Elliot watched Blake of Citrace rest his calloused, deeply wrinkled hands on the pommel of his sword. Looking at Blake's white hair and lined face, Elliot felt a deep sense of regret. I made a massive mistake hiring this old fool, Elliot thought to himself, looking down on the mercenary. He looks like he belongs in a grave, not protecting an expedition. If he tries to cause any trouble later, getting rid of a fragile old man like him will be incredibly easy.
The rowboat glided across the wide, grey waters of the river Thermodon. It was a vast, silent crossing, with the far bank shrouded in trees and fog. Beyond this river lay a massive stretch of wild land that they would have to trek through to reach the deep, muddy swamps where the Amazon army hid and fought.
"This gods-cursed weather is intolerable," Elliot muttered, pulling his damp wool hood tighter around his face. He coughed, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "This miserable swamp mist is so thick I can barely see my own hand. How is anyone supposed to navigate in this filth?"
The heavy mist hung low and stubborn over this part of the river. It was a completely normal phenomenon for the swampy region, but it made visibility incredibly poor, preventing anyone from seeing very far ahead.
Near a narrow bend close to the far bank, the small rowboat began to tilt violently under the weight of the heavy crates of weapons.
"The boat is about to fall," Blake warned, his voice deep and gravelly with age. "Get ready."
Before the oarsmen could lose control, Blake stepped completely off the boat. Even though he looked like a weak old man, his balance was perfect as he moved directly onto the treacherous, shallow water and slippery mud. "The currents are deceptive here," Blake commented sharply, his eyes scanning the riverbed as he stabilized the hull.
Through the dense fog, Blake caught the scent of old blood and wet scales. On the opposite side of the river, massive shapes began to glide through the water. They were giant prehistoric crocodiles, completely hidden from the boat's view by the fog.
"Get ready," Blake muttered to the remaining guards.
Blake moved further out into the water to confront the threat. Because of the heavy mist, the men on the boat completely lost sight of him after just a few steps. He disappeared into the grey wall. Elliot scoffed quietly, expecting the old man to be torn to pieces by whatever was hiding in the dark.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, Elliot saw the distant water violently push back as a massive wave splashed high into the air.
Through the mist, Elliot witnessed something that completely shattered his low opinion of the mercenary. With a surge of raw, supernatural power that defied his advanced age, Blake drove his bare fist straight into the skull of the first giant crocodile, making it go to sleep instantly from the single punch. Before the second beast could snap its jaws, Blake lunged forward, grabbed the crocodile directly by its massive mouth, pulled it completely up out of the water, and dropped it heavily back into the depths.
But the danger wasn't over. A third monster bypassed Blake entirely, lunging through the fog and landing squarely onto the deck of the rowboat. Its jagged teeth snapped shut, instantly killing two of Elliot's servants.
Blake didn't hesitate. He jumped through the air, his old body launching across the water with impossible speed to save their lives. As he fell toward the monster, a bright, crackling current of electricity surged from his hands and coated his blade. He unleashed the electric attack straight into the monster, frying it instantly. Blake landed heavily back on the boat, and the sheer shock of the lightning flash caused Elliot to lose his balance and fall back against the wooden planks.
Blake stood over the smoking carcass, his white hair damp from the river. He looked at the terrified oarsmen. "We need to move," he told them.
They pushed the boat hard against the shore, finally reaching the other side of the river. As they stepped onto the solid earth, Elliot quickly hid his shock, forcing his face back into a cold, arrogant sneer. He walked up to the old mercenary, looking down his nose at him. "A disappointing performance, Master Blake," Elliot said coldly, pointing back at the deck. "We lost two brave men because you were too slow to protect the boat. That is your fault."
Blake didn't even look at him. He kept his eyes on the treeline. "My contract covers your neck, old man, not your servants. If you want me to protect the hired help, it will cost you double. Until then, keep your mouth shut and stay behind me."
A flash of hot, blinding fury went through Elliot. No one had ever dared to speak to him with such disrespect. His hand trembled under his robes, and he wanted nothing more than to order his remaining guards to strike the old mercenary down. But as his eyes drifted to the smoking carcass of the giant beast on the boat, the rage in his chest turned into a cold, heavy dread.
He had witnessed Blake's terrifying, unnatural power firsthand. If he tried to punish Blake now, he knew his guards wouldn't stand a chance. Worse, without this monster protecting him, the dangers of the swamp and the Blue army patrols would tear him to pieces before he could even reach his destination. Swallowing his immense pride, Elliot forced his jaw tight and stayed silent. He would endure the old man's insolence for now—only because his survival depended entirely on it.
