Akagoan and Astraa raced with all the swiftness their legs could muster, the air alive with their sense of urgency.

  Akagoan, with surprising ease, took the lead, his pace astonishing Astraa, who had long prided herself on being one of the swiftest among her peers in battle. Not even Markon, equally matched in skill, could rival her speed. Yet, there was no time to ponder this unexpected contest, for the matter at hand demanded their full attention.

  As they arrived at Old Baba’s humble stall, Akagoan scarcely paused for breath before his inquiry came sharp and direct: “Has Vysag been here?”

  Old Baba, her expression laced with worry, nodded slowly.

  “Aye, he was. There was a dispute with some outsiders, and in hopes of avoiding any further trouble, he suggested they all move to the tavern. Some time passed, and then Sir Filic and those young ones from yesterday went in as well. But all I heard afterward were loud, unsettling noises. Beyond that, I cannot say what occurred.”

  Akagoan and Astraa swiftly made their way toward the tavern, urgency quickening their steps.

  Upon entering, they were greeted by a scene of chaos and destruction.

  Akagoan’s eyes darted toward Astraa, concern flashing across his face. “Astraa, are you armed?” he asked, his voice edged with worry.

  “No,” Astraa replied, her tone resolute. “My weapons are at the cottage, but we cannot delay. Let’s press on.”

  A sudden crash reverberated from above, shaking the very walls.

  “They must be on the top floor,” Akagoan surmised, and without another word, they rushed upstairs, driven by the peril ahead.

  Akagoan and Astraa ascended the tavern’s creaking wooden stairs with the force of a storm, each footfall resounding like a drumbeat heralding danger. The urgency of their mission reverberated through the very beams beneath them. When they burst onto the upper floor, a scene of grim devastation met their eyes—a tableau of broken bodies and shattered spirits.

  Scattered about were a handful of fishermen, their once-weathered faces now marred by agony, their limbs crumpled in defeat.

  At the heart of this grim assembly lay Vysag, the tragic center of this violent tempest. His breath, shallow and strained, spoke of wounds too deep for swift healing.

  With what little strength remained to him, Vysag wrestled against the weight of his injuries. His eyes, dulled with pain, flickered open for a fleeting moment, his voice emerging in a ragged whisper, thick with warning.

  “Akagoan…” he gasped, each word carrying the weight of impending doom, “gather the others… and flee. The Rhanda warriors… they are merciless… and they have returned for vengeance.”

  No sooner had these dire words escaped his lips than his body succumbed to unconsciousness, leaving only the heavy silence of dread in the air. The warning hung between them like a curse, pressing upon Akagoan and Astraa with the weight of destiny itself.

  Astraa, her heart weighed down with dread for her companions, rushed further into the room, her breath quick with worry.

  There, she found Flanco lying motionless upon the floor, his body a grim testament to the violence he had endured, marked with cuts and bruises that told the story of his suffering.

  Nearby, Lykaa and Amara knelt, struggling to sustain a faltering healing barrier, their own arms marred by wounds, evidence of the brutal assault they had faced.

  Akagoan entered behind her, his face a mask of deep concern as his gaze fell upon the dire scene. Fear clung to the air like a thick fog, growing heavier with each passing moment. The situation had spiraled into a nightmare, the tension palpable.

  Amidst it all, Sir Filic, overcome with fear, found his voice. His trembling words, quivering with desperation, broke the silence.

  "Please," he implored, his voice barely above a whisper as he knelt, clutching the feet of the imposing Rhanda warrior, Darron. "Enough of this. It has gone too far. If it is my life you seek, take it. But spare the others. I beg you." His plea hung in the air, a final, desperate attempt to halt the onslaught.

  In the midst of the fierce confrontation, the air seemed to crackle with tension. Astraa, her emotions aflame, stood before the marauding warriors, her voice sharp with both fury and concern.

  “You cowards!” she cried, her words cutting through the din. “Is this the strength you boast of—preying upon the weak and overwhelming the one who dared stand against you?” Her challenge hung heavy in the air, brimming with righteous anger and indignation.

  Without hesitation, she rushed to Flanco’s side, her heart aching at the sight of him battered and broken. Kneeling beside him, she spoke with urgent care. “Flanco, are you alright? You must wake up!” she pleaded, her voice trembling with concern.

  Through tear-filled eyes, Flanco met her gaze, his words broken by pain. “I’m sorry, Astraa... I tried... but I’ve failed. I’m useless. If only Markon were here...”

  Astraa, undeterred and resolute, gripped his hand, her determination unwavering. “No, Flanco,” she reassured him firmly. “It’s alright. You’ve done enough. I’ll take it from here.” Her words were a promise, brimming with the fierce resolve to protect her friends, no matter the cost.

  Astraa’s eyes burned with fierce determination as she stood her ground before Darron and his band of marauding Rhanda warriors. They had returned, seeking vengeance, their numbers now swelled with five more of their ruthless kind. Yet, despite the odds, Astraa’s spirit remained unshaken.

  Darron’s voice cut through the tension, his grin twisted with mockery.

  “Ah, just the ones I’ve been looking for—our cocky healer and the fiery maiden,” he sneered, his words dripping with contempt. “I warned you, didn’t I? You should have stayed clear of the Red Boulevard. Now, here we are. Taking your lives would be no trouble at all, and we won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”

  He paused, savoring his cruel authority before continuing, his voice laced with a sinister attempt at magnanimity.

  “But, I’m feeling generous today. You, healer,” he said, gesturing with a sneer, “have the same choice I offered these fishermen. Hand her over— the fiery one by your side—and we’ll spare your town. I might even put in a good word for Tadu.”

  His smirk widened, cruelty thinly veiled beneath the guise of a dark bargain.

  Darron’s menacing laughter rang through the chamber, filling the room with a sense of cold dread. Beside him, Floken joined in, his voice laced with dark amusement.

