The air was heavy with tension as a vase crashed to the floor inside the house. Eric's eyes snapped towards the sound, but Ashley's voice cut through the silence once more. "You can take him away."
The soldiers closed in, their hands grasping for Eric's arms. He didn't resist, his eyes fixed on Ashley's frozen expression. As the soldiers dragged him away, Ashley's mask began to slip. She stretched out a hand, as if hoping to snatch Eric back from the jaws of fate.
But it was too late. The soldiers had already disappeared into the distance, leaving Ashley alone in front of their house. She covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes welling up with tears. Memories of Eric being taken away in the red rope played on repeat in her mind.
The house, once a warm and loving home, now seemed like a living crime scene. The thought of losing Eric was a wound that cut too deep, leaving Ashley breathless and broken.
A tiny voice pierced the air, echoing from within the house. "Mommy, Kyle broke the vase!" Tanya, all of three years old, complained loudly.
Ashley's expression transformed in an instant. She hastily wiped away her tears and forced a warm smile onto her face. "Shh, Tanya, you'll disturb the neighbors," she whispered, rushing inside to comfort her daughter.
Tanya looked up at Ashley with curious eyes. "Why are you crying, Mommy?" she asked, her tiny voice filled with concern.
Ashley's smile faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. "Oh, sweetie, Mommy just got some dust in her eyes from cleaning the house," she explained, her voice dripping with false cheer.
Kyle, two years old and blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, chimed in, "I sowwy, Mommy!" Ashley's heart swelled with a mix of emotions as she looked at her children.
"It's okay, Kyle. Just be more careful next time, okay? You could have gotten hurt," Ashley cautioned, trying to keep her voice steady.
Kyle nodded solemnly, his big brown eyes looking up at Ashley. "Where's Daddy?" he asked, his tiny voice filled with innocence.
Ashley's world came crashing down around her once more. She had not expected this question, and she struggled to find the right words. "Daddy... went to get some milk," she stammered, trying to sound convincing. "He'll be back soon."
The children, none the wiser, cheered at the prospect of their father's return. Ashley's heart, however, felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. She closed the front door, a sense of desperation washing over her.
"Who wants some exotic deer venison?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful, but her voice cracking with emotion.
The children cheered once more, their laughter and excitement a stark contrast to the darkness that had descended upon their family.
Eric's world was reduced to darkness as he was transported to the Battleground Territory, blindfolded and helpless. He was dumped from the cart like a sack of beans, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as the soldiers departed without a word.
Left to his own devices, Eric struggled to free himself. His hands were tied behind his back, making it impossible for him to remove the blindfold. With a surge of adrenaline, he dragged himself across the floor, using the wall to haul himself to his feet.
As he stood there, Eric's mind reeled with the rumors he had heard about the Battleground Territory. A village ruins, a common war site, and a place where only the strongest survived. He knew he couldn't afford to rest or think for too long. Any moment, he could become a victim of this unforgiving land.
Just as Eric was starting to lose hope, his wrist bounds suddenly came undone, as if slashed by an invisible blade. He ripped off his blindfold, blinking in the bright sunlight. The desolate landscape stretched out before him, with no signs of life for miles.
A wide wall loomed in front of him, with an entrance that led to the village ruins. Eric's eyes narrowed as he wondered what kind of people inhabited this godforsaken land. For a moment, he thought about trying to find his way back home, but a glance over his shoulder revealed nothing but an endless expanse of wilderness.
Eric's heart sank, and he knew he had to focus on survival. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges ahead. With a resolute stride, he walked through the entrance, into the unknown dangers that lurked within the Battleground Territory.
As Eric stepped through the gate, his vision began to blur and shift. The desolate ruins he had seen moments before transformed into a thriving village, teeming with life. Children laughed and played in the streets, while commoners went about their daily routines. Merchants hawked their wares at every corner, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.
Eric's eyes widened in astonishment as he walked further into the village. The sheer scale and beauty of the village left him breathless. The most striking feature, however, was the magnificent clock tower that stood at the village's center. Its towering height made it visible from anywhere in the village, and its intricate architecture seemed to defy gravity.
Eric couldn't help but compare this village to Amazon City. The contrast was stark – this village seemed to be the epitome of prosperity, while Amazon City looked dull and lackluster in comparison.
Eric continued his journey through the village, unaware of the interesting encounter that had just transpired nearby. Kiseki, a young boy with an infectious enthusiasm, had been walking alongside his grandfather. They had been sent to Battleground Village to request military support for their village, Ganja.
Ganja was the only village that knew about the thriving Battleground Village, and only a select few were privy to this knowledge. The story went that a man from Ganja had been cast into the Battleground Village by the old King of Amazon City. This man, a mighty swordsman, was said to have single-handedly transformed a battlefield into the village that now stood before them.
Kiseki's eyes had widened with skepticism as he listened to the tale. "Grandfather, that sounds like something straight out of a Lebo!" he exclaimed, referring to the popular comic books from Ganja.
His grandfather chuckled and said, "Speaking of Lebo, look over there!" He pointed to a nearby merchant, who was peddling a colorful array of Lebo volumes.
Kiseki's eyes lit up as he sprinted towards the merchant. "Star Latina, Grand Master, and... Oh! It's Lords of Justice Volume 17!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with excitement.
However, his enthusiasm was short-lived, as he realized his coin sack was empty. He turned to his grandfather with pleading eyes. "Grandfather, please!"
Kiseki's grandfather laughed as he walked towards his grandson. "Okay then, what do we have here?" he asked, eyeing the Lebo volumes.
The merchant smiled, launching into a enthusiastic listing of her wares. "We have Star Latina, volumes one through five, Grand Master, volumes one through three, and Lords of Justice, volumes one through seventeen!"
The merchant's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she continued, "And I have a wide selection of Lebo from other genres as well."
Kiseki's grandfather chuckled, "The boy's really into action-adventure stories." Kiseki shot the merchant a skeptical glance, his mind still fixed on the Lebo volumes.
The merchant's expression changed to one of realization, "Oh, is that so?" she said, nodding to herself.
Meanwhile, Eric's gaze had been drinking in the sights of the village, but his expression suddenly turned grim. Memories of all he had been taught about the Battleground Territory came flooding back. He remembered the warnings about the ruthless outcasts who inhabited this place.
"No matter how beautiful it looks," Eric thought to himself, "a home for outcast scum is still a home for outcast scum." He knew that in this place, it was kill or be killed, and anyone could be waiting to strike him down.
Eric steeled himself, knowing he had to adapt to the harsh realities of this place. "It can't be much different from hunting," he thought, trying to reassure himself.
Eric crouched in the bushes, his eyes fixed on the unsuspecting Mr. Miller, who sat on a floor mat in the backyard, engrossed in his Lebo series. Eric's hand instinctively went to the dagger in his pocket, his mind racing with the perfect moment to strike.
Miss Miller's house seemed like the perfect place to start his survival in the Battleground Territory. He had been watching the couple for a while, and he knew that Mr. Miller was a gentle soul, unlikely to put up a fight.
Eric's eyes narrowed as he prepared to pounce. But just as he was about to make his move, a tiny foot came crashing into his back, sending him tumbling to the ground.
A 12-year-old girl with pigtails, dressed in jean shorts and a white-themed top, stood over him, her eyes sparkling with innocent skepticism. "Why do you want to hurt Mr. Miller?" she asked, her voice firm but curious.
Eric's face contorted in a mixture of shock and frustration. His perfect timing had been ruined by this unexpected intervention. He glared up at the girl, his mind racing with the implications of this sudden turn of events.