The cold morning mist clung to the earth, swirling around the legs of horses and men alike as Adrian's company prepared to break camp. The embers of the night's fire still smoldered, casting faint glows through the haze, but already, the soldiers were moving with quiet discipline, tightening straps, checking weapons, and adjusting their cloaks against the biting wind.
Adrian stood at the edge of the camp, staring into the thick forest that lay ahead. The land was still, unnervingly so. It had been days since they had left the last village behind, and with each passing mile, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier on his shoulders. Somewhere beyond these trees, a town awaited them—one desperate for aid, threatened by forces unseen.
He had thought their passage through the woods would be uneventful, but the last few nights had been restless. The feeling of being watched had never quite left them. Shadows in the trees. The sound of branches snapping just beyond the range of their vision. The occasional absence of birdsong when there should have been life.
Nothing had attacked them. Not yet.
Otto approached, his heavy boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. "The men are ready, my lord. Scouts report no movement along the road, but they're uneasy. Some swear they saw figures in the trees last night."
Adrian exhaled through his nose. "They aren't wrong. We're being followed."
Otto didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly. "You think they're waiting for us to let our guard down?"
"Possibly." Adrian glanced back toward the men, who were finishing their preparations. "Or they're waiting for something—or someone."
His mind flickered back to the assassin attack from days prior. He had thought the attempt on his life was an isolated event, but paranoia whispered otherwise. Was this part of something larger? A coordinated effort? If so, who was orchestrating it?
Klaus strode toward them, adjusting the leather bracers on his forearms. "If we're being hunted, I'd rather face them in the open than let them pick us off one by one in this cursed forest."
Adrian gave him a knowing look. "And if they have archers hidden in those trees? You'd be full of arrows before you got a chance to swing that sword of yours."
Klaus smirked but didn't argue. Instead, he crossed his arms. "What's the plan, then?"
Adrian turned his gaze toward the road ahead, where the mist had begun to thin. "We keep moving, but carefully. Tight formation. No one strays from the group. If they want to test us, we'll be ready."
The order was given, and the column of soldiers fell into a disciplined march. The sounds of their footsteps and the occasional creak of leather and metal filled the air as they pressed forward. Adrian rode at the front, his eyes scanning the treeline, searching for any hint of movement.
The trees began to thin as they reached a rise in the land. Ahead, the landscape opened into rolling hills, with the distant sight of farmland stretching toward the horizon. The town they sought lay beyond those hills, hidden from view but drawing closer with each step.
Adrian allowed himself a moment of relief. If they could make it to the town before nightfall, they would have stone walls at their back rather than open woods. A defensible position.
Then, a sound.
A sharp whistle, almost like the cry of a bird, but wrong. Too deliberate.
"Ambush!"
The warning barely left Adrian's lips before the first arrows struck.
The soldier beside him cried out, clutching at the shaft that had buried itself in his shoulder. Another man fell backward, his horse rearing in panic.
"Shields up!" Otto bellowed, his sword flashing as he deflected an incoming arrow.
The soldiers reacted with well-practiced discipline, raising shields and forming a protective line, but the enemy was nowhere to be seen. The attack had come from the woods behind them.
Adrian spun his horse, his heart pounding. This was no random raid. Their enemy had waited for them to reach the clearing, trapping them between the open land ahead and the treeline behind.
And then, figures emerged from the mist. Cloaked, swift, and deadly.
A dozen at first. Then more. Moving with precision, their weapons gleaming in the pale morning light.
Not mere bandits. Assassins.
Adrian drew his sword just as the first of them reached the line.
Steel clashed against steel. Cries of pain and fury filled the air.
The battle had begun.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron as steel clashed against steel. The enemy moved like wraiths, cloaked figures darting between soldiers with eerie precision, their blades seeking gaps in armor with practiced ease.
Adrian barely had time to process the chaos before a shadowed figure lunged at him. He raised his sword, intercepting the blow just in time, but the impact sent a jolt through his arms. His attacker was fast—far faster than he was. The assassin twisted, pivoting with an unnatural grace, and slashed toward his side.
Adrian stumbled back, parrying clumsily. His heart pounded, his breath short. This was nothing like training. This was nothing like the disciplined, methodical warfare he had once known. This was raw, vicious, and he was struggling to keep up.
Another strike. Another desperate block. His grip on the sword felt unsteady, his movements sluggish compared to the assassin's fluidity. He had learned the basics, drilled himself until he could hold his own against sparring partners, but this—this was different. This was real.
The assassin shifted again, faster than Adrian could react. A glint of steel, the whisper of a blade slicing through the air—
And then, suddenly, the attacker jerked back, a sword bursting through his chest.
The assassin let out a strangled gasp before crumpling to the ground, revealing Otto standing behind him, his blade slick with blood.
"You're too slow," Otto said, his voice firm but not unkind. He pulled his sword free, eyes scanning for more threats. "Stay close, my lord. You're their target."
Adrian clenched his jaw, frustration flaring within him. He hated being saved. Hated being weak. But there was no time for pride now.
All around them, the battle raged. His soldiers fought valiantly, but the assassins were ruthless, weaving through the fray with terrifying efficiency. Klaus was in the thick of it, his axe cleaving through enemies with brute force, while Otto cut down anyone who came too close to Adrian.
Despite their skill, the enemy had the advantage. The attack had been planned, calculated. If they didn't turn the tide soon, they would be overwhelmed.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Another signal.
And then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the assassins began to retreat.
They melted into the mist, vanishing as swiftly as they had struck. The battlefield fell eerily silent, broken only by the labored breathing of the wounded and the groans of the dying.
Adrian forced himself to steady his breath. His hands trembled slightly as he lowered his sword.
"They weren't here to wipe us out," Otto muttered, wiping blood from his blade. "This was a test."
Adrian nodded, his mind racing. "Or a warning."
Klaus approached, blood streaked across his armor, his brow furrowed. "If they wanted to kill you, they had the chance. They wanted you to know they were watching."
Adrian exhaled slowly. Whoever these assassins were, they had made their message clear.
The real battle had yet to begin.