  “You may be a master of defense,” he taunted, “perhaps the finest I’ve seen. But even you cannot hope to shield them all—not against seven of us. Your choices are simple: surrender or die. The decision is yours.”

  The hostile warriors jeered and cackled, their vile intentions unmistakable, and the tension thickened like a storm ready to break.

  Akagoan, his face unreadable, spoke with unsettling calm. “So, you’re telling me that if I hand her over, you’ll leave?” His words hung in the air like a stone dropped into still waters.

  Astraa, caught off guard by his unexpected response, turned to him in shock.

  “Akagoan!” Her voice trembled, disbelief clouding her eyes. Could the one she trusted , truly be considering this vile offer?

  Sir Filic’s voice rose in anger, his tone thick with condemnation. “You fool! That girl trusts you with her very life, and you would betray her so easily?”

  Darron’s grin widened, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll honor my word,” he said, smug and assured. “You can have all your people back—so long as I walk away with her.”

  The room bristled with tension as his offer lingered, its darkness as palpable as the warriors surrounding them.

  “Send the old man over,” Akagoan commanded, his tone resolute.

  With a mocking sneer, Floken obliged, carelessly hurling Sir Filic toward him, clearly relishing the spectacle.

  “As if we would hesitate to keep the old man over that beauty,” Jace jeered, his laughter ringing out as he cast a derisive glance at Astraa.

  As Akagoan knelt to tend to Filic’s wounds, he noted that the injuries were but minor.

  Astraa stood beside him, shock etched upon her face as she grappled with his apparent indifference.

  “Akagoan, you fool!” Filic’s voice quivered with disappointment. “I am ashamed, you would simply allow them to take this innocent girl?”

  “I cannot be concerned with every random stranger I encounter,” Akagoan retorted, his voice devoid of warmth. “I have chosen the most prudent course of action.”

  His words struck Astraa like a dagger to the heart, shattering her trust and leaving her spirit in tatters.

  The emotional toll of his indifference caused Lykaa and Amara to falter, their already fragile healing barrier collapsing under the weight of despair, their strength drained by the severity of Akagoan's betrayal.

  Darron’s crew, like a gathering storm, slowly encircled Astraa, who fought to reclaim her mental steadiness in the wake of what seemed to be Akagoan’s treachery. Her friends, Lykaa and Amara, were counting on her, and her resolve to shield them remained resolute and unyielding.

  “Well done, healer,” Darron’s voice dripped with mockery as he spoke. “You have made a most astute choice. I must commend you—someone of your talents could greatly bolster the Red Boulevard’s might. Would you, perchance, consider aligning yourself with us?”

  “The Red Boulevard?” Akagoan’s reply was laced with disdain as he offered a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Do not delude yourself. You cannot even manage a solitary woman. Your warriors are too weak for me to waste my skills upon.”

  His words, tinged with arrogant superiority, resonated with a dismissive finality, further igniting the tension in the already fraught atmosphere.

  Darron commanded, his tone authoritative. “You deem us weak, yet we have you cornered; all your comrades lie vanquished,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of triumph.

  “Perhaps,” Akagoan countered with a sharp edge, “but you see, I was not present, nor was Astraa.”

  Darron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you imply?”

  Akagoan, his gaze steady, responded with measured calm. “If you and the Red Boulevard truly represent the might you claim, then I propose a bargain.”

  Astraa, grappling with the unfolding drama, strained to comprehend the nature of Akagoan’s risky maneuver. She sensed the peril in his actions but was uncertain of his ultimate objective.

  Darron’s interest was piqued, his curiosity evident. “And what is this proposal of yours?” he inquired, leaning forward as he awaited Akagoan’s response, eager to discern the terms of the enigmatic offer.

  Akagoan leaned forward, a sly grin playing on his lips.

  “I present to you a proposition,” he said with a tone of calculated intrigue. “Should you dare lay even a single finger upon Astraa, not only will you have her”—“but I shall willingly join your ranks. However, should you fail to harm her, you and your warriors must depart this place and vow never to return. Do we have an accord?”

  Darron’s confidence remained unshaken, his demeanor as imperious as ever. “The Red Boulevard is known for honoring its promises. You have yourself a deal.”

  “Then,” Akagoan continued with a challenging edge, “how about you send Lykaa and Amara, who your men have so unceremoniously cornered, to my side? Once you have succeeded in harming Astraa, you can have her. Or does such a task daunt you?”

  Darron’s face reddened with fury at the provocation, though he maintained a semblance of control.

  “Send them,” he commanded, despite Floken’s protests.

  Directing Lykaa and Amara to move to Akagoan’s side. The tension crackled in the air as the bargain was set, the stakes heightened by the dangerous game they all played.

  Akagoan’s audacious defiance left Astraa in a state of bewildered astonishment, yet amidst her confusion, a glimmer of hope began to stir.

  With Lykaa and Amara now at her side, Astraa felt a fierce certainty take hold: Akagoan would not forsake her. She turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mix of intense curiosity and steely resolve, steeling herself for the imminent clash with the marauding warriors.

  “I must admit,” Astraa’s voice trembled with a mixture of awe and anxiety, “the full extent of your strategy eludes me, and I struggle to fathom your ultimate design. Even so, it is clear that confronting a band of such formidable warriors unscathed is an undertaking far beyond my reach. They are not to be taken lightly.”

  Akagoan’s smile, radiant with unshakable confidence, cut through the tension like a beacon of hope.

  “Rest assured,” he declared with an air of solemn conviction, “not a single strand of your hair shall be touched.”

  His words, imbued with an almost magical assurance, reignited Astraa’s inner fire. Bolstered by his unwavering promise, she braced herself with newfound courage, ready to face the oncoming storm with an indomitable spirit.

  “Lykaa, Amara! Are you both well?” Akagoan inquired with urgent concern.

  “We are unscathed, save for some minor injuries to our arms,” Lykaa replied, her voice trembling with residual fear.

