'Martial law gripped the city.' The gates of Western Port were slammed shut, and no one was allowed to enter or leave. The harbors, usually bustling with activity, now stood silent under heavy guard. Ships preparing to set sail were ordered to drop anchor, while those already drifting into open waters were chased down and forced to return by the fleet. 'Cavalry patrols galloped through the streets and countryside', rushing to seal off every pass and outpost along the roads leading away from the city.
Wanted posters depicting 'the "Sons of Baron" and his accomplices' were dispatched by mounted messengers, carried at full speed to every neighboring county. The ink on the papers was barely dry, but already the net was closing. The 'hunt' had begun.
Meanwhile, chaos reigned within the towering 'cliffside castle', the heart of the city's power. 'High-ranking Kantadar nobles' were confined to their rooms by curt, irritable guards, none permitted to leave under any circumstances. 'Tension simmered' in every corridor.
The wedding had ended in catastrophe. 'The bride was missing.'
The disappearance was more than a mystery, it was a public humiliation. 'The Falcon family', one of the most powerful houses in the region, now found itself the subject of ridicule and outrage. Furious voices echoed through the grand halls as 'the Sallain family', relatives of the bride, hurled accusations of dishonor and betrayal.
But Count Falcon 'the master of the castle, seated on the throne at the head of the hall' had bigger problems than the wrath of his in-laws.
---
'BOOM!'
The doors to the great hall 'burst open with a deafening crash', their heavy wood splintering under the force. The two guards posted at the entrance were hurled backward like ragdolls, their armored bodies clattering noisily as they tumbled across the marble floor. Swords scraped against stone as the knights scrambled to their feet, red-faced and furious.
A 'black-robed wizard' stormed into the hall, his face twisted in rage. His 'gnarled staff' struck the ground with each step, the magic in its core humming ominously. 'Black-armored soldiers' followed close behind him, marching with cold, disciplined purpose. They fanned out, forming an aggressive line around the wizard, their presence a blatant show of power.
The air grew thick with tension as the 'foreigners from Atias' marched deeper into the hall, their actions reeking of arrogance. They carried themselves with a complete disregard for the authority of the Falcon family, 'trampling over the lord's domain without hesitation'.
At the foot of the throne, the captain of the guard gripped the hilt of his sword, the blade sliding from its sheath with a metallic hiss. His gaze burned with fury as he stared down the foreign soldiers, murder gleaming in his eyes.
Count Falcon, however, lifted a hand, signaling the captain to stand down.
Despite his growing anger at the disrespectful display, the Count knew better than to provoke these 'Attias mages'. He may have ruled Western Port, but these were not ordinary guests 'their coffers had funded his wars', and the sorcerers who accompanied them wielded powers not easily subdued. Worse still, their mentor, 'Piriano' had died under his roof. And the body hadn't just been found; it had been desecrated.
The Count clenched his jaw. 'He was in the wrong', and he knew it. That was why, despite their insolence, he let the soldiers pass without challenge.
"What is this?" but the Count still barked, his voice low and dangerous as he eyed the wizard and his entourage. "With all this commotion, are you planning to declare war on Western Port?"
His tone carried a warning. 'Even kings tread carefully around him', and a wizard from Atias, no matter how angry, would do well to remember that.
The black-robed wizard, 'Master Amon', gritted his teeth, gripping his staff so tightly his knuckles turned white. His dark eyes gleamed with fury, barely held in check. "I need answers, Count Falcon. And I need them now."
The Count rested his chin on his hand, leaning forward slightly, the flicker of a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Master Amon," he said slowly, "I have shown you 'more respect than you deserve'. Yet you barge into my hall, hurling accusations. Explain yourself, before I decide you've overstayed your welcome."
Amon's jaw twitched, but he kept his temper in check. "The 'guards' reported," he said through clenched teeth, "that the 'last visitors' seen entering the embassy were a young 'Kantadar noble' and his companions. I demand a full investigation. 'Every guest' you've invited must be questioned."
