After a long embrace, Eliss's father, Lord Roland finally released her, but his hands remained on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length, as if he was still afraid to let her go. His eyes were full of concern, lines of worry etched deeply into his face. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "What happened?"
Eliss lowered her gaze, taking a deep breath. "The church I was sent to," she began, her voice wavering, "it wasn't what it seemed. It turned out to be... a satanic cult." The words hung in the air like a dark cloud. "They imprisoned me, and other women... and..." Her voice faltered, and her head dropped, unable to continue the sentence.
Lord Roland, paled visibly, his whole body stiffening. His hands on her shoulders trembled as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "They didn't... they didn't do anything to you, did they?" His voice cracked under the weight of the fear he felt, the horrors of what might happen running through his mind.
Eliss quickly shook her head. "No, Father," she replied, her voice steady, though filled with sadness. "Nothing happened to me... but others weren't so lucky." Her words were heavy, and the sorrow in them was unmistakable.
Lord Roland let out a deep, shuddering sigh, his body seeming to sag with relief. "Thank God," he whispered, his hand reaching up to wipe at his eyes. "I'm so glad... so glad nothing happened to you." His voice was thick with emotion, a mixture of immense relief and lingering dread. He pulled her close again for a brief moment, just long enough to steady himself.
Eliss gave him a small smile, though the weight of everything that happened was clear on her face. "I..." She said quietly, shaking her head. "We owe it all to him." She turned around, looking for Amukelo, the one who had saved her and the other women from that terrible place.
But as she scanned the gathered crowd of guards, servants, and family members, her expression shifted into confusion. "Where is he?" she asked, her voice rising slightly in concern. She looked around more frantically now, searching for any sign of Amukelo, but there was none, only his horse standing where Amukelo was a moment ago. "He was right behind me just a moment ago."
Turning to the other girls who had traveled with them, Eliss asked, "Did you see him go anywhere?" The girls, still shaken from their ordeal, exchanged confused glances before shaking their heads. They hadn't seen Amukelo leave.
Perplexed, Eliss turned back to the guards who were stationed at the gates. "Did any of you see him leave?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge of urgency.
The guards looked at each other, equally confused, before one of them stepped forward and said, "No, Lady Eliss. No one's passed through the gates since you arrived."
Eliss furrowed her brow, her worry deepening. "Where did he go?" she whispered to herself, her eyes scanning the grounds for any sign of him.
Suddenly, a loud voice interrupted the uneasy silence that had settled over the courtyard. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" The voice was hurried and desperate, cutting through the tension. Everyone turned to see a man with red hair running toward them, out of breath but determined. It was Padrin.
As the man reached the gates, the guards immediately blocked his path. "Hold it right there," one of them said, crossing his arm across the entrance. "What's your business here?"
Ignoring their hostile tone, Padrin blurted out, "Do you know by any chance a young warrior with white hair and red eyes?" His voice was rushed, laced with urgency, as if this information was critical.
The guards exchanged confused glances, clearly irritated. One of them, his tone harsher than before, said, "Get out of here. This isn't the time for your questions." He began pushing Padrin back, clearly not in the mood for dealing with strangers.
Before the situation could escalate, Eliss stepped forward, her heart skipping a beat at the description. "Wait!" she called out, her voice cutting through the tense exchange. "He was here just a moment ago, but now he's disappeared." She looked at Padrin with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. "Do you know him?"
Padrin, made a frustrated sound through his teeth. "Tsk… So, he's in Norton. Good," he muttered to himself. Then, louder, he said, "I need to find him before he gets into too much trouble." Without another word, Padrin turned and started running down the street, disappearing into the crowd before anyone could stop him.
Eliss blinked in surprise and started to take a step forward, her instinct telling her to follow. "Wait!" she called after him, but before she could take another step, her father's hand gently but firmly grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
"Eliss," Lord Roland said softly, his voice full of fatherly concern. "I can't let you go rushing into danger again. His matters are not yours anymore. You need to rest. You've been through enough."
Eliss hesitated, looking down the street where Padrin had disappeared, feeling a sense of unease gnawing at her. She didn't know why, but something about the situation felt wrong. But her father's grip on her arm was firm, and his eyes pleaded with her to stay.