  “Our protective barriers faltered more than anticipated,” Amara continued, her voice quaking as tears began to pool in her eyes. “We suffered wounds, and... Flanco, he has been grievously harmed.”

  “This is neither the time nor the place for self-pity,” Akagoan’s voice cut through the tension with stern resolve. “Utilize your skills to heal Flanco, Vysag, and the other fishermen. Immediately.”

  Lykaa and Amara exchanged a brief, uncertain glance but swiftly set to their task, their movements driven by Akagoan’s commanding presence. His authority brooked no delay, and their focus turned resolutely to their healing work as they endeavored to mend the wounds of those in dire need.

  “What are you all lingering for?” Darron’s voice cut through the chaos with sharp authority, his eyes flashing as he signaled Floken to advance upon Astraa.

  Astraa, casting a swift and anxious glance toward Akagoan, found reassurance in his steady nod.

  “Astraa,” Flanco managed to murmur, his voice fading as he drifted into unconsciousness, “take these daggers. It is the least I can do.”

  With that, he succumbed to his injuries, while Lykaa immediately set about the task of healing him.

  “Thank you, Flanco,” Astraa replied with resolute determination. “I shall wield them with purpose.” She accepted the daggers, her resolve crystallizing as she prepared to confront the forthcoming perils.

  As Floken, Jace, and their fellow warriors encircled Astraa, Akagoan maintained an air of remarkable composure. Seated at a table with his pipe leisurely in hand, he observed the unfolding events with a detached focus on Astraa.

  Meanwhile, Darron’s gaze swept between Akagoan and Astraa, an unspoken tension simmering in the air, as the atmosphere thickened with anticipation.

  “Aaaah!” Floken’s battle cry reverberated through the chamber as he lunged fiercely at Astraa, sword gleaming menacingly in his grasp.

  Unfazed, Astraa steeled her focus, acutely aware that her mission was twofold: to vanquish her adversaries while ensuring her own safety, in accordance with the agreement forged between Akagoan and Darron.

  Floken’s strike was formidable, his strength-enhancing runes flaring to life, imbuing him with enhanced might. Yet Astraa responded with alacrity; her own water runes surged to life, humming with latent power. With deft precision, she evaded the arc of Floken’s blade and, in a swift and decisive maneuver, brought the hilt of her dagger crashing down upon the back of his head, rendering him unconscious in an instant.

  Turning his attention to Darron, Akagoan wore a self-satisfied expression, his demeanor exuding calm confidence.

  Jace, undeterred by the unfolding chaos, roared with fury. “You’ll pay for that, wench!” he bellowed as he charged toward Astraa, wielding his enormous sledgehammer with formidable intent.

  Yet Astraa, with a blend of grace and agility, danced nimbly around his clumsy strikes. In a seamless and fluid motion, she slipped beneath him, delivering a crushing knee to his jaw before following up with a brutal assault using the hilts of her daggers. Within moments, Jace was incapacitated, his face a mess of blood and bruises, with a shattered nose and jaw.

  Akagoan watched with palpable admiration as Astraa displayed her formidable combat prowess. He noted with particular approval her swift decision to activate her speed-enhancing runes rather than those of strength, a tactical choice that enabled her to deftly handle multiple adversaries.

  “Rhanda warriors, attack her all at once!” Darron’s voice cut through the din with sharp frustration.

  “Cease this futile game!” His irritation was clear as he witnessed Floken and Jace, his principal enforcers, fall with alarming ease. Driven by a relentless desire to reclaim control, he was determined to seize the upper hand in the fray.

  The Rhanda warriors encircled Astraa, three positioned before her and two lurking behind. Each of them had activated their speed runes, their expressions resolute following the failures of Floken and Jace.

  Astraa understood that her superior speed and strength would count for little; even the slightest scratch from any of them could lead to her downfall.

  Taking a deep breath, Astraa meticulously weighed her options, fully aware that she needed to regain control of the situation. With an explosive burst of speed, she lunged at the warrior directly in front of her, striking him fiercely on the shoulder with the sharpened ends of her daggers. Utilizing the momentum from her initial assault, she pivoted to the right, delivering a powerful kick to the adjacent foe, and then swung around to unleash a solid punch upon the warrior to her left.

  Darron observed the unfolding events with a triumphant smile, reveling in the perceived advantage.

  "Got you," he taunted, his voice laced with a smug, chilling arrogance. From behind, two warriors crept closer, their deadly intent fixed upon Astraa. She stood exposed, her heart caught in a vice of dread as she sensed the fatal blow drawing near. Their swords gleamed in the air, poised for the strike that would end her—when suddenly, as if the very air had taken sides, an unstoppable force surged forth, halting the blades mid-descent. The warriors struggled, their faces contorted in disbelief, as their weapons hung suspended, inches from Astraa, held back by an invisible, unyielding power.

  Darron's confident demeanor faltered as he turned to face Akagoan, who now regarded him with an enigmatic smile of his own. The two warriors, having thrust their swords towards Astraa’s back, found their efforts thwarted by an unseen barrier—Akagoan's protective barrier that had shielded her from harm.

  Astraa, now grasping the true intention behind Akagoan’s wager with Darron, reciprocated his smile.

  “Astraa, cease your mercy!” Akagoan’s voice rang out, firm and resolute. “Employ your daggers as they are meant to be wielded!”

  “You imbeciles, it is the healer and his impervious shield!” Darron’s voice erupted with ire. “Turn your attention to him, and all of you, assail him simultaneously!”

  The warriors, their focus shifting from Astraa, converged upon Akagoan from every angle.

  Witnessing Akagoan’s self-sacrificial defense to safeguard her, Astraa understood the urgency of her situation.

  With resolute focus and unyielding determination, Astraa plunged into battle. Her movements were a blur of precision and swiftness, her daggers slicing through the air with relentless ferocity. Within mere moments, her adversaries lay vanquished, their blood staining her once-pristine blades.