Count Falcon stifled a groan of frustration. He knew exactly who Amon was referring to and the mess left in that noble's wake.
"I've already 'sealed the gates' and searched the castle," the Count replied with a tired sigh. "I know who's missing." His tone hardened, bitterness creeping into his voice. "The ones your 'mentor, Piriano, entertained' have vanished into thin air, taking 'my son's bride' with them."
Amon's expression darkened. "Then they are the ones responsible," he hissed. "They killed Master Piriano and humiliated your family."
The Count's eyes narrowed as his knuckles whitened against the armrests of his throne. The mention of his son's bride 'stolen by the same group suspected of murdering Piriano' was a bitter pill to swallow.
It stung more than just his pride. 'He had met the so-called "Son of Baron" once before', and now he doubted whether the man was truly who he claimed to be. Had the young noble played him for a fool all along?
With a frustrated exhale, the Count waved his hand. "I've already dispatched 'cavalry to patrol the main roads' and ordered 'wanted posters' sent to the nearby counties. We'll catch them. One way or another."
Amon gave the Count a long, cold stare, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. But after a tense silence, he turned on his heel, his black cloak billowing behind him.
"See that you do," he growled, stalking from the hall with his soldiers close behind.
---
The embassy stood eerily silent as Amon entered it alone. The once-bustling chambers were empty, hollowed out by 'death and desertion'. His boots echoed against the cold stone as he made his way to his mentor's room.
Inside, 'Piriano's lifeless body' or what remained of it, had already been collected, leaving behind only a shattered ruin. Amon suppressed a surge of grief and fury, forcing himself to focus. He scanned the scene carefully, cataloging every detail with the precision of a seasoned investigator.
The door was 'ripped from its hinges', and the stone wall opposite had been blown apart, evidence of a powerful magical attack. 'For any ordinary person, such destruction would be unthinkable'. But Amon knew his mentor. Piriano was a master of defensive spells; 'under normal circumstances, this attack shouldn't have killed him'.
Something was wrong.
Amon knelt, tracing his fingers over the remnants of the shattered door. His mind raced, piecing together the events. This wasn't just 'an assassination' it was 'a statement'. The power used here was precise, controlled. Someone wanted Piriano dead, and they knew exactly how to bypass his defenses.
Amon's jaw clenched as realization set in. 'Whoever had done this wasn't just lucky with the strike, they were skilled.' This was no ordinary noble's whim.
The 'hunt was far from over'.
This had been a 'perfectly timed ambush', executed precisely when the mentor's protective spells were lowered, when Piriano was most vulnerable. 'Amon's sharp eyes scanned the room again', piecing together the grim evidence. The staff clutched in Piriano's dead hand, still dormant, spoke volumes. 'The spell hadn't even had time to activate', meaning the attack had taken Piriano completely by surprise.
There was only one explanation. The assassin had to know 'Piriano's habits' as intimately as Amon did, his routines, the specific moments when he let his guard down. 'This was no lucky strike.' It had been planned with precision.
And there was only 'one person' who could have done it.
"Corvis..." Amon hissed, his lips curling in hatred. 'He spat the name like a curse.'
It all fit. 'That treacherous little snake.' No ordinary slave could pull this off. The other slaves would never dare, they wouldn't even know where to begin. Bound by blood oaths, they couldn't harm their master without the curse taking their lives. But Corvis… 'Corvis had always been different.'
Even if the boy hadn't fired the killing blow himself, 'he was involved'. There was no doubt about it. He had been waiting for this moment for years, and 'now he had struck.'
It didn't matter whether Corvis acted alone or merely 'assisted the assassin.'
'He had to die.' There could be no mercy.
Amon's grip on his staff tightened. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he began to chant the words to a 'tracking spell' a contingency he had prepared long ago, for a situation just like this.
As the spell gathered power, the room shimmered with unseen magic, searching for traces of Corvis. 'A pulse of light rippled through the air', invisible to ordinary eyes, latching onto the magical thread left behind by the slave's departure. Amon's lips twitched as the spell 'found its mark', guiding him northward.
