Author's Note

1. Sorry for not uploading more often, I've been very busy irl and also writer's block sucks.
2. I will probably not upload anything until mid February or after.
3. I dropped the EAW map for a custom map compiling ideas from several community maps, I posted a snip of it below.
4. I decided to drop the Shakespearean English in the Griffon dialogues because it took too much time. Plus all the creatures in MLP spoke Muhrican english!
5. Fifth chapter will probably about what occurred to Taskforce Lunar or update on Congress and the griffon's subsequent visit.
6. Not proud of this chapter because its way too wordy and I've taken too long writing it.

Reference:
1 Hoof = 0.5 meters = 1.6 foot (US)
1 Talon = 0.7 meters = 2.3 foot (US)

Equus refers to the continent which Equestria (the country) sits on and where most of MLP takes place.

Griffonia refers to the northeast continent where the Griffons originate from and where Griffonstone is set in.

Zebrica refers to the southeast continent where Zebras, Felinids and more originate from. It is located south of Griffonia and is connected by a vast desert.

'Equestria' whilst referring to the country also refers to the planet where MLP takes place.

Griffish/Griffonian > Griffon Language (Mix of various Germanic languages)
Equis/Equestrian > Western Pony Language (Modern English)

Also, heres the current map of the surrounding:

Current New Mareland Flag:

And again: provide feed back and alert me of mistakes, be brutally honest. Thank you.

EDIT;

• I accidentally wrote 'hind talons' forgetting that Griffons have lion paws lol. Changed some words and improved the text by a bit. 12/2/2025
• I added extra lines for Griedlin. 14/2/2025
• Changed dates to fit time frame of story. 17/11/1002 ALB --> 10/3/1002

Ch 3 - First Contact (Last edit: 15/2/2025)

1335 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
Kingdom of Wingbardy.
Central Wingbardy, Karthin

Glaucus nervously adjusted the folds of his toga for the third time, his claws fumbling with the fabric and decorative metal pieces as he approached the grand double doors of the throne room. His brow twitched with unease. He had been suddenly summoned by King Gumberto II—on such short notice, no less.

He suspected a shift in the kingdom's current agenda and sighed at the thought of more work. Nevertheless, it was his duty as a diplomat, and he took pride in serving Wingbardy whenever he could. After all, it had been his suggestion to invade Falcor in the first place.

King Gumberto II—a young griff at the time of his ascension two years prior—had been eager to expand Wingbardian influence in Western Griffonia, motivated by the thoughts of making his father proud. He had sought advice from his royal advisors, which had quickly devolved into bickering and disagreement.

Watching from the spectator benches, Glaucus had scoffed at the display before rising from his seat to interject. He then proposed that Falcor should be the target of Wingbardy's expansion. Most of the advisors were left speechless at his audacity to interrupt the session, some tried to argue, but in the end the King would shut them down to hear the proposal from him.

Falcor, formally known as the Falcorian Queendom, was a 'peaceful griffon realm' to the east of Wingbardy. At the thought of such softness, Glaucus let out a low groan of contempt. A “peace-loving griffon realm”—a gathering of softbeaks, pathetic. Anyways, the queendom bordered the Duchy of Fransmistra to the north and was ruled by the young Queen Fiammetta, who had ascended the throne following the untimely death of her mother.

Like her predecessor, Queen Fiammetta adhered to pacifist diplomacy, staunchly opposing militarism with her introducing further straining budget cuts to the military. This policy had led to a decline in the discipline, equipment, and training standards of Falcor's guards. They were laughably weak in Glaucus's view.

In short, it was the perfect target for Wingbardy.

The King had applauded and agreed with Glaucus's suggestion after hearing his reasonings and ordered the Royal Wingbardian Levée and Knights to begin preparations for an invasion of Falcor. After a year of meticulous planning, Glaucus was sent, along with his fellow diplomats, to Falcor City with a list of Wingbardian demands:

• Falcor was to become a vassal of Wingbardy.
• Falcor was to pay reparations of 90,000 bits annually to Wingbardy for five years.
• Failing the above: Falcor would face the might of Wingbardian warbands.

Unsurprisingly, Queen Fiammetta rejected the outrageous demands outright and promptly expelled Glaucus and the Wingbardian envoys from her court. Upon Glaucus’s return to Kathrin, the King ordered the Royal Levy and Knights to march on Falcor City.

Miraculously, the Wingbardian army capitulated Falcor City within three months, forcing Queen Fiammetta to flee to Southern Falcor, rallying the remains of her army at the major trading city named 'Matton'.

Despite the overwhelming initiative to chase down the routed and unorganized Falcorian Guards, the King had chosen to halt the advance of the Wingbardian army, sparing the retreating Falcorian forces—an act of mercy Glaucus strongly opposed.

Mercy, he thought bitterly, ruffling his feathers at the memory. Mercy was weakness, and weakness was a luxury Wingbardy could ill afford if they wish to achieve their ideals.

Despite his disagreements, orders were orders. The Royal Army fortified Falcor City under the King's order, and Glaucus was dispatched to Matton to 'negotiate' (pressure would be more accurate) Queen Fiammetta into surrender. A year of tedious negotiations had shown promise, Glaucus knew it was only a matter of time before she broke.

"The weak deserve to be conquered by the strong," Glaucus muttered to himself, before he raised his beak toward the royal double doors. He shook his head, still trying to rid himself of the nausea from being teleported from Matton all the way to the palace in Karthin. Copying the ponies does have its downsides after all.

By the time Glaucus reaches the heavy doors of the throne room he was still quite uneased. But he's sure, whatever the King demands of him, it will serve the grand purpose of securing Wingbardy’s future, it must be handled with dignity and professionalism.

Glaucus instantly straightens his posture, pushing his unease aside. With a sharp breath, he pushed the doors, their hinges creaking under the strain, and stepped inside.

King Gumberto II sat upon a gilded throne, decorated with gems of various kinds. Undoubtedly a relic passed down from the legendary rulers of ancient Karthin. His expression is unreadable—a regal mask of calm, yet his presence radiates authority worthy of respect.

Eight Royal guards flank his left and rights, their armour a coal-black colour, sharing the same unreadable expression. They also wore a dark blue surcoat over the armor, ensigned with the emblem of the Falcor Royal Knights.

The tension in the throne room was thick, making Glaucus swallow a thick sludge of saliva before he continued striding forward.

His talons clicked and clacked against the polished marble floor, as he approached the throne. Stopping five talons away, he bowed low, tucking his wings neatly at his sides.

“At ease,” King Gumberto says, his voice calm but firm.

Glaucus straightened, meeting the sovereign’s sharp gaze. “Your Majesty, I am at your service.”

The King leans forward slightly, his jewelled sceptre gleaming in his right talon. “Listen carefully, Sir Glaucus. This task may sound absurd, but its significance cannot be overstated.”

