Several days passed after the failed ambush. The burn on Lycaon's hand began to heal, leaving a faint scar, a constant reminder of his first failure. He became more cautious and silent. He understood that his enemy was not just a simple man, but was protected by an invisible power. His hatred did not diminish, but it settled, becoming deeper and more calculating. He spent more time observing, thinking, trying to find a new plan.
One morning, as the villagers were preparing to go to the fields, a horn blast echoed from the village entrance. This sound was different from the church bell. It was coarse, authoritative, and threatening.
Overseer Hector, along with a troop of guards in leather armor bearing the lord's symbol, rode into the village. The vague anxiety about the divine was immediately replaced by a tangible and raw terror—the fear of the blades and the irresistible power of their ruler. All the villagers immediately stopped their work, bowing their heads in fear.
Overseer Hector didn't say much. He ordered a guard to read from a leather scroll: "By order of the Lord, in preparation for the winter hunt, all healthy males from sixteen to thirty years of age must gather at the commons."
Mothers and wives began to cry. The young men's faces turned pale. They were herded into the commons like a flock of sheep. Among them was Lykos, Icarus's older brother.
Overseer Hector walked down the line, inspecting the young men as if they were goods. He prodded their chests with his sword hilt and made them bare their teeth. Finally, he selected about five of them, including Lykos. There were no explanations, no resistance. Their hands were bound with a rope and they were dragged away like livestock.
Being only fifteen, Lycaon was not part of the selection. He became an outsider, powerlessly watching the tragedy unfold. He saw the utter fear on Icarus's face and the despair of his parents.
He realized an even more horrifying truth. His enemy wasn't just the Church. The Church and the Lord, two seemingly different powers, were trampling on their lives together. They were pawns being controlled and sacrificed without mercy by two players at the same time.
When the troop of soldiers had gone, leaving behind the sounds of weeping in the village, Lycaon walked over to Icarus. His friend was sobbing, completely broken.
Lycaon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. He offered no words of comfort, for he knew all words were meaningless. He just stood there, a silent empathy. His gaze followed the road where the young men had just been taken, then shifted to the imposing church bell tower.
He understood that to survive, he had to fight not just one enemy, but an entire world.