  “Astraa,” Akagoan remarked with a detached calm, exhaling a plume of smoke and offering a grin. “What a splendid mess you’ve created.”

  Astraa, splattered with the blood of her vanquished foes, fixed her fierce gaze upon the last remaining warrior, her eyes aflame with determination. Panting heavily, she turned to Akagoan, her voice sharp with urgency. “Why do you linger idly? There remains one foe yet.”

  Darron, the final warrior standing, was drenched in perspiration, the weight of his fallen comrades’ defeat bearing down upon him.

  He stammered, “this is unfair, I cannot possibly prevail against her, not with your barrier shielding her.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Unfair?” Astraa countered, her tone laced with menace. “How amusing it is that you would utter such a word. I concede that with Akagoan's barrier in place, you would not best me in a thousand lifetimes. But tell me, would it suffice to drop not only Akagoan's barrier but also my daggers? Would that render the contest equitable?”

  “You insolent wretch, I vow to end your life!” Darron, his wounded pride stoking his ire, launched a final, desperate assault. Yet, Astraa, invigorated by the surge of her strength runes, effortlessly intercepted his attack, halting his blade in mid-flight. With a swift and ruthless motion, she delivered a crushing kick to his groin, sending his sword skittering away. Her assault did not relent; she proceeded to methodically shatter his arm with precise strikes, wrench his knee into a grotesque angle, and demolish his foot with a brutal blow.

  Darron, writhing in excruciating agony, could barely muster the strength to plead. “Cease, I implore you! I concede. I vow never to darken these doors again.”

  “No, you shall not,” Astraa declared with unyielding resolve. With a mighty swing of her leg, she struck him squarely in the face, scattering his teeth like shrapnel and rendering him utterly incapable of further resistance.

  Turning her gaze to Floken, who lay feigning unconsciousness upon the ground, Astraa issued her command with steely authority.

  “You there, gather these fools and depart from this place at once.”

  “At once, Lady Astraa!” Floken responded with a quavering voice, swiftly obeying her command.

  “You performed admirably, Astraa. Your prowess is truly remarkable,” Akagoan remarked, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

  Astraa’s face softened into a relieved smile, the intensity of the recent battle beginning to ebb away.

  As the gravity of their injured comrades weighed heavily upon the confines of the modest cabin, Akagoan’s demeanor transitioned from its habitual calm to one of earnest concern. He turned his gaze toward Astraa, his eyes no longer reflecting their usual serene composure but rather a heightened expression of tension and care.

  “Astraa, remain here with Lykaa and Amara. I shall accompany Sir Filic to procure some yakons for transporting Flanco and the others,” Akagoan instructed, his voice imbued with a sense of urgent purpose.

  “Very well, Akagoan. We shall await your return,” Astraa responded, her eyes reflecting both understanding and steadfast support.

  “Sir Filic, let us proceed,” Akagoan declared, his tone resolute yet tinged with the gravity of his responsibility for the wounded.

  “Indeed,” Sir Filic agreed, stepping in tandem with Akagoan as they exited the cabin. Astraa watched them depart, her own expression softening into a gentle smile. It was a fleeting moment of reprieve amid the ongoing tumult.

  As Akagoan and Sir Filic returned with the yakons, Akagoan's gaze fell upon Astraa, her expression shadowed by sadness and concern.

  “Akagoan... Lykaa and Amara,” Astraa’s words emerged, a plea for aid. The emotional gravity in the room thickened, and Akagoan turned towards her, his gaze mirroring a shared concern. “What troubles you, Astraa?” he inquired, his anxiety palpable.

  “I am profoundly sorry, Akagoan,” Lykaa’s voice trembled, laden with a deep sorrow that resonated in the dimly lit cabin.

  “Despite our most valiant efforts, Flanco and Vysag have endured grievous wounds whilst striving to protect us. Our healing endeavors have regrettably proven futile against their devastating injuries,” she confessed, her voice breaking as Amara’s tearful and desperate plea for assistance followed suit.

  With a graceful and almost otherworldly calm, Akagoan sank to his knees beside Lykaa.

  His hand, gentle and reassuring, brushed tenderly against her tear-streaked visage. “You have performed with great honor and dedication,” he murmured, his voice a balm of solace.

  “Leave the matter to me.” As he delicately wiped away her tears, his gaze was suffused with a profound and empathetic understanding.

  Astraa, though moved by the display of Akagoan’s tender compassion, found herself beset by an unspoken unease as he drew so close to her friend. The source of her disquiet remained cloaked in shadow, elusive and inscrutable.

  Rising to his feet with a regal grace, Akagoan summoned forth his healing runes, unveiling intricate and luminescent markings that adorned only his right arm—a spectacle that struck Lykaa and Amara with a sense of awe, and even stirred Astraa’s curiosity.

  With a steadying breath, he approached the injured Vysag and Flanco, commanding the young women to position the two men closely together.

  As he placed his hands gently upon the wounds of both men, the very essence of his healing powers began to manifest. The deep lacerations and bruises upon Vysag and Flanco gradually mended, the flesh knitting together with astonishing rapidity until they were restored to almost full health.

  “That’s my boy,” Sir Filic declared proudly, giving Akagoan a supportive pat on the shoulder. Astraa, her admiration evident in her sparkling eyes, could not contain her praise.

  “That was truly remarkable, Akagoan. I have never witnessed such swiftness in healing. You are indeed exceptional,” she exclaimed, a radiant smile illuminating her face.

  Turning his attention to Lykaa with a measured gaze, Akagoan requested that she reveal her arms. Upon closer examination, he noted deeper wounds than he had anticipated.

  “A healer in pain cannot expect to tend to others with efficacy,” he remarked with a composed demeanor. Gently, he took Lykaa’s arm in his hands, his healing touch weaving its restorative magic to mend her injuries.

