Chapter 2: The Fiery Mercenary
The road to Torren was rough, every step a painful reminder of his body's weakness. Leon gritted his teeth, pushing forward as the sun dipped below the horizon.
A warm breeze carried the scent of pine and distant firewood, mingling with the lingering smell of blood on his borrowed armor. His thoughts remained sharp, calculating his next steps.
I need power. Strength. Allies.
But first, he needed to reach civilization.
Just as Torren's distant lights flickered on the horizon, the unmistakable sound of clashing steel rang through the night.
Leon halted, muscles tensing. A fight.
Curiosity and instinct pulled him forward. Staying out of trouble would be the logical choice, but…
When have I ever been logical?
He approached quietly, slipping through the trees until the scene revealed itself—a lone woman, surrounded by four men, all armed and grinning like wolves circling prey.
She wasn't just any woman.
Fiery red hair cascaded down her back, her leather armor hugging her toned figure. A scar ran across one cheek, only adding to her wild beauty. She gripped twin daggers, her stance solid despite her exhaustion.
Her opponents were mercenaries—bandits, judging by their mismatched armor and lecherous expressions.
The leader sneered. "Come on, sweetheart. Drop the knives, and we'll make this easy."
The woman smirked. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."
She lunged first, daggers flashing.
Leon raised a brow. She's fast.
Her first strike carved across a man's chest, drawing a pained shout. She ducked under a sword swing, twisting her body with practiced ease, slicing another opponent's leg.
But it wasn't enough. She was skilled, but exhausted.
One of the mercenaries caught her by the wrist, twisting her arm. She grunted, dropping one dagger as another bandit swung a club toward her ribs.
Leon sighed.
Guess I'm not sitting this one out.
A Hero's Entrance? Not Quite.
Leon moved before he could second-guess himself. His borrowed sword cut through the air, severing the club-wielding mercenary's arm in a single stroke.
The man screamed, collapsing.
The other two turned in shock—only for Leon to bury his fist into one's stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The leader stumbled back, raising his blade. "Who the hell—"
Leon didn't let him finish. He stepped in, parrying the wild swing with ease, then drove his elbow into the man's face. The crunch of breaking bone was satisfying.
Blood sprayed as the leader hit the ground, unconscious.
The red-haired woman blinked, stunned. Then she grinned.
"Well, well. Not bad, stranger."
Leon flicked the blood from his sword. "You're welcome."
She scoffed. "I had it under control."
He smirked. "Sure. That's why you were about to get your ribs crushed."
Her eyes narrowed, but there was amusement in them. "Cocky, aren't you?"
Leon shrugged. "Confident. There's a difference."
She picked up her fallen dagger, twirling it between her fingers. "Name's Iris."
"Leon."
She studied him, tilting her head. "Not often you see a noble playing hero on the road."
Leon's smirk faded slightly. "Not often you see a mercenary taking on four men alone."
Iris chuckled. "Fair enough." She sheathed her daggers. "Since you so graciously saved my life, how about I buy you a drink in Torren?"
Leon raised a brow. "You don't seem like the type to offer gratitude."
She winked. "I'm not. But I am the type to pay off my debts fast. Keeps things simple."
Leon considered her for a moment. A skilled fighter, independent, and clearly hiding something.
Interesting.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get that drink."
As they walked toward Torren, Leon couldn't help but smirk.
His path to power had just taken an interesting turn.