As the sun began to set, painting the sky with fiery hues, Aelius and Gavril had established a temporary camp in a remote, elevated region of Aslilia. They had chosen a spot amongst sedimentary rock formations, their colors like frozen waves of fire, near one of the northern roads. They lay resting, attempting to catch a few moments of sleep.

  Suddenly, the sound of approaching hoofbeats shattered the quiet. Aelius, instantly alert, shook Gavril awake.

  Gavril stirred, blinking in confusion.

  Aelius, with a gesture, used. His signs, as. to be silent. Indicating it to listen. "Someone's coming."

  The sound of horses grew closer, until it seemed to surround them. Then, a voice, disembodied and menacing, called out from somewhere below.

  "I advise you to surrender whatever valuables you have."

  Aelius moved cautiously, peering down towards the source of the voice, making. A sharp, fast, quick glance. Then, his face relaxed, his tension visibly easing. It was his men. His legionaries. The four of them, he thought: Cassius, Drusus, Titus, and Fenrir.

  Aelius chuckled, and Gavril, now fully awake, joined in, recognizing the voices. They scrambled down from their elevated position, greeting their comrades with warm, brotherly embraces, one after the other.

  "Thank you for joining us," Aelius said, his voice filled with gratitude.

  Cassius, his face earnest, replied, "We're with you to the end, Captain."

  As evening descended, casting long shadows across the landscape, Aelius, Gavril, and the four legionaries gathered around a crackling fire.

  "Has Marcus returned from Nordhall?" Aelius asked.

  Fenrir answered, "The royal procession's return journey from Nordhall took several nights. I heard today was supposed to be their arrival. But we left to find you before they reached the city."

  Drusus, his gaze fixed on Aelius, asked, "Captain, what do you intend to do? What's our next move?"

  Aelius, his expression thoughtful, replied, "For now, we remain vigilant. We wait… until fate reveals our next course of action."

  Drusus, a hint of confusion in his voice, asked, "What do you mean, Captain?"

  Aelius was about to reply, but a distant sound – faint, yet unmistakable – caught his attention. He raised a hand, silencing Drusus. He focused, straining to hear, trying to decipher the source. Then he identified, located: a low, rumbling echo…

  "A cart… under attack," Aelius said, his voice hardening with sudden purpose. "Gavril, with me."

  Cassius began to rise. "We'll accompany you"

  Aelius cut him off. "No. Stay here. Rest. You've had a long journey. This won't be difficult for us. Besides… we need a little… practice… to regain our edge."

  Aelius swiftly strapped on his twin short swords, the blades crossing at his back. Gavril grabbed his double-headed axe, the polished steel gleaming in the firelight. They mounted their horses and, without another word, galloped towards the sounds of the unfolding conflict.

  Along the northern road, their cart hurtled forward at breakneck speed. Bran gripped the reins, straining to control the horses, while Amara stood beside him, sword drawn, ready to defend. Davos, positioned at the rear of the cart, was their last line of defense against the relentless pursuit of Bathykson's bandits.

  The bandits were closing in. One, gaining on Bran's side, brandished his sword, aiming a blow at the driver.

  "Bran! Get down!" Amara screamed.

  Reacting instantly, Amara parried, and riposted. thrust her sword forward, piercing the bandit's chest. He tumbled from his horse with a groan.

  From the back of the cart, the thwack of arrows punctuated the air. Some slammed into the cart. Davos, wielding his axe with ferocious strength, braced himself. One of the bandits, quicker, more agile, leaped onto the cart beside him. Without hesitation, Davos swung the axe in a wide, devastating arc, catching the bandit squarely on his side, it’s an almost deadly hit. The force of the blow sent the man flying off the cart.

  A moment later, an arrow whistled past Davos's ear, embedding itself in one of the sacks of gold. He ripped his attention there… He spotted the archer, taking aim again. With a roar, Davos hurled his axe. It spun through the air, a blur of polished steel, striking the archer with brutal force, knocking him from his horse.

  Another bandit, brandishing a throwing knife, rushed towards Davos. The bandit hurled the knife. Davos, reacting instinctively, shielded himself with his arm. The knife buried itself in his forearm, a searing jolt of pain shooting through him.

  "Davos! Are you alright?" Amara shouted, her voice strained.

  "They keep coming!" Davos grunted through gritted teeth. "Faster, Bran! Faster!"

  "I'm trying!" Bran yelled back, his voice laced with desperation. "I'm going as fast as I can!"

  The bandits were swarming around them, their numbers seeming to multiply with every passing second. One, bolder than the rest, produced a small throwing axe, aiming directly at Bran, to stop that damn cart!. Davos, preoccupied, didn't see the attack coming. Reacting swiftly, he lifted the almost weightless bag of coins, using it… like a shield, he succeeded in protecting Bran, protecting their way, by it. The axe slammed in the bag. But to their luck… The coins hold, and are protected.

