Rena and Tharic had been traveling for roughly half a day, the warm glow of the sun slowly dipping toward the distant treeline as evening crept in. Their boots were coated in dust from miles of forest path, the scents of pine and damp earth lingering in the cooling air. Along the way, they had fought several monsters—mutated beasts twisted from familiar woodland creatures into grotesque shapes. Tharic took charge each time, eager to hone his growing skills, while Rena observed from behind, silently judging his form and focus.
Some encounters nearly overwhelmed them, especially against larger, stronger creatures whose snarls shook the branches around them. Other fights, Tharic handled with surprising control and precision. And so, with sweat slicked across their brows and scratches along their arms, they continued eastward, nearing the edge of Barkhill Forest.
By the time the sun sank low—casting long, golden rays across the path—they were searching for a place to rest for the night. That was when…
"Look over there," Tharic said abruptly, his voice tight with surprise.
Rena stopped and lifted her gaze. Up ahead, in a small clearing where the trees thinned, four merchants were held hostage by seven men clad in light armor. The men's most striking feature was the red paint streaked horizontally across their eyes like a mark of allegiance—or a warning.
Instantly, Rena thrust her arm out in front of Tharic, halting him.
"I don't like the look of this…" she muttered, her eyes narrowing, studying the strange formation.
"Let's spy from afar and see what's going on," she said.
Both slipped off the forest path, weaving between shadowed trunks. They crouched behind thick trees several hundred feet away, the rustling of leaves shielding their movements. From there, they quietly listened.
"The Second Order… what do you guys want? Don't you remember the pact that has been made?" one merchant asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"Of course. We are not here to harm you," replied one of the Second-Order soldiers, his tone oddly smooth for someone painted like a predator.
"Second Order, huh…" Tharic whispered, curiosity flickering in his eyes. It was his first time seeing them in person.
"We came to ask you a question. About a couple of criminals."
The merchant who had spoken earlier hesitated, then said cautiously, "Criminals? Which ones are you referring to?"
Another soldier stepped forward, pulling out three sheets of parchment. The faces of Rena, Kyro, and Tharic stared back at them in rough charcoal sketches. Beneath each drawing was a bounty: five hundred thousand gold coins for Kyro and Tharic, and a staggering one million for Rena.
At the bottom of each paper, bold and merciless:
"DEAD OR ALIVE."
"Ah, those three. We haven't seen any of them around," the merchant said.
Tharic's breath caught. "Word has definitely spread fast," he murmured under his breath.
"Wow…" Rena whispered, shocked as she stared at her likeness on the flyer.
"The boy with purple hair… I think I saw him get captured by Lord Tavin, flying toward the capital," one merchant added.
The soldier holding the flyers nodded slowly. "We were not aware of Lord Tavin's involvement. Nevertheless, this is good to know. If what you say is true, then be on the lookout for the other two."
As the merchants nodded, the soldier sliced open his wrist and used the dripping blood to draw an X across Kyro's face.
"I hope we find them first so we can get all that sweet coin!" one merchant said excitedly.
"You might want to hurry," a soldier warned. "Word is spreading fast. It's only a matter of time until they are captured."
"Tch, you have to be kidding," Rena whispered. "They're so quick to get rid of us even though we did nothing wrong."
Tharic looked at her, worry etched across his face. "How are people believing them so easily without realizing what they're doing?"
"I'm not sure. But something about all this… isn't right," Rena replied. "Something is certainly off."
A soldier stepped closer to the merchants and handed one of them a strange-looking conch shell.
"When you run into them, blow this. One of our men will arrive swiftly to take care of them," the soldier said, voice low and raspy.
The merchants nodded. The soldiers turned and marched north, toward Ironbark Capital, the red paint across their faces glowing like embers in the sunset. The merchants began whispering among themselves—just as Rena and Tharic exchanged glances behind the tree, preparing to discuss their next move.
"So what—"
TRIPP
Tharic's foot snagged on a thick tree root. He toppled forward, landing on his left arm and then his stomach afterwards.
THUDDD
The sound echoed like a hammer on wood.
"Did you guys hear that?" one merchant asked, head snapping up.
"What was that?" another said, startled.
A third pointed straight toward Tharic. "Look over there!"
"Oh shit… this is bad!" Tharic thought as he scrambled weakly on the ground.
All four merchants stared at him—his green eyes, his spear, his unmistakable face.
"It can't be… guys, that's the wanted boy! He has green eyes and a spear!"
"Blow the shell! Blow the shell!"
Rena unsheathed her katana in a single fluid motion and stepped from behind the tree, meeting the merchants head-on.
"If they blow that shell that will be really bad for us!"
"The samurai woman too! They're both here! Quickly, blow it!"
Rena glanced back at Tharic. "Don't you move. Let me handle this."
"But—"
She shook her head—no time for argument—before snapping her focus back.
The merchant lifted the shell to his lips.
And then—
SLICCEEE
In less than a heartbeat, Rena closed the distance. Her blade flashed like silver lightning.
Both of the merchant's hands hit the ground before he even realized they were gone.
"Fuck—someone grab the shell!" he screamed, collapsing to his knees as blood poured from his stumps.
