We had been riding two days since leaving the village. Just a day ago, we entered the woods. Inside, beautiful towering trees and thick underbrush stretched endlessly. Flowers and bushes were scattered everywhere, and the hunt had been exhilarating. I darted between trees, hiding among the tall grass, trying to take down animals one by one.

  ‘Wait here for a moment, my boy,’ Albaras said as he dismounted. ’Our targets are close, it won’t take long.’ With that, he vanished into the shadowed forest.

  His horse, Emachigo, stood calm. I gripped the reins, eyes scanning the dense woods.Why did I want to follow him? I hesitated. What was Albaras going to do?A sense of foreboding settled over me, but it only fueled my growing restlessness. I tried to sit still. I really did, but my leg kept twitching like it had a will of its own. This was my first contract. Did I really want to miss the sight?

  I made my decision: I would follow him. Before slipping into the underbrush, I guided Emachigo to a nearby tree and tethered him securely with the reins, giving his neck a reassuring pat. The horse remained quiet and still as I crouched low, moving cautiously through the foliage, my steps careful to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves.

  Six men sat around a small bonfire in a clearing, their figures half-lit by the firelight. Two sat in heavy plate, their helmets off, shields strapped to their backs. The rest were clad in mismatched armor: leather stitched with steel plates. Several had kettle hats pulled low over their eyes as they murmured quietly among themselves.

  One of the heavily armored men spoke up first, his voice overflowing with impossible hope.

  ’Well, just a few more days, and we’ll finally taste freedom, my little brother. We have collected enough for our disappearance.’

  The other knight shot him a smirk, leaning back slightly. ’First off, you’re only a few seconds older than me, so don’t get too proud. Second, it’s too early to celebrate. We haven’t even crossed the border yet.’

  ’Nobody’s stupid enough to come after us. We’re from an important family, too valuable to touch, too much shame for the county.’ The older brother grinned wider, as if to prove something. His tone brimming with confidence. ’We’re done fighting. After this, we’re free... little ribbon.’ He stood, taking his helmet under his arm. ‘After this we are free.’

  ‘Can you please stop calling me that,’ the younger brother snapped.His patience wearing thin as he shot a glare at the two men without kettle helms. He took a deep breath, shaking off his irritation. ’Both of you, grab your bows and take first watch.’

  The two men without helmets stood up, exchanging glances. One of them raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with doubt. ’Why are we on watch? Your brother’s the one who said no one would come after us, so why stand watch?’

  ’Maybe I’m not as naive as him.’ The younger brother retorted, his voice sharp. ’I’m not planning to be killed in my sleep. Now, stand watch.’

  Just then, a rustling from the tree line snapped their attention. Eyes locked on the darkness as they stood, weapons gripped tight.

  ’Is it a beast or are they upon us?’ one of them hissed, scrambling to his feet.

  Suddenly, a figure cloaked in deep purple stepped from the shadows, entering the flickering light of the fire. He lifted his shield from his back, set it on the ground, and leaned on it, his posture relaxed, unguarded. His voice was friendly—disarmingly so—breaking the tense silence.

  ’Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Albaras. Before we get bloody, anything you’d like to say?Any chance to talk it out?’ His gaze swept over the wary faces of his opponents.

  ’Talk it out? There’s nothing to talk about.’ The older brother retorted sharply as his grin disappeared, slipping his helmet onto his head with practiced ease using his non-sword arm.

  ’Why must you complicate things?’ muttered the younger brother, hastily pulling his helmet from the ground and jamming it onto his head.

  ’You must be the Gurrund twins.’ Albaras remarked with a slight chuckle. ’Am I right? And who are the others, your squires, lackeys, or just men with nothing better to do?’

  The older brother was easily recognizable by the feathers adorning his right shoulder plate, a mark of distinction among knights. In contrast, the younger brother’s armor was a dull white, appearing as though it had been layered with something, giving it an unfinished yet professional look.

