE ARCHIVE: Data Reference] [F-Rank Mana Core] — Minimal mana control, restricted to basic skill sets. The lifetime ceiling typically hard-caps at Tier 3, or Tier 4 under extraordinary circumstances.

[S-Rank Mana Core] — Near-infinite potential and guaranteeing an individual can reach the full Tier 5 ceiling—assuming they never find a way to step past it entirely by entering the Upper Realm. Stelle shifted her gaze back to the red-haired giant stretching his massive arms. Rakan appeared to be in his late twenties. To reach Tier 3 at such an age meant his awakened mana core was highly refined.

Based on her computational growth curves, his mana core rank was likely sitting comfortably around C-rank, or perhaps even a rare B-rank. The two of them were layout out a formidable presence. In this untamed, perilous world, traveling under the protection of two Tier 3 vanguards was the highest guarantee of safety a refugee could ask for. Then there was the elemental affinity.

The records indicated there were nine elements an Awakened could potentially control with their mana: Blaze, Aqua, Frost, Gale, Earth, Verdant, Thunder, Light, and Shadow. Each person had a different kind of affinity for these elements, most bound to a single domain, while a rare minority possessed the rare capacity to master multiple affinities. Yet, elements were merely the raw paint; the true masterpiece of an Awakened's abilities relied on a much deeper doctrine known as a Path.

Rakan's casual revelation that Vira walked the Paths of the Stalker and the Catalyst. A specialized mastery of mana to warped the laws of reality. Still, she needed to gather more data. In the future, once she acquired more references, she would finally uncover what these Paths truly meant.

"I see," Stelle murmured softly, taking a small bite of the sweet honey-bread Rakan had given her. The sugar dissolved on her tongue, fueling her simulated biological needs while her mind continued to catalog the sheer scale of the power sitting right in front of her. Rakan, completely unaware that the little girl was currently running complex simulations of his abilities, simply chuckled and stretched his massive arms.

"Aye. So don't you worry about a thing out here in the woods, snowflake. Between my sword and her wits, nothing is getting through to this wagon." The shadows at the edge of the firelight shifted, and a slim figure stepped into the warm glow, walking with a silence that seemed almost supernatural given the twigs and dry leaves carpeting the forest floor. Vira stopped right beside the log where Rakan was sitting, her arms crossed over her leather-and-steel breastplate.

Her sharp, hazel eyes darted from the red-haired giant to Stelle, then down to the half-eaten piece of premium honey-bread in the girl's small hand.

"I thought I smelled high-grade military rations," Vira said, her voice smooth but laced with a dangerous, dry amusement.

"Rakan, did you raid the vanguard emergency supply crates again?" Rakan practically choked on his own spit. He stiffened, his massive shoulders tensing as he slowly turned his head to look up at her, a comically guilty grin plastered across his face.

"V-Vira! My favorite co-commander," Rakan stammered.

"Raid is such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as... a strategic reallocation of resources. The kid needs her energy! Look at how small she is!" Vira let out a soft, exasperated sigh, though the stern line of her mouth softened just a fraction as she looked down at Stelle.

"She needs proper food, not you spoiling her with sweets." Stelle quietly pulled the cloak a little tighter around herself, watching the interaction with wide, innocent eyes. She took another small, deliberate bite of the honey-bread, silently observing the natural banter between the two Tier 3 Vanguards. Seeing them together, the sheer contrast in their combat styles was glaringly obvious—one a towering bastion of muscle, the other a lethal, whisper-quiet gust of wind.

Vira rolled her eyes, a sharp exhale escaping her nose as she rested a hand on her hip.

"She's small because she's a child, Rakan, not because she's starving. If you keep feeding her rations, she's going to end up with a stomach ache before we even smell the pine trees of Oakhaven." She stepped closer, the dark ironwood of her bow catching the low, amber glint of the dying fire. Her gaze shifted down to Stelle. For all her sharp words toward Rakan, her eyes held a quiet, watchful vigilance as she looked at the silver-haired girl.

"How are you holding up?" Vira asked, her tone dropping its edge, replacing it with a calm, measured softness.

"The river air gets thin and biting once the sun drops behind the peaks. If the cloak isn't enough, I can have the boys fetch an extra pelt from the logistics wagon." Stelle blinked up at her, letting the silence stretch just long enough to maintain her appearance as a quiet, reserved child, before she shook her head slightly.

"I'm warm. Lady Vira... the cloak feels comfortable." Rakan immediately beamed, gesturing proudly between the two of them.

"See? Total success! The snowflake is comfortable, she's talking, and she's eating. I'd say my methods are flawless."

"Your methods are going to get us a reprimand from the quartermaster if you keep prying open locked crates with your bare hands," Vira countered dryly, though she didn't push the matter further. She turned her attention back toward the darkened treeline, her hand naturally drifting closer to the grip of her bow.

"Finish up, Rakan. The scouts just signaled from the ridge. There are snow wolves in the area. We need to double the watch." Vira's words hung in the cooling night air, instantly shifting the atmosphere. Rakan's playful grin vanished, replaced by the grim, focused expression of a seasoned Tier 3 Vanguard. He nodded once, a low rumble of agreement vibrating in his chest as he rose to his full, towering height. His hand came down to rest firmly on the pommel of his massive broadsword.

"Understood," Rakan said, his voice dropping its boisterous edge.

"I'll take the riverbank perimeter myself. If anything tries to crawl out of the water under the cover of the mist, they'll have to get through me first." Vira gave a single, approving nod before looking down at Stelle one last time.

"Get some rest, Stelle. Tomorrow we will continue our journey." With a fluid, whisper-quiet turn, Vira melted back into the shifting shadows of the camp, her ironwood bow gleaming faintly in the dark. Rakan offered Stelle a quick, reassuring wink before turning to stride toward the riverbank. Left alone by the wheel of the third carriage, Stelle took the final bite of the sweet honey-bread. She pulled Vira's wool cloak tightly around her shoulders, leaning her head back against the wooden frame of the wagon.