Another merchant ripped a dagger from his pocket and charged at her.
CLASHH
Rena blocked his strike effortlessly with one hand, her katana steady as steel thunder.
"Forget the shell—just scream!" another merchant shouted in panic. "Before these criminals kill us like they did the First Order!"
"Tch," Rena growled.
She kicked the dagger-wielding merchant away, sending him sprawling across the dirt. "Do it," she warned, her voice cold as ice. "And watch what happens."
"Don't listen to her!" screamed the man with no hands. "Don't trust the savages that threaten our beautiful country!"
Rena's jaw tightened. Without hesitation, she raised her blade.
"What did I tell you she is about to—"
Before he could finish—
SHHHK—
His head separated cleanly from his body. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, splattering across Rena's face as the head rolled into the grass, coming to rest beside a wildflower patch.
The remaining merchants froze, fear paralyzing them. None dared move—not even to breathe too loudly—as they stared at the samurai who had dispatched one of them in a single stroke.
Rena flicked her wrist, slinging the blood from her blade before sheathing it with a metallic click. She glared at them, blood trailing down her cheek like a crimson tear.
"Anyone else dare to call for help?" she asked coldly.
Silence. Not a whisper. Not a footstep.
"Good. Now, if I hear one of you told them you found Tharic and me, you will end up just like him. Do you understand?"
All of them nodded violently, fear overriding any thought of resistance. Silence thickened the air like fog.
At last, the merchant with the dagger, still trembling, mustered a whisper.
"Why…"
Rena looked at the merchant, blood still drying along her cheek. "Hmm?"
He swallowed hard, voice trembling with a mixture of fear and genuine confusion.
"Why are you guys doing this? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
"Yeah, we do," Tharic said as he stepped out from behind the tree, cradling his left arm from his earlier fall. He tried to stand tall despite the ache gnawing at his shoulder.
"We are protecting the citizens' lives so they no longer have to have a meaningless death at the hands of their protectors."
The clearing fell into a heavy stillness. Leaves rustled overhead. The air felt thick.
Tharic blinked awkwardly. "Uh… was that not the correct line?" he whispered toward Rena, hoping the words had landed with more force than he felt.
"Meaningless?" one merchant repeated, baffled.
"The very fact that our lives go into the future of Sylmora—an everlasting, peaceful future—is what gives our death meaning," the man said, chest rising with conviction. "Those who don't understand our circumstance, the future we pray for… in the end, they are the ones who cry, failing to see the good being done."
Another merchant stepped forward, speaking more calmly, "Without the Order, aether hunters would be as ruthless and outlandish as they were back in the day."
"Study your history, study their purpose, and study the direction of our country before you try saving those who may not need to be saved," said the merchant, still holding the dagger, his knuckles white.
"While we appreciate your concern," he continued, "most of us in this country still hold hope for a bright future in the coming days. The Order will deliver that—something we all collectively believe."
He turned to Rena, bowing his head stiffly. "We will take our leave and not tell a soul that we found you."
Then he shifted his gaze to Tharic, "Not because we agree with the boy… but because we fear that if we do, our lives would be in worse danger than dying by the hands of the Order."
The group bowed deeply before continuing down the dirt path, their shadows stretching long across the ground as they headed north—toward Sylmora and the looming control of the Order.
Tharic clenched his fists, frustration tightening every line of his face.
"Damn it…" he muttered, watching them disappear into the fading light. He knew his words had failed to reach them.
Rena exhaled slowly, folding her arms as her gaze followed the merchants.
"Interesting…"
She turned to Tharic. "Do you remember what the old lady at Hosta said, Tharic?"
"Huh?" Tharic blinked and began piecing the memory together.
At last, Hosta sighed. "Very well. But understand this—I've lived long enough to see countless promises like yours. Many shouted the same words, but nearly all fell short. Some died, others gave up before even reaching the halfway point."
Her eyes dimmed with memory. "Even the best of the best—the only group that once gave Sylmora hope—perished and abandoned their cause many years ago."
Kyro clenched his fist. "Then I'll be different. Because I will do it."
Elaara shook her head. "Proclaim it from the mountaintops if you like, but words won't convince anyone anymore. People have suffered too long. Only results will."
Back in the forest, Tharic nodded slowly, recalling the weight of her words.
"When Hosta spoke of this," he said, "she implied that people have suffered too much and are tired of hearing another hero try to save Sylmora for the millionth time."
Rena nodded in agreement. "Exactly. But these merchants spoke as if people had never asked to be saved—and that we meddling won't change anything. Not that we would fail, but that people embrace the behavior the Order displays."
Tharic scratched his chin, brows furrowed. "Something's not adding up. Why do both of them have two different perspectives on what should happen in Sylmora?"
"Another question, yet no answer…" Rena murmured, her voice drifting into thought.
She let out a quiet sigh, gripping the hilt of her katana with her right hand. Her eyes sharpened as she stared toward the distant silhouette of Ironbark Capital, where the faint glow of lamplight began to pierce the dusk.
"But let us go," she said firmly. "There is no time to ponder. We must save Kyro quickly before anything else happens."
And with that, they set off—shadows merging with the deepening night—toward whatever truth awaited them next.