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Chapter 17 - Chapter 17 : The Ambush Among Thorns

As they trudged through the thick forest trail, sunlight trickling between the leaves like golden threads, Octavio groaned.

"How much longer, Fabale? Seriously, how many more days do we have to walk?" he asked, brushing a branch away from his face. "There's still no sign of the river."

Fabale, eyes on the map, didn't answer immediately.

Octavio stopped in his tracks, voice dropping into suspicion. "Hey... Fabale."

A beat.

"…Don't tell me we're lost."

Another beat.

"We're not lost… right? RIGHT?"

Fabale slowly looked up from the map, blinking.

"…Define 'lost.'"

Octavio's eyes widened in horror. "You don't know?! I knew it! I knew we were going in circles! We're going to be stuck in this forest forever. Our bones will be found next century—covered in moss—with a squirrel wearing my crown!"

Fabale burst into laughter. "Calm down, drama prince. We're not lost. I'm just… recalibrating."

"Recalibrating?? That's just a fancy word for guessing!"

"Trust me. The map shows we're close. We're heading north—once we hear running water, we'll know we're near the river."

Octavio crossed his arms. "If I hear a waterfall, I'm diving headfirst just to prove a point."

With a sigh and a smirk, Fabale tucked the map back into his satchel and resumed walking. Octavio grumbled, but followed close behind.

Somewhere between the trees, the forest whispered with amusement.

They weren't lost.

Not yet.

Octavio kept grumbling as they walked.

"…I'm just saying, if we don't find that river by tonight, I'm naming this place 'Forest of Doom and Blistered Feet'. What if we've passed the river without knowing it? What if it dried up? What if—"

Fabale chuckled, turning his head slightly to look back. "If you complain one more time, I swear I'll tell the forest spirits to drag you by the ankles."

Octavio narrowed his eyes. "You would make a deal with forest spirits, mosquito king—"

But Fabale's teasing expression vanished.

He heard it first: a sharp hiss in the air.

His instincts kicked in.

Without warning, Fabale spun around and lunged at Octavio, shoving him hard.

"Wha—!"

Octavio hadn't even registered what was happening when he found himself lying flat in the mud, dazed.

Just a heartbeat later—THWACK!

An arrow embedded itself deep into the trunk of the tree directly ahead of where they had stood seconds ago.

Fabale rolled across the ground on the opposite side, panting, his eyes scanning the trees.

"AMBUSH!" he shouted.

Octavio blinked in shock, the realization slowly settling in. "Did… Did someone just try to kill me?!"

"No time!" Fabale hissed, drawing his sword.

The wind rustled through the leaves again—this time, not so friendly.

Something—or someone—was watching them.

Octavio scrambled to his feet, clutching his sword tightly, and moved quickly to stand beside Fabale. Both of them were breathing heavily, hearts pounding in sync with the danger that now surrounded them.

Neither spoke, but a silent resolve passed between their eyes—

They would survive. And they would protect.

Whoosh—Thwip!

Arrows rained from the shadows behind the trees.

"Get behind cover!" Fabale shouted.

They dove behind nearby trunks, the bark their only shield against the invisible rain of death. Octavio pressed his back against the rough surface, adrenaline surging, jaw clenched.

"We don't have shields," Octavio hissed.

"We don't need them. Just stay alert," Fabale replied, eyes darting through the foliage.

Then—footsteps. Leaves crunching. Steel clinking.

Five figures emerged from the treeline. Clad in dark leathers, masked faces, swords drawn—they moved like trained assassins.

Fabale narrowed his eyes. "They're closing in."

The tallest one gave a signal. They split, surrounding the trees like a pack of wolves closing in on trapped prey.

Fabale exhaled sharply and stepped out, sword drawn. "Now…"

He glanced at Octavio with a dangerous grin.

"Now the real fight begins."

The five attackers rushed in—no warning, no words—just steel and silence.

Clang!

Fabale blocked the first strike, his arms rattling from the force.

Octavio's blade caught another, but stumbled a step back.

"This isn't training—!" Octavio shouted, breath ragged.