  With lightning speed, the younger brother drew his weapon and brought his shield up defensively, stepping forward to position himself between Albaras and his older sibling. His brother followed closely, drawing his own shield, ready for whatever would come next.

  ’On the contract, it says the older brother’s the one with the feathers, right?’ Albaras quipped mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ’Wouldn’t want to make a mistake and kill the wrong one.’

  The Gurrund twins responded not with words, but with action. They moved as one, closing in on Albaras. One of the men with a kettle hat grabbed a mace capped with a spiked iron ball, while the other drew a cleaver sword. The remaining two notched arrows on their bows, waiting for a signal to let loose.

  As they closed in on Albaras, something shifted in the air. The air itself seemed to turn cold, pressing against them as if in warning. A chilling laugh slowly echoed through the night as if the dead were rising from the earth, almost demonic in its resonance, sending shivers down their spines. It felt like daggers, sharp and biting. The laugh defied description, low, melodic, and otherworldly. It oozed from Albaras′ armor like something alive, slithering through the slits of his helmet and wrapping itself around their minds. It lingered like an eerie specter, suffocating the air with oppressive unease.

  Albaras straightened abruptly, his shield still planted firmly in the ground as his hand gripped the head of his axe in a single motion. He hefted it with ease, lobbing it briefly into the air before catching the shaft. He stood unmoving, a statue carved from stone. Across the field, his opponents faltered. The knights glanced around, while the kettle helms ducked as if the laugh were smoke from a fire. The disturbing laugh echoed through the darkness, a sinister hymn burrowing into their minds, gnawing at their resolve. Unease gripped their movements as they scrambled to regain composure.

  Driven by panic, the younger brother charged. The older twin reacted instantly, burdened by duty, sprinting to intercept his sibling’s fate.

  Albaras seized the moment. Without hesitation, he hurled his axe.

  The older brother reacted instinctively, raising his shield just in time. The axe struck with a deafening clang, the impact ringing out in the tense air. It ricocheted into a gap in the younger brother’s armor, drawing blood. Beneath the droning laugh, the sound of grinding teeth cut through like gravel as he dropped to one knee, planting his shield in front of him for support and letting his sword fall from his grasp.

  The eerie laughter intensified, mocking, reverberating through the clearing like a taunting ghost.

  Undeterred, Albaras drew his sword in one smooth, decisive motion. The dark blade barely visible against the night sky as he lifted his shield from the ground. Every movement sharp, deliberate, he was a statue come to life, built for perfection.

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  The two men in kettle helms hesitated, their minds racing to prepare for a charge against the imposing figure clothed in purple.

  Meanwhile, the other two combatants, armed with bows, tightened their grips, momentarily emboldened by their advantage in ranged combat. They nocked arrows, drawing back the cords in a single, practiced motion, and released them in rapid succession, aiming to end the confrontation swiftly.

  The arrows whistled through the air, flying true. The older brother hoped Albaras would instinctively raise his shield, leaving himself open for another strike. But Albaras defied expectation. He stood unmoving, arms wide, as though daring the arrows to find their mark, welcoming the chaos with unnerving calm.

  The arrows slammed into Albaras’ breastplate with a harsh thud, but none pierced the metal. Seizing the moment, the older brother lunged upward, aiming for Albaras neck. But Albaras was ready. Tilting his head, his helmet caught and deflected the blade with a sharp clang. His laughter grew louder, echoing in mocking defiance. In one fluid motion, Albaras drove his shield into the older brother’s leg with brutal force, the sickening crack of bone followed by a pained cry as the man collapsed to the ground.

  The younger brother froze, one leg feeling like lead while the other remained pinned beneath the axe. His breath hitched in his throat, his wide eyes glued to the unfolding scene. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by a mix of pain and dread, as though the weight of the moment had stolen all control.