  Astraa, though deeply appreciative of Akagoan’s care, again found herself unable to dispel a creeping unease as she observed the intimate interaction between him and Lykaa.

  “There, Lykaa, it’s done,” Akagoan said with a reassuring smile. “You are restored. Now, if you would, perhaps you might try your hand at healing Amara’s arm and witness the difference.”

  “Thank you ever so much, Akagoan,” Lykaa responded, her smile both heartfelt and tinged with awkwardness.

  Astraa, continuing to observe, found herself grappling with an indefinable discomfort, her thoughts shrouded in uncertainty.

  Akagoan, keenly aware of the necessity to pivot from the weighty atmosphere that had permeated the room, turned the attention of all present to the practical matters at hand.

  "The families of the fishermen who came to Vysag's aid have been notified; they await outside the tavern. Now that the men are healed, we can send them home. In the meantime, we ought to return with Sir Filic. Both Vysag and Flanco would benefit greatly from a substantial meal to ensure their complete recovery," he announced.

  "Indeed, that sounds reasonable," Astraa replied, momentarily drawn from her musings regarding the dynamics between Akagoan and Lykaa.

  "Fortunately, we were fortunate enough to capture a blue-crowned fish today," Akagoan continued, his tone lightening. "It promises to be a hearty feast.

  "Very well, everyone, let us be on our way," Akagoan commanded, assuming control of the situation. With careful deliberation, he lifted Vysag and Flanco, securing them upon the backs of the horses.

  "Lykaa and Amara, you shall escort Flanco back upon one yakon. Sir Filic, you will ride alongside Vysag, and Astraa, you will accompany him," he organized the logistics with precision.

  "And what of you?" Astraa inquired, a hint of concern coloring her tone.

  "I shall walk back. I am not injured in any capacity; it poses no difficulty," Akagoan replied.

  "Then I too shall walk back, for I am unscathed as well," Astraa teased, a play-fullness in her eyes.

  "Very well," Akagoan conceded, and as the group set forth, they embarked on the journey back to Sir Filic's cabin, the air filled with a sense of camaraderie and purpose.

  The yakons made steady progress towards Sir Filic's cabin, their riders' burdens easing with each step, while Akagoan and Astraa followed at a more leisurely pace.

  Astraa, strolling beside Akagoan, noted his contemplative demeanor, his gaze drifting absently towards the heavens.

  "It seems unusually humid today, does it not?" Akagoan observed, his comment strikingly incongruous given the recent turmoil.

  Astraa, her frustration simmering beneath the surface, promptly delivered a sharp punch to his gut. Caught off guard, Akagoan let out a hearty laugh.

  "Whatever was that for?" he inquired, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement.

  "That," Astraa retorted with a mixture of exasperation and indignation, "is for recklessly endangering my life with your ill-conceived bargain with that wretched Darron."

  Akagoan's expression shifted to one of earnest gravity. "I undertook that course to ensure Lykaa and Amara's safety, and I would never deliberately place you in harm's way," he explained, his voice imbued with sincerity.

  "In that moment, I felt a deep sense of betrayal," Astraa declared, her gaze unwavering.

  "Though I understand your intentions to protect us all, your actions during the battle did little to temper my ire. Hence, I believe you deserved that blow."

  "Ah, I see," Akagoan replied with a hint of sarcasm, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

  "I must extend my apologies for endeavoring to save everyone. Perhaps next time, I shall make a grand announcement of my plans so that you won't feel betrayed, and we may all perish together."

  Astraa let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "I can't shake the feeling that you were more inclined to save someone in particular than the rest of us."

  Akagoan came to a halt, his eyes locked upon Astraa with a serious expression.

  "Astraa, you are well aware of my bond with Sir Filic. Yet, I assure you, I would never place his life above yours or anyone else's. Moreover, Sir Filic himself would never wish such a thing," Akagoan spoke with earnestness, perceiving that Astraa had perhaps misjudged his intentions.

  "Sir Filic? No, my concern was never about him," Astraa replied, her tone firm. A look of perplexity clouded Akagoan's features.

  "I am at a loss," Akagoan continued, his curiosity evident. "Sir Filic, Lykaa, and Amara were the sole captives. Who, then, do you believe I was favoring? Surely, you cannot mean Lykaa and Amara."

  Astraa offered no further explanation, her silence conveying a deeper uncertainty. She simply turned and resumed her stride, leaving Akagoan to ponder her enigmatic words.

  "Wait! do you really believe I would place your life in jeopardy for the sake of Lykaa and Amara? You must understand that they were utterly defenseless. Unlike you, who possesses the strength of a warrior, they are mere healers. You would have risked your life to shield them, regardless," Akagoan countered, his tone earnest.

  "Is that also the reason you wiped away her tears, held her delicate arms within your grasp, and healed her wounds? The Akagoan I have always known was marked by an unyielding bravado, even in his acts of kindness. Yet, with Lykaa, you exhibited a tenderness that leads me to ponder whether you hold her in greater regard as a healer than you do for me. After all, I am but a warrior, expendable in your eyes," Astraa articulated, her voice tinged with bitterness, as she turned and walked away.

  A sudden epiphany struck her.

  "Why do I concern myself with whom he chose to care for? What is it that I am uttering? Is this truly how I feel?"

  As their footsteps resonated through the tranquil path leading to Sir Filic's cabin, Akagoan endeavored to pierce the veil of silence with a gentle query.

  "Astraa, is it truly your belief that I hold such sentiments toward you?" His voice, imbued with a depth of sincerity, sought to unravel the misjudgment.

  Astraa, her mind entangled in tumultuous thoughts, met his gaze with an expression marked by contemplation.

  "Do you mean to suggest that I might regard you as expendable?" Akagoan pressed further, his tone now suffused with earnestness.

  "The benevolence I extend to Lykaa, Amara, and Flanco is but a reflection of my regard for you. I had presumed this to be evident. I have openly shared my esteem and appreciation for you. Please, do not ever believe that I take you for granted," he declared, his intense gaze stirring a fleeting tremor within Astraa's heart.

