“Haah!” The crystallized handle of my ax caught morning light as I hacked through another wall of thorny vines, clearing a path for the others.

  The past three days had blurred together into a rhythm of walking, hunting, and sleeping under stars. We'd made good progress through the wilderness, though our supplies were dwindling faster than I'd hoped.

  "You know," Ragna said, wiping sweat from her brow, "I'm starting to miss those Spike-Tail Monkeys. At least they had the decency to attack us directly instead of making us fight through all this vegetation."

  Borric chuckled, his breathing steadier than it would have been a week ago. "Give me thorns over monsters any day. My daughter always said I complained too much about garden work. If she could see me now..."

  "She'd probably faint," Isolde finished, a rare smile gracing her features. "The merchant who once refused to travel without three wagons of comfort items, now sleeping on bare ground and fighting cliff monsters."

  "Three wagons were perfectly reasonable for a two-week journey," Borric protested, though his eyes sparkled with humor. "One for clothes, one for food, one for—"

  "For your collection of scented soaps?" I interrupted, recalling a story he'd shared around last night's fire.

  The group burst into laughter, even Isolde joining in. "They were therapeutic! Good for the skin after long days of ledger work."

  "Is that what we're calling it now?" Ragna teased. "Here I thought you just liked smelling like lavender. The tribe girls would go crazy over your scent, Borric."

  "See? There are tons of benefits in not smelling like some week-old boar like others," he shot back, earning another round of laughter.

  These moments had become fun and precious among us, giving us brief respites from the constant vigilance our journey demanded. Each of us had changed since leaving Seagard, and mostly in a good way. I found myself caring more about this world and about these people in ways soldiers cared for one another.

  They weren't just allies anymore; they were—

  Movement in the underbrush cut my thoughts short.

  "Down!" I hissed, but the attack came clumsily, almost apologetically.

  Men burst from the thorny bushes… if you could call them men. Gaunt faces stretched over prominent bones, clothes hanging loose on malnourished frames. Their weapons were pitiful. A rusty scythe, two hunting bows with cracked wood, farming implements sharpened to desperate points.

  The lead attacker, barely more than a boy, charged me with a pitchfork.

  “Uhh, what’s going on here, Thorvyn? Land people are so weird,” Ragna said from the side. The boy didn’t care to listen as he continued rushing ahead. His hands shook so badly I could have disarmed him blindfolded.

  I sidestepped his thrust, grabbed the shaft, and yanked. He tumbled forward, and I caught him by the collar before he could fall face-first into the thorns.

  "Ah, oh, shit! Please, don’t let go!" he whimpered, not even trying to fight back.

  Behind me, Ragna had already disarmed two others with casual efficiency. One swung a rusty sickle at her head; she caught his wrist, twisted, and the weapon clattered away. The man dropped to his knees instantly, as if he'd been waiting for an excuse to surrender.

  An arrow whistled past my ear—so far off target I wondered if the archer had aimed at all. I spotted him in a tree, an older man with arms too thin to properly draw the bow. One charge with [Leap] brought me to his branch. He didn't even flinch when I plucked the bow from his hands.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, fear etched across hollow cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

  The entire "ambush" lasted maybe thirty seconds. None of our attackers had fought with any real intent to harm. They'd moved like men walking to their own execution. I exchanged confused glances with my group.

  "Stop! Please, stop!" An elderly voice cracked through the morning air.

  An old man stumbled from the bushes, falling to his knees before us. His clothes might once have been fine—I could see traces of embroidery on his collar—but now hung in tatters. He prostrated himself completely, pressing his forehead to the dirt.

  "Oh Gods, this was such a mistake… Ugh… Y-young warrior, kill me," he begged, his voice breaking. "You can punish me for this. But please, let the others go! I- I forced them into this. The crime is mine alone."

  I looked at my companions again. Ragna lowered her club, confusion replacing battle readiness. Borric looked stricken. But it was Isolde who stepped forward, her bearing suddenly regal despite her travel-worn appearance.

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  "May I take this conversation, Thorvyn?" she asked me quietly. I nodded, curious to see how she'd handle this. She knelt beside the old man, her voice gentle but commanding. "Look at me."

  He raised his head reluctantly, eyes red with tears.

  "That was quite a disappointing ambush. I’d be scared for Thalassaria if it ever went to war with another nation, given the state of its fighting people. Unless you're no bandit," she said. It wasn't a question. "Tell me what drives good men to such desperate acts."

  The elder's composure shattered completely. He hesitated, eyes flickering to his group, before he swallowed. Between sobs, the truth spilled out like poison from a wound.

  "We're farmers," he choked out. "From Millhaven village, just over the northern ridge. It's only a few hours' walk from here…"

  Of course they were farmers. It was always farmers. I've yet to meet a banker or a tax collector in dire need of rescue. The cosmic distribution of suffering seemed unfairly biased toward people who grow food.

