Lira burst into view between the trees, panting hard, eyes wide with fear.
"We've got company," she gasped.
"Shit. How many?" Syrien asked, blood still trickling from his split lip—a clear sign that Farren's punch had landed.
Lira, still catching her breath, managed to answer.
"At least twenty. Armed to the teeth."
Charles cut in before Syrien could speak again.
"Okay. Don't panic. Where are they?"
"At most five minutes behind me. Probably less."
Charles strode over to Gerart's bag, pulled out the folded map, and spread it on the ground. His finger stabbed sharply at a point.
"Here. We split and run in different directions. With luck, we regroup here in two days. I'm going after Gerart—we can't wait for him. If anyone finds him, tell him the plan. Don't worry—he's the best hunter I know. He'll be fine, even if we don't find him."
Everyone nodded—except Lira. Her eyes flickered with hesitation, and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the bushes around them exploded with movement.
"Shit—they're here! Run!"
---
They scattered in all directions, breaking up to divide the enemy's numbers and improve their chances of survival.
Charles headed the way he'd last seen Gerart go, hoping the dwarf had left some signs to follow. If not, he wouldn't waste much time looking—he liked Gerart, but not more than his own life.
Luck was with him. Broken clumps of dry grass, a lone footprint—Gerart hadn't bothered to cover his trail. Charles followed until he spotted the dwarf—curled up asleep behind a tree. No hunting, no scouting—just hiding, trying to get some peace.
Too bad for him.
"Hey, lazy dwarf bastard! Wake up before you get a merc's spear shoved between your asscheeks!"
The shout jolted Gerart upright. His eyes snapped open, wild with surprise. Without hesitation, he sprang to his feet and fell in step behind Charles.
Unfortunately, Charles' loud call had given away their position. Six figures broke through the trees behind them, closing fast—almost breathing down their necks.
They ran, but there was no shaking them.
Gerart gritted his teeth.
"We'll have to kill them or die trying, kid. If we don't make it… it was nice knowing you all."
They skidded to a stop where the trees thinned—less cover, but more space to maneuver. They turned to face their pursuers.
The enemy didn't keep them waiting.
---
Six mercenaries burst through the treeline, faces hidden behind dusty cloths, weapons drawn. They fanned out into a half-circle, boots grinding over dry earth.
Charles' fingers twitched toward the throwing knives strapped across his chest. He grabbed Gerart's shoulder and muttered:
"Duck."
The dwarf dropped instantly.
Charles' arm snapped forward. The first knife whistled through the air and buried itself to the hilt in the throat of the closest mercenary before the man even registered the movement. He collapsed silently.
The others froze for a heartbeat—just long enough for Gerart to charge with a roar. His short axe came in low, hooking around a man's shin. Bone cracked with a sickening crunch, and the merc went down screaming.
"Two less," Gerart grunted.
The remaining four surged forward. One came straight for Charles, swinging high. Charles slipped sideways, the blade passing an inch from his face. He slashed his dagger up under the man's ribs, twisted sharply, and yanked free.
Another tried to flank him from the right. Without looking, Charles flicked a second throwing knife from his belt. It spun end over end and lodged deep into the attacker's eye. The man dropped like a sack of grain.
Meanwhile, Gerart was a whirlwind of violence—smashing his shoulder into a merc's chest, forcing him back, then spinning to cleave through another's arm. Steel bit through flesh and bone, severing the limb at the elbow. Blood sprayed across the patchy grass.
The last mercenary hesitated, eyes flicking between Charles' blood-slicked blades and Gerart's gore-stained axe.
"Go on," Charles said coldly. "Run."
The man bolted. Charles watched him disappear into the trees, then calmly retrieved the two knives he could reach. The one from the eye socket came out with a wet pop.
"That was loud," Gerart said, grinning through a smear of blood.
"Too loud," Charles replied, sliding the blades back into their sheaths. "They'll be back with more."
---
They'd been damned lucky this time. Those lowlifes weren't real fighters. If it had been any other syndicate, they'd have sent archers or even mages. Against those, Charles knew they wouldn't have lasted a heartbeat.
With the sheer numbers the Hollow Coin kept in all their camps, their chances were still slim. You could kill only so many before you were swarmed and butchered.
"I think we lost them," Gerart muttered. "Where are the others? Are they safe?"
Only after more than half a day of silent, relentless escape did they finally find space to breathe. Gerart used the moment to press for answers.
"They should be," Charles said. "I hope so. We made a plan to meet tomorrow—so we keep moving a few more hours this way, then head for the meeting spot."
They arrived first. For a long time, no one came. The stillness made the forest feel hollow, every sound too sharp.
Then, at last, two figures emerged from the trees—the unexpected duo of Syrien and Farren. Syrien leaned heavily on the dwarf's shoulder, face pale, clothes dark with blood.
"Don't wait for Lira anymore," he said flatly. "They got her. She hesitated too long at the camp. Those bastards even told me to give up so they wouldn't harm her. If this hairy, stubborn bastard hadn't helped me fight them off, I'd have ended up just like her."
---
Gerart was the first to speak after the grim news. His fingers twitched restlessly around the haft of his axe, eyes burning with barely restrained fury.
"Okay, we have to save her—or at least try. You know she'd do the same for every one of you."
That earned him strange looks—including from Charles.
Farren finally spoke up.
"I don't think she'd do it for anyone but you, old man. Still, I agree—we should try."
Charles was quiet a moment, weighing the danger, before finally asking:
"Okay… do you have a plan that won't get us all killed?"