  "Astraa, you are an extraordinary warrior, perhaps even destined for unparalleled greatness. But it was not until I bore witness to your remarkable prowess in battle today that I truly understood this truth.

  Your life was never in peril. Even in moments when you appeared vulnerable, there was never a genuine risk of harm befalling you. You must have been aware of this during confrontation with Darron and his goons, i will always had your back the whole time. The notion of wagering your life with him, albeit a facet of our ruse, arose from your inherent nature—a nature that compels you to risk yourself for another, even for one such as Vysag, whom you had only just encountered. I assumed you would be willing to do the same for your friends, particularly with me standing resolutely in defense.

  Until this moment, I believed your ire was a mere fa?ade; yet I now comprehend that you genuinely feared I placed Lykaa’s life above your own. For that, I sincerely apologize, Astraa, from the very depths of my heart. You are the last person I would ever wish to harm, and, if the truth must be revealed, I would choose you above all others, save for Sir Filic and Lady Sila," Akagoan declared, his expression earnest as he locked eyes with Astraa.

  Without uttering a word in response to Akagoan, Astraa proceeded on her way, a smile dancing upon her lips, which she skillfully concealed from him.

  As they resumed their leisurely stroll, an air of embarrassment clung to Akagoan like a persistent fog. He nervously scratched the back of his head, uncertain how to navigate the delicate aftermath of his heartfelt revelations.

  Astraa, witnessing this moment of vulnerability, felt a delightful warmth bloom across her cheeks. Initially grappling with the awkwardness of their exchange, she found herself uplifted by the sincerity of his words and the depth of his emotions, which filled her with a joy she could scarcely comprehend. Grateful for the confrontation that had led to this moment, a radiant smile graced her lips as they continued their journey back.

  As they approached Sir Filic's cabin, Astraa proposed, “Akagoan, you should go ahead. I must cleanse myself of the blood that adorns me; I shall take a shower before joining you and the others.”

  Akagoan, his expression tinged with annoyance, firmly replied, “Nay, I shall wait right outside your cottage. I refuse to allow you to think I have abandoned you to mingle with the others and rekindle our earlier quarrel.”

  With that, he settled himself outside with his pipe, while Astraa, unable to suppress her amusement, entered to change, a smile lingering upon her lips.

  Astraa emerged from her cottage, adorned in fresh attire, her gaze sweeping across the surroundings. Not spotting Akagoan awaiting her presence, she muttered to herself, “I suppose he has taken his leave; perhaps he found the wait tedious.”

  With a resigned heart, she made her way toward Sir Filic's cabin, convinced that Akagoan had departed.

  Suddenly, a voice pierced the air from behind her, "Going without me, are you?"

  Startled, Astraa whirled around to discover Akagoan approaching with a confident stride. "Oh, Akagoan, you are still here?" she exclaimed, taken aback by his unexpected arrival.

  With a playful glint in his eye, Akagoan replied, “Well, I pride myself on keeping my word, unlike certain individuals,” casting a pointed glance in Astraa’s direction.

  "I looked for you; your absence led me to presume you had taken your leave," Astraa defended herself, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words.

  To ease the tension, Akagoan replied, "Fear not, for I was merely at my cabin procuring some spirits. After the day we endured, I deemed it quite necessary," a mischievous smirk playing upon his lips.

  "Shall we take our leave, Lady Astraa?" he teased playfully, gesturing for her to proceed. Embracing the jest, Astraa responded, "Indeed, Sir Akagoan!"

  As they stepped through the threshold of Sir Filic's cabin, the door swung open to reveal Lady Sila, whose face bore a blend of worry and relief.

  She hastened toward Astraa, concern evident in her voice. "Are you unharmed, dear?" she inquired.

  "Not a scratch upon her! Who do you think accompanied her?" Akagoan declared proudly, his confidence unmistakable.

  "You imbecile! You allowed a maiden to jeopardize her life while you stood idly by. It is through her valor that all present here remain safe," chastised Lady Sila, her ire firmly directed at Akagoan.

  "Did nothing? Astraa, do share how I rendered assistance!" Akagoan implored, casting a hopeful glance toward Astraa.

  " My memory fails me in that regard," Astraa responded playfully, a mischievous glimmer dancing in her eye, causing Akagoan's visage to reflect a sense of betrayal.

  "Lady Sila, might I inquire what fare awaits us for supper? I find myself quite famished after all the solitary combat," Astraa quipped, casting a sly look at Akagoan, whose face displayed sheer astonishment.

  "You are truly the devil incarnate!" Akagoan muttered, feeling thoroughly bested.

  "Cease your prattling and come assist me in serving the others. Heaven forbid that’s the sole contribution you make today," Lady Sila snapped, her rebuke tinged with both exasperation and a wry humor.

  Astraa, her composure unwavering, took her place at the dinner table with a restrained smile. Meanwhile, Akagoan, acknowledging the futility of evading his obligations, reluctantly set about his duties under Lady Sila’s watchful eye.

  Lady Sila, ever the culinary virtuoso, presented a splendid blue-crowned fish upon the dining table. Akagoan, tasked with arranging the plates for Sir Filic, Flanco, Vysag, Amara, and Lykaa, applied a deft touch to his work.

  Perceiving his slight disquiet, Lykaa inquired with gentle concern, "Shall I lend you a hand, Akagoan?"

  "Not in the least. I am merely pleased you took the initiative, unlike certain individuals," Akagoan jested, casting a mischievous glance in Astraa's direction.

  Astraa, avoiding his gaze, responded with a grin, delighting in the lighthearted exchange.

  Flanco and Vysag, now fully alert, were presented with steaming bowls of porridge to hasten their recovery. "Partake, both of you. Your recuperation is of utmost importance," Sir Filic encouraged with a fatherly tone.

