From the moment they walked into the abandoned camp, Blake knew they were surrounded. He had adjusted the heavy supply chest on his shoulder, keeping his hand close to the pommel of his sword. When the fierce women dropped from the trees with their spears raised, Blake was ready to paint the mud with their blood.
But before he could draw his blade, Count Elliot stepped forward.
"Hold your weapons!" Elliot commanded, raising his hands. He did not look at the spears pointed at his throat. Instead, he looked directly at the tall, scarred woman leading them. "I am Count Elliot. We are not here to fight."
The commander's eyes went wide. She slowly lowered her spear. "Count Elliot?" she murmured. She turned back toward the shadows of the camp. "My Queen! The scholar has arrived."
The crowd of women parted, and a majestic woman stepped forward. She wore a crown of polished bronze, and her eyes carried the heavy weight of a ruler. This was Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons. She recognized Elliot immediately, a thin, desperate smile appearing on her face.
"You brought the cargo," Queen Hippolyta said, looking at the heavy crates.
"I did," Elliot said. He turned to Blake. "Drop the chest, mercenary. Show them."
Blake let the heavy chest crash to the ground. He had assumed the iron-bound box was full of food, tools, and camp supplies. But when Elliot unlocked the latch and threw the lid open, Blake's eyes narrowed. It was packed to the brim with polished iron swords, steel daggers, and heavy spearheads. No food. Only weapons of war.
Blake looked past the Queen and scanned the rest of the camp. His mercenary eyes quickly assessed their strength, and his chest tightened. This was not a mighty army. Out of the dozens of women standing in the shadows, only five of them actually held real weapons. The rest of the crowd was made up of frightened women and starving children.
They are civilians and children, Blake told himself, staring at their hollow cheeks and patched clothes. But they are still Amazons. You just need to remind them of who they are.
Elliot leaned closer to Blake, his voice a low, scheming whisper. "Your contract changes now, mercenary. You are not just my escort. You will stay here. You will protect this camp from the swamp beasts and help these women survive. They must be strong enough to fight their war and reclaim their land from the Grace army."
Blake knew this was a terrible idea. Giving weapons to desperate civilians and expecting them to win a war against a disciplined army usually ended in a massacre. But Blake kept his thoughts to himself. He was a mercenary. As long as the gold was coming , he would do his job.
"My price just went up," Blake muttered.
"You will be paid," Elliot replied coldly.
For the next few weeks, Blake did exactly what he was hired to do. He kept the camp safe from the monsters creeping out of the mist. However, Queen Hippolyta also gave him a very special, personal task: he was ordered to watch over and protect a young Amazonian girl named Diana.
Diana was a spirited, bright-eyed child who refused to leave Blake's side. She followed him everywhere, her small boots splashing in the deep mud as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. Instead of being afraid of the old, scarred warrior, she was completely fascinated by him.
She walked beside him on his daily patrols, constantly pointing at his gear. "How heavy is your sword?" she would ask, tilting her head to look up at him. "Does the blue fire hurt your hands when you make it crackle? Can you show me how you polished your armor?"
Blake, who usually had no patience for children, found himself strangely soft-hearted around her. He would sit by the fire and patiently answer her questions, letting her touch the cold steel pommel of his blade or look through his brass spyglass. He explained how his lightning magic worked in simple words she could understand. Protecting Diana felt different than his usual jobs; it wasn't just about the gold anymore.
At the same time, the older Amazon women were incredibly fond of the strong, quiet old warrior. They flirted with him constantly, fascinated by his white hair and his lightning powers.
His days fell into a comfortable, dangerous routine. In the mornings, Blake went into the misty swamps, hunting the giant prehistoric monsters that threatened the camp with Diana safely watching from the high wooden platforms. At night, he returned to the warmth of the campfires, drinking strong honey-wine, talking with Diana, and having fun with the adoring Amazonian women. For a brief moment, the old mercenary felt a strange sense of peace.
But peace never lasted.
One morning, Blake climbed a tall watchtower near the edge of the swamp. He pulled a brass spyglass from his belt—a special lens made of The Eye of the Ketos to see through the thickest fog. He adjusted the focus and scanned the distant, rocky hills.
His breath caught in his throat.
Through the lens, he saw a massive dust cloud rising from the plains. Moving fast toward the swamp was a hostile tribe of Centaurs. They were heavily armed, They camp outside swamp .
Blake hurried back to the camp, his boots splashing through the mud. He found Count Elliot standing near the Queen's tent, reviewing maps.
"We have a problem," Blake said, walking right up to him. "A tribe of Centaurs is coming . We need to evacuate the camp immediately."
Elliot looked up, his face hardening into an arrogant sneer. "Evacuate? Absolutely not. We have just finished preparing the first wave of warriors. We stand and fight."
"Are you insane?" Blake growled, stepping into Elliot's space. "They are centaurs! They are nomads, Elliot. They carry all of their weapons on their backs and live their entire lives on the move. Every single one of them is a natural-born warrior, highly skilled with both the bow and the spear. Your five armed women and a crowd of children do not stand a single chance facing them."
Elliot crossed his arms, dismissive. "Centaurs do not hunt in these swamps. This is Amazon land."
"Exactly," Blake snapped. "This swamp is not their land. It is not even close to their usual migration route. Something must have happened to force them out of the plains, or their route has been changed. But whatever the reason, they are heading this way, and they will trample this camp into the mud."
"I did not pay you to give me tactical advice, mercenary!" Elliot snapped, his voice rising in anger. "I paid you to fight! You will stand in the front lines and crush them with your magic!"
"My contract is to protect the camp, not to commit suicide for your foolish war," Blake said, his voice dangerously low. "The deal is off. Pay me what you owe me, and I am gone."
Elliot stared at him, his chest heaving with rage. He looked at Blake's hand, which was resting casually on his sword hilt. Elliot knew he couldn't force the monster of Citrace to stay.
With trembling hands, Elliot reached into his robes, pulled out a heavy velvet pouch of gold coins, and threw it at Blake's chest. "Take your coin and run, you old coward," Elliot hissed.
Blake caught the pouch, feeling its weight. He didn't care about the insult. He turned his back on the Count, packed his gear, and walked out of the camp, leaving the Amazons to face the coming storm.