“Earlier today, alarming reports arrived from the southern villages,” Gumberto begins, his tone measured. “An earthquake shook the region, followed by a blinding white light over the western cliffs facing the Aquillan Sea. Before anygriff could get their bearings, a new landmass appeared off the coast.”

Glaucus blinks, his mind racing, but he says nothing as the King continues.

“I dispatched knights to investigate in order to calm the villagers down, expecting the story to be false. But twenty minutes ago, the knights I have sent contacted me through a magic gem with a communication spell. They have confirmed the presence of the landmass and… a border force of ponies calling themselves ‘New Marelanders.’"

“Ponies?” Glaucus’s beak curls slightly in disdain, though he catches himself before speaking out of turn.

“An entire nation, Glaucus,” Gumberto said, his voice lowering. “Not a caravan, not a rogue settlement—an entire nation has materialised on our doorstep."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

“Their intentions are unknown,” the King continued, his gaze sharpening. “And their mere presence will shift the local political landscape exponentially. I am sending you to establish diplomatic contact and assess the threat they pose. The Chief Magician will teleport you to our knights. Do not fail me, Sir Glaucus.”

Bowing deeply, Glaucus replies, his voice steady, “Your Majesty, I shall see this matter handled to your satisfaction.”

The King nods, leaning back in his throne, his sceptre resting on his lap. “Good. Be swift and thorough. You leave immediately.”

As Glaucus strides out of the throne room, his talons clicking in rhythmic steps, his mind turns to the task ahead. A nation of ponies suddenly appearing? Absurd, as the King had said. Still, the ponies’ reputation as a peaceful race makes their threat 'negligible' in his eyes. They are as good as under Wingbardy’s talons already.

The Ponies, unlike the Griffons are a peaceful and idealistic race, they prefer diplomacy to force or conflict. The Griffons, however—unlike the ponies of Equestria, wherever they are, or the ponies of the Riverlands to the east of Griffonia—has a natural warrior-like culture, focusing on individualism and pride with a strong dislike of cowardice.

In Glaucus's opinion, the ponies are cowards for preferring diplomacy. To have power is to rule and use it with an Iron talon. Is it highly ironic and hypocritical of him preferring war to diplomacy as a diplomat? Yes. Does he care? No.

Ever since the fall of the Griffonian Empire caused by the Idol of Boreas being stolen, it shows that Griffons must not be united because of a stupid statue, but instead united by a strong figure of power. The stagnation, decay and isolation of Griffonia that occurred due to the lost idol is proof.

Wingbardy shall be that 'strong figure' and it shall also no longer be subjugated like it once was by Griffonstone, instead it shall subjugate Griffonia, Zebrica, and later Equus under its iron talons.

Glaucus allows himself a sinister grin as he turned the corner toward the magician quarters. If their arrival is a twist of fate, it is one that bends neatly to Wingbardian ambition. Another conquest is on the horizon.

The ponies simply don’t know it yet.

1344 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
Southern Wingbardy
???, "New Mareland" Border

A thunderous crack reverberated through the air as Glaucus materialized onto a hilly grassland. The teleportation spell’s lingering nausea churned his stomach, forcing him to steady himself with a talon pressed to his forehead until the sensation faded.

About six talons away, Knight Captain Griedlin stood with an iron spear resting casually on his shoulder. The visor of his Griffonhelm was raised, exposing his sharp amber eyes and the cocky grin spread across his beak. He nodded in acknowledgment of Glaucus’s arrival and extended a talon in greeting.

“Welcome, a pleasure to see your beak again, Sir Glaucus,” Griedlin said, his voice carrying a mix of camaraderie and sarcasm. “Here to start another war, or just sightseeing?”

“Charming as always,” Glaucus replied nonchalant before shaking his talon, ignoring the jibe. The jabs earned a few chuckles from Kaldrik, the young Griffon knight standing next to Griedlin and the other knights currently resting on the grass.

“So, care to brief me on the situation, Sir Griedlin? And greetings, Squire Kaldrik,” Glaucus asked, scanning the surroundings. His eyes fell on a towering green metal guard tower in the distance, complete with a spiraling staircase leading to the top, complete with a room, windows and railings.

“What a waste of resources,” Glaucus muttered under his breath. “Building with metal and glass instead of stone or wood? What were they thinking?” There was also a few weird looking contraptions on the edges of the railing, but Glaucus gave no heed to them.

Glaucus shifted his attention to the pony, near the railings, wearing a broad-brimmed hat—a Studson, if he recalled correctly, signature of Earth ponies—holding on with its front hoofs—what seems to be a long wooden stick, it rested against the railing and pointed at them. Glaucus then squinted toward the dirt road, noticing a faint rumbling sound further down the road, though he spotted nothing.

Griedlin chuckled at Glaucus's antics. “Straight to business, huh? Here’s the situation.”

Gesturing toward the fence in the distance, Griedlin began his explanation. “We crossed what they called ‘barbed wire’—nasty trap. Some of our feathers and edges of armor got snagged slowing us down. When we made it over, we encountered a pony who warned us, in broken Griffonian, that we’d entered ‘New Mareland territory.’”

Glaucus tilted his head, acting ignorant. “New Mareland? Sounds…vaguely Equestrian.”

“Agreed,” Griedlin said with a nod. “One of them fainted the moment we asked how their land had appeared on our western coast. The other dragged him back to that metal tower and told us to wait for their ‘Commander.’”

“It seems these ponies didn’t arrive here by choice, they also probably had a 'version' of Wingbardy in their world considering how that pony 'greeted' us,” Griedlin explained his assessment, before planting his iron spear into the ground with a swift motion.

“That should cover everything?” Glaucus asked, his gaze thoughtful.

Griedlin briefly glances at the border separated by the wires. "Other than the large amount of magical energy radiation in the air from their teleportation..."

“That should be all. We’ve been waiting for about five minutes, and I suspect that rumbling sound is their Commander on the way,” Griedlin replied, casting a wary glance at the approaching noise.

He then leaned toward Glaucus, his expression serious and tense. “I’m telling you now, Glaucus—these ponies might not look like much, but something about them feels off. Call it a knight’s intuition, but I think diplomacy is the way to go here.”

Glaucus offered him a small, fleeting smile before turning back.

A sly grin flickered across Glaucus’s beak. “You’re too cautious, Griedlin,” he thought. “These ponies are weaklings. What’s there to fear? This might be the perfect opportunity to secure glory for the kingdom.”

The faint rumble originating from the road immediately broke Glaucus’s musings. His sharp eyes glanced again toward the dirt road—then locking onto a green rectangular quad-wheeled wide metal carriage, with panes of glass on its front where a pony can be seen in the inside, the back of the carriage is covered with a dark-tan coloured fabric which obscures the passengers. The carriage then rumbled to a stop at the base of the structure, and a pony adorned with a sloped maroon hat stepped out from the front, shutting the door behind him with practiced precision.