  He added, “A few weeks ago, a mage came to us... claimed he served Kaelan, the new king. Took over our church, turned it into something unholy."

  I frowned. Is he talking about dark magic? The Shaman had educated me a little about the vicious dangers of dark magic and advised me to stay away from it if possible. So it worried me just hearing those words. What was more worrying was King Kaelan's name in the same breath. Nothing good could come of this.

  Borric and Isolde exchanged glances, expressions hardening. Only Ragna remained unbothered, rubbing the back of her head. “Tell me more,” Isolde demanded.

  "W-well, he demands sacrifices," the elder continued. "Three travelers each week, or he takes three villagers instead. We've failed for two weeks. Six of our own have already..." His voice broke entirely. "Tonight he comes for three more. The children drew lots yesterday. My granddaughter..."

  He couldn't finish.

  The other men had gathered now, all on their knees, all trembling in fear. Something told me it wasn’t the fear of them being punished by me, but the fear that my punishment would stop them from saving their people, their brothers, their children. They were brothers, fathers, and grandfathers facing an impossible choice.

  "We saw your group," the elder managed. "Strong warriors, we could tell. But we had to take the gamble and try to fight. We thought... we hoped... Forgive us. These are not evil men. We're just... desperate. I’ll receive all our punishment for myself!”

  Isolde's face had gone pale, her hands clenched into fists. She stood slowly, turning to face us. "We need to speak. Privately."

  We moved away from the broken men, forming a tight circle. The moment we were out of earshot, I spoke first.

  "It's a trap."

  "Of course it's a trap," Ragna said with a shrug. "Most things are."

  Borric looked at her, surprise evident on his face. "That's... surprisingly insightful."

  Ragna glanced between us, casually testing the weight of her club. "When you hunt, everything is trap. Either you trap animal, or animal trap you. Same with people."

  Isolde blinked, studying Ragna with new interest. "That's actually quite profound."

  A bright smile spread across Ragna's face. "Thank you!" Then she leaned toward me, lowering her voice. "What does 'profound' mean?"

  A short silence fell over us as we exchanged glances. Then I sighed. "No, listen, I’m not joking. Their story's tragic, yes. But think about it. A dark mage who conveniently serves Kaelan? Who demands sacrifices? Right in our path?" I shook my head. "This screams ambush."

  "It does seem suspicious when you put it that way. But… those men aren't acting," Borric said quietly. "I've dealt with desperate people before. That kind of fear can't be faked."

  "Maybe not, but who says they’re on the plan? It might just be the Dark Mage luring us. We shouldn’t walk into whatever's waiting in that village." I looked directly at Isolde. "Our mission is to get you to Solstara alive. Not to fight every dark mage between here and there."

  "Every dark mage who tortures my people, you mean?" Isolde's voice carried an edge I'd rarely heard.

  But I didn’t give in. "Princess."

  "But,” she sighed. “Fair point, you're right. You're absolutely right. I've been forcing you into my battles since we met. Dragging you into dangers that weren't yours to face." She met my eyes. "I'm sorry for that."

  I crossed my arms. "That's not what I meant, Princess. You hired us to protect us till your destination. It’s our job."

  "Yes, I know that. Please, hear me out at least." Her blue eyes blazed with something between fury and determination. "It's not normal that my brother is conspiring with dark mages. What need could he have for such forces?" She looked into all of our eyes, her analytical mind working. "Dark magic requires terrible prices. It corrupts everything it touches. No sane ruler would risk it unless..."

  "Unless what?" Ragna prompted.

  "Unless he's being helped by these dark mages. Or unless he's planning something so terrible that conventional means won't suffice." Isolde stopped pacing, facing me again. "I'll leave the choice to you this time. We can walk away, continue to Solstara. But first, let me share my hypothesis."

  I scratched my chin, already knowing I'd regret this. "Go on."

  "Dark mages don't work for free. They demand payment in suffering, in souls, in things that damage the very fabric of any kingdom. If Kaelan is employing them, it's because he needs power quickly. Power enough to hold a throne he seized through betrayal."

  "Or power enough to sell to Erebia," Borric added grimly. "Dark magic would be quite the bargaining chip. Maybe, there’s a chance, he plans to give the Crown Jewel to the dark mages."

  Isolde nodded. "Exactly. Which means this isn't just about one village. It's about what I must be ready for in the capital, and understanding what my brother is willing to sacrifice for power." She looked at me again. "But you're right. It's dangerous. The mage could be beyond our ability to handle. So… what do you say we should do?”

  I looked from her resolute face to the broken farmers kneeling in the dirt, their eyes pleading for a miracle. My tactical mind screamed at me to walk away.

  But the sight of a granddaughter's name being drawn for sacrifice... Every instinct I had was at war with itself. Survival, or something more?

  What should I choose?

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