Chapter 1

"Gajeel, shall we break for camp? Rogue has informed Juvia there is a stream not too far past the crop of trees there. Gajeel?"

He could hear the plea in his friend's voice: 'please let us rest here.'

Gajeel could feel his own bones weakening from exhaustion. His black steel armor weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he never lost face. He never acknowledged his friend's request either. He was more intrigued by the little village that sprawled against the rocky coastline below them. It was obvious by the farmland and drying fishing gear that they did not depend on imports for their economic stability, but they were much too small to warrant such elegant structures of grandeur like they had. It's existence could be a partnership with another sister-village, but the nearest he could think of was 100 miles from where they came.

His crimson eyes drifted into the land surrounding the town and on the horizon, searching for their purpose.

"Gajeel!"

He reluctantly withdrew from his thoughts and shot a glare to the blunette standing at his side.

"The horses, Gajeel. They need rest," she stated.

Instead of relaxing his glare, he turned his steed to the murmuring crowd behind him. It was obvious now that Juvia had not meant the horses needed rest. His men were exhausted. Some had dismounted, others had fallen asleep in their saddle, which was quite an impressive feat considering the late afternoon sun setting in their faces. The last few remained at-attention, quietly talking amongst themselves.

"Dismount! Set up camp! Take em' down for a drink," he ordered.

A visible sigh washed through his men, slumping shoulders in relief. They turned away from him and broke off into groups to go about their encampment routine.

"You push them too hard," his friend whispered, taking hold of his horse's bridle as he dismounted with a grunt. He ignored her and released the packs on his saddle, tossing them to the ground in a heap.

"Juvia thinks you push yourself too hard—"

"Back off, Rain Woman!" he growled. Her face registered no shock or fear at his warning. Slowly, she turned away from him with her pony in tow to join the others at the campsite. He did not care for conversation. He certainly did not care for sentimental conversation. He unhooked the saddle belt from his horse and slid the heavy leather off its back, revealing a wet shine of sweat beneath. His horse was patient and quiet, shifting its weight from one hip socket to another. The horse picked his head up a little higher, realizing the loss of weight, and shook his mane vigorously, jingling the bridle links.

Gajeel snorted at his antics, "Guess that droplet was right. Sorry, Lily."

He patted his horse's neck apologetically, "Go get some grub. There's a barrel in the wagon."

Gajeel held a deep fondness and respect for his horse, Pantherlily. He had once been a war horse for the King's army. Scars marred his healthy black coat, but one gash over his eye threatened his sight. He was forced into retirement until Gajeel found him chewing through the stable gates and destroying stalls left and right. His sight had long since healed and he was clearly not ready to settle down as a stud.

Gajeel watched him trot through the campsite to the wagon that held the tell-tale barrel of kiwis, nosing people until they opened it for him, gorging himself. His intelligence went against the laws of nature.

Gajeel observed their campsite's position. It was a semi-round meadow up against a thick forest. Where there weren't rocks and crevices, there were stumps and signs of a fire long since burned out. Behind him, the meadow broke off to a cliff. He walked to the edge, kicking stones to the precipice and watching them fall. They clattered upon impact and shattered. If he could see the village, the village could see him.

It was then he could feel the exhaustion of their trip wash over him again. He unhooked his black cloak, letting it drop to the ground, followed by his gauntlets and breast plates. He carried no real weapon, preferring to dismember his opponent personally. If they ever came that close. A wry grin slithered across pointed teeth at the thought.

He sat on the rocky ground, untying the cords that held his armor to his leg. He admired the artwork that went into his protective gear. The artist exhibited a great admiration for dragons, and the scratches and dents in the metal did not diminish its beauty. The metal itself was a work of genius, infusing carbon into the iron. He commissioned the work to be done, but the smith far exceeded his expectations when he returned with such black plating. At first he had thought it was a weakness in the metal, a cut-corner to save on materials. But he sees now it was a defensive enhancement. The plates layered over themselves in a scaly fashion, allowing for greater mobility. He would have to thank the smith upon his return home.

The sun now set, he cleaned his gear and situated his sleeping area for the night. He would stay near the cliff with the view of the village below, his men many paces away, safe from the rocky edge.

