Amid towering trees, the chirping of birds, the gentle gurgle of flowing water, and the distant howl of the wind, two heavy, panicked breaths broke the natural harmony. The sounds belonged to two individuals running through the dense forest—clearly fleeing from imminent danger.
Suddenly, one of them spoke.
"Princess, the mercenaries are catching up! Hurry—go find someone! I'll hold them back."
The voice, urgent and filled with worry, came from a man urging his companion forward, desperate to keep her safe.
"What do you mean, Dakare? I can't leave you behind," the princess protested stubbornly.
"Princess!" he snapped. "Think about what happens if you die here. How will your father—the King—react? How many people will die because of your stubbornness?"
She went silent, clearly contemplating the weight of his words. After a tense second, she made her decision.
"You're right. I'll go. Hopefully I find someone in this bloody forest," she said reluctantly. "But I'll be waiting for you, Dakare. Don't die! That's an order."
She turned and ran, disappearing into the forest shadows.
"I won't die, Princess. I promise," Dakare muttered.
Left alone among the massive trees and rustling leaves, he exhaled slightly, steeling himself for what was to come.
Soon enough, the sound of rapid footsteps broke the forest's calm. Dakare gripped his sharp spear tightly, eyes locked in the direction of the noise, ready for battle.
When three silhouettes emerged, his expression twisted in shock and fury.
"I swear there were six of you. Why are there only three of you here? Where are the traitor and the other two?!"
Panic stirred in Dakare's chest as countless terrifying possibilities rushed through his mind. His expression grew darker with each thought.
"Heh. Looks like you've figured it out," sneered one of the mercenaries.
The man—a burly, middle-aged fighter—wore traditional black kente attire that matched his comrades. Their melanated faces were painted crimson, each wielding a wicked war knife.
"The traitor said you'd die for that bitch," the man continued cruelly. "Said you'd face all of us just to keep her alive. So we split. They'll catch her soon, haha!"
Rage and dread consumed Dakare. Abandoning his earlier plan to stall for time, he closed the distance in an instant, spear slashing aggressively, but with deadly precision. He had to end this quickly and reach her.
One mercenary laughed at Dakare's tormented expression. "Too late. She'll be caught, raped, killed, then beheaded. You won't live long enough to see it."
Regret was carved into Dakare's face as he threw himself into the bloody clash.
---
"Are you sure he stayed behind to stall the others?" a red-faced man in black kente robes asked while pacing another section of the forest. Doubt tinged his voice.
"I stayed with Dakare for a long time. I'm ninety percent sure he did. Do you doubt my word?" a buff man replied darkly, clearly displeased.
This group of three included the so-called traitor and the two other mercenaries. They were hunting for the princess.
"Brother Blood, don't worry," the skinny one said confidently. "Even if Dakare stayed with her, our brothers can handle him."
"Tchh! Sinka, don't make me laugh," Karat—the traitor—scoffed.
"What do you mean by that, Brother Karat?" Blood asked.
"Those three only have a sixty percent chance of killing Dakare," Karat replied coldly. "There's a reason he was chosen as the young miss's guard."
"But our brothers are professional killers—trained for that sole purpose," Sinka protested.
"Exactly. That's why they have some chance. If I didn't know you, I'd have said zero."
Karat had trained with Dakare. He had seen his strength. To him, Dakare was a gifted warrior—one with the potential of a war general. The only reason Karat had faith in their success was the ruthless reputation of their group. They had slain powerful warriors before.
"Enough chit-chat. Let's find the target," Sinka snapped, irritated by Karat's confidence in Dakare.
---
Elsewhere in the forest, a beautiful, slim figure stood wearily among the trees, glancing around desperately. Her striking face, enough to enslave most men's hearts, was glistening with sweat. Her dark, pearl-toned skin shimmered under the canopy's dim light.
"This bloody forest is empty. No one's around to help. I should just hide," she said, exasperated.
The princess had stopped running—exhaustion and hopelessness weighing on her. Seeing no one in sight confirmed her fears. She decided to hide.
She searched for a secluded tree with a hollow trunk. After a few moments, she found one—massive and old, with a deep crevice at its base. Without a second thought, she ducked into the opening, hoping it would conceal her.
But as the darkness surrounded her, a chill slid down her spine.
A cold sensation touched her neck. Then came a voice—low, dangerous, and close.
"Who are you? Why are you here? Are you one of the people following me?"
Fear overwhelmed her. The voice's owner sounded ready to kill.
"I… I'm not after you. You're mistaken," she stammered.
To her shock, the blade lifted from her neck.
"Your accent… it's different. You're not from the Ankh Kingdom. So you're not one of them. Still… you shouldn't be here. Get out," he said gruffly.
But instead of leaving, she broke into sobs.
"Please, Ser, help me! A group of mercenaries is chasing me. Please… please help me escape!"
His demeanor remained unchanged—cold and resolute.
"I was kind enough to let you live. Don't make me change my mind. I don't know you. I don't get involved in others' karma. I'm not a hero. Get out."
"I'll give you gold, status, women—anything you want. Just help me!" she pleaded.
Her desperation was unwavering. She knew her chances were better with him.
"You don't get it, do you? Fine. It seems you need a lesson."
He drew his daggers and approached her. The air grew heavy. She struggled to breathe beneath his oppressive aura.
"I'd rather die by your hands… than get ra—"
"Shhh!" he interrupted, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Someone's coming."
---
"She's close! Stop here," Sinka ordered, sniffing the air. "Look for tracks or anything out of place."
The three men paused and began scouring the area. After a few moments, Blood snarled.
"That bitch was clever. She erased her tracks."
"Nothing here either," Karat confirmed.
"Don't worry," Sinka said confidently. "I'll find her."
He closed his eyes, sniffing deeply as he walked from tree to tree. Karat watched in confusion, but Blood's calm expression hinted this was normal.
"What is he doing?" Karat asked.
"Brother Sinka trained in the Art of Scent. He can detect someone within 200 meters using only their scent," Blood replied proudly.
Karat's amazement replaced his doubt. These mercenaries lived up to their brutal reputation.
Eventually, Sinka stopped near four massive oak trees.
"She's here. Her scent matches the handkerchief you gave me. Let's draw her out."
Blood and Karat took positions near the trees.
"Young Miss, we know you're here," Karat called. "Come out. Let's talk."
No answer.
"If we find the entrance, you won't escape. Come out now."
A minute passed in silence. Annoyed, Karat moved to inspect one of the trees.
"Stop," Sinka ordered. "There's a second scent. It's faint… different from the one on the handkerchief. She's not alone."
Blood's face darkened. "You said she was alone."
"That's not her guard," Sinka replied quickly. "The scent is unfamiliar. We need to be careful—could be a trap."
The three regrouped, caution rising. A new plan was needed—one that accounted for this unknown presence hidden with the princess.