"So, do you have a plan for how we'll use him?" Hamon shifted the conversation, gesturing toward Wallace.
The young man sat apart from them, his shoulders slumped, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He hadn't stopped trembling since the events in the tent, his wide, shell-shocked eyes fixed on the ground.
Vera followed his gaze, looking at the scared young man. "Use him as leverage, obviously. But I doubt Blackhand will listen easily."
"What if we make him listen?"
"How? By using threats?"
Without answering, Hamon got to his feet and strode over to his horse, which was tied a few steps away. He loosened the saddlebag and rummaged through it, his eyes narrowing as he searched for something specific.
A moment later, he pulled out a small glass vial. The liquid inside glow faintly green, even under the dim moonlight. Holding it up, he smirked. "By using this."
"A poison?" Vera frowned.
"You have a keen eye." Hamon returned to his spot by the fire, tilting the vial so the green liquid shimmered, casting eerie shadows on the ground. "It's not strong—just a single drop takes two or three days to take effect. Slow, subtle… perfect for our needs."
Vera took the vial from his hand, inspecting it carefully. It was heavier than expected, the liquid inside almost pulsating with something sinister. "Do you have the antidote?"
"Yes," Hamon replied without hesitation.
She nodded, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her sword. "You're suggesting we use this on Wallace? Make Blackhand sneak us into the fort in exchange for his brother's life?"
"But," she continued, her expression turning serious, "that plan relies entirely on Blackhand's bond with his brother. What if he values his pride more? Once we're inside, what's stopping him from trying to kill us—or worse, torturing us for the antidote?"
Hamon's eyes glinted, reflecting the wavering flame before him. "That's why we won't use it on Wallace."
Vera's eyes narrowed slightly before realization dawned on her. "You mean to use it on Blackhand himself?"
He leaned back, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "A man may be willing to gamble with another's life—but never his own."
'At least, not a typical man,' he added silently to himself.
…
When the sun had fully risen, they set off again, leaving the remnants of their camp behind. The journey westward was quiet, with only the occasional snort from the horses and the jingle of saddles breaking the silence.
Wallace was tied to one of the horses they had taken from the bandit camp. He looked even worse than the night before, his eyes hollow, his body slumped. He hadn't slept at all.
As they pressed on, the terrain grew rockier, the trees denser, and the air thick with the scent of pine.
They were getting close.
They rode without stopping, pushing both their horses and themselves to the brink of exhaustion.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm, golden glow, they reached the mouth of the valley. It stretched before them—a lush carpet of greenery enclosed by towering cliffs, their jagged edges casting long, creeping shadows.
The valley was narrow, a natural funnel leading straight to their destination—Fort Blackrock.
"This valley used to be our land," Vera remarked, her gaze drifting to the cliffs that loomed like ancient sentinels. "But it was ceded to Thoria ten years ago."
"So that's why the bandits roam here freely."
"Yes. Our army can't enter without Thoria's permission."
"But it can—if there's a strong enough reason?" Hamon mused. He thought of the reinforcements Vera had called—if they were truly going to help the hostages, laying siege to Fort Blackrock would be inevitable. That meant crossing into this land.
Vera's eyes snapped to him, a flicker of surprise flashing across her face before she masked it with her usual stoicism.
"Indeed," she said. "If there is a strong reason."
With that, she nudged her horse forward. The animal responded with a snort and a jolt, and they began their ascent along the narrow path winding through the valley. Their hooves struck the rocky ground with steady, rhythmic echoes.
As they ventured deeper, the air grew cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh vegetation. The shadows stretched longer, reaching out like the fingers of a giant clawing from the valley's depths.
In the distance, the murmur of running water grew louder, hinting at a river or stream hidden somewhere beyond the trees.
An hour later, as the last light of the sun faded, they finally caught sight of it—Fort Blackrock. The fortress loomed over the horizon, a monolith of black stone that seemed to devour the fading sunlight. Its towers stretched skyward like the claws of a slumbering giant, poised to grasp any who dared approach.
Vera led them to the edge of a cliff that overlooked the fort. The precipice was treacherous, but it provided an unparalleled vantage point. They dismounted and stepped cautiously toward the edge, their eyes fixed on the stronghold in the distance below.