“Strange… no pony pulling it,” Glaucus muttered. “Magic?”

Griedlin looked at him and shook his head in disagreement. He noticed there was a distinct lack of magical energy radiating from the carriage besides its occupants. Griedlin silently turned his attention back to the sight, of which he couldn't help but gawk a bit in astonishment of 'how' it moved.

Several more ponies—eight in total—exited from the back of the carriage orderly before forming a line facing the maroon-hat pony. They wore dark olive and tan uniforms dotted with rough brown and dark green patches (Ie. Denison Smock UK WW2 Pattern) along with kettle-like helmets (Brodie), and many carried wooden or metal sticks of different shape and sizes with straps slung over their withers, they also had matching black or tan boots on their hindhoofs. Glaucus noted they are also wearing a light-blue band on their right-hoof, nearing the wither.

Their disciplined movements sets Glaucus on edge, these ponies weren't what he expected. They were considerably more organized than what he had read on griffon books about ponies growing up.

Though, he also noticed four of the eight ponies being wrapped in somewhat-bloodied bandages on their hoofs or torso. Utilizing injured soldiers? They must be lacking ponies to fill in their ranks. Glaucus briefly flashes a sinister grin before subsiding to his usual poker face.

“Ponies look strange in uniform,” Griedlin remarked, glancing at his knights, who were lounging nearby, their curiosity barely veiled.

The Studson-wearing pony descended from the tower and saluted the stallion with the maroon hat, who returned the gesture. They exchanged a few words seeing as their muzzles are moving, Glaucus mentally noted as he continued observing.

Some of the ponies glanced over at him and the knights, though they were too far—about fifty talons away—for Glaucus to read their expressions clearly, even with his sharp griffon vision.

The pony in the maroon hat, presumably their Commander, nodded to the Studson-wearing pony before turning to face Glaucus and the knights. He began marching toward them, escorted by two ponies, now holding the same strange sticks from earlier, slung over their wither and held in one hoof. Griedlin signalled for two of his own knights—including Kaldrik—to join him at the fence, then gesturing for Glaucus to follow.

“That must be their Commander,” Griedlin muttered as he readied himself to speak diplomatically. Glaucus nodded, narrowing his eyes as the pony approached, flanked by two escorts.

The Studson-wearing pony begins ascending back to the top of the tower, where two of the ponies from earlier—with red crosses on their kettle helmets—followed him up.

As the Commander drew closer, Griedlin and Glaucus could finally get a good look at him. He was a light green unicorn with a well-groomed greenish-black mane, dressed in a dirtied and battered multi-coloured buttoned tan uniform just like his subordinates, with brown wraps on his back hoofs along with a pair of tan boots, a light-blue band with a white star on the right hoof and a rig that attached several small saddlebags to him. There was also few drops of old dried out brown blood stains on his uniform that Griedlin noticed.

On his maroon hat, Glaucus noted an emblem crafted from silver or iron, depicting the two Alicorn sisters of Equestria. Though he wasn’t sure if these figures actually existed due to the recent isolation of Griffonia, they were likely symbolic in his opinion.

Both parties met at the fence, a tense atmosphere settling between them. Before Griedlin could break the silence, the stallion Commander spoke first.

“....So, you must be the beakfaces my ponies mentioned,” he asked in Griffonian condenscendingly, his slightly deep voice carrying some gruffness comparable to Griedlin's, though also a bit higher in pitch. His sharp eyes scanned the griffons before resting back on Griedlin.

The escorting pony left of the stallion Commander casts a disapproving glare at his back silently, meanwhile the other escort pony only stood in silence. Kaldrik bristled at the insult, his grip tightening on his spear, but Griedlin kept his composure.

Glaucus only raised an eyebrow, only slightly angry as he was more surprised, ponies are usually not the ones you expect to use a slurs or insults.

“That’s correct,” Griedlin replied evenly in Equis before transitioning to a snarky tone. “Though I prefer ‘Griedlin’ to 'Beakface', and what's your name haymuncher?”

The unicorn smirked, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “Field Mar—", Erwin suddenly paused before clearing his throat with a cough. "Commander Oven ‘Erwin’ Baker, Equestrian Volunteers. And you?” The unicorn then raised his right forehoof. Griedlin extended his talon and gripped the stallion's hoof accepting the 'hoofshake'.

Griedlin then shook his hoof in a firm talon-hoof-shake with both giving a nod of respect for each other. “Knight Captain Griedlin of the Wingbardian Royal Knights. A pleasure, Commander Erwin.”

“Hearing that young stallion fainted after talking to you was quite funny. And your stiff-looking friend?” Erwin asked, nodding toward Glaucus.

“This is Sir Glaucus, envoy of the king,” Griedlin said. Glaucus only gave a small nod to show respect. "I didn't expect that pony to faint actually." The reply earned a single chuckle from Erwin.

Glaucus, not trying to look belligerent quickly gapped to Erwin. "Commander Erwin, I have a question if that doesn't burden you, but what is the carriage you rode here called?" He points to the four-wheeled vehicle (M-Bz UNIMOG) from earlier.

"It is called a 'General Purpose Logistical Truck' or in short, 'GPT'. We usually use it to transport supplies or ponies around."

Griedlin was intrigued by Erwin's answer, but Glaucus only kept the word 'truck' in mind whilst disregarding the other info in case he has to refer to it in the future.

Erwin gave another scan toward the two griffons before adding. "That truck and more are lent to us by the New Mareland Military Command, because we're technically not part of the New Mareland Armed Forces officially—anyhow, anything else you have for me?"

“Well, since we’re here, I'd thought it prudent to establish some diplomatic ties, so I contacted the king with this here Kaldrik, our Messenger Griffon-Knight and also a Squire serving under me, to summon Sir Glaucus.”

Erwin’s gaze lingered on Glaucus, his sharp eyes betraying a flicker of curiosity before he sighed. “Well, this just got more complicated. I’ll have to report this to my superiors before letting you in.”

Muttering under his breath, barely audible to Griedlin, “...and probably write up another bucking report.”

Kaldrik, the escort knight and, Glaucus promptly sat down on the grass to await their approval to cross, seeing as it is going to take some time. The Knight Captain however only watched with a small smile as the Commander Pony contemplates his decision.

Erwin straightened, his weariness momentarily replaced with a wry grin before turning toward his escorts. “Let’s not waste time. Cut the barb wire,” he ordered his escorts. “They’re coming with me.”

“Hah," Griedlin chuckled at the pony's decision. He then ordered Kaldrik to relay to the rest of the Knights to return to Karthin, and to grab another as escort.

