Dex rose with extreme slowness, his movement calculated like a leopard preparing to pounce. He brushed the dark, damp soil from his knees and clothing with his hand, but however much he tried, he could not brush away the enormous psychological pressure that had begun to increase in weight on his chest, pressing on his lungs as though he had swallowed a lead stone.
In the space of a few minutes, every plan and expectation he had formed had shattered. This was no longer a quiet, cautious expedition interspersed with vigilance against beasts and the patient following of tracks to find a cure for his dying father. That illusion had dissolved entirely. The mission had officially become, in this very moment, a deadly collision race: a frenzied contest between forces that did not know each other, had no common ground for negotiation, yet were all pursuing the same mythical objective and converging on the same blind point in the heart of the Forbidden Zone.
"We are not alone here, Lumia," Dex said in a sharp, severe tone stripped of all emotion, looking toward the dark depth swathed in sulphurous mist. "There is a group of professional mercenaries ahead of us on this route. Based on the quality of their equipment, they are most likely from the elite of the Black Claw Guild, or perhaps a squad of advanced-rank Bounty Hunters. They are tracking Okonnor by the same path we are following… and the greater problem… they may already be closer to him than we are by steps or by a few miles."
Dex closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the surrounding forest, and plunged deep into his memory, summoning every word, every line, and every footnote he could recall from the original novel he had read before being cast into this brutal world.
The original plot stipulated clearly that Okonnor was not merely a common fugitive sorcerer or dissident. He was being hunted under a royal decree from the Elf Kingdom on charges of high treason of the first order. And it was rumoured between the novel's lines that he had managed, in a legendary infiltration, to steal the World Tree Nectar, the absolute elixir of life, of which a single drop was said to be capable of regenerating dead cells, curing incurable diseases, and even extending the lifespan of great sorcerers, before fleeing with it for reasons that remained unknown for a long time.
"The mercenaries are not pursuing Okonnor to deliver justice," Dex thought, his mind analysing motives at the speed of a magical computer. "Those guilds care nothing for who rules the Empire or who betrays it. They are hunting him for the astronomical reward placed on his head as a traitor, or… and this is the worst and most certain possibility… because the guild masters want to seize the Nectar themselves, to sell it on the global black market to aristocrats terrified of death, at prices that could purchase entire kingdoms."
Dex opened his eyes and looked directly at Lumia, who was watching his agitation and the changing rhythm of his breathing with celestial calm, a silver anchor in a stormy sea of dark thoughts.
"The current situation, with complete transparency: the mercenaries hold the logistical advantage. They have sufficient numbers to form assault formations. They have collective tracking and encirclement expertise, and they are backed by equipment from the world's most powerful guilds."
He was silent for a second, then his pupils widened, and a terrifying golden glow began seeping from his blue irises.
"But I… I possess the Phoenix fire, which feeds on my will. And I possess you, the Calamity of a Thousand Years, wearing the face of an angel."
Dex's eyes were blazing now with a savage, blade-sharp gleam like a guillotine's edge. The years of agony and solitary confinement had taught him one hard lesson: waiting was slow death, and idealism in a corrupt world was nothing but weakness, and the one who arrives first to the battlefield sets its rules, and the one who strikes first decides who lives.
"If these mercenaries reach Okonnor before me," said Dex, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss resembling the sound of fire as it consumes dry wood, "there will be no hope left for my sick father in this life. Mercenaries do not negotiate. They will kill Okonnor immediately to take his head, seize the Nectar as additional spoils, and I will find nothing but a cold corpse and an empty vial… and that… I will not allow to happen. Even if I must burn this forest to ash with everyone in it."
Dex tightened his grip on his dagger's handle and felt the Phoenix Core begin to genuinely boil within his veins. Not a painful heat, but a battle-hungry response, as though the mythical entity in his chest was answering his fury and determination, flooding him with immense power straining to detonate.
He turned to Lumia, and his gaze was clear as a formal declaration of war:
"Lumia, from this moment forward, no more excessive caution or concealment. We move at maximum possible speed. Any beast that blocks our path or obstructs our route will be reduced to ash without a second thought. And any mercenary who stands between me and that Nectar will find themselves wishing from the depths of their heart that they had stayed rotting in a dark prison cell rather than standing in my way."