The mission was to sabotage the rebels who were traveling across the border to sell
weapons. They were to confiscate the weapons and send the rebels to the capital
for punishment. The request came from the Ministry of Justice. They couldn't dispatch soldiers directly because there was no solid evidence, and doing so could cause tension between the two kingdoms.
They rode their horses to the side of the mountain, hoping to erase their tracks. The
rocky path wound through dense pine trees, and a thin mist clung to the ground, blurring their trail. Above them, cliffs loomed like silent guardians, while the distant cry of an eagle echoed through the crisp mountain air.
"Did you know what kind of carriage they where riding?" Luren asked Clara
"According to the intel it was a black carriage without a crest"
He nodded
They where ten people from the Black Vultures, and Luren and Clara is the leaders of the group.
Once they reach the end of the mountain they arrive at the border between Seravelle and Lunathia lay far from trade roads and prying eyes, buried deep in the shadowed woods of the Revan Wilds. Few dared to travel it, twisting paths choked by roots and
fog, with only the sound of crows and wind through dead branches.
An old stone marker, cracked and covered in moss, marked the invisible line between
the two lands. Nearby, a hidden trail led to a narrow ravine, where smugglers
passed goods arms, coin, secrets under cover of night. Neither kingdom patrolled here. It was too remote, too lawless.
Locals called it "the Hollow Road" a place where borders blurred, and danger thrived.
It was already dark when they heard the rumble of an approaching carriage. Two
carriages emerged from the shadows, accompanied by five horsemen riding
alongside. The ambushers quickly covered their faces with cloth masks and, with
swift and silent motions, took their positions among the rocks and trees.
As the first carriage passed, Luren gave the signal.
They sprang from their hiding spots.
Steel clashed as blades met in the night. Clara lunged at one of the riders, her
sword slicing through the air. The man blocked her strike, but she twisted and
kicked him off his horse. Another rider charged at Luren, but he ducked under
the swing and drove his blade into the man's side.
Luren thought they were winning. The clash of blades and cries of combat filled the
air, and for a moment, it seemed their ambush had worked. But then shadows
shifted.
From the darkness, more riders thundered in, their armor darker, their movements
sharper. These weren't ordinary guards, they moved like predators. Elite soldiers.
Before Luren could react, three of them had already overwhelmed his comrades. Steel
rang out one last time before silence fell. His men lay scattered on the ground, groaning or motionless.
A voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Drop your weapons if you don't want her to die!"
Luren turned sharply. a large man was gripping Clara tightly from behind. She was
forced to her knees, a sword pressed cruelly against her neck. Her eyes
searched for Luren's, wide with fear but defiant.
"Don't do it, Luren!" Clara choked out. "Don't surrender!"
The big man growled. "One more word from her and I'll silence her for good."
Luren's hand trembled on the hilt of his sword. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He glanced at the others, some were injured, some frozen, unsure.
Before he could speak, the sound of hooves echoed again.
A towering black horse emerged through the smoke and torchlight. Atop it rode a regal man, wearing a deep crimson cape embroidered with golden thread. His posture was cold, composed, noble, yet menacing.
"What's happening here?" the man asked, his voice calm but dangerous.
No one answered.
Luren looked at Clara, then at the man holding her.
With a heavy breath, he let his sword drop to the ground. One by one, the others
followed.
"Arrest them all!" the man commanded with a chilling voice that echoed through the
clearing.
Clara leaned closer to Luren as they were forced to walk, their hands bound tightly
behind their backs. "What's happening?" she whispered, her voice laced with
confusion and fear.
"I don't know," Luren muttered, glancing around. His eyes narrowed as he studied the
soldiers escorting them. "Something's not right... they don't look like rebels."
The soldiers wore matching dark armor with no insignia, their faces emotionless,
disciplined. Their formation was tight, professional, nothing like the scattered
and ragtag groups they had fought before. One of them glanced over his
shoulder, locking eyes with Luren briefly before turning away without a word.
Luren's gut twisted. These men were trained... possibly royal or mercenary elites.
Whatever was happening, it wasn't part of the plan.