“What?” Glaucus squawked bewildered as he scrambled to get onto his talons.

1346 Hour
Saturday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
New Mareland, Guard Tower.
???, New Mareland Border

Soon both Griedlin, Glaucus, Kaldrik and the other escort knight made their way to the base of the metallic guard tower, closer to the ponies in strange uniforms they had seen earlier. The ponies watched them with curiosity. There, Glaucus was able to see their weapons more clearly—rather than just long sticks, these weapons had bits of black-coloured metal tubes sticking out from one end, along with other metallic parts.

And how were they holding it with their hooves? Griedlin racked his head as he tried to figure it out, must be a type of magic.

“Another intriguing device,” He murmured, tilting his head to examine them more closely.

Glaucus scoffed. “Hmph, nothing more than sticks with bits of metal. Where are their spears? Their armour besides a cheap helmet?” His tone dripped with disdain and underestimation.

He noticed some of the 'instruments' have blades affixed near the end of the metal tubes, though not all, introducing more questions than answers. Why?

Erwin led the group into the guard tower, ascending a narrow spiral staircase to a cluttered room at the top. Inside, a group of three ponies sitting on chairs abruptly ended their card game, going onto their hooves before saluting.

The Studson pony and the two others—a Pegasi stallion and a Unicorn mare—wearing helmets with red crosses, stood up, pausing their card game to salute Commander Erwin. Griedlin noticed that the pony who had fainted earlier was sleeping on the ground near a drawer atop an olive-green stretcher.

“At ease,” Erwin said, and the ponies lowered their salutes in response. “Medics, any updates on Brisk’s condition?”

"Just fainted. He’ll be up in an hour, good as new." reported the older-looking Pegasi pony, his right eye covered by a maroon-stained white bandage which made Kaldrik a bit squeamish at the sight. The young Unicorn pony nodded in agreement.

Erwin then briefly look toward the Studson-wearing pony, top to bottom before gazing at the fainted pony. "Mind explaining to me, why are you two are wearing the yank's uniform, kit and guns?"

The Studson wearing pony gave another salute. "Permission to speak, Field Marshal?"

"Speak, and call me by my new rank, we're no longer in Equestria."

The Studson-wearing pony dropped his saluting hoof before replying in a formal tone. "Our uniforms including the issued hoofbands are undergoing stitching and a thorough wash as we speak. As such, the Quartermaster issued us surplus uniform and kit. As for the guns, the yanks were charitable enough to donated a few rifles to our platoon."

Erwin only gave him an amused nod before silently walking toward a weird looking machine set atop a table, catching Glaucus's attention with him following behind. Griedlin however stood still for a while staring at the helmets of the ponies, Kaldrik and the other guard followed him to not interfere with the diplomat's work.

Griedlin then approached the ponies wearing helmets marked with red crosses. “Those symbols on your helmets—do they signify you’re perhaps doctors?” He said with curiosity. Griedlin had read about the red cross symbol in a book years ago about pony societies.

The older stallion chuckled, rubbing the bloodied bandage with his hoof. “Not quite, 'doctors' in the traditional sense, but close. We’re combat medics—and we're trained for first aid during battles, usually at the front lines. The surgeons, doctors and other medical specialists stay back at the field hospitals.”

“During battles?” Griedlin repeated, his brows furrowing. The idea intrigued him. While the knight's battles relied on post-fight magical healing or rudimentary herb treatments, having medics amidst the fray seemed revolutionary—and risky.

Kaldrik sounded behind him with a comment in Griffionian, “Seems like folly, wouldn't the 'medics', on the battlefield, quickly become a big target?”

The older stallion shrugged. “It’s dangerous, sure, but necessary to bring ponies home alive." He replied composed, pointing his hoof toward the bloodied bandage covering his right eye.

"We patch up the wounded quickly so they can fight another day. Plus I can defend myself thanks to this beautiful piece of machine.” He added before gesturing toward the 'stick' on the table.

"And before you ask. Yes, I did learn Griffonian as a disaster volunteer years ago."

Griedlin is still puzzled by what the pony elaborated. What if it has something to do with how they fight? Their country came from another dimension after all, their battles must be significantly different to his. This only fed his ever growing curiosity. He could also use the knowledge to potentially improve the Knight's organisation back home.

He then smiled faintly after thought, amused at the younger knight’s skepticism. His attention shifted to the weapon leaning against the table—a mix of polished wood and black metal that gleamed ominously under the sunlight from the glass windows of the tower.

"I am also curious on your weapons—can you tell me how it works? Young Kaldrik here might also have questions," asked Griedlin whilst pointing his talon at the older stallion's weapon leaning against the table.

Kaldrik sighed, his wings drooping slightly before replying in Equis. “With respect, Sir Griedlin, shouldn’t we focus on our concurrent tasks? Like protecting Sir Glaucus over there?”

“Knowledge is always practical,” Griedlin replied, his tone firm but kind. “Come, young Kaldrik, a few questions won’t hurt.”

The older stallion chuckled. “Fair enough, I’ll answer what I can. So long as you don’t ask for state secrets.” He glanced at Kaldrik, who approached hesitantly but with growing curiosity.

“Fine,” Kaldrik muttered. “Suppose it’s worth knowing something about these strange ponies.”

As the medic began explaining, Griedlin leaned in. Kaldrik stood beside him, his skepticism slowly giving way to genuine interest.

The Commander's horn glowed neon green, causing a stool from the other side of the room to be dragged near the table before sitting. He then levitated a piece of paper from the table in the air in front of him to read—it has several unfamiliar symbols that Glaucus couldn't understand—which was weird considering he knew the ponies usually uses the standardized 'Canterlotian Script' (except for the Eastern Riverland ponies).

At the table, Glaucus studied the metallic device Erwin was working on. Buttons, dials, and a glass panels on the main rectangular metal box—there it displayed the unfamiliar symbols again, and a thin smooth black wire protruded from the box to a round mesh contraption.

It reminded Glaucus of a diplomatic visit he’d made years ago to the Minotaurs in the southeast during their technological expo. They, too, had peculiar wonder-contraptions adorned with various buttons and dials, which their dexterous appendages called 'fingers' made easy to operate. His talons though made great substitute to adjust the machines unlike hoofs of the pony envoys who struggled with it due to their hoofs—embarrassing!

The machine suddenly crackled ominously to life, breaking his train of thought.

Glaucus flinched at the sound, instinctively stepping back. Erwin glanced over his shoulder with a sly grin. “Relax beak. It’s supposed to make those noises, this thing is called a radio.”

Glaucus narrowed his eyes but said nothing, and ignored the rude nickname Erwin had given him, his mistrust of the machine a 'radio'—and its operator—firmly intact. Soon the machine stopped its ominous buzzing sounds, and strangely he noticed, he could make out some faint Equus chatter originating from it.