With a reluctant sigh, she nodded, allowing herself to be led back inside the mansion. Her mind, however, was still racing with questions. Where had Amukelo gone? And who was that red-haired man who seemed to know him so well?
___
Amukelo, as soon as he slipped out of the center of the mansion, he made sure to blend into the shadows, his brown cloak wrapping tightly around him. The noise of the bustling city faded behind him as he carefully navigated through the sides of the mansion, ensuring that no one was watching his every move.
His eyes scanned the surroundings as he made his way toward the far wall of the estate. He silently scaled the stone wall with practiced ease, making sure his movements were fluid and unnoticed. A few commoners glanced in his direction, their eyes filled with curiosity, but Amukelo's calm, nonchalant demeanor dissuaded them from giving him a second glance. They were not enemies, just civilians, and as long as he played the part of a regular passerby, they would not raise the alarm.
Once over the wall, he continued down the narrow streets, walking at a steady pace, his eyes constantly darting around, searching for any sign of danger. The town was large, and he was getting closer to his target with each step. With his cloak pulled low to hide his white hair and red eyes, Amukelo hoped to remain unnoticed, just another traveler making his way through Norton.
His mind raced, his thoughts flicking between the dagger at his side, the artifact that guided him, and Neclord, the man he was tracking. He couldn't afford distractions now. Neclord's presence lingered somewhere in the distance, and every step felt like he was closing in on his target. But what Amukelo didn't know was that Neclord was already on the move, alerted to Amukelo's presence, and planning his own escape from the city.
As Amukelo made his way toward the last location where his artifact pointed, something felt off. He found himself on a broader path, a street wider than most, with fewer people around than he expected. It was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual bustling energy of the town. He glanced around cautiously but kept his pace, trying to maintain the appearance of a regular passerby. Still, his instincts began to tingle with the feeling of impending danger.
Suddenly, his senses flared, and without thinking, Amukelo turned sharply to the side just in time to deflect an arrow aimed directly at his head. The sound of the arrow striking his blade echoed in the empty street, sending a sharp metallic ring through the air. The civilians who had been nearby immediately scattered, running in every direction, abandoning their stalls and stands as panic set in.
Amukelo quickly turned to assess his surroundings, his eyes scanning for the source of the attack. But before he could react, the sound of swift footsteps behind him caught his attention. He spun on his heel, raising his sword in time to block a dagger aimed at his back. His blade clashed with the assassin's weapon, sending sparks flying.
The assassin's eyes narrowed in frustration, realizing that his sneak attack had failed. But Amukelo had no time to celebrate the block; he immediately went for a counterattack, his sword poised to strike. Just as his blade was about to connect with the assassin, he sensed a looming presence and the whoosh of air slicing toward him from above.
Amukelo shifted his focus instantly, lifting his sword in defense just in time to block the massive axe that came crashing down toward him. The force of the blow sent shockwaves through his body, and the sheer power behind the attack was overwhelming. The axe wielder, a hulking brute of a man with rippling muscles, sneered as Amukelo's blade barely held against the impact.
The force was too much for even Amukelo to withstand. His feet slid backward, and before he could regain his footing, he was hurled backward, crashing through the side of a building. Dust and debris exploded into the air as Amukelo's body smashed through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
The axe-wielding man stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding against the cobblestones as he approached the building where Amukelo had crashed. Behind him, three others followed: the assassin who had initially attacked Amukelo, a mage cloaked in dark robes with a sneer on his face, and a swordsman, his blade drawn and ready.
The axe-wielder grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself. "He's not as strong as they say," he said, his voice thick with arrogance. He swung his massive axe onto his shoulder, the weapon dripping with lethal intent. "I expected more of a fight. Guess the rumors were just that—rumors."
The mage stepped forward, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the pile of debris where Amukelo had crashed. "You're right," the mage said with a smirk. "Looks like this won't take long after all."
The swordsman chuckled, twirling his blade lazily in one hand. "Should we finish him off now, or do you want to play with him a bit more?" His tone was light, almost playful, as if the outcome was already decided.
The assassin, who had initially missed his chance to strike, remained silent but gripped his daggers tightly, eager to prove himself.
The four of them moved slowly toward Amukelo, their steps confident and sure. To them, the fight was over before it had even truly begun. The man with the axe smirked, "Let's end this quickly. We've wasted enough time."