Hamon folded the letter, tucking it into his shirt, and gave Wallace a light pat before mounting his horse.
"Prepare yourself for the feast, my lady," he said to Vera. Then, without another word, he turned and rode out of the camp, leaving her and the young man behind.
As he neared Fort Blackrock, the landscape grew harsher. The trees thinned, giving way to jagged rocks and uneven ground. The air carried the distant clash of steel and the shouts of men.
When he reached the defenseless outer layer, he took in the people scattered throughout. They weren't the hardened, battle-ready bandits he had expected. Instead, they were a ragged assembly of beggars and outcasts, their eyes sunken, their clothes little more than tattered rags. A stark contrast to the towering fortress behind them.
With just a glance, Hamon could guess their story—lowly criminals seeking refuge, only to be cast aside.
He kept his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, scanning his surroundings. Yet, most of them barely spared him a glance. Whether it was disinterest or sheer exhaustion, they made no move to question the presence of a stranger.
As he approached the fort's gates, a pair of bandits above the wall locked eyes on him. Their postures stiffened, one gripping a crossbow, the other resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Halt!" one bellowed, raising his weapon. "State your business."
Hamon raised the parchment. "I have a letter for Blackhand."
The two exchanged a glance before one called back, "Wait there."
The heavy gate of Fort Blackrock remained shut, but movement stirred beyond it. Hamon sat still, reins firm in his grasp, his eyes flicking between the shifting shadows for any sign of trouble.
A moment later, the gate creaked open just enough for a lone cloaked figure to step forward.
Hamon's brows furrowed as he watched.
"You have a message for Blackhand?" The figure's voice was gruff and menacing, a stark contrast to the shaky hand that reached out to take the parchment.
Without dismounting, Hamon extended the letter. "From his brother, Wallace."
The figure gripped the parchment and tugged, but Hamon didn't let go.
"What's the meaning of this?" Bloodshot eyes glared at him from beneath the hood.
Hamon remained calm, his tone light but unreadable. "Are you working for Blackhand?"
The cloaked figure narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's it to you?"
"Just making sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."
In response, the figure flicked his arm, revealing a tattoo on his wrist—a hand with its index finger pointing forward, Blackhand's personal emblem.
That was enough. Hamon released the letter. He had seen that same mark before—on Madeyes and his gangs.
The figure's face twisted into a snarl as he read. His teeth clenched, jaw tightening with barely restrained frustration. Then, without another word, he turned and retreated into the fort, disappearing behind the heavy gate.
"Wait here," he ordered just before the doors slammed shut.
"This guy is going to be a pain in the ass." Hamon exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Without wasting another second, he wheeled his horse around and rode back toward the outer layer, not stopping until he reached its entrance.
There, he turned to face the fortress and waited.
This was their plan—lure Blackhand out.
The idea was simple. Blackhand would believe Hamon was leading him to Wallace. But when he came out, only to find Hamon gone, he would face a choice—proceed with caution or chase the one who had his brother.
Hamon knew the plan had plenty of ways to fail. It relied on a single assumption—that Blackhand, like most bandit leaders, was drunk on power, blinded by arrogance, and saw others as nothing more than ants beneath his feet. That kind of man wouldn't think twice—he'd chase them down without hesitation.
But if Blackhand was even a little more cautious, or if he didn't care much about his brother, he might do the smart thing—stay inside the fort and send someone else in his place.
Yet after seeing the cloaked figure at the gate, Hamon felt a little more certain—Blackhand would come himself.
As expected, moments later, the gate groaned open, and a group of eight riders thundered out.
Leading them was a hulking man, his beard as thick as the armor that encased him. But it was his left hand that caught Hamon's attention—a black wooden prosthetic.
'So that's why they call him Blackhand,' Hamon mused, turning his horse into a slow trot.
But the moment he saw the cloaked figure riding beside Blackhand, pointing directly at him, he spurred his horse into a full-speed gallop.