The pony might be wasting his time Glaucus thought, but he continued observing as Erwin adjusted the dials on the machine before moving his muzzle close to the cage-contraption.

"November Apple—This is Sire Foal reporting from Post Baltimare Three, how copy?" Erwin spoke clearly and concise into the cage-contraption. Glaucus raised an eyebrow at his action, did he expect somegriff to reply from the machine?

"November Apple h—s you loud and c—ear," a voice boomed from the radio, notably crackling with occasional buzz. "Send y—ur traf—ic, over."

This made Glaucus flinch again, he can never predict these ponies as well as he originally expected. Some sort of communication machine? Does it use magic like the Magic Gems like Kaldrik's? Many questions bounced around his thoughts unanswered.

Erwin glanced at Glaucus who is deep in thought, then Griedlin whom is now conversing with the Studson-wearing pony—otherwise known as Lance Corporal Solar Comet—before continuing. “We’ve got Wingbardian envoys at the tower requesting to establish diplomatic contact. Knight Captain 'Griedlin' and the Envoy 'Sir Glaucus' along with two escorts."

"I've got them in the tower and I am requesting permission to transport them to Sunset for further talks with the Department of Foreign affairs, over.”

"....Say ag—in your last tran—mission, Sire Foal?" replied the Radio pony from the other side, confusion evident in his voice.

"You've heard me right November Apple, I think its better for them to talk with you to explain the situation, I'm passing the microphone to Envoy Glaucus, is it fine?" answered Erwin with uncertainty on his face, the radio pony from the other side didn't reply for a few seconds.

There was a pause before the operator spoke again, his tone exasperated. “Let me re—ind you, you’re currently breaking several prot—col by bringing them into the to—er without HQ pe—mission. But... I’m keeping quiet to save your flank. You sti—l owe me three pints of cider Erv'.”

Erwin chuckled softly at the jab. “Noted. Thanks.”

“Sta—d by, I’ll call the Gen—ral.”

The radio went dead silent as Erwin finished speaking with the operator. He set the receiver down, exhaling slowly showing fatigue. It seemed Griedlin and the others had already descended the tower, leaving only him and Glaucus.

Still seated on the stool, Erwin turned to face the griffon, his expression weary. “So, why are you beaks here, anyway? I thought the Marelanders already had an ambassador in your nation. And dressing up like knights of old?” He let out a dry chuckle. “What’s the deal?”

Glaucus regarded him with an unreadable stare before finally speaking. “…Mhm. Well, pony, hate to burst your bubble, but we’re not the same Wingbardy you once knew—at least, not the one from your world.”

Erwin raised a brow, his grin turning bemused. “What do you mean, ‘not the one from my world’? What, you’re gonna tell me I’m in another world now?” He scoffed. “Hah! Good one, beak.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Erwin’s chuckle faded as he noticed Glaucus’s dead-serious stare. The commander’s smirk wavered.

“…Yes, Commander. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The grin vanished from Erwin’s muzzle in an instant, replaced with a sceptical half-smile.

Glaucus continued, his tone unwavering. “This morning, several villages near our southern border reported a bright, blinding white light and tremors near the cliffs. After everything settled, your nation—‘New Mareland’—had appeared where the Southern Aquillan Sea should have been.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Judging by how your soldiers reacted to our knights, I take it you had your own version of Wingbardy?”

Erwin only nodded, his expression neutral.

“Then I’ll be blunt,” Glaucus said, locking eyes with him. “You are no longer in your old world. Whatever wasn’t on your landmass when this happened is gone—left behind. That includes your version of Equestria, your family, and everything else that wasn’t in New Mareland at the time.”

Silence followed as soon as Glaucus finished.

Erwin simply stared at him, expression hollow, as the weight of the words sank in. But then, instead of anger or despair, a smirk flickered across his face. It grew into a chuckle—then full-blown laughter with guffaw. He ran a hoof down his face, shaking his head.

Glaucus observed him quietly, slightly surprised. He had expected sadness, grief, maybe rage—but laughter? Strange pony.

Erwin finally steadied himself, exhaling through his nose. “So… we fought a losing war, risked our flanks every single bucking day as we lost ground, then barely escaped through Manehattan’s ports to reach Griffonia… only to scrape by defending New Mareland with morale crumbling to dust.” His smirk turned bitter. “And what do we get for our efforts?”

His voice wavered, tinged with quiet fury. “Our families left to the bugs in Equestria. Our fallen ponies—everything they sacrificed…” His jaw tightened. “All of it. For nothing.”

A heavy silence followed. Glaucus remained impassive, watching as Erwin lowered his head.

After a few moments, Erwin let out a small, humourless chuckle. “Know what’s funny?” he muttered, his glassy eyes staring past Glaucus. “My whole herd got wiped out by a stray shell in Vanhoover. I was away in Canterlot, studying, when it happened. Just the start of the invasion.”

Glaucus said nothing.

“My little sister was the only one who made it out,” Erwin continued, voice steady despite the weight of his words. “She was in the basement with her friends, playing.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s when I signed up. I wanted vengeance.” His lips curled into a bitter half-smile. “And look where that got me, huh?”

A heavy silence followed. Glaucus remained impassive, watching as Erwin lowered his head. Then, barely above a whisper, the pony muttered, “Faust… you truly are one cruel bucking alicorn.”

Erwin wiped at his eyes with a hoof before looking back up at Glaucus, forcing a strained, almost mocking smile. Then, without another word, he turned back to the radio.

Glaucus said nothing. He simply turned away, stepping towards a nearby window and staring out at the rolling green hills beyond.

‘Weak,’ he thought. Ponies had always been an emotional race, far more so than griffons or minotaurs. They weren’t suited for war, for loss, for bloodshed. Erwin’s ‘outburst’ only reinforced that belief.

And yet… the pony hadn’t collapsed into a sobbing mess like he’d expected. Just one tear. Nothing more.

That, at least, was a surprise. Not that Glaucus showed it.

He also briefly wondered—what did he mean by risking their donkeys? Anyhow, soon this 'New Mareland' shall fall to the superior Griffons—clearly because these ponies are no different to the ponies of his world.

The radio crackled to life once more, breaking the awkward and somber silence.

“Alright, Sire Foal. The Gen—ral’s ready. Pass the micro—hone to the envoy.”

Erwin glanced over his shoulder at Glaucus, who was still gazing out at the hills beyond the tower. With a small smirk, he reached out with his telekinesis and tapped the griffon on the shoulder. Glaucus flinched, startled, earning a quiet chuckle from Erwin.

Shaking off his surprise, Glaucus turned to face him with an irritated look. Erwin, now grinning, gestured toward the radio. “You’re up, beak. Just speak into it.”