  "Thank you, Sir Filic," they replied, eagerly filling their plates. Astraa, with a playful lilt in her voice, chimed in, "Why not join us as well? You must be weary after all your efforts."

  "Oh, how exceedingly gracious of you, Lady Astraa," Akagoan countered with feigned exasperation, provoking a ripple of laughter among the gathered company.

  As the company settled into the convivial feast, savoring each delectable morsel, Astraa voiced her contentment with a satisfied sigh, "This repast truly gratifies the soul."

  Akagoan, noting Sir Filic's glance, discreetly signaled him with a subtle nod.

  Sir Filic, seizing the moment, ventured a new approach.

  "You know, Sila, my weary frame is in need of some solace after such a taxing day. A restorative draught would be most welcome."

  "A drink?" Lady Sila responded with a resolute tone, "No one shall be dispatched to and fro the tavern at this hour. The fish before us is ample remedy for your discomfort."

  "Ah, but coincidentally, I happened to have a supply of spirits at my own quarters. I thought it might be pleasant for the party to unwind with some ale," Akagoan suggested with a hopeful inflection.

  "Splendid! Count me in!" Flanco exclaimed, his enthusiasm evident.

  "Ah, no thank you; I shall pass," Lykaa declined graciously.

  "Nor I," Amara added with a gentle shake of her head.

  "Then it appears we are left with but the three of us men," Akagoan declared with a note of triumph.

  "You offer no assistance to the ladies yet wish to partake in merriment celebrating their triumph," Lady Sila remarked, her tone tinged with disappointment.

  Akagoan then turned his gaze toward Astraa, who, with a playful smirk, averted her eyes while continuing to relish her meal.

  As the evening unfolded, Sir Filic, his demeanor slightly buoyed by drink, made a jubilant proclamation, "It brings me immense joy to have each of you gathered here. Come now, Flanco, partake of a little more."

  He generously poured another measure for Flanco, who, equally imbued with spirits, expressed his gratitude with a hearty, "Thank you ever so much, Sir Filic. You are truly the finest."

  Akagoan beamed as he observed their camaraderie, while Lady Sila, though harboring a trace of disappointment, appeared to find solace in the festivities.

  Amidst the jovial atmosphere, Flanco, with the slightest sway indicative of his inebriation, raised his glass high and proclaimed, "Team Astraa: two, mercenaries: zero!"

  Intrigued by this declaration, Akagoan inquired, " What significance does that hold? Have you had encounters with mercenaries in the past?"

  With a casual air, Astraa remarked, "Well, to be precise, I punched one of them, and then my uncle dispatched the rest."

  Vysag, now feeling more like himself, hesitantly entered the conversation, his voice betraying a touch of apprehension.

  "Wait, you’ve crossed paths with the Red Boulevard before?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

  Astraa, shrugging as though it was of little consequence, replied, "Not really, no. They called themselves something like the Boarhunt, I think. But what difference does it make?"

  Vysag leaned forward, his voice edged with caution, "The Boarhunt? They're little more than a band of ragtag mercenaries, untrained fighters chasing coin. They’re hardly a menace to anyone."

  His words drew the attention of the entire table, all eyes fixed upon him. "Once, they stormed into Tadu, looking for trouble, only to be sent packing by a few local fishermen. They don’t trouble me in the slightest," he continued.

  A pause followed, and Vysag's expression grew more serious as he added, "But the Red Boulevard... they are another matter entirely. When you first spoke of battling mercenaries, I feared it was them—come seeking retribution. Forgive my nerves, but the Red Boulevard does not forget. And after the events involving Akagoan and Astraa, we may yet be in peril."

  The room quieted, his words hanging heavily in the air.

  With a sly grin, Akagoan cast a glance toward Lady Sila and quipped, "See, now you know I’ve been helpful." Astraa, shaking her head, couldn’t help but grin.

  But Vysag, unamused, continued with a tone of grave concern. "Akagoan, this is no jest. After our first encounter with them, I sought out some traders to learn more about the Red Boulevard."

  Akagoan, his curiosity piqued, pressed, "And what did you discover?"

  Vysag’s voice grew solemn, the weight of his words sinking into the room.

  "The Red Boulevard is no mere band of mercenaries. They are a formidable and intricate organization. Unlike the warriors of Arela or Illiad, who fight in allegiance to the queen, the warriors of the Red Boulevard swear loyalty to none but the state of Rhanda. Their cause is driven by a far more dangerous intent."

  A heavy silence fell upon the gathering, the once jovial atmosphere now replaced by a palpable tension.

  Vysag his gaze alight with a blend of concern and revelation, as he addressed the assembled company around the dining table.

  "Mythr, a seasoned trader and one of our most loyal patrons, is not only a procurer of our finest exotic fish but also a man of considerable influence throughout Rhanda. Well-connected and remarkably informed, his travels afford him a wealth of intelligence about the many states he frequents, making him a figure of keen insight and invaluable knowledge.," he began, his voice low and urgent.

  A hush fell over the room as Vysag continued to divulge the troubling revelations.

  "The warriors in Rhanda undergo training akin to that of their counterparts in Arela and Illiad. Yet, only a select few deemed worthy are initiated into the clandestine ranks of the Red Boulevard. These warriors participate in the harvest festival and serve at the borders as eternal warriors, all while concealing a nefarious agenda that remains unknown."

  Amara, captivated by the gravity of this disclosure, interjected with a pressing question. "If Mythr is privy to such dire matters, why has he not exposed them or sought assistance?"

  Vysag, his expression darkening with the weight of the truth, continued with a grave tone, "The entire town of Rhanda is well aware of the Red Boulevard’s presence, yet they are protected by the nobility. Any who dare accuse them are swiftly silenced, branded as liars, and meet their end.

  Mythr made it clear to me that the Red Boulevard doesn’t simply retaliate against those who defy them directly. Their vengeance extends to friends, to family—anyone associated with their enemies."

