Kingdom Valor

William had several regrets in life.

Not investing in tech stocks. Eating gas station sushi in Houston. Laughing during a funeral because the priest's name was Father Fudge.

But none of them compared to his current regret: agreeing to raid a bandit camp with zero training, one rusted sword, and a monster that thought belly rubs were a valid war tactic.

He crouched behind a bush, eye twitching.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" he whispered.

Miri peeked through the brush like a bunny-shaped commando. "Because they stole from a merchant caravan last week. Soap. Blankets. And… oh! A magical chicken coop!"

William blinked. "…A what?"

"A coop that makes one egg every ten minutes. Infinite food!"

Torrin growled from behind a tree. "They also killed three of the guards. That's why it matters."

"Right. That too," Miri added, totally unbothered.

The bandit camp was nestled between two collapsed towers, covered in vines and surrounded by crude wooden spikes. At least twenty tents. A bonfire burned in the middle, and at least a dozen armed thugs loitered around, sharpening blades, laughing, or spitting into a barrel for some reason William didn't want to understand.

Then there was the bandit captain — a hulking brute named Gorlag Redjaw, famous for dual axes and yelling motivational slurs mid-battle.

Torrin eyed the perimeter. "Five guards at the outer edge. If we move fast and silent—"

"We use the Boom-Chickens," Miri interrupted brightly.

"No," Torrin snapped instantly.

"Boom-Chickens?" William asked, with the dread of someone who had just heard the words 'explosive' and 'poultry' used unironically in the same sentence.

Miri held up a tiny satchel of… something that clucked.

"Pocket chickens infused with mana powder. We throw 'em in, they freak out, explode. It's more distraction than damage, but it's really funny."

William opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then slowly said, "…You terrify me."

The plan — if it could be called that — began ten minutes later.

Torrin was already gone, having silently eliminated the two eastern sentries like a lion-shaped ghost.

William stayed with Miri at the western side, clutching a chicken bag with trembling fingers.

"I used to write technical manuals," he muttered. "Now I'm holding magical poultry bombs."

"Character development!" Miri beamed, then whispered, "Now. On my count."

They counted down from five.

At "one," William flung a chicken over the camp wall.

It squawked.

Then there was silence.

Then an explosion of feathers, fire, and what might have been the sound of someone shouting, "WHY?!"

William blinked. "Holy—"

"MOVE!" Miri shouted, already sprinting through the smoke.

What followed could only be described as magical chaos.

Miri zigzagged through tents, firing concussive arrows that knocked weapons from hands, kicked over cooking pots, and insulted bandits mid-shot.

Torrin emerged from the smoke like a war god, blades spinning, cloak billowing, cutting through bandits like he was late for dinner.

And William?

William tripped.

Fell.

Rolled into the center of camp.

Right at Gorlag Redjaw's feet.

"Well, well," the bandit captain grinned, twin axes raised. "Looks like I got me a little runt prize."

William raised his sword.

Dropped it.

"I'll give you my shoes and three buttons off this shirt if you let me live."

Gorlag laughed.

Then swung.

William screamed.

And then — it happened again.

The Chrono-Pulse mark on his hand flared, a wave of time distortion echoing outward like ripples on water.

Everything slowed.

Axes in mid-air.

Flames bending.

Arrows frozen.

Only William moved — barely — his body reacting on instinct.

He rolled backward, stumbled to his feet, and jabbed forward with his sword.

The blade caught Gorlag right in the gut… as time snapped back to full speed.

The bandit captain staggered.

Looked down.

Then passed out.

Or possibly died. William wasn't sure and wasn't going to check.

The entire camp stared at him.

A scrawny teen with bad hair and chicken feathers in his shirt who had just dropped their boss with a single, awkward poke.

Torrin stared.

Miri gasped. "WILLIAM! THAT WAS AWESOME!"

William dropped the sword again. "I THINK I PEED A LITTLE!"

The remaining bandits — demoralized and possibly cursed with confusion — dropped their weapons and fled.

And in the distance, a chicken clucked… and exploded.

Later That Night

They sat around a new fire, with blankets, soap, and the coop in tow.

The magical coop clucked once every ten minutes.

William stared at it.

Then at Miri.

"You are never allowed to use livestock as explosives again."

She shrugged. "No promises."

Torrin handed William a mug of tea.

"You did good," he said simply.

"I poked a guy," William muttered.

"You changed time."

"I also peed."

Miri raised her cup. "To the hero of the Boom-Chicken Raid!"

William groaned.

But he smiled.

Just a little.