His eyes snapped open, filled with cold fury.
Without a word, 'Amon strode to the window'. Pulling a thin whistle from beneath his robe, he raised it to his lips and blew. The shrill, piercing note cut through the still night air, carrying far beyond the castle walls.
In the courtyard below, 'a Hippogriff stirred', its head rising sharply. 'The powerful beast stretched its wings and took to the sky', answering its master's call.
Amon wasted no time. He leaped gracefully from the window and 'landed on the Hippogriff's back' with practiced ease, his black robes billowing around him. The beast gave a mighty flap of its wings, soaring higher, circling above the castle like a dark omen.
"Tell 'Count Falcon' to send his men along the northern route!" Amon barked to the soldiers below. "Hunt them down!"
With that, the Hippogriff surged upward, and Amon spurred it northward, following the faint magical trail. 'The hunt was on.'
---
Far along the northern wilderness road, 'Leon and his companions slowed their pace', bringing their tired horses to a stop beside a small stream. Though the 'three noble warhorses' still had strength to spare, the 'two market-bought horses' lagged behind, their stamina nearly spent.
"We need to rest them, or they won't make it," Leon muttered, running a hand down his horse's neck as it snorted and pawed at the ground.
Brandon dismounted with a weary sigh, 'his dancer's veil finally pulled from his face'. "No choice; we can't push them any harder." He gave a rueful glance at the exhausted mounts. "These two weren't bred for this kind of pace."
Corvis slid off his own horse, patting the animal's side as it sagged, grateful for the break. "They were the best Liam could find on short notice," he said, leading the horse to the shallow stream to let it drink and cool its legs. "They'll hold up if we give them a bit of rest."
Leon nodded, but he couldn't help feeling the weight of time pressing against them. They had already 'abandoned their packhorse' earlier, leaving most of their supplies behind. They could only carry the essentials now, what little they could fit in their arms.
He glanced at Corvis, 'who had finally discarded the absurd dancer's outfit' and was now wearing a set of loose leather-and-chain armor; ill-fitting but functional. 'The armor had belonged to Liam', who had donned Leon's noble snake-emblazoned plate armor earlier.
Despite the oddity of the outfit, 'Corvis wore the ill-matched armor with surprising ease', adjusting it as if he had worn worse in the past. He knelt by the stream, running cool water over his arms and face, trying to wash away the grime and sweat of the escape.
Leon adjusted the straps on his own armor, glancing at Corvis curiously. "You're not from Atias, are you?"
Corvis gave a quiet laugh, brushing a damp lock of 'blond hair' from his eyes. "No, not originally." He looked down at the water as if remembering something distant. "Before I was ten, I was a 'Veranian'. But that kingdom's been gone for years. Atias crushed it completely. After that, the name didn't mean much."
Leon's brow furrowed. "Verania... Another 'conquered kingdom'," he murmured. "The Empire keeps swallowing up more and more land."
Corvis gave a nonchalant shrug, though his eyes darkened. "That's how it goes. 'Atias is a rising empire.' It consumes everything in its path." He led his tired horse into the water, letting the cool stream lap against its legs. "Sooner or later, they'll come for the rest of the world."
Leon followed, guiding his horse into the shallows to drink. "How strong is the empire now?"
Corvis smirked, though there was little humor in it. "Strong enough to make 'anyone with sense' afraid of them. They've already conquered half the known world, and they're not stopping anytime soon." He paused, glancing toward the horizon as if picturing the empire's relentless march. "The rest of us are just waiting our turn."
Leon nodded grimly. 'He'd seen firsthand what happened to those caught under the boot of Atias.' Entire kingdoms razed, their people enslaved or worse. It was a familiar story, one that haunted every free land that still stood.
'The blond boy turned toward Leon, his eyes flickering with an unspoken weight' as if he carried the burden of a thousand thoughts, yet could only summon a whisper from his lips.
