In the midst of his amusement, Freren felt a familiar ripple in the atmosphere.
Huh. Frey is heading this way, Freren noted. I guess he finished earlier than expected. Well, a dragon is obviously no match for the "White Blade Hero."
Frey had indeed dispatched the beast with ease. He had used a high-tier teleportation spell to return home, intending to surprise Freren and join him at the river. Instead, he had been met by a frantic, wounded Belle and the horrific news of the kidnapping.
I'm coming, Freren, Frey thought, his heart hammering against his ribs as he sprinted toward the last known coordinates of the ambush. Just hold on. Please, just hold on.
Back in the cave, Freren's smile widened. "Well, that was a sudden change of events... I see what you're doing, dear Author."
He walked over to where the three bandits lay like discarded dolls. "It seems one of you still has a use, after all."
He reached down and touched Ray—the mage who had attempted the fire blast. The moment Freren's fingers made contact, the man's eyes snapped open. He scrambled backward, gasping for air as if he had just been pulled from the depths of the ocean.
"How... what did you do? What happened?!" Ray shrieked, his voice cracking with pure terror.
"Enough talk. I am granting you a stay of execution," Freren said, his voice cold and commanding. "You are going to play by my rules, and you might just live."
The bandit nodded vigorously, his body shaking. Freren leaned in closer, his eyes twin voids. "My brother is approaching this cave from the north. You are going to pick me up, carry me out, and drop me the moment you see him. Then, you will escape. He'll be too focused on me to chase you. You get to leave in peace."
Freren turned away, his silhouette dark against the cave mouth. "But remember: if you ever try to tell a soul about what actually happened in this cave, you will cease to exist."
A chill ran down Ray's spine. He knew with absolute certainty that Freren wasn't bluffing; he had seen the void behind the boy's eyes. They had planned for every variable, except for the existence of a monster in human skin.
Suddenly, shimmering magical bindings manifested around Freren, identical to the ones the bandits had used earlier.
"Hmm... that looks about right," Freren mused. "He could definitely break these. Now, for the finishing touches."
Before Ray's eyes, horrific scars and bruises began to blossom across Freren's skin. It looked as though he had been subjected to hours of brutal torture. With a practiced groan, Freren collapsed to the cave floor.
"Well? Pick me up. It's showtime," Freren commanded.
Ray stared in terror, his hands trembling and his mind racing. He felt like he was handling live explosives.
"Now!" Freren's voice cut through Ray's panic like a blade.
Ray scrambled to his feet, hoisted Freren onto his shoulders, and began running toward the path where Frey was approaching.
I need to do this. I have to live, Ray thought, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Yes, you must live, Freren's voice echoed directly inside Ray's mind, cold and mocking. So put on a good show for me.
Within minutes, Ray spotted the golden silhouette of the Hero sprinting through the woods. Ray played his part, banking a sharp left turn just as Frey came into view.
"Exactly," Freren thought, smiling internally.
"Hey! Stop right there!" Frey roared.
The Hero surged forward, mana flaring around his boots as he boosted his speed to a blur. Seeing the gap close, Ray let go of Freren, letting him tumble to the dirt, and pushed his own mana to the absolute limit to vanish into the brush.
Frey reached the clearing a second later. He skidded to a halt, his face turning ghostly pale as he saw his brother lying bruised and broken on the ground.
"Freren!" Frey choked out. He saw the bindings and dropped to his knees, placing a hand over the glowing chains. "Level 9 Spell: Dispel!"
The bindings shattered like glass. Frey gathered Freren into a fierce, protective hug. "I found you. Don't worry, I've got you."
Frey immediately began chanting high-tier healing spells. Warm, golden light washed over Freren, closing the "wounds" that Freren had manifested. Once the "healing" was complete, Frey gently lifted his brother—who appeared deeply unconscious—and slung him over his shoulder.
With a whisper of ancient words, a teleportation circle opened beneath them. They vanished, reappearing instantly in the safety of Freren's bedroom. Frey laid him down on the soft sheets, his hand lingering to brush the hair away from Freren's forehead.
"I promise," Frey whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will always find you."
High atop a dark, snow-blasted mountain, Ray stood before a pair of gargantuan stone doors. With a low, rhythmic tremble, the gates ground open.
Ray walked in, his limbs shaking. He had survived the worst horror of his life, only to return to the heart of another. He entered the deepest part of the sanctum—a throne room carved from black rock. There, he bowed before a looming figure.
Ray was a member of the Dark Order, an alliance sworn to dismantle the Hero and plunge the world into shadow. The figure on the throne was one of the Five Heads of the Order, a master of darkness served by seven elite subordinates.
"You look distraught, Ray," the figure spoke, his voice a deep, glacial rumble. "Tell me: what happened? Where are the others?"
Ray froze. Freren's warning echoed in his mind like a death knell. If you tell a soul... you will cease to exist.But if they don't know about that monstrosity, Ray thought desperately, they will all fall. Everything we've worked for will be erased. Even if it costs me my life... they must know.
He raised his head, his eyes wide with panic. "It was—"
The moment the first syllable left his lips, his heart simply stopped. Ray's eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor, dead before he hit the stone.
One of the subordinates rushed to his side, checking for a pulse. "He's... he's dead," she stammered, reeling back in shock.
The figure on the throne narrowed his eyes. A geas that triggers upon the truth? A Level 12 spell? No... this feels older. An Ancient Curse... something beyond the numbered tiers of magic. But who cast it? Was it the Hero? The figure leaned back, his brow furrowed. This is an unplanned turn of events.
The following morning, Frey stepped quietly into Freren's room. Freren was still in bed; they had barely spoken the previous day, as the family maid had spent the evening tending to his "wounds."
Frey gently tapped his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Freren. Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?" Freren asked with a wide yawn, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"To go fishing. Just the two of us this time," Frey replied.
"Really?" Freren's face lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile—at least, that was what Frey saw.
"Yeah. And we can take my horse," Frey said, offering a warm, relieved grin.
"Sure!"
Freren dressed quickly and met his twin outside. Frey was already mounted on his majestic white stallion, the fishing gear packed and ready.
"Hop on, Freren," Frey said, reaching down to help his brother up. Freren gripped the rope and settled in behind his brother.
"Hold tight and don't let go," Frey warned, clicking his tongue to signal the horse. "It's going to be a fast ride."
"Alright," Freren responded, his arms wrapping around the "Hero" as they galloped away from the mansion.
Now, Author, Freren thought, his internal smile widening as the wind whipped past them. What's your next move?