  The two archers, unnerved by the older brother swift defeat and that sinister laugh burrowing into their minds, hastily retreated. Meanwhile, the two men in kettle helms pressed forward with grim determination, each knowing one of them might have to die to bring down the thing before them

  They closed in around Albaras, who remained unnervingly composed. Without a word, he struck the older brother’s face with the handguard of his sword, a brutal, almost mocking blow that left a trail of blood. The chilling gesture of disdain hung heavy in the air as Albaras turned his cold gaze toward the remaining foes.

  The kettle-helmed man gripped his mace tightly. He moved slowly, eyes locked on Albaras and the forest floor, careful not to step on anything that might give him away.

  The kettle-helmed man swung his mace at Albaras′ helmet, the heavy weapon shrieking through the air. At the last moment, Albaras′ hand shot out and caught the mace mid-swing, his fingers locking around the metal head with an impossible grip. The blow halted, an inch from his face. To catch the mace head, Albaras let his shield fall to the ground. The last thread of thought holding the attackers together snapped. Confusion and fear flashed in his eyes.

  In that moment, Albaras moved. His sword sliced through the air in a brutal, fluid arc, cleaving through the man’s thighs with sickening ease. The warrior’s lower body crumpled to the ground. Blood pooling among spilled entrails, while his upper half dangled grotesquely, still locked onto the mace Albaras held firm in his grasp.

  Seizing the opportunity, the other kettle-helmed man lunged with his cleaver, aiming for Albaras’ neck. The blade struck hard, biting into the armor with a screech of metal before glancing off into his shoulder, slicing deep, nearly cleaving through.

  The sudden attack cut the laughter short, leaving only echoes that lingered for a moment, plunging the clearing into a suffocating silence, broken only by the ragged breathing of the lone surviving kettle-helmed man. His mind, shattered by the sudden stillness, struggled to focus on the task at hand, prying his weapon from Albaras shoulder.

  The older brother, his jaw shattered, legs broken, the beak of his helmet bent inward from the blow, clung desperately to the faintest hope. With trembling hands, he drew a dagger from his waist and began stabbing at Albaras lower leg and foot, his frantic strikes a final attempt to find a weak point in the otherwise unyielding armor.

  Albaras looked down at him and slowly lifted his leg. Then, with deliberate, crushing weight, he brought his boot down.

  His boot began pressing into the older brother’s helmet. The metal groaned and buckled. His screams stretched.

  Growing more desperate with each passing second, until a final, sickening crack ended it.

  Silence fell. Albaras lifted his foot, glancing down at the mangled body, no more than an insect crushed beneath his boot.

  The man who once wielded the cleaver watched in horror as Albaras attack unfolded, stumbling backward, unable to free his weapon from this thing’s shoulder. Albaras locked eyes with him. Before the fighter could flee, Albaras′ blade was already in motion, descending in a brutal arc that severed his head and part of his neck in one swift stroke, ending the fight.

  The younger brother watched in silence, his weapon slipping from his trembling hand as the overwhelming display of power unfolded before him. ’I surrender.’ he threw his sword away from him. His voice eerily calm, the helmet hiding his face, betraying no emotion.

  ’What did you plan to do with us?’ While his helmet was looking at Albaras it felt that his own gaze was drawn to the earth. His tone flat, a hollow void of emotion.

  Albaras glanced at him, sheathing his sword. He pulled the cleaver from his shoulder with unnerving calm and tossed it into a nearby tree with a casual flick, as if it were nothing more than a bothersome twig. Then, he retrieved the discarded shield, slipping it back onto his back.

  ’Now, Rederick, was it?’ Albaras’ voice dripped with mockery, the words deliberately slow, as if savoring the moment. “My axe... I think it’s time you returned it to its rightful owner.”

  With a pained grimace, Rederick retrieved the axe from his leg and tossed it in front of Albaras.