Behind him, Blackhand and his men surged forward, their hooves pounding the earth like an angry heartbeat.
Hamon's horse shot ahead, muscles straining as it galloped away from the imposing fortress. The chase was a deadly dance of speed, each rider pushing their steed to the limit. Blackhand's men were fast, but Hamon's Little Pony was on another level—swift, nimble, relentless.
He led them through the winding valley paths, over rocky terrain, climbing steep hills, yet never far enough to lose them completely.
When he finally reached the camp, he spotted Wallace tied to a tree, blindfolded and gagged, looking every bit like a sacrificial lamb.
As for Vera , she was nowhere to be seen.
With a sudden jolt, he pulled his horse to a stop beside Wallace, the animal's breath steaming in the crisp morning air. He swung his leg over and dismounted swiftly, turning to face the approaching riders.
Blackhand and his men skidded to a halt, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground. The leader's sharp blue eyes locked onto Hamon.
For a moment, no one moved. The only sounds were the panting of horses and the distant echoes of the fortress.
Then, with deliberate slowness, Blackhand reached over his shoulder and pulled out the massive sword strapped to his back. The weapon was a monstrosity, a slab of gleaming steel that caught the early light like a beacon of doom.
"You've led me on quite the chase, stranger," Blackhand boomed, his voice resonating through the stillness. "And why is he tied up?" He pointed his sword at Wallace.
Hamon kept his gaze on the leader, raising his hands slightly—a show of no immediate threat. "He was so eager to meet you that we had to hold him back."
Blackhand's eyes narrowed, his grip on the sword tightening. "And why the need to hold him?"
"Because we have things to discuss with you."
Blackhand chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp. "Then why not come to me? My arms are always open to my brother's saviors."
Hamon's lips curled into a smirk. "Look at you. You live in a fortress, surrounded by hundreds of bandits."
His gaze flicked toward the cloaked figure before adding, "And even with a wizard by your side."
He emphasized the word wizard just slightly, a subtle signal—a warning to Vera. 'There's an unexpected enemy. Be careful.'
Blackhand let out a deep laugh. "You save my brother, yet you act as if you're committing a crime against me. I am not a savage… Well, unless you didn't have the right intentions, then…"
"Oh? What do we have here? An honorable sir bandit?"
Blackhand scoffed, his sharp blue eyes burned into Hamon. "I was going to ask what you wanted, but there's no need. We'll find out soon enough."
With that, he lifted his massive sword and rested it on his shoulder. Around him, his men reached for their weapons, preparing for battle.
Seeing that, Hamon let out a sharp whistle.
From the trees, three heavy logs swung down on thick ropes, crashing into two of Blackhand's men before they could react. They were flung from their saddles, landing in the dirt with a thud.
Then, chaos erupted.
Vera sprang from the trees like a shadow cutting through the dawn, her blade flashing as she charged straight at Blackhand. He barely had time to raise his sword before she struck, her precise swing meeting his brute strength in a shower of sparks. The force of the impact made the ground tremble, but Vera was already repositioning, her next strike aimed with deadly precision.
Hamon, meanwhile, dashed toward the cloaked figure.
The wizard raised a hand, electricity crackling at his fingertips before a bolt of lightning ripped through the air.
Hamon twisted to the side, barely dodging the attack as the bolt scorched the ground where he had stood. He didn't stop—his sword flashed as he closed the gap, forcing the wizard to backpedal, preparing another spell.
Before Hamon could reach him, two bandits on horseback thundered toward him, spears lowered. Hamon cursed under his breath and pivoted, narrowly avoiding the first spear as it whizzed past his side.
The second rider thrust forward, forcing Hamon to twist mid-air as he barely managed to parry the strike. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, but he landed on his feet, already anticipating the next attack.
The first rider wheeled around, coming back for another charge. Hamon sidestepped at the last second, slashing his sword clean through the bandit's thigh. The man let out a strangled scream as he tumbled off his horse, his spear clattering uselessly to the ground.
