Fregran raised his chin, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the hooded man's face, which remained obscured by the shrouded night. Despite the moonlight casting faint silver streaks across the clearing, the shadows seemed to cling to the figure, refusing to reveal his identity.
Several meters separated them, and though the air was alive with the sound of the howling wind, the man before him stood in absolute silence, unmoving like a statue. Fregran waited, his senses alert, picking up on the subtle noises of others hidden in the dark—nothing overt, but enough to know the man wasn't alone. Yet, none of them dared to speak, leaving only the raging winds to fill the space between them.
Fregran adjusted his posture slightly, feeling the cold iron of his armor press against the warm layers underneath. He had come prepared this time, knowing the bitter cold would bite at him if he hadn't added the extra layers beneath his usual battle gear. The weight of the night bore down on him, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.
"Are you going to talk?" Fregran asked one last time, his voice carrying a warning edge. He made it clear with his tone that silence or retreat would only make things worse for the man in front of him.
Suddenly, without warning, the man shifted his stance. A deadly arrow whistled through the wind, faster than before, its tip gleaming as it cut through the night. But this was not the only threat—an icy blue lance, forged of magic, surged from the left, tearing through the winds like a spear of frozen death.
Fregran's eyes narrowed as he quickly analyzed the assault. The arrow was not meant for him, flying dangerously close but not near enough to strike. The ice lance, however, was aimed with precision At the man.
"The mage and the archer...," he muttered under his breath.
In a swift, graceful movement, the hooded man dodged the arrow with ease and pivoted to avoid the ice lance. His reflexes had saved him, but the winds carried another surprise—a faint grunt of pain from behind.
The hooded man had tried to retreat, but something went wrong. His body jerked, his steps faltering as a sharp, searing pain shot through his back. His hand instinctively reached for the source, but it was too late. He looked down in horror to see a short blade piercing through his torso, it's cold steel exiting his stomach in a gruesome display.
"Ahh! What in the—!" the man gasped, his voice trembling as blood began to drip from the wound, staining the earth beneath him.
"My, my... that's the first time someone's ever accidentally gotten stabbed by me," a voice echoed from the shadows. The speaker stepped forward, revealing a grinning figure—Buluni, his smirk twisted. His tone carried a cruel humor as if the act of stabbing the man was nothing more than a joke.
The hooded man, now desperate, swung his sword in a wide arc, hoping to strike at Buluni. But as his blade sliced through the air, there was nothing—no impact, no resistance. Buluni had vanished, leaving the man to stumble forward, his strength failing.
"Where'd he go?!" the man cried out, panic overtaking him as he fell to one knee, the weight of his injury too much to bear. He spat out blood, the metallic taste filling his mouth as he clutched the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The pain intensified with every breath, and the realization hit him hard—he was dying, and he never saw it coming.
"Why... am I so weak?" the hooded man thought, his vision blurring as the world around him dimmed. The blood that stained the ground was his own, and the realization hit hard as his limbs grew heavy. He lifted his gaze towards Fregran, who still hadn't drawn his sword, standing there with a calm that unnerved him. That's when it clicked—poison. There had to be poison in the blade. He died thereafter.
Inside the carriage, Drut rummaged through their supplies, a large bag that Was on Okadio's back. "How are you guys doing? Warm enough? Here, take a blanket—we've got a few to spare." His voice was almost too casual given the situation, as he tossed a blanket to one of the rescued humans, who sat inside the carriage. Okadio barely acknowledged the rummaging, his eyes fixed on the body of the fallen hooded man.
"You think killing him was the right move?" Okadio asked, his voice cold and unwavering, eyes narrowing at Buluni.
Buluni, meticulously wiping his blade clean of blood, turned slowly to face him. His usual carefree attitude was gone, replaced by something grim. "When you see fifteen innocent lives treated like property, like slaves... mercy has no place in moments like these." His voice was steady, each word carrying weight. Buluni wasn't one to shy away from a fight, but this time, his seriousness was more akin to Estelar's cold focus. Okadio sensed that this wasn't the time for further questioning and remained silent.
Mina stormed back from her position in the forest, her expression filled with frustration. "I swear, I almost had him!" she growled, clearly upset.
"Not even close," Estelar muttered with a sigh, watching her with mild amusement. He too had wanted to be the one to land the final blow.
As the others talked, Ameria approached the carriage where the captives huddled together. She climbed inside, her demeanor soft and nurturing. "Are you all okay? Do you need anything?" Her voice was filled with gentle concern as she moved from person to person, making sure they were safe. Despite the danger that had lingered in the air, Ameria's innocence and kindness shone through as she comforted the frightened group.
