Oben stepped down from the carriage, holding his whip, his face contorting with fury, a fury that wasn't directed only at the two who dared to stand against him but also at his rcenaries.
"Cowards! You disgraceful vermin! You stand there trembling instead of obeying your lord?!" - - