Padrin took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts as the weight of Amukelo's words hung heavy in the air. The pain, the fury—it was all so clear in his friend's voice. He could feel the anger radiating from Amukelo, the kind of anger that only deep loss could summon.
"Amukelo," Padrin said, his voice soft yet steady. "I know you've been through unimaginable pain, and I probably can't relate to it the way you feel it. But you have to understand something." He paused, choosing his words carefully, his eyes searching for Amukelo's. "Revenge isn't yours to take. It won't bring you peace. No matter how much you think it will fill that hole in your heart, it won't. If you let God judge them, if you forgive them... only then will you find true peace."
Amukelo's brow furrowed, his face tightening as anger began to surface. His jaw clenched, and his voice took on a sharper edge. "You wouldn't understand what it's like," he snapped, his tone full of bitterness. "It's easy to say that from where you stand. But if you lived through what I did... if you watched your friends die right in front of you, you would want revenge just as I do. You'd want to make them pay for what they did."
Padrin sighed, his heart heavy. He'd expected this response, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. He kept his tone calm, but there was an unmistakable sadness in his words. "I know," he said quietly. "Even though I don't know how you feel, I know how feeling of revenge strong can be. And I know how much of a mistake it is. It's like a holding a burning stone with intent of throwing it at your enemy... it will do more damage to you than to them."
Amukelo, clearly agitated, turned on his heel and started walking toward a nearby farmer's house, his steps heavy with purpose. "If you don't want to help me, then you have no business here," he said over his shoulder, his voice cold and final.
Padrin, refusing to back down, quickly moved to block his path. His body language was calm, but there was a firm resolve in his eyes. "Amukelo," he said, his voice steady but filled with concern, "you will regret this. Trust me, you don't want to go down this path."
Amukelo turned his head away, his fists clenched in frustration. "If you're going to try to stop me," he said, his tone dropping to a dangerous low, "then I'll have no choice but to fight you." His hand instinctively moved toward his sword, though he hadn't drawn it yet.
Padrin's heart ached. He could see the reflection of his younger self in Amukelo. Even though he never saw his closest one'sdying on his eyes he, knew exactly how destructive vengeance can be. He didn't want to see his friend make such a mistake. But he also knew that there was no stopping Amukelo now, not with words alone. With a heavy sigh, Padrin stepped aside, relenting—but not without making one final attempt to reach him.
"Okay," Padrin said, his voice filled with resignation. "I'll help you. But promise me one thing." Amukelo stopped, turning slightly, his brow still furrowed, though his anger seemed to have softened just a bit. "If your revenge doesn't give you what you think it will... if it doesn't fill the void, or make you feel at peace... you'll listen to me. You'll do what I say, and we'll find another way. Deal?"
Amukelo stared at Padrin for a moment, his expression unreadable. His mind was too clouded by rage, too focused on his goal to really take in the meaning behind Padrin's words. But he could sense the sincerity in his friend's voice, and though he didn't fully agree, he nodded curtly. "Whatever," he muttered, his voice still rough with frustration.
With that, Amukelo turned back toward the farmer's hut that was near the exit of the tunel. Padrin followed quietly behind, his heart heavy with the knowledge that his friend was walking a dark path, one he wished he could pull him from. But for now, he could only support him—and hope that when the time came, Amukelo would realize the futility of his quest for vengeance.
As they approached the small, weathered farmer's house, Amukelo slowed his pace. The hut was modest, with a thatched roof and walls of simple wood. Smoke rose from the chimney, and a few chickens scratched at the dirt in the yard. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Amukelo cast a quick glance around, making sure no one from the Nameless Dynasty was nearby.
"We need a horse," Amukelo said quietly, more to himself than to Padrin, his mind already racing ahead. He pulled out the dagger with the tracking artifact, its magic still pointing him in Neclord's direction. He could feel that Neclord was moving away—likely out of the town already. But first, they needed transportation.
