"Well, well, well," a voice drawled mockingly. "What do we have here?"
The moment the voice faded, a few figures emerged from the clearing not too far away. Their eyes gleamed with amusement and curiosity as they fixed their attention on Modret and Axel.
Sensing danger, Axel immediately tensed. Summoning the little strength he had left, he quickly stepped in front of Modret, his face set with apprehension. "Young master, please stand behind me!"
He gripped his short sword tightly, the blade gleaming faintly under the sunlight that filtered through the leaves. Though his small frame was slight, it radiated a fierce and unyielding might.
The three men's eyes lit up at his words. Modret felt the urge to roll his eyes. Now they were in even greater trouble. 'Why must you announce my identity as the young master? Can you not see these are bandits?'
Just as Modret had feared, the moment the men heard Axel call him "young master," their gazes sharpened. They immediately surrounded the two, their bodies brimming with killing intent.
"A royal, huh? How interesting," sneered one of them. "Just obediently come with us if you do not want your royal family to suffer needless worry."
The speaker was a man with a long, scrawny horse-like face, his expression full of delight.
Another, younger and broader man with dark brown hair and a sharply chiseled face, sneered in turn.
"Tsk, we should earn a substantial amount of wealth if we sell these brats. And this servant boy does not look half bad either!"
Hearing their words, Axel's eyes widened slightly. It was then he finally realized his mistake. His heart sank as he turned to Modret with an apologetic look. "Young master, please run. I will hold them off…"
Before Modret could even react, Axel lunged forward, his small frame looking minuscule compared to the three towering men.
Yet, as the saying goes, appearances can deceive. One moment the bandits sneered with disdain, dismissing him as nothing more than a child. The next moment, Axel's sword flashed. His blade cut cleanly across one bandit's ear.
Blood splattered onto his clothes, warm and metallic, and in that instant of shock, Axel moved again with catlike agility. His sword darted forward, the point biting into the exposed neck of the injured man.
A sharp spray of blood spurted into the air. The man's head tilted to the side, and within a heartbeat he collapsed lifeless onto the ground.
Modret was stunned. "So fast?" he whispered under his breath. He had not even realized when Axel's strike had landed.
"You!" the horse-faced man roared, trembling with rage. "You dare kill one of our members?"
His voice echoed with fury as he lunged at Axel. At some point, a dagger had appeared in his hand. Without hesitation, he thrust the blade toward the boy's chest.
Axel, still weary and light-headed, felt dizziness creep into his vision, yet he did not falter. He sidestepped, his small frame twisting with surprising grace.
With another swift motion, he raised his sword once more, his blade flashing toward the attacker's head.
Just then, a sharp voice cut through the tension. "How fierce!"
The moment the voice faded, a slender figure stepped out from behind the branches. His presence alone drew attention, his movements smooth and commanding.
Behind him emerged more than ten men, all dressed in the same rough attire of bandits. As he walked forward, a heavy, suffocating pressure radiated from his body.
Modret's breath caught in his throat. He had felt such power once before, when the maid who tried to assassinate him revealed her strength. His chest tightened. "An awakened…" he muttered, his voice barely audible.
The words of the awakened carried weight like a physical blow. Axel, who was mid-strike, suddenly froze. His body crumpled to the ground, his sword falling from his grasp.
'He is using the pressure of an awakened to seal our movements!' Modret realized bitterly. His limbs felt heavy, his chest tight, as though invisible chains pressed down on him.
Axel gritted his teeth, struggling fiercely against the crushing force. He raised his head with effort, his fierce gaze locking onto the bandit leader.
The slender man tilted his head, astonished. Despite the overwhelming pressure, the boy still managed to move faintly. His lips curled in amusement. "Young boy, what is your name? How would you like to be my second in command?"
He stretched out a hand and lightly brushed Axel's face. Yet Axel did not flinch. His eyes burned with defiance, his small body straining against the suffocating aura.
The slender man's expression shifted from amusement to mild disappointment. He shook his head gradually, then turned to his men. "Tie them up and bring them to the tents. In time we will find their family and sell them back, or perhaps offer them to other nobles."
Modret's throat tightened. Before he could react, rough hands seized both him and Axel. Ropes bit into their arms and legs. They were bundled and slung over the bandits' shoulders like sacks of grain, carried deeper into the forest.
…
After roughly an hour of walking, the bandits finally reached a secluded camp hidden within the trees. Rough tents formed a circle around a large fire. Smoke rose into the air, carrying the scent of roasting meat and simmering broth.
The two boys were dropped unceremoniously by the side of a tent, while the bandits joined the gathering. Laughter and loud voices filled the air, mixing with the crackle of firewood.
Axel had long since passed out from exhaustion. Modret, however, remained silent, his expression calm. He sat quietly as though observing, the flickering light reflecting off his face.
His long blue-silver hair spilled over his shoulders, catching the glow of the flames, making him appear almost ethereal. Beneath the curtain of hair, a faint smirk curved across his lips.
Hidden from the bandits' gaze, a small dagger gleamed faintly in his hand. He had concealed it beneath his robes from the very start, anticipating danger and preparing for the worst.
'As expected of this chaotic world. It is always wiser to have a second or even third plan prepared for survival.'
{They are looking!}
The sudden voice of the fairy rang sharply in his mind. Modret froze, halting the motion of his dagger against the ropes.
A tense moment passed before the fairy whispered again.
{They have returned to their meal…}
Modret exhaled softly, his breath steadying. He continued working the dagger against the bindings, the faint scrape masked by the noise of the camp.
Although the fairy could not physically interact with the world outside, Modret had devised countless ways to make her useful. She warned him, guided him, and even remembered the winding path they had taken into the forest.
{Truly too meticulous. Did you learn this from playing all those video games?} the fairy asked, half amused, half astonished.
Modret grinned faintly but gave no reply.
Time slipped by slowly. At last, with a final sharp slice, the ropes binding him gave way. His wrists throbbed where the fibers had dug into his skin, but he was free.
In such a situation, most would have chosen to flee immediately and secure their own survival. But Modret's mind worked differently. His gaze sharpened as his lips curled into a cold smile.
"Let the hunt begin," he whispered.
His figure blended into the darkness beyond the firelight, silent and unnoticed. The bandits feasted, unaware that one of their captives had already vanished, and that death now stalked them from the shadows.