Fregran stood up, still confused, brushing some dirt off his knees. "Well, I thought he was human."
"He looks human to me," Mina added as she stepped closer to the fallen man. His plain face was smeared with blood, dark hair covering most of his features. But as she examined him further, something strange caught her eye. Small black horns, barely visible at first, protruded from his forehead. "Wait... horns?"
"You hear about them, but I've never actually seen one in person," Fregran said, his voice filled with curiosity and disbelief.
Buluni and Estelar stepped in, both recognizing the telltale signs immediately.
"Ah yes, a Demonoid," Estelar stated confidently, his voice low as he crouched to get a better look.
"Odd, the others were just human," Buluni mused, wiping the last of the blood from his blade before sheathing it.
"Demonoid?" Mina asked, puzzled. She had heard the of the race before but knew little of the details.
Okadio overheard the exchange and joined the conversation, his deep voice cutting through the wind. "Since you didn't grow up in a human city, you probably weren't taught about them," he said to Mina, his gaze shifting to the fallen man. "The Demonoids are a hybrid race, a twisted mix of demon and human. No one knows for sure how they came to be, but they originated from the depths of Grokenn—somewhere no one sane dares to venture."
Mina looked down at the body again, a new sense of wariness growing within her.
Just then, Drut emerged from the carriage. "Fregran, these people—they're all from the Kingdom of Leotus."
Fregran nodded, his mind already piecing together the next move. "Good. That's where we're headed anyways. This needs to be reported to their adventurers' guild immediately. I'm sure these poor souls won't mind us borrowing their carriages," he said, his tone firm but with an undertone of resolve.
—
(Almer the 6th day of Helionis — (8/05/736) )
Two carriages rolled past the towering walls of the capital of Leotus, Kelvin in the Lumin area, escorted by a formidable array of guards. Their presence was enough to make the people of the city pause in their daily routines, turning their heads to watch. The crowd instinctively parted, opening a path along the wide Gillathan Street, the northern road renowned for its beauty. The orange hue of the walls that lined the street seemed to glow, reflecting the vibrant energy of the bustling city. Yet, despite the lively surroundings, the air was thick with an unusual gravity.
At the front, a chiseled man steered the first carriage. Fregran, his face unusually somber, lacked the easygoing smile he was known for. The thirty guards ahead of him moved with purpose, their armor clinking with every step. Something was off, and he could feel it. They had been silent ever since he reported the rescue of the kidnapped citizens, and that silence now weighed heavily on him.
As time passed, the carriages reached their destination—the palace grounds. But instead of the grand palace entrance, they arrived at a secluded area, away from the main gates. The road simply ended here, with no direct access to the palace.
"Please wait here. We must summon the Noble Victorian," one of the knights declared. A line of them moved swiftly, positioning themselves to block any exits from the carriages.
Fregran's brow furrowed. Why were they taking such drastic measures? His only goal had been to return the kidnapped citizens to their rightful place, but now he was being treated as if something far graver had occurred. He watched as a large nobleman exited a nearby building, his regal presence emphasized by a deep purple cloak, the symbol of high rank in Lumin. Beside him stood another man, dressed in plain, unassuming clothes that marked him as a commoner—yet he carried an aura of authority.
The plain-clothed man stepped forward, his voice cutting through the stillness. "You there, are you Fregran of the Falling Grin?"
Fregran's gaze narrowed. "Yes, that's me. But I don't understand the need for all this formality. These people were kidnapped, and their families are probably worried sick."
The man turned briefly to the noble, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "It appears," the nobleman spoke, his voice smooth but edged with something unsettling, "you are months early, Falling Grin."
Fregran's eyes flicked to the noble, his confusion deepening. "We weren't supposed to be early, but as you can see, we had to rescue these citizens. They needed to be brought back to their kingdom immediately."
The nobleman, Victorian, held back his questions, though Fregran could see the gears turning behind his cold, calculating gaze. He was clearly withholding something, but what? Why?
Just then, a knight approached from the rear carriage, having finished speaking with the rescued citizens. They had been quietly escorted into the building, away from the group. The knight got closer and whispered something in Victorian's ear. The noble's expression remained stoic, but something shifted in his eyes—disgust and malice.
Victorian straightened, his tone sharp. "Falling Grin, come with me. Now."
Fregran felt the weight of Victorian's stare, and it was then he saw it—a flicker of something dark and dangerous. There was no longer a veil of formality.