The captain clenched his fist and struck the ground with a loud thud, triggering a reaction in the environment. A cluster of fire tubes erupted from beneath the earth, directly under the mercenaries.
These fire tubes emitted dangerously high heat and scattered bursts of flame—but more importantly, they produced thick smoke that clouded the entire area, obscuring vision.
One of the knights shouted, "Formation! Battle ready!"
Another immediately echoed the command, "Battle ready! Enemy in sight!"
With that, all remaining knights moved in unison, encircling the enemy under the cover of the smoke.
Their armor gleamed faintly, despite its dull coloration. Each knight dragged their sword along the ground as they ran, both to ready their blades for a strike and to conserve energy by using momentum.
It was a clever tactic—but not without its drawbacks. Dragging swords dulled their edges quickly. Still, the tactic remained effective in combat. Their runed blades were enchanted to the point that even a glancing touch could kill—even their own wielder if mishandled.
Sir Robert, captain of the knights, lifted his hand from the earth and activated another spell: Haste Step, a mid-tier enhancement magic that made the body as light as a feather, enabling swift and agile movement.
He sprinted across the road and into the forest teeming with mercenaries, his hand still trailing near the ground. Determination filled his gaze—but beneath it burned unrestrained fury. Who dared to attack an imperial family? The most powerful bloodline on the continent?
His eyes blazed with a vow: not a single mercenary will leave this forest alive. He was tunnel-visioned.
Watching him, the princess felt a deep chill of fear. She had always known Sir Robert to be strict and relentless—a fearsome leader worthy of heading the Imperial Knights. But witnessing his wrath firsthand was terrifying.
She retreated into the damaged wagon, where Arabella quickly cast a soothing spell to calm her panicked master.
---
"Sir, something feels off," one of the knights said while cleaving through an enemy, her blade slicing clean through the man's neck. "Their tactics are decent, but they fight like amateurs."
Sir Robert, meanwhile, had already incinerated several mercenaries, their remains either reduced to ash or melted under the sheer heat of his magic. Yet, despite their surprisingly effective ambush, there was no follow-through—no proper resistance.
They screamed, they attacked, but their eyes reflected only greed. Money. Blood. Nothing else. They fought like they had no intention of surviving.
He sensed no illusion magic—just raw, desperate power from the mercenaries. No mind control. Which left only two possibilities: either they were paid so well they welcomed death… or something more disturbing.
Eventually, the knights eliminated the last of them under the smothering smoke. As the heat dissipated, they had a brief moment to rest.
Then a piercing roar echoed from the skies.
"Wyverns," Sir Robert growled, immediately turning toward the princess's last known location. "All units, fall back to the princess!" he bellowed, already sprinting toward the road.
He leapt over vines, burning those in his way to avoid being tripped. Fatigue gripped his limbs after the battle, but he pushed through it, stumbling at one point over large roots.
The princess is in danger. We must not arrive too late.
To lose her now would be unforgivable. His honor—his very identity—would be stained forever. Members of the imperial family were revered, second only to the Goddess herself. Failing to protect them was not an option.
He finally reached the forest's edge and spotted the road.
The knights who had formed a defensive golden sphere were utterly destroyed. Trees had collapsed on their bodies, and the remains of their formation lay broken.
Sweat dripped down his scorched face. The wagon had capsized. Its door was missing, and scorch marks marred its entire underside. It hadn't melted thanks to the protective rune enchantments from the sages—but that wasn't the worst part.
"Milady!" he cried out, rushing to the wagon, ignoring the pain as burned flesh met searing-hot metal. He searched frantically.
It was empty.
His pupils dilated, magic surging to his head. "Fire Cosmic," he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with rage as he fixed his eyes on a distant group of retreating wyverns.
Flames ignited beneath his feet and launched him skyward, leaving the rest of the knights behind. His only focus now was destruction.
Whoosh.
The air itself warped as the flames enhanced his body beyond normal physics. He streaked across the sky toward the fleeing wyverns, his body trembling with rage.
And yet—he was smiling.
A horrifying, twisted smile. One that promised death.
And that was the last thing the riders saw before their wyverns' wings were sliced out of existence.
The creatures lost control and plummeted to the ground, crashing in a fiery, fatal descent.
---
The princess survived—but not unscathed. She had suffered severe burns during the wyvern attack. Arabella supported her weight as best she could, though she herself was badly wounded and nearly immobile.
Worse still, they were lost. In the chaos, they'd failed to mark their direction or memorize their surroundings. Every tree, every vine, every leaf looked the same. The thick fog didn't help either.
They considered resting—but wyverns were ruthless predators. They could track prey from several clicks away and would catch up quickly if they stopped moving.
Thankfully, the forest canopy acted as a partial barrier.
They tried to navigate through the underbrush, attempting to stay on course. But the tangled terrain made even moving in a straight line difficult, worsening their situation.
Then, Arabella collapsed.
She fell to her knees, revealing a deep burn across her back. It sizzled like seared meat, blistered and raw. Elizabeth winced at the sight—but her discomfort didn't matter.
Arabella's condition was critical. Her eyes had grown hazy, and her breathing was labored.
"N-No… Princess… leave me," Arabella whispered weakly, her body crumpling.
"No. Let's go," Elizabeth said firmly.
With surprising strength, she hoisted Arabella's arm over her shoulder and helped her stand. Thankfully, Arabella was still conscious and responsive enough to walk with support.
Elizabeth's once-luxurious green dress was now brown with mud, ash, and holes. But her magic remained untouched—perhaps because she hadn't used it much.
She had only activated her senses once earlier, when she detected hostile magic signatures approaching. It had saved them then, and now, she decided to try again.
She was parched—likely from blood loss—but more worried about Arabella's worsening state.
Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Magic Sense."
A pulse echoed through her mind. The world turned to darkness, replaced by glowing outlines of magic signatures. She could see the distorted shapes of the trees—and then, a faint rhythm. A heartbeat. Then another. And one more—small, but magical.
"A fish," she murmured, eyes snapping open as she turned toward the source.
With newfound urgency, she dragged Arabella along, following the signal. There was no time to waste.