"…'the empire is very strong," Corvis murmured, his voice carrying a quiet bitterness. "So strong it makes me despair."
He knelt by the stream, 'scooping water into his hands' and running it over the tired horse's coat, his expression distant. "My home, 'Verania', was no small kingdom. It wasn't that different from the Kingdom of Kantadar, really 'same size, same ambition." His voice lowered, as if the memory were too sharp to touch. "But the 'Empire' only sent 'one legion' to take us. Just one. And 'they crushed us."
Leon stood still, taking in the enormity of the words. "One legion?" he repeated, stunned.
Corvis nodded. "And they have ten more legions like that."
Leon let out a slow, disbelieving breath. 'Ten legions?' The math was chilling.
"How large is a legion?" Leon asked, though a part of him already dreaded the answer. 'The sheer organization and precision of the Atias Empire' hinted at an army far more advanced than anything he had seen before.
"I can't say for certain," Corvis admitted, his hands still moving rhythmically over the horse's flanks. "From what I know, a 'legion has about 20,000 soldiers." He paused, as if calculating in his mind. "But as a slave, I wasn't exactly given the freedom to ask about the finer points of military structure."
He exhaled and stared down at the stream, his voice dropping to a murmur. "But... in my memory, they were 'a sea of black armor' soldiers marching in endless ranks, as if they would never stop coming."
Leon ran a hand over his face, 'the weight of the revelation sinking in.' "So... '200,000 standing troops,' give or take." He shook his head, feeling the familiar ache of looming anxiety settle behind his eyes. 'Maintaining an army that large was no small feat' it required wealth, infrastructure, and ruthless efficiency.
"And that's just the regular troops," Corvis added, glancing at Leon with a grim smirk. "That doesn't count their sorcerers or mercenaries."
Leon let out a low whistle, his mind racing. 'This wasn't just a powerful army. It was a machine, cold, relentless, and unstoppable.'
Noticing Leon's furrowed brow, Corvis gave him a faint, almost reassuring smile. "Don't worry. 'Even the Empire wouldn't risk sending their whole army here.' There's no point for them to cross the dangerous ocean just to come after a place like this. 'You're safe."
"That's a relief," Leon muttered. "Though... 'you came across the ocean on one of their ships, didn't you?"
Corvis chuckled, brushing wet strands of blond hair from his forehead. "You catch on quickly. Normally, when people hear that, they think the Atias ships hug the coastline." He tilted his head with a sly smile. "You know the 'Kantadars refuse to believe the world is a sphere, right? They think the ground beneath their feet stretches endlessly flat."
Leon smirked at that. "And yet, here you are, proof that the 'world really is round."
Corvis's grin widened, but just as he was about to reply, 'his expression changed abruptly'. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, and his hand reached instinctively toward his back, fingers fumbling at the unfamiliar armor.
"What's wrong?" Leon stepped closer, eyeing him with concern. "Is something bothering you?"
"I... I don't know." Corvis's voice was tight with discomfort as he 'tried to undo the buckles' on the armor. "It feels like... something's burning back there." He winced, tugging at the straps. "Help me take it off, will you?"
Leon nodded quickly and stepped forward, helping him unbuckle the armor plates. 'Liam's armor', though useful, fit Corvis poorly; hanging loose in some places and pinching in others. Together, they wrestled the chest piece off and let it drop with a metallic thud onto the grass.
As soon as 'the armor was removed', Leon's eyes widened in shock.
'A glowing symbol' faint but unmistakableb had appeared on Corvis's back, 'etched into his skin like a branding mark.' It pulsed gently, glowing with a soft, eerie light.
"What the hell is that?" Leon muttered, stepping back to get a better look. He knelt by the stream, tracing the strange character into the wet mud for Corvis to see.
Corvis twisted around, staring at the rune drawn on the ground. 'His face paled.' For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on the glowing symbol in stunned silence.
"What does it mean?" Leon asked, his voice laced with worry. "Is it some kind of curse? Did Piriano mark you with it?"
