Under the shadow of the windmill on the north slope, six horses belonging to the Kantadar mercenaries stood tethered nearby. Their reins were loosely tied to a post, a symbol of the mercenaries' confidence that no one would dare challenge them.
Three mercenaries, each with a sword hanging casually from their waists, lounged by the windmill, watching the chaos unfold in the village below. They pointed at the burning houses, chuckling, and shook their heads in mock disappointment, lamenting that they weren't down there looting with the others.
High up in the windmill tower, only one of the mercenaries on guard duty seemed to care about his job. He stood by the window, his eyes scanning the distant landscape, while his two comrades in the corner dozed off, their heads slumped over in exhaustion.
Leon, crouching just beneath a small hole in the ceiling of the tower, carefully withdrew his gaze. His heart raced as he realized how close he had been to being spotted.
He and his two companions had been hiding on top of the windmill for hours, desperate and frustrated, unable to find a way out.
The night before, a dozen Kantadar cavalrymen had stormed the mill, taking control of the area. These weren't just simple village thugs or untrained raiders. These were professional soldiers, armed with bows, swords, and fierce determination. There was no chance the three young men could take them on, especially with so many skilled fighters.
Most of the cavalry had ridden into Selva village at dawn, leaving only six of them stationed in and around the mill. Still, Leon knew that challenging even six was suicide. He glanced at his two companions, Lohak and Azerien, who sat quietly, faces grim. Even if they managed to catch one mercenary alone, it would quickly turn into a three-against-six battle, and there was no way they could win.
"If only I had Olivia's skill in martial arts," Leon thought to himself, echoing Lohak's earlier sentiments.
Olivia, the golden-haired girl who lived in the village, had a swordsmanship so sharp and graceful that it seemed almost magical. Leon's heart sank as he thought about her. She lived down there, in the village now under attack. The sight of the cavalry raiding Selva haunted his thoughts.
As much as Leon worried for Olivia, he knew he and his friends were in no better position. Trapped on the top of the windmill, they could only watch helplessly as the village was pillaged. Lohak turned away, his face tense with suppressed emotion, unable to bear the sight any longer.
Leon sighed softly, hoping Olivia's exceptional skills would help her escape the horror below.
Suddenly, the sharp clatter of hooves broke the quiet. The sound came from not far away, and Leon's instincts kicked in. Quickly, he and his friends lay flat on the floor, trying to hide their presence from whoever was approaching.
The mercenaries outside the windmill turned their heads, their attention drawn by the newcomers. Three riders galloped up the hill, their horses laden with bulging bags. One of the riders carried a small brown-haired girl on his back, her mouth gagged with rags. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed helplessly.
"Why are you three back so soon?" asked one of the mercenaries who had been guarding the mill.
"The boss sent us to relieve you. We've had enough fun looting," sneered the leader of the trio, a pockmarked cavalryman. He dismounted with a grunt, pulling at his reins roughly.
"You sure got your hands full," remarked one of the mercenaries, eyeing the large bags. "Did this poor village really have that much?"
The pockmarked man scoffed. "Don't even ask. We scraped the bottom of the barrel. All the good stuff was taken by the Baron's knights. We're left with scraps; just a bit of oil and some junk."
As he spoke, the man's expression shifted into a smug grin. "But the knights weren't so lucky. Some people can grab treasure, but never get the chance to spend it."
This piqued the interest of the guards. "What happened? Did you run into some resistance?"
The pockmarked man chuckled darkly. "Yeah, we lost one of our men. Two of the Baron's men are dead, and a knight got his legs shattered. If the Baron hadn't pulled back in time, the poor fool would be dead by now. He's stuck in bed, groaning like an old man. It's a real mess down there."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucked, clearly enjoying the misery he was recounting.
"Wait, are you telling me a small village like this put up a fight?" one of the mercenaries asked in disbelief.
"More than you'd think," the pockmarked man replied, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the story. "I guess even a small village can have a bite."
