"Look, the fatty is still alive," sneered a lanky boy from the Kings Hand, his auburn hair hanging loosely as he pointed a crooked finger toward Delilah.
Marcus watched from the trees, heart pounding. He had seen them approaching too late—a group of four hunters, wooden spears in hand.
There were too many of them. He had managed to hide in a nearby thicket, but the hunters had spotted the fire, probably curious to see who had dared to camp so close to the gates of the pits. Marcus cursed himself for his carelessness.
He had thought no one would venture near the southern part of the forest—no man's land. Their wooden shelters were blatantly exposed in the clearing by the gates.
Delilah stirred awake at the commotion, blinking as she noticed the group scanning the area around the camp.
"What are you looking for? You're not alone, are you?" one of the hunters asked, edging closer, his voice laced with menace.
Marcus bit his lip, his mind racing. He hadn't had enough time to warn Delilah, and now he could only hope they would leave her alone.
She was defenseless—there was no reason to hurt her. And yet, a sickening sense of dread twisted his stomach, a creeping sensation that things were about to go terribly wrong.
"Please... just leave her alone," Marcus whispered under his breath, too far away to do anything but watch, hidden and helpless.
"Do-Jo, check the area," the lanky one commanded, gesturing to the biggest of the group. It was clear they were all from the peasant class—more skin and bones than flesh.
The food situation in the forest was growing worse by the day. Since joining Aziz, Marcus hadn't kept up with what was happening out there.
How had Aziz survived this long? he wondered.
Thinking about how Aziz lived in isolation, it made sense—he didn't need others.
Even the meat they ate... when Marcus had questioned him, Aziz had simply said there were animals in the tunnels, that he could find them.
Marcus hadn't pressed further—Aziz was touchy about the subject.
Do-Jo stomped around the camp, kicking sticks into the fire as he overturned their flimsy shelters. Meanwhile, the other two hunters closed in on Delilah, who had begun to complain, her voice shaking.
Marcus shut his eyes.
Once they see she has nothing, they'll leave, he reassured himself. They can't afford to waste time on a hunting trip. Just hold on, Delilah. They'll lea—
Slap.
His eyes shot open, the sound echoing across the clearing, cutting through the trees where Marcus hid. Delilah's face was frozen in shock, her cheek red and swollen.
The lanky hunter's hand was still raised, a twisted grin spread across his sunken features, giving him a manic, deranged look.
"Roof exiled you for stealing food, but you should've been killed. Greedy bastards like you shouldn't be alive." He yanked her hair back, forcing the teary-eyed girl to look into his eyes. "You know what I think this test is for? To get rid of leeches like you."
Delilah struggled in his grip, crying out for help.
Marcus turned away, shame burning in his chest. If he stepped in now, he would be forced to reveal his hand. He was here under orders from the Verdant Heart Sect to infiltrate the Order and bring them down.
If the Order discovered who he was, he would be killed, and the mission would fail.
It was already a risk telling Aziz who he really was. Despite being natural enemies, they had a common goal—to take down the Order.
On that, the Verdant Heart Sect and the Bloodcoil Sect agreed.
Marcus couldn't intervene now. To take on three grown men with spears without using martial arts would be impossible.
And the eyes of the supervisors were always watching. He couldn't risk it.
Yes, Marcus thought, trying to convince himself, for the mission.
Looking back into the clearing, Marcus watched as Do-Jo began tearing down their flimsy shelters, while the lanky one and the shorter, forgettable fellow started tormenting Delilah.
"Roof says you can't attack nomads! I don't belong to any faction! You can't do this!" Delilah shouted, desperation in her voice.
The lanky one merely sneered. "That idiot Roof is no more."
Delilah's eyes widened, and Marcus's heart sank at the revelation.
Roof is no longer head of the Kings Hand? The last time Marcus had seen him, Roof was left with a broken arm and foot after his brutal encounter with Aziz.
In that condition, Roof wouldn't be able to use his Schlieffen martial arts—he would have been left vulnerable, ripe for an overthrow.
Marcus grimaced, already piecing it together.
Roof had empowered too many peasants within his ranks, especially those in the King's Hand. A few of them had learned basic martial arts—enough to take him down in his weakened state.
You can't empower the people you oppress, Marcus thought darkly. You must crush their spirit completely.
Roof had forgotten this. Without his strength, he was just like the rest of them.
"Boss, look," Do-Jo called, holding up a pouch.
Marcus cursed under his breath—they'd forgotten to hide the bag of meat.
With a sick grin, the lanky one grabbed Delilah by her hair, dragging her across the dirt.
He struggled a bit under her weight, heaving as he pulled. "Prick! What are you standing there for like an idiot? Help me!"
The shorter one, Prick, jumped at the command, mumbling something under his breath as he hurried to help, grabbing Delilah's other arm.
She kicked and screamed, digging her heels into the ground, but it was no use. They dragged her closer to the fire.
Once there, they shoved her down.
"Look at you!" the lanky one spat, eyes burning with fury. "Do you know how many of us have been starving with no food? And here you are, gobbling it all up for yourself like a pig!"
Marcus's fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms. If they didn't let her go soon, he would have no choice but to intervene.
"Please! I didn't do anything! I'm sorry! I'll leave, you'll never see me again!" Delilah cried, her voice cracking.
"Too late for that, pig," the lanky one sneered. "I've seen you now, haven't I? Now tell me, who's helping you? You didn't hunt this yourself, not with your skills. Who gave you the meat?"
Delilah shut her mouth, refusing to answer, her tear-streaked face turned to the ground.
The lanky one's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "You know, after that so-called Ghost took us all out, we heard that Marcus escaped."
Marcus felt his pulse quicken, anger flaring up at the sound of his name. His fists clenched even tighter.
"Was it him? Hm? You and that bastard were close, weren't you?" The lanky one's words dripped with mockery, each syllable meant to wound.
But Delilah remained silent, refusing to betray either Aziz or Marcus. The weight of her loyalty pressed heavily on Marcus's chest, making him feel sick with guilt. She was enduring this for them—for him.
"Well," the lanky one said with a sick grin, "after we're done with you, seems like we'll be having roast pig for dinner."
The other two hunters exchanged uneasy glances. Do-Jo fidgeted with his spear. "Uhm… Boss, we ain't actually gonna eat her, right?"
"Of course not, idiot!" the lanky one snapped. He shoved Delilah roughly toward the fire and pointed at Prick. "Throw her in."
Prick nodded, grabbing Delilah by the arms again, and began dragging her toward the roaring flames.
The heat from the fire reached Delilah's face, her skin prickling as the flames danced closer. Her struggles grew more frantic, her feet scraping against the dirt, trying desperately to push back.
Marcus watched from the shadows, heart pounding, every muscle in his body tensed. He told himself to move, do something, but his legs felt like lead.
He remained frozen, rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as they inched her closer to the fire.
The mission comes first, the words of his master echoed in his mind. The mission above all else.
Then, just as the fire's heat began to scorch Delilah's skin, she screamed.
"MARCUS! GHOST!"