Corvis swallowed, forcing a tight smile. "It's... nothing serious," he murmured, though his eyes betrayed the unease behind his words. "Just an old spell mark. A... reminder of things from the past."
Leon frowned, unconvinced. "Are you sure? It looks like something serious. Could it be" he hesitated" 'a death curse?"
"No, no," Corvis said quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing like that.' It's just... a leftover mark. It activated because of the magic I used earlier; probably a false alarm." He gave Leon a faint, reassuring grin. "I'll live.' Let's just... focus on getting out of here, alright?"
Leon searched Corvis's face for any hint of deception, but the boy's calm demeanor made it hard to tell. After a tense pause, Leon finally nodded. "Alright. If you say you're fine, we'll move on."
Corvis exhaled slowly, relief flashing across his features. He bent down to splash water over his back, hoping to soothe the faint tingling sensation left by the rune.
"Let's not waste any more time," Corvis said, shaking off the last drops of water. "We need to move."
Leon nodded, though the strange symbol lingered in the back of his mind, gnawing at him. 'Whatever it was, it wasn't normal.' But there was no time to press Corvis further; not now, not with Amon and the Atias soldiers surely closing in.
Together, they secured their gear and mounted their tired horses once more, guiding them away from the stream and toward the next stretch of wilderness. The night stretched endlessly ahead of them, dark and uncertain.
As they rode off, 'Leon cast one last glance back at Corvis', the faint glow of the strange rune still etched in his memory. He couldn't shake the feeling that 'whatever lay beneath that mark was far more dangerous than Corvis let on.'
With Corvis's armor securely back in place, the group waited patiently as the two exhausted horses recovered 'letting them drink, eat, and cool down'. They knew they had no choice but to slow their pace after the relentless sprint the night before. 'Their goal now wasn't speed, but endurance.'
This time, they set out at a 'steady trot', pacing themselves along the winding road northeast. Leon kept his gaze forward, but his mind remained restless. They had put significant distance between themselves and Western Port, and it seemed unlikely that 'Count Falcon's men' would catch up so soon 'especially not after the chaos that had erupted at the wedding.' Yet, something gnawed at him, a subtle sense of unease he couldn't quite shake.
As the road split into two paths, 'Corvis's horse slowed to a halt', drifting to the back of the group. His sudden stillness caught the others' attention. Leon turned in his saddle, eyebrows raised in confusion.
"Corvis?" Leon called, glancing back as the blond boy tugged on his horse's reins and came to a full stop.
The others pulled their horses around, watching as 'Corvis lingered at the fork in the road', his gaze distant, lips pressed in quiet determination.
"Thank you, all of you," Corvis said softly, his voice carrying a strange finality. "But this is where we part ways. There's something I need to take care of." Without waiting for a reply, 'he yanked the reins' and spurred his horse toward the westbound road. 'He was leaving.'
"Wait! You're not coming with us?" Liam called, a note of disbelief in his voice. "I thought we'd be heading to Orland together!" His heart sank at the thought of Corvis leaving so abruptly. He had hoped to express his gratitude 'especially for the care Corvis had shown his sister' during their time in the embassy.
'Corvis glanced back, his expression calm, almost distant.' "If fate takes me to the Northern Kingdom one day, I'll find you in 'Kossos County.' Until then… goodbye."
Before Liam could protest, Corvis nudged his horse into a brisk canter, heading westward without another word. 'The tired horse obeyed, as if sensing the urgency in its rider's heart.'
Leon watched in silence, his gaze lingering on Corvis's retreating form as he disappeared down the road. 'A strange regret tugged at him.' Over the brief time they'd spent together, Leon had grown to admire the quiet, sharp-witted young man from the east 'a boy who carried too much knowledge and sorrow for his years.'
'Corvis wasn't just skilled in magic, he had a rare understanding of the world, of empires and people, of things Leon had never encountered.' He had been a valuable ally and if Leon had more time, 'he knew he could have learned even more.'
