A multitude of scents filled the field as flowers of every hue blanketed the garden. The western sun cast golden rays over the valley, bathing the garden in vibrant kaleidoscopic patterns. Admiring the beauty were five women seated before a massive wooden lion sculpture adorned in beadwork.
"It has begun. The Great Choice," murmured an elderly woman, full of wrinkles and mystery, dressed in colorful Ndop fabrics and adorned with a sapphire rope necklace. She held a rose delicately, lost in a deep reverie.
At her words, the others turned their attention from the scenery to her.
"What do you mean by the Great Choice, Grand Sage Ajna?" they asked in unison.
Ajna looked at them with a cryptic smile. Her tiny eyes slowly closed, though the air of mystery about her remained.
---
"I said I didn't want to be involved in her plight, and yet you forced me to act," declared a young man as he plunged his dagger under Karat's arm and into his ribs. Karat shuddered violently in the mud, then went still.
Beside him lay two more corpses. One had a severed arm and deep gashes across his body. Flesh was torn, bones shattered, tendons sliced. The face bore an expression of disbelief. The other corpse had dozens of slashes and a sliced neck from which blood still spurted.
They were none other than Blood and Sinka, the mercenaries sent to kill the princess.
After arriving at the oak trees Sinka had identified, the trio had devised a strategy to lure out the princess and her companion. Eventually, their psychological tactics succeeded.
When confronted by the three, the young man had expressed his desire to leave—he had no stake in the princess's affairs. But his death was deemed necessary. Witnessing the murder of a princess would spell doom for the mercenaries. Karat insisted on killing him. A brutal clash ensued.
The princess stared at the corpses in disbelief. Given how the fight began, she had believed the stranger wouldn't survive. Grief had nearly swallowed her at the thought of another innocent life lost due to her misfortune. Never would she have predicted his victory. Relief and joy overwhelmed her as she dropped to her knees, sobbing.
"Thank you. Thank you!" she whispered hoarsely, only to realize he was already walking away toward the part of the forest she'd previously fled.
She rose and silently followed him. No words were exchanged. Only the forest's symphony of footsteps, birdsong, and running water filled the air.
An hour passed before the man suddenly stopped. The princess halted, startled. He approached a tree with a large patch of herbs growing at its base. Instead of using his hands, he took a dry stick and jabbed the herbs several times. His eyelids narrowed.
He used the stick to push aside the herbs—revealing a gruesome sight.
The stench of blood choked the air. Three bodies lay lifeless, limbs torn apart. One had blood oozing from all seven orifices. Their torn black clothes bore deep cleft marks.
The man glanced at the princess and saw her shivering, sobbing, mumbling to herself.
"Were they after you too?" he asked.
Who was this woman with so many pursuers? Their attire matched the mercenaries he'd just killed. Red paint still marked their faces.
The princess clenched her fists, weeping. "He's alive… He made it!" she cried, again and again, until her voice failed her. A quarter of an hour later, she calmed and noticed him watching with a strange expression. Embarrassed, she looked away. Never had she exposed this side of herself.
A rare smile graced his lips. But soon, it faded.
"Were they after you?" he repeated.
"Yes, sir. They were."
"Don't be so formal. Call me Teleu. Let me hunt for food. Then you can tell me what happened around a fire."
"Nice to meet you, Teleu. I'm Rel. Let's do as you say. I was hungry to death."
It seemed she had forgotten he almost abandoned her to those same mercenaries.
Later that day, the fire crackled cheerfully as two large rabbits roasted over the flames, sizzling.
"Finally, good food," Rel said.
"Right. All we're missing is a drink and entertainment," Teleu replied, seated cross-legged by the fire, occasionally stabbing the meat to check its doneness. "Where are you from?"
"The Gold Land. I was given a task in Ankh's capital. But after crossing the border, we were ambushed. My men were killed. That's how I ended up here," Rel said, a flash of pain in her eyes.
"Gold Kingdom, huh? That's my destination." He watched her across the fire. "At dawn, we'll exit the Botankeu Forest and cross into Gold Kingdom." He leaned forward and sliced a piece of meat, handing it to her.