Gajeel sat at the cliff, watching the lamp-lighters below. People still meandered in the village streets; possibly drunks considering the time of night. He focused on a particular person in what appeared to be the town's watchtower. Or rather, the highest point of their largest building. He could not tell their gender, only that they wore long, white robes and had an impressive head of blue hair. And here he thought Juvia was the only person he'd ever meet with such blue locks.

It could possibly be a cloister member. He recalled most churches having an impressive inventory of gold and valuables. Maybe that explained the town's extravagance: a craftsman's village and with a wealthy benefactor to boot.

He fiddled with the piercings in his lower lip, still thinking. It did not explain why the village was not on any of his maps. He had left a mess of parchment scrolls behind him.

The sound of hooves clopping against stone approached and Pantherlily gave his master's shoulder a shove.

"The hell you want, Lil'?"

A decided snort blew over the muscular man's face.

Gajeel looked up the long face of his favorite horse. He was never bothered over nothing.

A skirmish broke out in the men's camp. He whipped around in time to see his men piling on top of one another, shouts breaking the natural silence. He was able to make out Juvia from the firelight behind her. Though she still wore her fur-trimmed riding outfit, her hair was loose and bounced around her shoulders, and her hips rolled in time to a runner's pace. Her figure rapidly drew closer.

"Gajeel! Scouts—"

"Shit."

He jumped up, giving an impromptu thought to strapping on his gauntlets, and stalked towards the brawl. He did not need to order his men to make room for they slunk away in fear. The skirmish quickly ceased and men peeled themselves away to reveal two heavily beaten strangers laid out on the ground.

Anger and disgust fought for dominance as Gajeel's expression. He made a show of adjusting his gauntlets, softly tapping a hidden latch that released fatally sharp blades. One blade fit for each of his fingers. He watched the two scouts squirm when he flexed his hand, firelight glinting off the black steel joints. He sat into a squat near the man with ginger colored hair.

"Somethin' tells me you boys are not fond of visitors to yer village," Gajeel stated.

The pair looked at one another, swallowing tightly.

One swift hand took hold of the ginger's throat, lifting him off the ground as Gajeel stood at his full height.

"Why would such a quiet village need to send scouts to passing travelers? Unless," he bared down on the man's trachea, closing off his air supply before throwing him back to the rocky ground, "yer hiding something."

The other man was large and sweated profusely. He did not want the clawed man's attention and so he cowered when blood eyes shifted to him, whimpering, "...Jet..."

"You will tell me what I want to know."

"H-he's a demon...Droy..." the ginger whispered hoarsely, struggling for his voice with a hand at his bruised neck.

Many eyes strained at the sight or turned away when bloodcurdling screams pierced their sanity. Juvia stayed with Pantherlily, consoling his nerves as a wicked laugh rose over the sounds of gurgling and retching.

The moon had crawled barely a few minutes across the sky before orders were slung across the campsite.

"Pack up! We move out tonight! Keep the fire burning," he barked to nearby footmen.

Gajeel approached Juvia and began suiting up, layering his armor plates in their proper order. Juvia noticed the wetness on his gauntlet blades.

"Juvia was wondering what the men were doing here," she prodded.

Gajeel, having mastered the ability to arm himself within seconds, threw an evil grin in the direction of the village.

"They're hiding somethin'," he answered.

His gear was rolled into packs and saddled onto Pantherlily. The horse nickered and tossed his head impatiently, eager for his rider.

The camp was broken down and gathered onto the backs of horses within minutes. The sounds of startled whinnies reverberated in the air.

Gajeel mounted his horse and stared down into the village, noticing the watchman pacing in their watchtower. Gajeel was struck when he realized the form of the blunette was quite female. Her arms wrapped around her waist and her pacing increased with what he could only assume was nervousness. He watched her bring her hand to her face and he was mesmerized by the movement. He was surprised he never noticed her femininity before; it was glaringly obvious now. Perhaps it was her gait. He subconsciously tilted his head to one side, watching with great curiosity. The female paused and stared at him. He had been caught.

A quiet protest whispered behind him and he cast an eye in its direction. The pair of scouts were to be dispatched.

"Wait," he called, "tie and gag 'em. They're still useful."

His man obeyed with no question.

Gajeel planned on getting his way that night, even if he needed a few aces up his sleeves.