But life was rarely that simple. Everyone had 'their own roads to travel.'
"Let's move on," Leon said, snapping himself out of his thoughts. He gave his horse a nudge and picked up the pace, urging the group forward. The others followed reluctantly, 'their mood quieter now that Corvis had gone.'
---
As the road stretched on, 'Leon's mind churned with questions'. Something about Corvis's departure felt off 'too sudden, too abrupt.' He ran the events of the last few hours through his head, trying to piece together the subtle inconsistencies.
'Corvis had known where they were going.' In fact, he had 'agreed to join them'. Why, then, would he leave so suddenly without any warning? 'And where was he rushing off to?'
It didn't add up. Corvis had been 'a slave imprisoned by Piriano', his movements restricted and closely monitored. 'What could be so urgent that it demanded he travel west; alone and in haste, right after regaining his freedom?'
And then it hit Leon.
'The glowing rune.'
The image of that strange, 'glowing mark on Corvis's back' resurfaced in his mind, sending a chill down his spine. The boy's demeanor had shifted subtly after the rune appeared, as though something had clicked into place, something he wasn't sharing.
Leon's jaw tightened. 'That mark wasn't harmless.' And now, he couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with Corvis's sudden change of heart.
'What was the boy running from or toward?'
---
Meanwhile, 'Corvis urged his horse onward,' the animal's hooves kicking up dust as they crossed a series of low, rugged hills. His 'sharp blue eyes' scanned the landscape restlessly, searching for the right terrain; a place where he could make his stand.
After cresting a steep ridge, 'a dense forest came into view', spreading out like a blanket of shadow across the land below. Corvis gave a small, grim smile and pulled the horse to a stop. 'This would do.'
He dismounted swiftly, grabbing his 'pack' from the saddle. 'Every move was deliberate.' The boy was running on borrowed time, and he knew it.
'He threw the bag over his shoulder' and sprinted into the forest, weaving between the trees with the light, practiced step of someone who had done this many times before. He needed to 'set traps, and quickly.'
"Explosion... shock burst..." he muttered to himself, 'rifling through jars and crystals' in his bag. His hands moved with precision, selecting the right ingredients as if following a mental blueprint. There was no room for mistakes.
Corvis 'yanked out a small shovel' and began to dig beneath the roots of a tree. He needed to bury the explosive crystals deep enough to trigger an impact burst but hidden enough to avoid detection. 'The plan wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.'
He had barely dug three shovels deep when the sound reached him 'the distant thunder of hooves pounding against the earth.'
Corvis froze, his heart lurching. 'They were coming.'
"So soon?" he whispered, his breath catching. He twisted around, scanning the edges of the forest with sharp, darting eyes. The rhythmic drumbeat of horses grew louder, rolling like an impending storm through the hills beyond the trees.
His fingers clenched around the handle of the shovel. 'He had no time left.'
---
Back on the road, 'Leon snapped the reins, urging his horse forward'. 'Something was wrong, he could feel it.' The urgency in Corvis's departure, the strange rune, the way he had scanned the horizon before leaving, it all pointed to something deeper.
"We need to hurry," Leon said, his tone sharper now. "I think Corvis is walking into trouble."
Liam shot him a confused glance. "You think something's wrong?"
"I don't know yet," Leon admitted, 'kicking his horse into a faster trot'. "But I don't like the way he left. And if my gut's right 'he's not just running away.' He's setting a trap."
"For who?" Liam asked, alarm creeping into his voice.
Leon's gaze darkened. "Whoever's chasing him.' And something tells me it won't just be soldiers."
The group 'picked up speed', hooves drumming against the dirt path as they pressed onward. 'They had to catch up with Corvis, before it was too late.'
In the distance, the dense forest loomed like a shadowy beacon, its dark canopy promising both danger and refuge. Leon urged his horse onward, a sense of urgency gripping his chest.
'Corvis had saved them before. Now, it was Leon's turn to return the favor.'