Still, Elliot was not a man to accept defeat. His sharp, petty mind immediately searched for a way to strike back. With two servants dead, the heaviest crate of supplies sat abandoned on the muddy riverbank. It was an iron-bound chest filled with spare tools and metal chains, usually requiring two grown men to carry.
A cruel, arrogant idea formed in Elliot's mind. He stepped toward the mercenary, pulling a small parchment copy of their agreement from his robes.
"Since my servants are dead, we are short on hands," Elliot said, his voice dripping with false authority. "According to section four of our contract, the mercenary is required to assist with manual labor and the transport of essential gear if the crew's numbers fall. You will carry the supply chest, Master Blake."
Elliot watched Blake closely, waiting to see the old man's face fall. He wanted to see him strain his back, sweat, and beg for a lighter load. He wanted the mercenary to remember his place as hired help.
Instead, Blake didn't even blink. He walked over to the massive chest, gripped the thick rope handle with a single hand, and effortlessly swung the crushing weight onto his shoulder. His knees did not buckle. His back did not bend. He adjusted the heavy chest as if it were a light bag of wool.
"Lead the way, old man," Blake said calmly.
Seeing Blake carry the massive weight with such terrifying, supernatural ease made Elliot's stomach twist with anxiety. Instead of putting the mercenary in his place, Elliot felt even more uncomfortable. He was walking into a dangerous, dark jungle with a man who possessed the strength of a giant, and Elliot had just spent the last ten minutes insulting him.
Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, Elliot quickly turned around and hurried toward the jungle path, trying to hide his trembling hands.
They pushed past the thick river reeds and marched into the dense jungle ahead. After an hour of careful trekking, they stumbled into what looked like an abandoned camp. The wooden watchtowers were rotting, and overgrown vines covered the old tents.
Suddenly, the rustling of leaves echoed from every direction. Before the guards could draw their weapons, dozens of fierce women dropped from the canopy and rose from the shadows. It was the Amazon army. They instantly surrounded the group, their spears pointed directly at Elliot's throat.
The Amazon commander, a tall woman with deep battle scars across her face, looked at the heavy crates of weapons Elliot's guards were carrying. A cruel, greedy smile touched her lips.
"Why should we negotiate with weak men?" she hissed, raising her spear. "Enslave them! They will serve as thralls in our temple of Lust. Take the weapons!"
Elliot's face went completely pale. His remaining guards screamed in terror as Amazon warriors lunged forward, throwing heavy ropes to bind them.
"Blake!" Elliot shrieked, clutching the mercenary's cloak in absolute panic. "Do something! Our contract! Protect me!"
To Elliot's absolute horror, Blake merely looked at the fierce women and shrugged. A cold sweat broke out on Elliot's neck as he wondered if the old mercenary was actually considering their offer—after all, a lifetime in a temple of Lust might sound tempting to a base sellsword. But with a heavy, bored sigh, Blake finally moved. He let go of the supply chest on his shoulder, letting the massive iron-bound crate crash to the muddy ground with a bone-shattering thud.
In a blur of motion, Blake drew his sword. A blinding, crackling arc of blue electricity surged down the steel blade, lighting up the dark jungle under the mist. Two Amazon warriors lunged at him, but Blake deflected their spears with supernatural speed. With a swift backhand strike, he unleashed a powerful shockwave of lightning that blasted three warriors backward into the rotting wooden watchtowers, leaving them twitching on the ground.
He stepped forward, his eyes glowing with power, and pointed his crackling, electrified blade directly at the commander's throat.
"Wait! Do not kill them!" Elliot shrieked, stepping forward in sheer panic as he realized Blake was about to end the woman's life. He clutched his hands together, his voice trembling but urgent. "We still need them! The contract cannot be fulfilled without them. If you kill her, we will never get the girl!"
Blake paused. His grey eyes remained locked on the commander, but the high-pitched hum of the blue electricity dancing along his blade softened slightly.
The jungle fell dead silent. The remaining Amazons stood frozen, staring at the old warrior in utter shock. They had never seen such terrifying speed and magic from an elder.
The commander swallowed hard, the blue sparks of Blake's blade dancing inches from her eyes. She slowly lowered her spear, keeping her gaze fixed on the quiet fury of the mercenary.
"Hold," she commanded her warriors, her voice trembling slightly. She looked from Blake to the pale, trembling Elliot. "It seems we underestimated your guard. We will take the deal. The weapons are ours, and you will have what you came for."
She gestured to the shadows behind her. Two warriors dragged a young, terrified Amazonian girl forward. Her hands were bound by thick ropes, and her eyes were wide with fear. She was entirely pure—exactly what Elliot had come so far to find.