"No time to talk!" Fabale barked, parrying low and swinging wide to force space.

A third enemy came from behind. Octavio twisted, just barely ducking the blade aimed for his neck. A strand of hair fell. He didn't even feel the cut.

"Retreat while fighting! Keep heading north!" Fabale yelled.

The two princes broke from cover, swords flashing, dodging and weaving through the trees, never staying still. Their goal wasn't to win—it was to survive and escape.

"Left!" Fabale called.

Octavio pivoted, slashing at a man's leg—not to kill, but to slow. The attacker stumbled. That one second saved Fabale from a blow aimed for his ribs.

They ran again. Trees whipped past. Arrows followed.

Another attacker lunged. Fabale sidestepped and used the man's momentum to push him against a tree.

"Behind you!" Octavio warned.

Clash!

Steel met steel again. Octavio's arms ached. His breathing was sharp, wild.

Why does my body feel so heavy?

In training, I could fight longer than this…

Then he realized: This was fear. This was real.

"Fabale, keep going! We slow down—we die!"

The two didn't fight like princes now—they fought like cornered animals. Strikes were short, quick, aimed to disable and run. They lured two of the attackers into thicker trees where movement became harder.

One slipped. Fabale didn't hesitate—slashed the man's thigh, then shoved him away.

Four left.

"Split!" Fabale shouted.

They broke in two directions—forcing the enemies to choose who to follow. Two chased Fabale. The other two after Octavio.

But it was part of the plan.

Within moments, Octavio looped back—cut through a vine—and ambushed one of Fabale's pursuers from behind, catching him off guard.

"Nice one!" Fabale grinned breathlessly, barely dodging another sword.

Octavio's arms were sore, and his clothes were torn, blood running from a scrape along his forearm. But he stood firm.

Only three enemies left.

Breathing like hunted wolves, the princes stood back-to-back for one moment.

"You good?" Fabale panted.

"I've been better," Octavio answered. "But hey... We're still alive."

The three remaining attackers hesitated. These weren't just spoiled royals. They fought smart. They were dangerous.

Fabale stepped forward, sword raised. "We take them one by one. No running now."

Octavio gave a sharp nod—but in truth, his vision blurred. The earlier graze on his forearm had bled more than he thought, and every heartbeat throbbed inside the wound.

The first attacker lunged at Octavio, fast.

Clang! Octavio blocked it, but stumbled—his footing gave out.

"Octavio—!"

Too late.

A blade slashed across Octavio's side.

A sharp cry escaped his lips. He dropped to one knee, one hand clutching his ribs. Blood soaked through his shirt.

"Get away from him!" Fabale roared.

With a furious swing, Fabale struck the attacker's wrist, knocking his sword from his hand. The man staggered back.

Another enemy charged Fabale from behind.

"Fabale, behind—!" Octavio shouted, forcing himself up despite the pain.

Fabale twisted mid-parry, barely blocking. The blow still grazed his shoulder, slicing his cloak. He growled, eyes wild.

"Come on then," Fabale spat. "You want a prince? Then fight like you mean it!"

He rushed forward, feinting low then slashing across the thigh. The attacker howled and fell back.

Octavio stood, shaking, but raised his sword again.

"Still got two legs," he muttered. "I'm not dying here."

Just as one enemy closed in on him for the final blow—

SWOOSH!

An arrow flew out of the shadows.

THUNK! Straight into the attacker's upper arm.

The man dropped his blade and collapsed with a cry.

The last remaining attacker looked around, eyes wide with fear.

Another arrow landed at his feet—warning.

He didn't wait for a third. He fled—vanishing into the trees.

The forest grew still again.

Octavio's sword clattered from his hand.

"Fabale…" he whispered, falling to his knees.

"Octavio!" Fabale caught him before he hit the ground. "Stay with me. It's not deep—you'll be okay. Breathe."

But his eyes shot toward the trees.

That arrow hadn't been theirs.

Someone was watching.

Someone skilled enough to help without being seen.

"…Who are you?" Fabale whispered into the shadows.

Only the wind replied.

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