Glaucus eyed the strange contraption warily with fear before clearing his throat. “Ahem—do I just speak into this?”

Erwin gave a 'duh' nod. "It ain't going to bite ya'."

Hesitantly, Glaucus took a seat on the stool as Erwin shifted to stand beside him. The pony nudged the microphone closer to the griffon’s beak with indifference to his protests.

“Alright—hello?” Glaucus said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the device in front of him.

The reply came swiftly, the static clearing slightly. “Am I spe—king with Env—y Sir Glaucus?” The voice was hoarse yet youthful—unmistakably a griffon.

Glaucus straightened, his expression shifting as he donned the mask of a seasoned diplomat.

“Yes, you are. I speak on behalf of King Gumberto II of Wingbardy. My nation seeks to establish diplomatic relations with yours.” His tone was crisp, professional—so much so that Erwin raised a brow at the stark contrast to his earlier behaviour. “May I ask whom I am addressing?”

A brief pause followed before the voice on the other end responded, this time more direct. “Gen—ral Baldewin 'Steel Talon', New Mareland High Co—mand. I oversee the e—stern border.”

Glaucus stilled for a fraction of a second. A griffon… in the New Mareland military? Interesting.

The General didn’t waste time. “Now t—ll me—why are you bl—kes seeking diplomacy when we alr—ady had ties in the past?”

Glaucus sighed, rolling his shoulders before continuing. “To put it simply, based on the accounts from your stallions and the stories shared by our knights, your nation—New Mareland—has… transmigrated into another reality. You now find yourselves on the southern border of my kingdom.” He took a measured breath. “As such, you are no longer dealing with the Wingbardy of your past.”

He leaned in slightly towards the radio, his voice carrying a note of persuasion. “In your position, forging new alliances would be highly beneficial, wouldn’t you agree? The Kingdom of Wingbardy can provide your nation with valuable intelligence about this world—in good faith, of course. In return, we ask that you grant Wingbardian merchants trade rights.”

Silence followed.

The radio remained dead for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken deliberation.

Glaucus turned his head slightly, casting Erwin a smug, knowing look.

Erwin rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “Tsk.” But his grin betrayed his amusement.

A crackling noise broke the silence as the general spoke again, his voice was reluctant. “Strewth, you've g—t me there b—rd'."

"If you are speaking the truth, I’ll honor your request. But know, if this is a trick there won't be second chances. Stand by and pass the radio back to the Commander.”

Without a word, Glaucus vacated the seat, gesturing for Erwin to take his place.

“Sire Foal?"

Erwin floated the microphone back toward himself, his voice now smooth and confident as he replied, “Sire Foal hears you loud and clear. Send over your transmission Talon Mane, over.”

"You are to tran—port the 'V.I.Ps' to the 'Governor's house' in Sunset so th—y are able to converse with the Foreign affairs department, I am going to gi—e them a heads-up about your a—rival. As for the report, I will handle it for the sake of your conv—nience so you can tran—port them, your mission has been mark—d as high priority."

“Oh, and consider yourself lucky this time. Breaking protocol won’t go unnoticed you insolent wanker. In all seriousness, don’t let New Mareland down, Commander. Over and out.”

The radio let out one final crackle before falling silent. Erwin chuckled softly at the implied jab, shaking his head.

“Well, that was quicker than I expected.”

He exhaled through his nose, collecting his thoughts before turning to Glaucus with a stoic expression. “Well then, Sir Beak-cus, looks like we’re headed for Sunset City. If you’re serious about speaking with the New Mareland government, we’d best get moving.”

Glaucus narrowed his eyes at the nickname but chose to let it slide. “Hmph. And how far is this ‘Sunset City’ from here?” His tone remained neutral, though a hint of irritation crept in.

A brief silence passed before Erwin finally answered, his voice slightly uncertain. “About sixty kilo-hooves… or around thirty kilometres. That is if I calculated it correctly.”

Glaucus’s eyes widened in shock. Sixty thousand hooves!? That was at least a two-day journey on foot without teleportation. Even flying would take an entire day. And what in the king’s name was a meetruh?

Noticing the griffon’s concern, Erwin smirked and waved a hoof dismissively. “Relax, Beak. We’ll be there in about an hour and a half if we take the truck.”

Glaucus remained sceptical but nodded silently, accepting the plan as he reminds himself the existence of the magicless transport.

Suddenly, three deafening cracks and whiplash rang out from below the tower,, also echoing inside the room they are in. The sharp noise sent Glaucus stumbling backwards, his wings flaring as he lost his balance and hit the floor.

Erwin, however, only froze for a split second before his ears flattened, his expression shifting from mild amusement to cold calculated fury. Without a word, he turned and sprinted for the stairs, his hooves pounding against the wooden floor as he readies himself to tear some pony a new one.

Glaucus quickly righted himself onto his talons, his heart still racing at the loud noises. Before rushing after the pony in haste.

1352 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
New Mareland, Bottom of Guard Tower.
Hoovesplain County, New Mareland Border

“What are you waiting for, Featherbrain? Shoot!” Kaldrik says nonchalantly, right after asking the rifle pony nearby for pegasi slurs to irritate the pegasi pony in front of him.

Corporal Bandage Wrap let out an irritated whinny at the squiregriff’s impatience. “Can you hold your feathers, you damned hatchling? I’m trying to shoulder this rifle properly.”

Moments ago, Bandage the pegasus-pony had been chatting with the two knight-griffs in the tower, explaining his role as a medic. The revelation that they had been transported to another world was another shock to him, but he quickly brushed it off, knowing his family was safe in New Manehatten. Others, however, were unlikely to be as fortunate.

Now, Bandage was seated at the base of the tower, his rifle lowered, focusing on three tin cans positioned about one hundred hooves away—roughly fifty metres. Why? Because he and Kaldrik had gotten into an argument after Griedlin asked him about his weapon.

Bandage first asked if the griffons knew what a firearm was, to which both Griedlin and Kaldrik responded with a curt ‘No, we do not.' After thinking for a moment, Bandage began recounting the history of firearms, as he had learned in a random history book when he was studying in Albion. He explained how the Minotaurs of the Asterion Kingdom had first used them against the Colthaginians at sea in his original world.

He went on to explain that firearms used an explosive powder known as ‘gunpowder’ to propel projectiles at hundreds of hooves per second, rendering armour nearly useless. He aimed to impress upon them how significant firearms were and how they had transformed warfare forever since their introduction.

Kaldrik, however, had scoffed and leaned in with a smug grin on his beak. He dismissed Bandage’s explanation as ‘ludicrous lies’ and challenged him to prove the weapon’s capabilities. Bandage, undeterred, smiled knowingly. He knew he would wipe that smug grin off Kaldrik’s face easily. Confidently, he accepted the challenge and led the group down the tower for a demonstration.