The second rider aimed another thrust at Hamon's chest. This time, Hamon didn't dodge. Instead, he caught the wooden shaft under his arm, yanking the bandit forward. With a swift upward slice, he cut through the man's exposed throat, sending him collapsing off his horse.
Meanwhile, Vera had two bandits rushing at her as well, but she barely seemed fazed. The first came at her with a sword, the second with twin daggers. Vera deflected the swordsman's attack with a flick of her wrist before stepping into his guard and driving her elbow into his face. He staggered back, blood spurting from his nose.
The second bandit lunged, but Vera twisted gracefully, avoiding the twin daggers before driving her blade clean through his chest. She yanked it free and turned just in time to meet the first bandit's desperate, reckless charge. A sharp kick to his knee sent him sprawling, and before he could recover, her sword ended him.
With the lesser fighters taken care of, Hamon turned back to the wizard—just in time to see another bolt of lightning streaking toward him. He threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the blast.
The wizard sneered, his fingers crackling with energy. Then, with a sharp motion, he conjured something new—a whip of pure lightning snapping into existence in his hands.
The whip lashed out. Hamon dodged, rolling under it as it sliced through the air. The wizard struck again, and again—each time, Hamon barely evaded, the crackling heat brushing dangerously close.
Then, on the fourth strike, the whip coiled around Hamon's sword.
Electricity surged through the steel, racing up the blade and into Hamon's body.
Pain exploded through his limbs, every muscle screaming in agony. His vision blurred, but he gritted his teeth and held on. The wizard yanked the whip, trying to tear the sword from his grasp—but Hamon didn't let go.
Instead, with a mocking smile on his face, he pulled back with all his strength.
The wizard's eyes widened as he was yanked off his horse, falling to the ground. Before he could react, Hamon rushed forward, ignoring the lingering pain as he drove his sword into the wizard's chest.
The crackling energy around the man's fingers flickered out. His mouth opened in a silent gasp before he slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Hamon staggered back, exhaling heavily, his body still tingling from the electrocution.
Meanwhile, Vera's fight with Blackhand raged on. He swung his massive sword with the force of a battering ram, each strike powerful enough to split a man in half.
But Vera was faster. She weaved through his attacks, her blade striking at his exposed joints and weak points. Blackhand grunted, adjusting his stance, but for all his brute strength, he couldn't match her precision.
Then, with a well-timed maneuver, Vera stepped inside his guard. Her sword struck, slamming the blunt side of her hilt into Blackhand's temple. The massive man's eyes rolled back, and with a heavy groan, he collapsed.
The fight was over.
Or so she thought.
A shadow moved behind her—one of the bandits, barely clinging to life, raising a dagger to strike.
Before he could, a sword whistled through the air.
Hamon's blade buried itself deep in the bandit's stomach, stopping him mid-motion. His eyes widened before he slumped forward, lifeless.
Vera turned and raised an eyebrow at Hamon, who stood there, adjusting his breathing. His hair was a mess, his tunic scorched, his fingers twitching from the residual electricity.
"I have to say, I like this look on you," she teased.
Hamon rolled his shoulder as he pointed to his sword in the bandit. "You're welcome, by the way."
Vera chuckled, nudging Blackhand's unconscious form with the tip of her boot. "Not bad. Though next time, try not to get yourself fried."
Hamon sighed. "It's not a bad feeling, you know. You should try it sometime."
"I'll pass," she said, dragging the bandit leader toward a tree. "Unlike you, I don't find pleasure in pain."
Hamon smirked. "Does that mean you prefer inflicting it on others?"
"I'm neither."
"How does that work?" He stepped closer, watching her with open curiosity. "Or maybe... you just haven't figured out which one you are?"
Vera didn't answer right away.
Hamon glanced down at Blackhand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Want me to help you find out?"