  "Stop!" he starts saying, but, stopping by a higher sound of yell…

  Bran was the one, yelling."Stop, you fool!" Bran screamed. "Don't throw the money! Do you want us to die?!"

  "What else can we do?" shouted Davos.

  As Davos heaved the heavy sack back onto the cart, another bandit appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The bandit's arm was already drawn back, an arrow nocked and aimed directly at Bran's exposed head. The situation was critical; a hair's breadth separated them from disaster.

  The pursuers were relentless, pressing their attack, pushing the defenders to their absolute limit. Each moment was an eternity, a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds.

  Suddenly, a war cry ripped through the air, shattering the tension. Gavril, like a thunderbolt, charged into the fray, his horse leaping over a, bandit, and falling cart. He descended upon the archer aiming at Bran like a vengeful god, his axe a blur of motion. A single, devastating blow sent the archer sprawling, his arrow flying harmlessly into the air.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Without pausing, Gavril spurred his horse forward, weaving between two more bandits. Now he is positioned. In between two outlaws! One positioned at his left, while another, to his right. He swung his axe, a powerful. crushing blow to his right, sending one bandit tumbling. The bandit on his left lunged, attempting to exploit the opening, but Gavril, with terrifying speed and skill, ripped his axe free and, without a pause. reversed, swings the other axe, to the other side slashing motion that smashed, cutting. His swing, with strength and speed. Hitting. The bandit's, to the left. Destroying, that man. The poor to-left man.

  His momentum carrying him forward, Gavril expertly slowed his horse, a controlled, rapid deceleration, pivoting backwards. With his axe already raised in a backswing, he thrust it forward with all his might, impaling the chest of a bandit who had been pursuing him.

  Another bandit, charging from Gavril's left, brandished his sword, aiming a blow at the exposed flank. But Gavril, with a roar, brought his axe downward in a sweeping arc, a blow of such power that it cleaved through both the bandit and the back of his horse.

  Davos stared, open-mouthed, awestruck by the sheer savagery and skill of Gavril's assault. He had never seen anything like it.

  "What in hell is going on?!" Bran yelled, his voice a mixture of terror and bewilderment.

  Gavril fought, back-to-back, engaging two bandits simultaneously, holding them at bay, protecting the cart. More bandits continued their pursuit, but suddenly, a strange, almost unearthly whistling sound pierced the air, at first, sounded like music. Different tones of whistles., it started to shape.

  At the sound of the whistle, almost magically, the cart's horses seemed to find a new surge of power, in a strange order… . Their movements became strangely synchronized, almost gliding as one, and an eerie wind swirled around them. They, now run, faster, and faster, much… more coordinated, more steady on the uneven road.

  A bandit, approaching rapidly from Amara's side, drew a dagger, preparing to strike. But Amara, though distracted, as she looks at, in the sky, it appeared all white… full moon, so bright…. A human-shaped dark silhouette flips as slowly. Floating across, dancing the pure air. At that moment, Amara could almost have, staring up above. Her eyes fixed it.

  "Two swords?" Said Davos.

  And suddenly, at that very moment! From thin air!, that figure in the air streaked down, as fast, lightning bolt… towards the bandit, now near Amara's head… The bandit targeting Amara had a brief view, and, by… with impossible speed. The figure appeared, moved… Chopping… him, with one hit.

  It was Aelius.

  Mounting the enemy's horse, now… Aelius rode alongside Bran and Amara. "Are you alright?" he shouted over the din of the chase. "Faster, lad! Focus on the road! Don't look at anything! We'll deal with them. Just go! Faster! Try to match the horse's rhythm! Do you understand?"

  Bran just starts, before giving out… "Uhh… uh… got… it!"

  "With impossible agility, Aelius launched himself from the bandit's horse, his body spinning backward in the air as he flew towards another pursuer behind the cart. For a heartbeat, he seemed to hang upside down, a blur of motion, before slamming both swords into the center of the bandit's chest."

  Aelius leaped again, targeting another enemy to his left, twisting his body like a bird in mid-flight. A slash cut down another bandit!

  Another bandit, this one armed with a bow, leveled his weapon at Aelius, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. But before he could loose the string, Aelius vanished—a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow. Then, impossibly, he reappeared behind the archer, now mounted on the bandit's own horse. A heartbeat later, Aelius's sword plunged into the archer's back, silencing him forever.

  Davos, aboard the cart, watched in astonished silence, his eyes wide with disbelief. He didn't blink.

  Gavril, meanwhile, continued to decimate the remaining bandits with brutal efficiency, his strength and skill unmatched.