  The heaviness of Vysag’s revelation fell like a shroud over the gathering, replacing the once lively atmosphere with a solemn hush.

  Flanco, in an attempt to ease Vysag’s evident distress, spoke with a voice of reassurance, "Fear not, Vysag. Should it come to that, we’ll seek the aid of Chief Sline himself. He can muster an army if necessary. And let’s not forget Astraa’s uncle, Sir Skarsnay. Between them, you’ve nothing to fear."

  Vysag’s response carried the weight of grim understanding, his voice somber yet steady.

  "That is precisely the danger of the Red Boulevard—they do not wage war openly, nor do they strike without careful consideration. They move silently, gathering intelligence and waiting for the opportune moment when their enemies are at their most vulnerable."

  Pausing, he cast a glance at the group, his gaze lingering on Flanco before he continued. "And let’s not forget, your friends—they’re in Rhanda, aren’t they? That places them squarely in the shadow of the Red Boulevard."

  Vysag’s voice dropped lower, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. "Even Darron, a foolish rogue by all accounts, had enough knowledge about us to be dangerous. He knew names—he called out Sir Filic’s name upon seeing him for the very first time. Do you think that was a coincidence? No. The Red Boulevard is watching, and they already know more than we realize."

  The weight of Vysag’s revelation settled over the room like a dark cloud, casting a pall of silence upon the once lively gathering. Flanco, visibly shaken, was the first to break the stillness, his voice tinged with panic.

  "Markon, Gargus—they’re unaware of what’s happened here. They could be dragged into this mess because of us!"

  Lykaa, her gentle heart aching, added with a sigh, "Oh, and poor Yeric." Her expression hardened as she spoke again, more resolute this time. "We must act, and swiftly."

  Amara, agreed without hesitation. "Indeed, we must leave at once, warn them, and pray they’ve not been ensnared in any trouble."

  At that moment, Akagoan, after taking a long, deliberate sip of his drink, set the glass down with an almost exaggerated motion—then, to everyone's astonishment, burst into a hearty, unrestrained laugh. The sound echoed through the room, completely at odds with the seriousness of the moment.

  "Akagoan, have you lost your senses?" Astraa said, gently nudging him, her eyes narrowed in both confusion and mild exasperation.

  "Oh, forgive me," Akagoan began, his voice laced with a smug amusement, "but it’s rather entertaining that you all believe you can march into the Red Boulevard's stronghold, especially after barely escaping with your lives from a mere handful of their men."

  He cast a sidelong glance at Astraa.

  "Astraa, I’ll grant you credit—you faced two of their warriors without needing my aid. But as for the rest of you..." His gaze swept over the group. "Flanco, you scarcely left a mark before collapsing. And Lykaa, Amara—your barriers crumbled with such ease, leaving you both wounded in the process."

  Astraa, her brow furrowing in disbelief, spoke up. "Akagoan, enough. Why are you acting this way?"

  "Enough, you say?" Akagoan’s tone sharpened as he stood straighter, his expression more serious now.

  "Would you rather I fill your heads with sweet lies, leading you blindly into danger, than speak the bitter truth that may well save your lives—and the lives of your friends?"

  Astraa faltered, her retort momentarily caught in her throat. Even Sir Filic and Lady Sila, who had remained silent until now, exchanged glances, recognizing the grim reality beneath Akagoan's biting words.

  Flanco, his voice firm and resolute, slammed his fist against the table.

  "You're right, Akagoan. We may weak. My own abilities may fall short, and Lykaa and Amara might not possess the healing prowess you do.

  But the people out there—they're our friends. We cannot sit idly by, ignorant of their fate. So, tell me, what would you have us do?"

  Lykaa and Amara, seated quietly, lowered their heads in humble acknowledgment, their silence admitting the truth of Flanco's words. A somber air settled over the room, as even they accepted the weight of their shortcomings.

  “If Vysag’s account bears truth, and the Red Boulevard is indeed the vast and insidious organization he describes, they would not bother themselves with a mere assembly of novice warriors and healers like us. Any such exposure would likely be the work of their less significant operatives—those seeking fleeting glory, such as Darron,” Akagoan expounded, his voice reflecting a measured understanding.

  “By that logic, your friends should remain secure, as Darron and his associates, being of minor rank, would not pose a grave threat to them. Nonetheless, should you venture to Rhanda and attract Darron’s attention, there is a risk he might mobilize against you. Despite his lowly station, he might command influence within his own domain.

  Thus, I counsel you to devote the coming weeks to diligent training. This preparation will better equip you to withstand and evade harm should you encounter Darron and his ilk in Rhanda. Train, not to confront, but to survive,” Akagoan advised, his tone imbued with a sense of earnest counsel.

  "I recognize that your presence here is by the grace of Chief Sline, and, pragmatically, your endeavors in Tadu may yield limited fruit. However, for the benefit of Lykaa and Amara, I am prepared to assume the mantle of their training to bolster their abilities. After all, it is precisely this enhancement that they seek. Flanco, I trust that under Astraa's tutelage, you shall witness your own progress," he remarked, observing the reactions of those around him.

  In the final cadence of his musings, Akagoan intoned, "Consider this merely a humble suggestion. Should it not align with the deepest yearnings of your heart, you are entirely free to depart on the morrow."

  Astraa, caught off guard by this unexpected display of sincerity beneath Akagoan's seemingly brusque fa?ade, felt a warm tide of emotion swell within her, and a radiant smile blossomed upon her lips, illuminating her face with joy.

  "Let's do this !" Flanco proclaimed with spirited fervor, his voice ringing out like a battle cry of resolve.

  The resolute nods of Lykaa and Amara mirrored his fierce conviction, their expressions set with unyielding determination, fortifying their stance as an unbreakable, united front.

  Thus, the group in Tadu began their unforeseen training regimen, their spirits elevated by a newfound sense of resolve and camaraderie.