"Which division are you from?" one of the blood-red armored figures rasped. The speaker was fully encased in crimson armor, with only a pair of equally blood-red eyes visible through the visor.
"We serve under Viscount Maxibert," the burly man replied, letting out a sigh of relief as he recognized the Shiloh accent in the armored man's voice. They were on the same side—or at least, that was his hope.
In times of national crisis, the people of Shiloh were generally united. The traitors they had killed earlier were Garrel infiltrators, fundamentally enemies.
"Viscount Maxibert? The southern lord?" the blood-red armored man mused. "Yes, I know of him. He's still resisting the Garrel forces and is even aligned with the Minister of Finance."
The burly man dared not reply. Maxibert's political allegiances had little to do with him. He had already decided—after this mission, once he received his payment, he would find a way to escape to another country. With his skills as an intermediate-level squire, he could carve out a promising future anywhere.
"You have potential. Interested in joining Crimson?" the armored man asked abruptly.
"Uh... well..." the burly man stammered, caught off guard.
Crimson had suffered heavy losses in recent years. The lower-ranked Red Teams were nearly wiped out, and even the elite Blood Teams had been reduced to just three squads, most of whom were promoted from the remnants of the Red Teams. Seeing such a promising recruit, the armored man was tempted to recruit him.
"Sir, I... I am, after all, under Viscount Maxibert..." The burly man had lost all his earlier bravado and stuttered slightly. The crimson-armored man before him was not the same deadly operative he had noticed earlier—the one who seemed like a mid-level knight squire. Lane's successful escape was partly due to the burly man's deliberate leniency. Just as Lane had no desire to clash with him, he too wanted to avoid conflict with someone stronger.
But the crimson-armored man in front of him was unreadable. The oppressive fighting energy radiating from the armored figure suggested he was likely a high-level squire.
"Are you refusing me?" A faint red light flickered in the armored man's eyes.
"Stop wasting time, Leyte! Don't let them get away!" Another crimson-armored man interjected, his voice clearer but carrying an undeniable authority. The rasp-voiced Leyte immediately reined in his killing intent.
"Understood, Casar," Leyte replied.
Although Leyte was the stronger of the two, he respected Casar's commands. It was precisely this dynamic that allowed their squad to remain one of the three surviving Blood Teams. On the battlefield, strength alone wasn't enough—strategy was essential.
"Where did they go?" Casar asked the burly man after calming Leyte.
The burly man licked his lips nervously and pointed southeast. "They went that way."
He had seen Viscount Lane's retreat direction earlier. The subsequent torture of the shadow guards was mostly for show, aimed at intimidating the surrounding soldiers. After all, these men were Leyte's private forces, while he was just a mercenary.
Leyte's earlier burst of killing intent had been terrifying. A mid-level squire might be held off by ten men, but a high-level squire could slaughter dozens or even hundreds. And that was just Leyte—there was also Casar and the rest of the Blood Team.
Casar glanced in the indicated direction and led his men off in pursuit. Leyte spat on the ground and barked at his men, "Move out!"
The Blood Team, like crimson arrows, darted through the forest with terrifying speed.
"Damn!" The burly man exhaled in relief once they were gone. "What kind of monsters are these guys? That killing intent was insane."
No one around him answered. The masked subordinates were merely private soldiers under Viscount Maxibert—they knew nothing about Crimson, one of Shiloh's most mysterious organizations. Perhaps their lord, Viscount Maxibert, knew a little.
"Viscount Maxibert is one of the largest resistance leaders in the south. There's no need to provoke him over one man," Casar said as he sprinted through the forest alongside Leyte. "The Minister of Finance isn't our concern, but Viscount Maxibert is. He needs every capable man he can get right now—every soldier means one more chance at survival."
Casar sighed. Every member of Crimson was fiercely loyal to Shiloh. Years of war, the loss of comrades, friends, and family had forged their unshakable hatred for the Garrel people and strengthened their love for their homeland. Viscount Maxibert was fighting on the front lines, unlike the decadent nobles in the capital who were busy hoarding wealth and preparing to flee.
As a Blood Team captain, Casar was well aware of the rot spreading through Shiloh's leadership. The king knew about the corruption exposed by the Blood Teams but was powerless to act. Their sole focus now was to defend their land.
Leyte understood Casar's meaning and fell silent, channeling his fighting energy to increase his speed. Their mission was clear: find the Garrel princess and secure a bargaining chip for their country's survival.
Dawn broke.
"Princess, we must move," Sir Lane said softly.
A short while later, Princess Angelina emerged from the cave, limping slightly. Her clothes were smudged with dirt, and her movements were slow. After resting for part of the night, she had recovered somewhat. Though her joints still ached and her legs were sore, she nodded resolutely.
"Let's go, Sir Lane."
Meanwhile, deep in the Bering Mountains, Caesar and Young Master Soren walked side by side. They had been in the mountains for two days. Their orders from Baron Kyle were clear: search for a royal carriage bearing the crest of the royal family and rendezvous with Garrel soldiers wearing black uniforms.
Two days had passed without any results. Despite their exhaustion, none of the 500 soldiers complained. Compared to fighting on the front lines, wandering the autumn forests was a preferable task. The cool weather meant fewer insects, and some soldiers had even managed to catch wild game for their meals.
That morning, Baron Kyle had split the troops into three groups: one led by Sir Will, one by Baron Kyle and Captain Monte, and the last by Young Master Soren and Caesar. They spread out in a net formation, combing the forest.
Caesar swung his longsword, cutting through branches blocking their path, while Soren chatted with him.
Caesar had hoped to encounter one of the legendary demonic beasts said to roam the mountains, but luck wasn't on his side.
"Demonic beasts are more intelligent than wild animals," Soren explained. "Some even have rudimentary magical abilities that let them sense danger and avoid it. With so many soldiers here, even ordinary animals are scared away—let alone demonic beasts."
Caesar sighed and nodded in acceptance.
Seeing Caesar's disappointment, Soren clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. One day, I'll take you to the Peters Territory's gladiatorial arena to see real demonic beasts—and maybe even magic beasts."
Caesar grinned. The two young men had bonded quickly, sharing stories, jokes, and the camaraderie of soldiers on a mission.