  Davos, watching the spectacle, the battle. Murmured to himself. "These… these are real warriors."

  "Davos! Stay alert!" Bran screamed, his voice cracking with panic. "We're on a slope! Hold the gold! Don't drop anything!"

  They sped away, leaving the chaos and the carnage behind.

  They reached the designated location on Valerius's map. It was a small encampment, a cluster of tents marked by the red banners described by Valerius. As they approached, a guard stepped forward, blocking their path.

  "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?" The three, were visibly eexhausted andinjured. Also their cart battered, didn't help with the view.

  Bran, taking the lead, replied, "We're… emissaries… We come, of. We've been sent by Lord Valerius… We bring… items… things… for Lord Basly."

  The guard, studied, eyeing them. Gave the, skeptical look, then he said.

  "Alright. Wait here. Wait… a moment."

  He disappeared into one of the tents, returning shortly afterward with a curt nod. "You may enter." The guard commander orders them, after being given allowance.

  They guided the cart into the center of the encampment, a relatively open space surrounded by the tents. Basly and Daeghir emerged from the largest tent, their expressions curious and slightly suspicious.

  The three dismounted, their movements stiff and weary.

  "Who are you?" Basly asked, his voice was sharp. "I was told you were emissaries from Valerius."

  "My lord," Bran said, stepping forward, "we have brought the gold sent by Lord Valerius."

  He gestured towards the cart, where the sacks of gold, partially concealed, were still piled.

  Daeghir and Basly exchanged a surprised glance.

  "Why did you bring it in such a… dilapidated… cart?" Daeghir asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "Why wasn't it escorted by a proper guard? Why are you alone? And were you attacked, in the way?"

  Bran, recalling Valerius's instructions, replied, "My lord, we brought the gold in this cart to avoid attracting the attention of corrupt soldiers loyal to Marcus, and also to… avoid, bandits. Despite our precautions, we were attacked. But, thanks to the Gods, we survived."

  Daeghir and Basly exchanged another, longer look, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

  Daeghir approached Bran, his gaze intense. "Tell me, brother," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "the gold you brought… is it Valerius's personal wealth, or does it come from the mine?"

  Bran, meeting his gaze without flinching, replied, "We loaded the gold ourselves, my lord. It is Lord Valerius's personal wealth. And no one, I assure you… no one. Not his guards, not anyone… knows of this transfer, but him."

  Daeghir nodded slowly, then turned to his attendant. "Provide them with medical attention, food, and fresh horses for their return journey in the morning." He turned back to the three. "You will stay here tonight to regain your strength. You may depart at dawn."

  Bran, Amara, and Davos bowed their heads in gratitude, acknowledging Daeghir's seemingly generous offer.

  Once they were alone, Basly ordered the guards to unload all, and every, gold, all of it. Then he starts his conversation.

  "Damn it," Basly muttered, watching the gold being unloaded. "They were clearly attacked. Heavily. I don't know how they survived. But…" He paused, turning to Daeghir. "I don't believe Valerius would be foolish enough to sacrifice such a vast sum of gold… unless he faced a genuine threat."

  "That's not enough," Daeghir replied calmly. "That's not enough proof that Marcus is involved. We need more evidence. And then… we'll see what to do."

  "Then find it," Basly said. "Investigate. See what Marcus is really up to."

  Later that night, after their wounds had been tended, and a, to fill their energy, a hot meal was taken. Bran, Amara, and Davos lay under the open, starlit sky, the silence a welcome balm after the day's chaos. Their heads turned, and bodies adjusted… They were facing each other, laying on the ground..

  "I… I can't believe all of that… happened," Amara said, her voice a soft whisper.

  "Me neither," Bran agreed, still trying to process the events. "I still haven't processed, what went down."

  Davos, his gaze fixed on the stars, murmured, "I… I want to be a warrior… a real warrior."

  Amara's voice, laced with guilt and remorse, broke the silence. "I'm sorry, my friends. I'm sorry for… betraying you… for betraying your trust. Forgive me, Davos… and you, Bran… forgive me, too."

  Bran, his voice gently, replied, "After what we've been through… I'm ready to forgive anyone. And you, Amara? I don’t need any more time to consider that. Of course, I’m not angry. And yes, it is true that… We, we, all felt angry… but on… ourselves, almost…"

  "…Yeah, my brother," agreed Davos.

  "As if," as Bran starts comparing, he continues, "as if tonight’s adventure, was all like… like… all just… just, a nightmare!... But… with a good end…"

  Amara, overwhelmed by their acceptance, began to laugh, a sound that bordered on hysteria. Davos, too, started to chuckle, and soon Bran joined in, his laughter, and… All… started to laugh. All sounds coming from all of them! As a hysterical laugh. All of what happened! And what they have been, through..