"That's strange... why haven't you responded for so long?" one of the adventurers asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. The group had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, tension thick in the air.
Before anyone could answer, another adventurer spoke up, his voice trembling. "Yeah, something weird just happened. There was this sudden ghostly scream, and then... nothing. It just stopped. You don't think something's happened, do you?"
The silence that followed was thick with unease. "It's hard to say," another adventurer muttered. Then his eyes widened, and he pointed into the distance. "Hey, look! Who... who is that?"
Everyone turned to follow his gaze. In the dim light, they saw a figure staggering toward them, his body covered in what appeared to be blood. The sight sent a chill down their spines. Was this their target? The one they had been sent to capture?
As they prepared to engage, the figure stumbled and shouted, "Help!"
One of the adventurers, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, hesitated. "Wait... is he one of us?"
The group exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. "He must be," another adventurer reasoned. "If he was the person we were after, he wouldn't be coming straight toward us, right?"
Nods of agreement rippled through the group, but the tension remained. "What happened?" someone finally asked, their voice cutting through the quiet.
The bloodied man, panting heavily, tried to steady himself. "The intel was wrong! The guy's a beast in close combat. He took down all our people. My communication device was destroyed too. We need reinforcements; now!"
Without hesitation, one of the adventurers turned and began calling for help. As he did, the bloodied man's expression shifted ever so slightly. A sly smile crept across his face as he inched closer to the group, nearing the magical barrier that protected them. If he could just get a little closer...
"Hold on!" a sharp voice broke through. A short, stocky adventurer stepped forward, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Everyone else fell? How did you manage to escape?"
The bloodied man's mind raced. He couldn't afford to slip up now. "They stayed behind to hold him off. It gave me a chance to run."
The short man's gaze lingered on him, not fully convinced. "Running? Looking like that? How far could you get?"
Oliver, the bloodied man, fought to suppress his frustration. He wanted nothing more than to throttle the short adventurer right then and there. "I didn't run the whole way. I stopped to rest a few times. This was the nearest place I could find people."
For a moment, the group seemed to buy his story, but Oliver could feel his patience thinning. If they kept questioning him, he would be forced to act.
The short adventurer studied him for another beat, then sighed. "Alright, fine. You should find a healer. You don't look good."
Oliver nodded, grateful to be dismissed. He limped toward the group, clutching his side. "Let me rest for a moment... my legs feel weak."
They let him pass without a second thought, none of them noticing the small, rectangular object he palmed in his hand. Without warning, smoke erupted around them, blinding the group in an instant.
"What—?" the short adventurer managed to shout before Oliver's fist connected with his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground.
In the chaos, Oliver slipped past the group, his pace quickening. He chuckled to himself as he darted away, muttering, "That's what you get for asking too many questions."
He didn't head for the forest immediately, as the others might expect. Instead, he made his way to his old hideout. He had stashed some supplies there; things he had thought he wouldn't need this time around, but plans had changed.
"Damn it! That guy wasn't right!" one of the adventurers shouted as the smoke cleared. They looked around frantically, realizing the bloodied man was gone and one of their own lay unconscious on the ground.
"Alert the others! Block him off at his hideout!"
As they scrambled to send word, Oliver arrived at his destination. The ramshackle building, if one could even call it a home, stood unchanged. The lock on the door remained intact; no one would bother breaking into the place of someone as poor and infamous as him. Besides, the black crow that perched near the doorway ensured no ordinary thieves would ever come near.
With a sly grin, he slipped inside. Time was short, but he wasn't worried. He always had a plan.
He kicked the door with a forceful thud, sending it crashing down with ease. The lock, clearly more for show than security, offered no resistance as the door collapsed onto the dusty floor, stirring up a cloud of dirt into the air.
Oliver waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear the dust swirling around him, and hurried inside. Time was not on his side. He knew they would surround the place any moment now. Every second mattered.
His eyes landed on the makeshift "bed" in the corner of the small, dingy room. It wasn't much; just a plank of wood with a thin, worn-out piece of cloth draped over it; but it served its purpose. He wasted no time. With a swift motion, he brought his fist down on the wooden surface, smashing through it with ease. The smooth wood splintered, revealing a hidden compartment underneath. Inside was a package he had stashed for emergencies like this.
This was his ticket out, a carefully prepared escape kit. He had packed it in anticipation of this exact moment, ever since he knew the Black Crow suspected him of collaborating with the elves. The package contained essential items you couldn't find on the market: the anesthetic powder he had just used to make his getaway, medicinal herbs to heal wounds, a few arrows, and several small vials filled with a clear, potent liquid.
Without wasting a moment, he slung the package over his shoulder, adjusting the two bags he now carried. There was no time to pack more. He had to move fast.
Just as he turned the corner of the street, he heard the unmistakable sound of boots and voices closing in behind him. His house was already surrounded. But he didn't look back, nor did he hesitate. He had one last glance at the shabby place he'd called home for so long, but there was no sadness in his eyes; just cold determination.
Without a second thought, Oliver sprinted toward the city's outer wall, his destination clear in his mind. The city gate was a death trap, heavily guarded. But the wall... that was another story. It had been neglected for years, crumbling in places, with gaping holes scattered along its length. Some of the holes were small enough to only allow a hand through, but others were wide enough for a person to slip through unnoticed.
He kept running until he found one of the larger breaches. Slipping through, he took a deep breath of the fresh air outside the city. He had made it out, but the relief was short-lived. The question still gnawed at him: How had they found out?
"I didn't think anyone survived that ambush... could it be that someone escaped my arrow?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. It didn't seem possible, but something had gone wrong.
---
Meanwhile, Tom lounged in a steaming hot spring, the warm water easing the tension from his muscles. He sipped a glass of wine, eyes closed, listening to the quiet murmurs of his subordinates around him.
"Have you confirmed it?" he asked lazily, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Yes, he's fled the city," one of his men reported, standing at attention. "Was it really necessary to let him go?"
Tom smirked. "Of course. It's all part of the plan. Now the elves will have to deal with him."
"Do you really think they'll turn on him?" the subordinate asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Tom's smile widened. "They already have. It's amusing, really. All it took was a single arrow that hit one of their own, and suddenly, the elves distrust him. Such a powerful ally, cast aside so easily. I can't understand how such a fragile race has survived this long."
The subordinate shifted uncomfortably. "What's our next move, boss?"
Tom waved a hand dismissively. "You? You don't need to do anything. Just keep the nobles happy, especially the ones next door. Make sure they either support us in the war against the elves or solidify trade with their families. At the very least, they should walk away thinking the Black Crow is a powerful and prosperous enterprise."
The subordinate nodded. "Understood. I'll make sure they see just enough of the city."
"Not too much, though. Keep it balanced."
"Of course," the man said before retreating from the room.
---
Back in the elven camp, tensions were running high. "Has Oliver left the city?" a figure asked from the shadows.
"Yes, it seems he's been driven out. But… could the information be wrong?" the scout replied hesitantly.
"Even if there's doubt, we can't take any chances. We must be prepared for his defection. Ready the soldiers. When he arrives, we'll know for sure."
"Yes," the scout answered, still puzzled by the order but obedient nonetheless.
---
In the forest outside the city, Oliver walked aimlessly, his mind racing. His home was lost, and the elves were nowhere to be found. He had no allies nearby, no safe havens left. His best chance was to disappear, but even that seemed increasingly difficult.
He scratched his head, glancing up at the sky. "Wasn't it sunny just a moment ago?"
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew through the trees, tousling his hair. The sky had darkened, and an ominous feeling settled over him. This was far from over. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, was closing in on him.