Amukelo approached the weathered door of the farmer's hut, his footsteps firm but cautious. He knocked twice. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a man shorter than Amukelo, with a lean build and sun-worn skin. His eyes were sharp, but his posture slightly hunched from years of labor. He wore simple clothes—a brown tunic, patched at the elbows, and trousers that had seen better days.
The farmer eyed Amukelo with suspicion. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel, barely hiding his irritation at the disturbance.
Amukelo met his gaze directly. "I'd like to borrow your horse," he said calmly, though his tone carried the weight of someone not used to making requests.
The farmer scoffed immediately, shaking his head. "You wish," he muttered, stepping further into the doorway to block any chance of entry. "The last thing I'll do is lend my only horse to a stranger." His eyes flicked over Amukelo's attire, taking note of the armor and the sword. He didn't like the look of it—too much danger for his liking.
Amukelo didn't flinch at the refusal. He had expected it. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out two gold bags. "What if I pay you upfront?" he offered, holding the bags just within the farmer's sight. The jingle of gold inside was unmistakable. "You get paid now, and I'll return the horse. You don't lose anything."
The farmer's eyes immediately widened at the sight of the gold. He couldn't help but glance at the bags again, calculating what was likely inside. One gold bag like that—he could buy another weak horse like his, or fix his roof, or even make it through the winter more comfortably.
His mind raced as he tried to control the excitement bubbling up. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, attempting to appear more composed than he felt. "Well...," he said, his voice softening. "In that case, I suppose we can come to an agreement." He reached for the gold, inspecting it like a merchant weighing his wares. His fingers ran over the edges of the coins, and a faint, greedy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "As long as you remember to bring it back."
Amukelo nodded, and without hesitation, handed over the bags of gold. "Sure," he said, though there was no real promise in his voice. His mind was too focused on the task ahead.
The farmer, now more than willing, hurried to the side of the house where a small stable stood. He led out a horse—a lean creature, not as muscular as the one Amukelo had been given by Berthold, but it looked healthy enough. Its brown coat shone faintly under the daylight, and it had an alert, albeit cautious, look in its eyes.
Amukelo studied the horse for a moment. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. He swung up into the saddle with practiced ease, adjusting the reins in his hands. Padrin watched quietly from the side, not yet mounting.
Before Padrin could climb onto the horse, he looked at Amukelo, a question forming on his lips. "Why do you need the horse?" he asked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Isn't your enemy in Norton? You haven't even been here long."
Amukelo tightened his grip on the reins, his gaze hardening as he looked toward the horizon. "He *was* in Norton," he said with a bitter edge to his voice. "But he's moving out of it. They must've anticipated my arrival and hoped to trap me in the city. It didn't work." His voice grew quieter, more determined. "But I have a way to track him."
Padrin nodded, recognizing that Amukelo wasn't offering more details. He trusted that his friend had some plan in motion. He mounted the horse behind Amukelo, gripping the sides of the saddle as they prepared to leave.
With a quick glance down at his tracking dagger, Amukelo could see the faint, glowing lines pointing in a specific direction. Neclord was moving away, but not fast enough to escape Amukelo's pursuit. Amukelo clenched his jaw, calculating Neclord's speed based on the intensity of the glow. He wasn't galloping away on horseback, not yet—likely thinking he had more time before Amukelo could catch up.
Amukelo grunted under his breath, frustration growing. "This horse is slow," he muttered to himself, the comparison to Berthold's gift gnawing at him. That horse was strong and swift, perfect for this kind of chase. "If only I had the one from Berthold," he thought, but he quickly shoved the thought aside. There was no time to lament what he didn't have. He tugged the reins and urged the horse forward, picking up speed. The slower pace was grating on his nerves, but they had no other choice.
Finally, after all this time, after all the bloodshed, after the loss of his friends... this could be the culmination of his revenge. Amukelo smiled to himself, a dark, mad smile, his heart pounding harder in his chest. The day was drawing closer when he would stand face to face with the man responsible for all his pain. Neclord wouldn't get away this time.
"I'm coming for you, Neclord," Amukelo whispered under his breath, the wind whipping past him as he and Padrin rode in Neclord'sdirection.