Published at 9th of September 2025 12:37 pm

Book 5: Chapter 26 Opening of the Game [Part 1]

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The proverb is the horse that carries our words across the uncertain terrain of ignorance. In the spirit of enlightenment, it reminds us that a single guiding phrase can restore harmony where confusion reigns. It illuminates hidden truths and steers us toward the unspoken heart of wisdom. When the beacon of truth dims, we mount the proverb, letting its sure-footed steps bridge the gaps in our understanding. By harnessing this steed of insight, we rediscover that profound lessons often dwell in the simplest utterances, guiding us gently back to the path of true knowing.

- The Manifold Paths Of Wisdom from the Land of Streams.

And that was how I found myself facing what essentially amounted to a single-horned, six-legged Ceratopsian instead of the warhorse I had envisioned. The moment I approached the creature, it swung its massive head in my direction and fixed me with an ornery glare. A soldier in freshly polished armor of bronze and steel offered me a hand up, but I refused. My pride would not let me accept help for such a simple task, so I clambered up onto the Lumashitu’s broad back on my own, settling with some difficulty on the creature’s back behind its oversized frill.

Turning briefly, I checked that the harness and saddle straps were securely fastened, then glanced down at the beast’s spiked tail. Back in my old world, paleontologists would have called such a natural weapon a thagomizer—and here, it looked twice as deadly, each spike as thick as a man’s wrist.

Captain Tikirit practically beamed when he heard the First Tamkar of the Sultana would be joining this venture. It seemed he believed my presence would make this mission less of a suicide run, so he insisted I make a grand sight atop the most formidable mount available in Al-Lazar. According to him, this was only fitting for someone with a title like mine, no matter how recently earned.

“You kick with your legs in the direction you wish the Lumashitu to go,” explained another soldier-turned-stablehand, his voice hoarse. “Both legs if you want to go forward—keep kicking if you want more speed.” He paused, waiting for my acknowledgment.

I gave him the briefest inclination of my head, and my new mount let out a low, mournful bellow, almost as if it understood what its duty would be.

“Though I doubt you’ll need it,” he continued, “a hard slap behind the saddle tells him to back up. Old Longhorn is calm enough unless there’s a fight. Don't worry too much, if you don’t do anything, he’ll just follow the Huzayfaar.” He gestured toward the lithe-limbed lizards that made up the main unit of our cavalry.

They were a head taller than the average warhorse, walking on four agile limbs. Near their powerful chest, a pair of forelimbs ended in three curved sickles that could effortlessly rend flesh from bone. Their long heads and tails were adorned with spectacular plumes of shimmering purples and greens. Seemingly restless, they chirped among themselves, and their riders murmured soothing words to keep them calm.

“What is your name, soldier?” I asked belatedly, trying to sound as though I were someone accustomed to giving orders.

“Aberash, First Tamkar,” he said, placing a hand to his chest in a show of respect. “If it pleases, I can bring you the Second Horn.”

“Second Horn?” I repeated, somewhat puzzled.

“It’s the fighting lance you’ll need when fighting atop a Lumashitu,” he explained. “You can’t hope to reach most foes from such a high seat with a normal weapon. The beasts are simply too large. This lance is heavier and longer than a normal cavalry lance, good for breaking even pike formations.”

I could certainly imagine it.

Longhorn stood placidly while the soldier Aberash wrestled the heavy weapon onto the creature’s frill, which functioned like a built-in lance rest. I gripped the stout handle, testing its balance and weight.

“The Lumashitu itself is a fearsome weapon,” Aberash added, “but the Second Horn helps smash through enemy lines. Resting the lance on the frill saves your strength. You can also use the Lance to direct old Longhorn instead of your legs on the charge.”

I smiled, hoisting the lance skyward in one hand, my arm trembling only slightly from the effort. A rousing cheer erupted from the soldiers nearby as they watched. It was a moment’s triumph, a faint echo of the leadership they hoped I would embody—even if I had no desire for the role.

“This will do, soldier Aberash,” I said curtly. “You are dismissed.”

He smiled at me, proud to have been a service.

Though it was my first time riding such a beast, my high Dexterity attribute and Riding skill served me well. I soon found a steady, if somewhat strange, rhythm in the saddle. Positioned near the front of our column, I was led through the gates of the city.

In fact, for the novelty of riding such a creature, I was given a boon to my skill.

You have learned Riding (lvl.5)

Outside, the sun blazed down on the sandy expanse that sloped toward the sea. The wind carried the roar of the surf, and the tang of salt to us, mingling uneasily with the smell of sweat and leather from our ranks. The longboats had landed, but they had yet to be challenged. Free from resistance, the newcomers were even now setting up a small beachhead.

Our mixed company—cavalry, archers, and infantry—moved in a tight column formation, the Huzayfaar dancing nervously at the front as the van, while I and three other stalwart Lumashitu lumbered along in the center. We were but two hundred paces away from those mysterious arrivals, and every step brought a growing tension to the air.

One false move, one misunderstanding, and the beach could become a bloody skirmish.

Still, Captain Tikirit rode confidently ahead, his gaze fixed on the enemy lines while he held up a flag of parley. I tried to steady my racing pulse, reminding myself that I was not here to do battle, but to ensure peace—or something close to it.

We had prepared as best we could, but I still braced myself for the worst. If it came to battle, it would at least grant me an opportunity to see how well Longhorn could crush an infantry line. A grim prospect, yet part of me could not deny the anticipation.

At length, both our forces stood locked in a silent stalemate, each eyeing the other across the barren expanse of no man’s land. Then, in a scene that felt bizarrely casual, a handful of unarmed men emerged from the elves’ side, setting up a grand table and chairs right there in the middle. It almost looked like someone was hosting a picnic—completely at odds with the electricity of impending violence humming in the air.

Soon after, a mounted party of ten rode forward with a languid confidence. They wore armor, though their helms were hooked at their belts so we could plainly see their faces. Their ears were long and tapering, an unmistakable sign of their elven heritage. One look at those smug, otherworldly faces and my irritation spiked.

This was clearly an invitation to a civilized parley.

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