We reached the edge of Havenwood Pass just as the sun dipped behind the jagged hills, casting the narrow road ahead in dappled twilight. The air grew sharper here, colder, as though the pass itself warned travelers away. This place was infamous, a name whispered like an omen among merchants and adventurers alike.
For good reason.
Havenwood Pass was the quickest route to Silverglade, one of the largest trading hubs in the Grand Duchy of Silvaria. But speed came at a cost. The terrain was treacherous—winding paths flanked by sheer cliffs on one side and dense, looming forest on the other. Bandits thrived here, predators of opportunity lurking in shadow, waiting to pounce on the unprepared.
Only the bold or desperate merchants dared to traverse it. Or the wealthy—those who could afford strong guards, reinforced wagons, and enough confidence to bet against the odds. Orlan, our client, clearly fit the latter. His wagons were solid, reinforced with fine dwarven craftsmanship, and his guards—while not the best—at least looked like they knew how to hold a sword. Yet even this didn't settle my unease.
I turned my gaze toward Orlan, who sat atop his lead wagon, reins in hand. He had the look of a man who trusted gold more than swords, but something about him was still… off. I didn't know what he was carrying in those wagons of his, but it was valuable enough to warrant assassins lying in wait for us earlier.
Assassins.
The memory flickered across my mind like a shadow across a flame. They weren't warriors—that much was obvious. Their combat skills were unpolished, laughable even when compared to knights or seasoned adventurers. But that wasn't what made them dangerous.
Assassins didn't fight. They killed.
They were masters of silence, of shadows, of striking when the world turned its back. Their strength wasn't in the blade itself but in when and how they struck. A-class adventurers, even Indigo core mages, could die before they even knew they were in danger—felled in one breathless instant. It was only because I forced them to reveal themselves that we had no casualties.
I flexed my fingers around the shaft of my spear, my thoughts sharpening to a point.
'Whatever Orlan's carrying is worth killing for.'
And that alone was dangerous.
I glanced to my right, where Evelyn walked a few paces ahead, her dark purple hair swaying gently with her movements. Her mana core was Indigo, her flow spellcasting a force most people would tremble before. But Evelyn, for all her monstrous talent, was still refining her strength. She was young—raw, even—polishing a blade that hadn't yet seen its full edge.
'If I hadn't been here,' I thought grimly, 'she might not have sensed those assassins until it was too late.'
I didn't share this thought aloud. There was no need. Evelyn was sharp enough to understand her limitations, and she was growing every day. But it gnawed at me all the same. Adventuring wasn't just about strength or magic or talent—it was about survival. And survival sometimes came down to instincts honed in blood and desperation.
Those instincts had been carved into me in my past life, burned into my very being by creatures far worse than assassins or bandits. Aliens. Towers. The unending war to save humanity. I'd lived through it, survived when I shouldn't have. That experience—both a blessing and a curse—gave me the edge no one here could match. Not yet.
Still, Havenwood Pass would be a good test. For both of us.
I studied Evelyn as she walked, her expression determined, her brows slightly furrowed as if lost in thought. Her cloak fluttered faintly in the breeze, and the faint glow of the setting sun cast a silvery edge to her hair. She looked serene, but I could sense the tension in her mana—a constant hum beneath her skin, like a harpstring pulled taut.
This mission wasn't just for Orlan. For her, it was a chance to grow—to carve a path forward, independent of her mother's legacy or my protection.
And for me?
'This is a stepping stone,' I thought, my grip tightening slightly on my spear. A step toward reclaiming the strength I once had.
To stand at the peak again.
To protect those who mattered to me.
The pass grew narrower as we continued forward, the path winding sharply like a serpent through the cliffs. The forest leaned closer, branches overhead forming a skeletal canopy that blotted out what little daylight remained. The wagons creaked and groaned beneath their loads, the noise strangely loud in the growing silence.
I scanned the treeline out of habit, my senses stretching far beyond what was visible. So far, nothing stirred. Yet.
"Lance," Evelyn said quietly, falling back to walk beside me. Her voice was low, serious. "Something feels… strange here."
I glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "It always does in places like this."
"No, I mean… more than that." Her dark eyes flickered to the trees, sharp and watchful. "It's too quiet."
She wasn't wrong. The usual sounds of the forest—birds, insects, the rustling of small creatures—had faded to nothing. Only the soft thud of boots on dirt and the creak of wagon wheels remained. It was the kind of silence that preceded a storm, the kind that made even the air feel heavier.
I slowed my pace, letting the others move a little ahead. Evelyn mirrored me without needing instruction.
"You're thinking about earlier, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft.
"The assassins?" I said without looking at her. "Yes."
"Do you think more of them will come?"
I didn't answer right away. My gaze swept across the treeline again, lingering on shadows that might've been nothing—or something.
"Maybe," I said at last. "But even if they do, we'll handle it."
Her brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded. "I know. I just… I don't understand why they'd send assassins after a merchant. Orlan's cargo doesn't look that special."
"It doesn't have to look special," I replied, my voice steady but quiet. "If someone's willing to kill for it, then it's valuable to someone. That's all that matters."
Evelyn slowed her pace just slightly, as if weighing my words. Her dark eyes flickered toward me, thoughtful but unshaken.
"Are you afraid?" I asked, tilting my head, my voice softer than I intended.
She blinked at the question, then smiled faintly, the kind of smile that could chase shadows from a room. "Well… I can't use my puppet magic here," she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "but no. I'm not afraid."
Her gaze met mine, clear and unwavering. "Because I have you."
Something in my chest jolted, a sharp, unwelcome pang that struck deeper than it should have.
'Because I have you.'
The words hit me like an echo from a different life, spoken in another voice—softer, sweeter, and long since silenced.
For a moment, the world around us felt like a blur. The trees, the path, the low crunch of footsteps beneath us—it all faded into a dim backdrop, as though time itself had faltered. I stared at Evelyn, her expression open and trusting, and yet all I could see was her.
The girl I couldn't save. The girl I failed.
I turned my gaze away, forcing my grip to tighten ever so slightly on the spear in my hand.
"I'll protect you," I said, the words slipping out before I could think better of them. They were automatic, mechanical—words of a promise I had already broken once, in a lifetime that still bled into this one.
The faint smile lingered on Evelyn's lips, but I didn't look back. I couldn't.
'Please… Evelyn.'
The thought rang hollow, aching in its silence.
'Don't remind me of her anymore.'
Her voice—soft, broken, but always trusting—lingered on the edges of my mind like a ghost I couldn't exorcise.
'I… don't want to remember her.'