Fort Blackrock was indeed a formidable sight. Two distinct layers of fortifications spread before them: the outer settlement and the inner keep.
The outer layer was a chaotic sprawl of wooden structures, tents, and makeshift dwellings. Figures moved below—too far to make out, but their presence was unmistakable, scurrying like ants at the feet of a sleeping beast.
In stark contrast, the inner keep stood as a testament to calculated strategy and military discipline. A network of imposing stone buildings formed a tight, defensive core—each structure carefully positioned, every wall designed for control. Whoever had built this place had understood how to wield fear as effectively as a blade.
But the castle at the heart of it all was the most intriguing. It loomed against the cliffside, it's dark stone blending seamlessly with the rock, as if the mountain itself had given birth to it. The river that carved through the valley wrapped behind the castle's base, forming a natural moat.
Hamon's eyes narrowed as he studied the towering edifice. It wasn't just the castle's size that drew his attention; it was the unsettling aura that hung around it, a sense of ancient, malevolent power.
"This fort has stood longer than the Free City of Thoria itself," Vera said, her gaze lingering on the dark stone walls. "From what I've heard, it was once a royal castle—home to one of our kings. But it was abandoned over a century ago."
Hamon gave a knowing nod. "Of course. A structure like this could hardly be the work of mere bandits."
After taking in every detail about the fort, Hamon and Vera retreated into the thick of the forest, seeking a place where their campfire's smoke would be swallowed by the night. They found a small, secluded glade, surrounded by tall pine trees that stretched high, their branches interlocking to form a natural canopy that shielded them from prying eyes.
Dinner was a meager affair—dried meat and stale bread, eaten in silence as they planned their next move. Once their strategy for the morning was settled, Vera lay down to rest, leaving Hamon to keep watch through the first half of the night.
…
The next morning, the crisp dawn air was the first thing to greet Hamon as he cracked open his eyes. The second was Vera—already awake, her sword glinting in the early light as it arced through the air in a graceful dance of steel and precision. The rhythmic swish of metal slicing through the still morning was like a melody, a stark contrast to the tranquil hush of the forest.
Her linen shirt clung to her, damp with sweat, the fabric nearly translucent against her skin. Hamon couldn't help but admire the well toned muscles across her arms and abdomen—honed through years of relentless training—were a silent testament to her strength.
"Aren't you enjoying the morning view a little too much?" Vera's cool voice cut through the air, directed at Hamon, who remained sprawled on his side, one hand propping up his head as he watched her.
Hamon chuckled. "Can you blame me? It's not every day I wake up to such dedication."
Vera stopped her practice, her eyes meeting his. There was something in his tone that made her pause. "Dedication?"
Hamon sat up, stretching his arms with a yawn. "To your training, of course. What else would I be talking about?"
She narrowed her eyes slightly before resuming her routine, her movements sharper than before.
By the time they donned their armor and checked their weapons, the morning sun had risen higher. They made their way to Wallace, who was still tied to a tree. His eyes were sunken, his body trembling from the cold night air.
Hamon pulled a piece of parchment and a stick of coal from his bag, handing them to the shivering young man.
"You're going to write a letter to your brother," Vera said, her tone firm yet not unkind.
Wallace looked up at them, his red-rimmed eyes filled with uncertainty. "What for?" he croaked.
"To arrange a meeting," Hamon said with a friendly smile.
"H-How should I write it?"
"Just tell him you were rescued by two kind-hearted warriors," Hamon stated, amusement lacing his voice. "Say they traveled all this way just to return you home. However, since they're far too afraid to step foot in a den of bandits, they kindly request that he meet them outside."
Wallace just stared at him, disbelief etched across his face.
"Go on," Hamon urged, waving a hand.
With trembling fingers, Wallace began to write. His strokes were shaky, uneven, but he knew his life depended on this letter.
"Add something only you and your brother would know," Vera instructed, nodding toward the parchment.
Wallace hesitated, his gaze flicking up to hers before he carefully scrawled a final line at the bottom—his full name: Wallace Wolden.
When he was finished, he handed the parchment back to Hamon. "I-It's done."
Hamon took the letter and scanned the writing, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Not bad. You've got better handwriting than I expected."