The eastern ridge loomed ahead, its trees swaying under a gray sky like a warning meant just for us. Birds had gone silent. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. Vlad walked beside me with the relaxed stride of a man heading to a market, not toward a possible fight. I gripped my spear, palms slick with sweat, doing my best not to imagine Ridgebrook burning behind us.
We reached a thick wall of brush near the ridge and crouched low. Vlad's posture shifted, his focus sharpening like a blade being drawn.
"They are close," he murmured.
"How many?" I whispered.
"Four," he answered instantly. "One larger than the others. Their footsteps are uneven—fatigue, or poor training. Metal weapons. Sloppy stances."
I stared at him. "How do you know that?"
Vlad tapped two fingers against his ear.
"The world speaks, master. You only need to learn how to listen."
I didn't argue. Instead, I peered through the leaves.
Four armed men emerged along the forest path.
Leather armor. Rusted swords. Travel-worn coats. They weren't soldiers. They weren't a patrol.
Mercenaries.
The leader, a broad man with a spear strapped across his back, squinted toward Ridgebrook.
"Small place," he muttered. "Easy payday."
My stomach tightened.
Beside me, Vlad's fingers curled slightly, like he was already choosing which throat to crush.
I whispered urgently, "No killing unless absolutely necessary."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And how will you decide what is necessary?"
"When I tell you not to do something," I said, "you don't do it."
"That is vague."
"That's intentional."
We stepped out of the brush.
The mercenaries stiffened immediately.
The leader raised his spear. "Identify yourselves!"
I straightened and forced confidence into my voice.
"Liam Richard. Chief of Ridgebrook."
He blinked. "Chief? What are you, twelve?"
"Eighteen," I snapped. "I moisturize."
The men snorted. Vlad's eyes narrowed, insulted on my behalf in a way that made my skin crawl.
The leader rested his hand on his weapon.
"We're scouting for Baron Vantor's tax collectors. Heard this village has been… uncooperative."
My pulse jumped.
Vantor.
A real threat.
"We owe nothing," I said.
The leader smiled like a wolf. "Everyone owes something."
Before I could reply, Vlad stepped forward.
"We do not negotiate with scavengers."
The forest went silent.
The mercenaries stiffened at his tone, his posture, the pressure rolling off him like smoke. They didn't know what he was—but they knew he wasn't normal.
The youngest one whispered, "Boss… his eyes—"
The leader forced a laugh. "Relax. He's just tall."
Vlad smiled faintly.
"Step closer and find out."
I cleared my throat loudly.
"What my advisor means is that Ridgebrook has no tax debt. If Baron Vantor has questions, he can send a proper envoy."
The leader sneered. "Boy, I don't care if you call him 'Father Vantor.' We're taking what's owed."
I felt Vlad shift beside me—calculating, preparing. If this went any further, I wouldn't be able to stop him.
I held my hand behind my back, signaling him to wait.
The leader stepped closer.
"We're looking for supplies. Food. Wood. Maybe some laborers. You can make this easy, chi—"
Vlad moved.
One moment the man was standing tall.
The next, Vlad had him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with one hand.
The other mercenaries drew their weapons—then froze.
"You do not call my master a child," Vlad said calmly. "Ever."
The leader wheezed, feet kicking uselessly.
My mind raced. Vlad didn't overpower him with strength alone—he targeted the weak point. Heavy armor. Poor balance. Slow reactions.
Vlad leaned close, letting the man see the drying blood on his clothes.
"Insult him again, and I will decorate this forest with your bones."
"VLAD," I hissed. "Put him down. Now."
He released the man instantly.
The leader collapsed, gasping, eyes wide with raw fear.
"W-What… what are you?"
"From the north," Vlad replied.
Not a lie.
Just incomplete.
The mercenaries backed away, shaking.
"Boss… this isn't worth it," one whispered.
"We should leave," another said.
The leader swallowed, pride wounded, throat bruised.
"We'll report this to Baron Vantor," he croaked. "He won't accept failure."
Vlad stepped forward again.
I blocked him with my arm.
"No more," I whispered sharply.
He didn't like it. But he stopped.
"This isn't over," the leader said, voice trembling. "Vantor will send more men. Stronger men."
Then he turned and hurried away.
The others followed, not daring to look back.
When they disappeared into the trees, I finally exhaled.
Lira would call me reckless.
She wouldn't be wrong.
Vlad watched the retreating figures with disappointment.
"I could have killed them all."
"I know," I said.
"You should have let me."
"I know."
He crossed his arms. "You are soft."
"Maybe," I replied. "But they're alive."
"For now."
We walked back toward Ridgebrook. Vlad looked irritated—denied a real fight. I felt the opposite: shaken, conflicted, painfully aware that Baron Vantor was no longer just a name.
He was coming.
The village wasn't ready.
I wasn't ready.
Vlad glanced at me, and for a brief moment, something like approval crossed his face.
"You handled it well," he said.
"Really?"
"No," he replied. "But you survived. That is… acceptable."
I groaned. "Thanks."
"Do not thank me," Vlad said quietly. "Prepare. Worse is coming."
He was right.
The ridge behind us felt colder than before.
And Baron Vantor's shadow was already stretching toward Ridgebrook.