“...Say, pony, how are you even holding that rifle with your hooves?” Griedlin asked from the sidelines, watching alongside Kaldrik and the other pony soldiers.

“Hoof magic,” Bandage replied without looking at him. “I imagine ponies in this world don’t have anything like it?”

Griedlin nodded vaguely at him. Though Bandage only briefly gave him a scrutinizing gaze before turning back to the target.

“Well, think of it like a unicorn’s telekinesis, but instead of horns, we channel it through the bones and surface of our hooves. Works like artificial 'talons', you could say. There’s more to it, but I’m keeping it simple for you. If you’re curious, you can always visit a library in Sunset City.”

“If there are no more questions...” Bandage muttered, adjusting his stance and pinning his ears down. “'Ere goes.”

With a smooth motion, he placed his left hoof against the rifle’s hoofguard and raised it to take aim at the tin cans in the distance using his uncovered left eye. Slowing his breathing, he aligned the front sight nub with the rear aperture sight, focusing intently on the far-left target.

Griedlin quickly covered his ears with a talon, heeding the warning from a rifle pony near the truck. Kaldrik, however, ignored the advice, confident in his ability to ‘take it’. The ponies at the base of the tower also pinned their ears down, including the young unicorn medic-mare from earlier.

All of them watched with amusement—except for the younger medic pony, who observed with growing concern. “He can’t be serious. We’ve been ordered to conserve our ammunition,” muttered the young unicorn.

The studson-wearing pony next to her chuckled. “Oh, he’s serious all right. Let him have his fun. We’ll watch the marshal tear him a new one afterward.” His grin was malicious.

“By the way... where were you this whole time?” the young medic asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I see you lot talking to the feather-dusters, so I went down to catch up on some news from the other stallions and colts at the truck,” the studson-wearing pony replied, glancing at the medic. The young unicorn simply stared back with a deadpan expression, knowing they had a radio in the tower.

“Fine, I was just trading for magazines. Gets boring out here, don't judge me.” He admitted, offering a whimsical smile, like somepony who knew they’d been caught. "So.... Name's Solar Comet."

The young medic sighed in disappointment before turning her attention back to the scene unfolding before them. “Name’s Madeleine Hoofbert. Bucking stallions,” she muttered back.

His rifle, the Lavender Bolt-Action Rifle (a ponified Lee-Enfield No.4 Mk 2 in .315 Equis or 8x37mmR) was designed for precision shooting, equipped with a crossbow-lever-like trigger to be used by ponies. Along with an aperture sight designed for targets up to six hundred hoofs.

Bandage, even with all the trust in his rifle, still felt a twinge of nervousness as he readied himself. What if he missed? He pushed aside the intrusive doubt to the edge of his mind, refocusing on the target. His right forehoof slid onto the lever-trigger with anticipation.

He also had the nagging feeling he was forgetting something... but if he couldn't remember it, it was probably nothing important. Wrong he was.

Bandage exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them. He quickly squeezed the trigger in between his heart beat. A sharp crack split the air, followed by a deafening bang. The first tin can flew backwards, a clean hole punched through its centre, dirt scattering in all directions.

Without delay, he released the pressure on the trigger then racked the bolt—up, back, forward, down—in a swift motion, chambering the next round as the spent casing spun off to his right. He quickly adjusted his aim, shifting to the second target. Within a second, he stabilised the rifle and pulled the trigger once more.

Another thunderous bang. The second tin can exploded into hundreds of tiny metal fragments, embedding themselves into the dirt berm behind it.

Following the 'Mad Minute' drill drilled into his head, he cycled the bolt again, chambering another round while ejecting the spent cartridge.

He swung the rifle towards the final target. This time however, he accidentally squeezed the trigger in sync with his heart beat, causing his aim to be slightly off. The last tin can was struck, spinning wildly to the left, its right side torn apart with a gaping hole.

“Miffed that last one,” Bandage muttered, lowering his rifle and ejecting the final spent cartridge before raising his ear. He turned towards the watching griffons. “So, what do you think?”

Griedlin removed his talons from his ears, giving Bandage a slow, deliberate round of applause with his talons. Kaldrik, on the other hoof, was lying on the ground, his talons pressed to his ears in visible pain. Bandage smirked, amused—seems ear-shattering noises weren’t exactly great for ears.

“Nice shooting, pony!” Griedlin called out, his voice booming with approval.

As he tried to sling his rifle over his shoulder, he suddenly heard the furious bellow of a very angry pony. His heart skipped a beat after recognizing it.

"CORPORAL BANDAGE! Who the BUCK told you that you could waste my BUCKING MUNITION?!"

The Commander stormed forward, grabbing Bandage by the collar, his expression livid. His telekinesis yanked the Lavender Rifle from Bandage’s hooves and tossed it towards another riflepony, who caught it with ease. The other rifleponies watched with glee, as if they were spectating a game of hoofball.

Bandage could already tell he was about to get his flank chewed out. Possibly inside out.

Glaucus, who had followed Erwin down the tower, watched from the bottom of the stairs at a distance, his expression now unconcerned—unlike when he was inside the tower.

Bandage barely had time to blink before Erwin hauled him even closer, his furious glare sharp as a bayonet to the gut.

“Corporal Bandage,” Erwin’s voice was calm—too calm. That only made it worse. Bandage knew he was in huge trouble now. “Who in Celestia’s sun-kissed flank told you that you could just piss away my precious bucking ammunition for a street show?!”

Bandage gulped, but to his credit, kept a straight face and took responsibility. “…I did, Commander.”

Erwin's eye twitched. “Oh, you did, did you? Well, I must’ve missed the memo where you became the Commander and lifted the munition rationing!” He promptly pushed the pony backward and released his collar, causing Bandage to fall onto his back on the ground.

"On your hooves, Corporal!" Erwin howled, his voice loud enough to make Kaldrik flinch. Griedlin remained silent, simply watching. Bandage immediately got up in silence, the right side of his clothes now smudged with dirt. Erwin grabbed him by the collar once again.

"If, and if I catch you wasting my munition for some smug-feathered gold grubber who didn’t even have the sense to cover his ears, I swear, you’ll be digging latrines from here to Tartarus with nothing but your Celestia-damned hooves. And you’ll be lucky if I don’t make you eat out of them too." Erwin uttered with ferocity, nearly spitting on Bandage's face. "Let’s make something crystal bucking clear, Corporal. This isn’t Equestria. We don’t have factories churning out .315s like sweets. Every. Single. Round. Counts. Understood?"

“…Yes, Commander,” Bandage replied, looking at the ground.

Erwin’s eyes narrowed, his expression stern. “LOUDER!”

"YES, COMMANDER!"

