The night was ablaze with chaos.
The sound of clashing steel and the cries of dying men filled the air as battle erupted across the Baron's encampment. The horn had signaled the arrival of another force, one that had no allegiance to either side in the tent.
But Njuwa did not care who they were.
All that mattered was escape.
"Move!" Nyoka's voice cut through the turmoil as she ducked a wild swing from a panicked soldier.
Njuwa barely had time to react before another attacker lunged at him. He sidestepped, letting the man's momentum carry him forward before slamming the hilt of his stolen sword into the back of his head. The soldier crumpled.
The prisoner, though battered and bleeding, fought like a man possessed. He disarmed one of his captors and used the stolen blade to cut his bindings, his movements sharp and desperate.
Jengo, panting and covered in sweat, looked frantically toward the tent's entrance, where the battle outside raged.
"The camp is in chaos," Jengo gasped. "We have a chance—"
But a familiar voice interrupted him.
"How amusing."
The Baron.
Even with the world around him falling apart, Baron Taziel remained eerily composed. He stood now, hands behind his back, observing them as though he were watching a game unfold.
"You surprise me, Njuwa," he said, voice as smooth as ever. "You had potential. Yet, instead of embracing power, you throw it away for an uncertain fate."
Njuwa clenched his jaw. "Power that comes from being your dog is worthless."
The Baron chuckled. "Is that what you think?" His dark eyes gleamed. "Then tell me, boy, what do you plan to do now? You stand at the crossroads of life and death. If you flee, you may die before you see another sunrise. If you stay, you could become something more."
Njuwa knew the offer was not out of mercy. The Baron was still testing him. Still playing his games.
And he was done playing along.
Without another word, Njuwa moved.
With all the strength in his legs, he lunged toward the tent's entrance, dodging past the distracted guards and bursting into the open battlefield.
The Camp in Flames
The encampment was unrecognizable.
Tents had been torn apart, fires raged, and bodies littered the ground. Shadows darted between the flames—warriors that did not belong to the Baron's forces.
The new attackers wore dark, layered armor, their faces hidden behind metal masks. They fought with brutal efficiency, cutting down any soldier who stood in their way.
Nyoka was right behind Njuwa, her dagger flashing as she slashed at a distracted enemy.
Jengo stumbled after them, barely avoiding a stray arrow that whistled past his ear.
"Who are they?" Jengo shouted, ducking behind an overturned wagon.
"No idea," Nyoka admitted, eyes scanning the battlefield. "But they just gave us a way out."
Njuwa didn't hesitate. He spotted an opening in the chaos—a gap between two burning tents that led toward the outer edges of the camp.
"This way!" he called, sprinting toward it.
They weaved through the mayhem, dodging past fighting warriors, leaping over fallen bodies. Every breath burned in Njuwa's lungs, but he pushed forward.
A soldier tried to block their path—Njuwa struck low, slicing across the man's thigh before shoving him aside.
The prisoner, despite his injuries, was keeping up, his expression grim.
They were so close—
Then, suddenly—
A figure appeared in their path.
The Demon in the Dark
He moved too fast.
One moment, the path was clear. The next, a tall, cloaked figure stood before them, his presence like a void sucking in all light.
His mask was unlike the others—black, smooth, and featureless, with only two glowing slits where his eyes should have been.
And the aura around him was suffocating.
A cultivator.
A strong one.
Njuwa's instincts screamed at him to run—but he was already moving. His blade flashed as he struck without hesitation.
But the masked figure vanished.
Njuwa's blade sliced through empty air.
Then—
A searing pain in his side.
It was like a shadow had passed through him. His body convulsed as he staggered backward, gasping. His vision blurred for a moment, the world spinning.
He barely caught himself before falling.
The figure reappeared, standing exactly where he had been a moment before. As if he had never moved at all.
"Interesting," a low voice murmured from behind the mask. "You have some talent."
Njuwa forced himself to stand, pressing a hand against his side. His fingers came away wet with blood.
The others had frozen, staring at the figure in stunned silence.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, the masked cultivator raised his hand—
And the air itself shuddered.
An invisible force slammed into Njuwa's chest.
He was thrown backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the remains of a broken wagon. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as pain exploded through his ribs.
"Njuwa!" Jengo cried.
Nyoka reacted instantly, flinging a dagger at the masked figure.
But he caught it mid-air.
With his bare fingers.
There was no hesitation.
No wasted movement.
Just absolute, overwhelming power.
The cultivator turned his head slightly, as if disappointed. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the dagger flying back—
Straight toward Jengo's chest.
Desperation and Survival
Jengo's eyes widened in horror—
And in that split second, Njuwa moved.
Ignoring the pain, he threw himself forward, slamming into Jengo with all his strength.
The dagger whistled past, missing them both by mere inches.
They tumbled to the ground.
But there was no time to recover.
The masked figure took a step forward, his presence like a crushing weight upon them all.
"This is a waste of my time," he murmured, raising his hand again. "You are not worth—"
BOOM!
An explosion rocked the battlefield.
The masked cultivator staggered, caught off guard as fire erupted near the center of the camp.
Shouts of alarm rang out as warriors clashed.
A new figure darted through the flames—a woman clad in deep crimson robes, her hands glowing with raw energy.
She locked eyes with the masked cultivator.
His head tilted slightly. "You."
Whatever she was, whatever power she held, it was enough to make even him hesitate.
And Njuwa did not waste the chance.
"Run!" he rasped, pulling Jengo to his feet.
Nyoka grabbed the prisoner and together, they bolted.
They tore through the battlefield, lungs burning, bodies aching.
But as they fled into the night, Njuwa knew one thing for certain—
This was far from over.
And the masked man would not forget his face.