"Run!" A shadow guard dragged Princess Angelina through the dense forest. His left arm was missing, leaving only a blood-soaked, dangling sleeve, and a deep gash stretched across his back, exposing raw flesh and bone. His black uniform was drenched in blood.
Princess Angelina, disheveled and breathless, stumbled alongside him. Her once neatly tied hair now flowed freely around her shoulders, and her elegant sleeves bore multiple tears. Although she was miraculously unscathed, it was clear her pursuers had intentionally spared her. Her pristine white boots, crafted by the royal capital's finest tailor, were now scuffed and worn. Her once exquisite gown, a marvel of craftsmanship, was shredded and filthy, now resembling nothing more than a commoner's linen tunic.
Only one shadow guard remained—this maimed and gravely injured protector.
Behind them, dots of red light glimmered in the darkness, signaling the relentless pursuit of blood-red soldiers. Among them was Leyte, his armor gleaming ominously under the moonlight, face exposed, and lips curled into a cruel smile. A shallow cut marred his left cheek, seeping blood and enhancing his terrifying visage in Princess Angelina's terrified eyes.
In Leyte's hand dangled a severed arm, still dripping fresh blood. It was a grim trophy from moments earlier.
The wound on Leyte's face was courtesy of Lane, the captain of the Garrel Shadow Guards. Despite being overpowered, Lane had fought valiantly, trading injury for injury and forcing Leyte to exercise caution. Yet Lane's fate was sealed—Casar was holding him back. Even though Lane had pushed his limits with forbidden techniques that drained his life force, the difference in strength was too vast. Casar merely needed to bide his time; Lane's vitality would inevitably run dry.
Leyte, meanwhile, had taken on the task of hunting down the remaining three escapees. He had already killed one shadow guard and torn the arm from the second, reveling in the sadistic pleasure of watching his enemies writhe in agony. Leyte could have killed Princess Angelina at any moment, but she was too valuable to harm.
The surviving shadow guard pushed himself to the limit, even using secret techniques meant only for low-ranking assassins. Yet no matter how fast he ran, Leyte followed effortlessly, like a blood-soaked specter of death.
The guard's chest heaved with exhaustion and despair. The sight of Leyte's red armor and the terror it inspired brought back memories of his brutal training days under the shadow guard instructors—days etched painfully into his mind.
Whether from the searing pain of his torn arm, the fear of Leyte's relentless pursuit, or the weight of those haunting memories, the guard let out a primal scream. "AHHH!" With a final surge of determination, he shoved Princess Angelina forward and pulled out a signal flare given to him by Lane.
"Run, Princess! Follow the signal!" he roared.
Princess Angelina was flung nearly twenty meters forward. She hit the ground hard but scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the flare's trajectory without looking back. The signal flare was imbued with a beginner-level magical missile—simple yet effective. She had seen these flares many times before in the royal laboratories.
"Oh? A breakthrough?" Leyte chuckled darkly, amused. The guard had somehow ascended to the level of a low-ranking knight's squire in his moment of desperation—a rare miracle on the battlefield. But even with this newfound strength, a one-armed, critically wounded assassin was no match for Leyte.
With a flick of his wrist, Leyte drew his blood-red scimitar from his waist and twirled it elegantly. "You lot, keep chasing her. Remember—not a scratch on the girl!" he barked at his subordinates. They nodded and sprinted after Princess Angelina.
The shadow guard launched himself at Leyte, fully aware of his impending death. Princess Angelina's chest tightened with grief as she ran, tears welling in her eyes. She remembered Lane's sacrifice, the brave shadow guards who had fallen, her childhood handmaidens—each loss a sharp dagger to her heart.
But there was no time to mourn.
As the blood-red soldiers closed in, Angelina remembered her teacher's words: "Every spell serves a purpose—be it for research or battle. A great mage must master their spells and adapt them perfectly to any situation."
She knew only three spells: Lighten, used to handle heavy beakers in the lab; Glow, a simple spell for lighting alcohol lamps or guiding her in the dark; and Cleanse, which she had secretly used the previous night to keep herself clean despite her tattered clothes.
"Lighten!" Angelina whispered. For the first time, she cast the spell on herself. Her body felt lighter, her steps quicker. While she couldn't match the strength of her pursuers, she could buy herself precious seconds.
A bright white flare shot across the night sky, its light outshining the stars. The magical energy pulsated faintly, drawing the attention of every living thing in the vicinity.
Lane, his body stiff and covered in blood, saw the light from afar. His veins were ruptured from using forbidden techniques, his muscles necrotic and rigid. He had lost nearly a third of his blood. His once youthful face was now aged and haggard.
But as he gazed at the light, a faint smile tugged at his lips. His eyes filled with determination.
Casar, standing opposite Lane, noticed the change. He sighed, understanding Lane's resolve. With a swift thrust, Casar's spear pierced Lane's throat. Lane stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing lifelessly.
Meanwhile, Caesar and Soren sat by a campfire, roasting a wild chicken. Around them, soldiers laughed and shared stories. Soren, ever the charismatic noble, regaled them with tales of Peters Territory, drawing enraptured stares.
Caesar, half-listening, focused on turning the roasting chicken. Years of field experience had made every soldier a decent cook.
But then—
A streak of light shot across the sky.
A meteor?
No.
Caesar froze, his eyes locked on the fading light. That was no ordinary shooting star.
Somewhere deep in the mountains, a desperate cry for help had just been fired into the heavens.