Up in the windmill, Leon clenched his fists. A spark of hope flickered within him. If the village had managed to resist, maybe; just maybe, Olivia had made it out alive.
As the pockmarked mercenary began his tale, the few remaining men grew curious and gathered around to listen. His eyes gleamed as he recounted the story, savoring the attention.
"There wasn't any militia," he said, pausing dramatically. "It was just a little girl and an old man. They killed three of our men and almost escaped on horseback. The knight that got injured? He was knocked down by that girl."
The gathered mercenaries burst out laughing, shaking their heads in disbelief.
"Come on, stop exaggerating!" one of them jeered, while another added, "No way a little girl did that."
The pockmarked man scowled at their reaction. "Don't believe me? Go down to the village and ask yourself, smartass."
He crossed his arms, clearly irritated. To be fair, he would've doubted the story too if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The image of that blonde-haired girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing nothing but a simple corseted dress, stood out in his mind. She had single-handedly overpowered a fully-armored knight, a man who weighed twice as much as she did. And she'd done it with nothing but a sword in hand.
It was the kind of tale you'd expect to hear from a drunkard in a tavern, not from someone who had actually witnessed it. He still couldn't wrap his mind around how she had managed to cut down the knight's prized warhorse. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he silently thanked his luck that he hadn't been in her way when it happened.
Meanwhile, one of the other mercenaries, bored with the story, sauntered over to the brown-haired girl tied to the back of the horse. With a lewd grin, he patted her head and began groping her.
The girl let out a muffled cry, struggling in terror against his touch.
"Hey, hands off!" snapped the pockmarked man, slapping the soldier's hand away. "She's mine. I haven't even had my fun yet, and you're already trying to get in on it?"
The soldier backed off with a laugh, and the others joined in, chuckling as they scattered. One of them went upstairs to wake up the men sleeping in the tower. Soon after, they all mounted their horses and rode off, leaving the pockmarked man behind.
He tied up his horse and, without a second thought, slung the trembling girl over his shoulder like a sack of grain. As he carried her towards the windmill, he turned to one of his men and barked, "Go keep watch on the top floor, and you, guard the door. Don't worry, you'll get your turn when I'm done."
Laughing wickedly, he pushed the door open and disappeared inside the windmill with the girl. Her cries echoed in the cold air as he sneered, "Save your energy, girl. You'll be screaming louder soon enough."
Up in the windmill tower, Leon and his two companions watched silently as the group of six cavalrymen dwindled down to three. The rest had ridden away, leaving a much smaller force guarding the area. Leon couldn't hear the conversation below, but he could see the men splitting up.
One mercenary stood by the door of the windmill, casually watching the horses. Two others had entered the tower.
Leon turned to Liam, who cautiously peeked through a hole in the floor, scanning the levels below. After a moment, he raised a finger, signaling to Leon that there was only one man stationed on the top floor.
It was their chance.
Leon's heart pounded as he signaled to Brandon to get ready. They had been hiding on the tower's roof for hours, braving the biting wind, waiting for a moment like this. Now, with the mercenaries divided, this was their best shot to escape.
The situation had shifted in their favor: three mercenaries, scattered and isolated. One was keeping watch by the window, bored and unsuspecting. Another was guarding the windmill's entrance, and the last; well, he was clearly distracted, his cruel intentions towards the village girl echoing through the stone walls of the tower.
Leon tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, carefully adjusting it to keep it from making noise. He exchanged a quick glance with Brandon, and the two of them crept towards the edge of the tower's roof, peering down into the mill.
Below, they could see the lone guard by the window, lazily holding a bow. His attention was elsewhere, scanning the horizon with half-hearted interest. The terrified screams of the girl echoed faintly from below, accompanied by the sickening sound of the pockmarked mercenary's laughter.
Leon guessed that the assault was taking place on the second floor. It was too close to the top of the tower to be happening on the ground floor. He pointed to the distracted soldier below, gesturing to his companions that they should start by taking him out first.
This was their moment. They had the element of surprise, and they couldn't afford to waste it.