  At that moment, Kian emerged from the bushes, overwhelmed by the sight of bodies strewn across the ground. I froze, my chest tightening as a wave of nausea swept over me. I wanted to laugh to let out the horror clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it back.

  With Albaras’ poncho hiding my face, I felt a strange relief in the anonymity it offered. I clung to the fabric as though it could shield me from the scene before me.

  Rederick, however, paid no attention to his surroundings. His focus was locked solely on Albaras. Both men stood silent, their visors hiding all expression, stood motionless, locked in an unspoken standoff.

  ’Could you take off your helmet, dear Rederick?’ Albaras asked politely, his tone calm.

  Rederick hesitated, his gloved fingers curling around the edges of his helm as if debating whether to remove it. Then, he lifted it away. Dark, curly hair framed a youthful face, unmarred by scars. His piercing green eyes locked on Albaras, hatred simmering beneath an unreadable calm.

  ’Happy with what you see?’ he challenged, his lips curling into a defiant sneer.

  Albaras tilted his head slightly. ’Not surprised.’ His words came out as pure ice. ’I never thought you’d bear a scar.’

  A stench hit me, a rancid mix of blood, sweat, and death. My stomach churned yet somewhere deep within I liked it. I stumbled back a few steps, desperate to escape the thought of liking the smell of death. My gaze skittered away from the scattered bodies, though it kept trying to focus on them, as if drawn to it. It felt like I could smile at the sight. Voices filling my head to do it. Try not to listen. Try to feel.

  I wanted to leave the forest, I needed to, but I couldn’t just blurt it out. Instead, I asked, ’What do we do now? What are we going to do with him?’ I gestured weakly toward Rederick. Taking more steps back until I was barely visible. Focusing on the flowers. As I turned around, I started to focus on the smell of the forest itself let nature have me not the decomposing bodies. Even if they become later one with it.

  ’Please, don’t go after the others,’ Rederick pleaded, his voice breaking. The defiance in his face melted away, his eyes softening into those of a man begging for mercy.

  ’Why did you come?’ Rederick pleaded. ’We, we didn’t kill anyone. He just... we just wanted to be free.’ His words tumbling out in a rush as Albaras advanced, chuckling.

  ’You know, dear Rederick, your bounty is just three hundred coins, barely enough for a peasant, perhaps. I only wanted to talk’ Albaras said. He tilted his head slightly. ’It’s a shame I had to defend myself against you brigands.’

  Had it been mockery, or genuine regret? The answer lay hidden in his unseen yet oppressive gaze.

  ″You son of a whore,″ Rederick cursed under his breath. He was too afraid to confront Albaras directly, his devastation clear in his shaking form, unable to muster more than a whisper of defiance.

  Albaras approached Rederick, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. The air between them thickened, and Rederick’s breath grew heavy with the weight of resignation, his face pale and trembling in the grip of fear.

  ‘Only if you bury my brother and let the other two go,’ Rederick pleaded, his voice shaking, yet resolute. His body trembled, yet his words carried a weight of finality, as though he had already chosen this path, unwilling to do anything more.

  Albaras nodded solemnly. ’Take their smallest horse.’ He instructed Kian. ′I’ll tend to dear Rederick here and see to his dead brother. Gather any supplies we can use, then we’ll make our way toward Steep Castle, with a detour to the Gurrund land before returning home. ′His voice regained its usual, composed calm, almost as if the brutality of the recent events hadn’t fazed him in the least.

  As quickly as I could, desperate to leave the massacre behind. I fashioned a makeshift cloak from the clothes of the fallen kettle-helmed men, draping it over his ragged attire and face. To ensure the poncho would fit properly. As I worked, tattered fragments of his old costume fell away, melding with his new cloak. He retrieved a small bow from one of the horses and secured it to his mount, preparing for the journey ahead.

  As dawn light filtered through the trees and the last supplies were gathered, Albaras led Rederick from the blood-soaked clearing, signaling for me to bring the horses to the road.