The Commander finally let go of Bandage’s collar with another forceful shove, though he didn't fall this time, snorting in irritation. He turned to the riflepony still holding Bandage’s weapon. “Get his rifle back to him.”

The riflepony gave a crisp nod, returning the weapon with a throw. Bandage caught it, his ears still pinned down—not from shame, but from knowing he wasn’t going to hear the end of this anytime soon from his fellow squadponies.

Erwin exhaled, annoyance still present on his face. “Bucking Celestia, you ponies are gonna be the death of me…” He turned to the rest of the squad, who were still watching the spectacle with barely concealed grins of amusement. “What in Tartarus are you mucks staring at? Shoulder to shoulders!"

The gathered ponies scrambled to form a line. Griedlin gave Bandage an amused glance and a pat to the shoulder before walking off to discuss with Glaucus. Kaldrik silently went to grab the other escort knight, following Glaucus's orders that they were moving out.

Within a few seconds, the eight-pony-strong squad stood at attention, shoulder to shoulder. Erwin scanned them with a scrutinising gaze, contemplating the punishment for a certain pegasus medic who had disobeyed orders and revealed potentially sensitive information to a possible foe.

Closing his eyes, Erwin let out a long, deep sigh. When he opened them again, his expression was as hard as steel. His voice was composed and direct as he addressed the squad.

“Gentlecolts, we’ve received new orders from General Steel. We are to escort these griffon envoys to Sunset City at short notice. This is a top-priority mission, and I WILL tear you a new one if you let these diplomats get so much as a scratch. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Commander!” the squad responded in unison, their voices sharp and disciplined. Erwin allowed himself the barest hint of a proud smile before snapping back to formality.

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the line of ponies once more. “Lance Corporal Crunch and Private Hoofbert, you two are to reinforce this position and will remain here until the next troop rotation."

"That means you do not abandon this post for any reason short of Tartarus itself opening up beneath your hooves.” His gaze then settled on Hoofbert, the young unicorn medic. “Private Hoofbert, your primary task will be taking care of Corporal Brisk Strike. Make sure he wakes up in one piece.”

He then turned his head towards Bandage Wrap, his expression shifting to one of measured disapproval. “As for your senior...” He let the words hang, staring Bandage down before speaking again. “Corporal Bandage, since you’re so eager to make new friends, I think it’s only fair that you be their babysitter, guide, and bodyguard for the trip back. Consider this your punishment.”

Bandage simply gave him a whimsical smile before Erwin glanced over to the rest of the squad.

“Pack your gears. We’re leaving in five, and I am not waiting for anypony. Move it!”

With a shout of the command, the ponies broke the line formation and scrambled to pack up their camp supplies right side of the truck. The two ponies ordered by Erwin to reinforce the tower followed Solar Comet up the tower quiet and orderly.

Erwin quietly turned on his hooves and strode towards the driver’s door of the General Purpose Truck, already mentally preparing himself for the long drive ahead.

"Dear Celestia, you're heavy—"

Bandage grunted as he pulled at Griedlin’s right foretalon with both hooves, his wings flaring in frustration. The griffon’s armour, while undoubtedly impressive, made hauling him into the truck bed an absolute nightmare. Bandage wasn’t weak, but even for a pegasus, deadlifting a fully armoured knight was a tall order.

The rest of the pony squad had already climbed aboard, waiting patiently as the griffons struggled to hoist themselves up. Glaucus, dressed in nothing but a toga, was already seated near the front, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement. He smirked as Griedlin and the others floundered, even with two rifleponies attempting to assist.

“Hmph, Sir Griedlin, have you been on desk duty for too long? I thought you were training knights, not feasting in banquet halls.” His grin widened at his own jab.

Griedlin shot him an unamused glare. “Oh, shut it, will you? It’s my armour, not my weight.”

Glaucus simply chuckled and leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Seeing the struggle drag on, an earth pony sergeant finally rose from his seat and stepped beside Bandage. Without a word, he grabbed Griedlin’s foreleg and, with a casual tug enhanced by strength magic, yanked the heavily armoured griffon up into the truck bed as if he weighed nothing. Griedlin let out a grunt of surprise as he landed with a dull thud, casting the sergeant a thankful smile.

The sergeant smirked at Bandage. “Next time, learn to call for help.”

“Thanks, Sarnt.” Bandage, still catching his breath, wiped the frothing sweat from his brow and chuckled sheepishly.

With Griedlin finally aboard, the process continued. Bandage, the rifleponies, and the sergeant helped pull Kaldrik and the escort knight into the truck bed, their armour clanking against the wooden planks as they landed.

Once everyone was secured, a stallion near the front leaned over and called out, “All aboard!” He rapped his hoof against the truck’s rear window twice, signalling to Erwin that they were ready to move.

Kaldrik and the other escort knight settled next to Bandage, relaxing against the soft seat cushions of the transport truck.

“Hold onto your seats. The suspension’s broken to my knowledge,” Bandage warned, gesturing toward their hind paws with his hoof. “It’s going to shake like Tartarus.”

Kaldrik quietly gripped the front edge of his seat with his talons, taking the advice without question—his previous experience with pony contraptions had taught him well. Meanwhile, some of the ponies, including Bandage, waved goodbye to those stationed at the tower. The ponies returned the gesture before turning back inside.

The engine then coughed to life with a sputter, then roared as Erwin pressed the accelerator. The truck shuddered violently before lurching forward, kicking up a thick cloud of dust as it rumbled away from the tower.

Glaucus’ talons shot out to grip the truck’s side as his wings flared instinctively, nearly lifting him from his seat. His composed expression broke into alarm. “By Boreas—it's so shaky!” he barked, his voice half-lost beneath the engine’s growl and the rising howl of wind against the truck’s canvas cover.

Kaldrik wasn’t faring much better. His claws scrambled for something—anything—to grip as his seat didn't offer much grip to his inconvenience. He glared at the wooden planks beneath him, jaw clenched as he tried to stop sliding.

Griedlin, on the other hand, maintained his composure—mostly. He glanced around the truck bed warily before exhaling through his nostrils and leaning back against the metal siding, doing his best to ignore the bone-rattling vibrations. “So this is the landbound contraption your kind relies on? Interesting.”

Bandage smirked at their reactions, casually stretching his wings as he relaxed against the side. “Welcome to modern transportation. Hope you don’t puke before we get to Sunset.” He chuckled.

The truck bounced over a pothole, causing Kaldrik to jolt violently and nearly lose his grip on the railing. He hissed in irritation, muttering griffon curses under his breath as Griedlin gave an amused smirk beside him.

Glaucus merely sighed and muttered, “...At least this won’t give me headaches like teleportation.”

The truck loudly rattled on the dirt path before turning right to an asphalt road as the rifle squad and the Griffonian envoy continued their journey to Sunset.