Rel shrugged. "Whatever. What choice do I have? I need your protection, and you want information about the Gold Land." She happily munched the meat, grease dripping from her chin, completely discarding royal decorum.
"Straight to the point. Since we need each other, let's travel together," Teleu said, slicing himself a piece.
---
A chill permeated a small but lavish chamber where three figures stood locked in tense silence.
There was Cynthia Sichom—an elegant, regal woman with an air of authority. Her icy eyes glared at Notable Camara, a plain-looking man, and Rose Sichom, a striking young woman with night-dark skin and a figure of allure.
"Dost thou know why I summoned thee?" Cynthia asked. Her voice sent shivers down spines.
"Yes, my lady," Notable Camara replied, bowing. "It concerns the task young miss entrusted to me." His voice trembled.
"Explain what happened," Cynthia said as she settled into a luxurious leather armchair.
"Of course, my lady. We hired the best mercenary group to eliminate Lady Rel after she crossed into Ankh. They were to behead her as proof."
"Was her death confirmed?" Her voice grew colder.
"No, my lady. No proof was received. I tried contacting the group but failed." He looked pleadingly at Rose.
"Mother, we did what needed to be done," Rose said softly. She knew Camara well—no matter Cynthia's harshness, she had a soft spot for him.
"Ludicrous!" Cynthia snapped. "Thy task was simple yet thou failed. At dawn, King Donkeu learned of his daughter's disappearance. He was enraged. Canst thou bear his wrath? Worthless knave."
"No, my lady. I cannot."
"If my husband brings this up, the burden shall fall upon thee. Fetch me parchment. Then leave."
---
"I don't know what to do, Uncle."
A frail-looking, handsome young man, clad in ritzy Bazin clothes, spoke as his vacant eyes stared up at the ceiling. Sitting opposite him was a middle-aged man with a concrete jawline and a spade-shaped beard. His eyes gleamed with interest as he observed the young man's lament, sipping citronella tea.
"Is it about your father? Did he say something again?" The deep voice of the middle-aged man echoed through the chamber.
The young man sighed and looked at his uncle with lifeless eyes. "Yeah. I crossed paths with him this morning. As always, he failed not to call out the failure I am. I know I'll never be a great warrior—let alone reach his level—so why must he keep bringing me down?"
His voice was heavy with grief. The voice of someone who no longer saw reason to live. He took a sip of the tea before him, then stared back up at the ceiling.
A flicker of pity flashed through his uncle's eyes.
"Warfare isn't just physical. It's mental and spiritual too. Not being a warrior doesn't prevent you from becoming a warlord. I've said this before—you're one of the smartest juniors I've ever met. You have the potential to become a brilliant strategist. Unlock that potential, and you'll achieve greatness."
"Sure, sure."
The young man's demeanor remained unchanged, clearly used to these kinds of encouraging words. They seemed unconvincing to him—a lie he'd heard too often.
"Sigh… I know you don't believe me. But one day, you will. Anyway, what do you think of the current situation, Rachid?"
"The situation isn't promising, Uncle. From what I heard in the royal hall, we might be going to war. And we're targeting the largest kingdom—yet we have little to no information about their military force. Sure, we have the strongest army, but war is unnecessary, especially with the peace treaty signed 150 years ago. I can't understand his reasoning."
At the mention of politics, the once dull and lifeless Rachid was replaced by a youth full of vigor and interest. He spoke fluently and confidently.
His uncle, Abu, listened intently, falling into a brief trance. Two breaths later, he opened his eyes.
"You're right. There's no reason for war right now. I brought this up with your father, but he shut me down. There must be something we don't know."
"Right? A full-scale war against the Gold Land leaves us vulnerable to both the Ankh and Ace kingdoms. Why risk so much when victory isn't guaranteed? We need to act against these foolish decisions, Uncle. Abu," Rachid said, staring at him meaningfully.
Abu flinched at Rachid's words as if they had shocked his entire being.
"Never mention opposing the King again, unless you wish for our deaths," Abu warned.
"But he is—"
"STOP! It doesn't matter what he is. You know his temperament. He doesn't tolerate opposition."
They both fell silent. The room grew still.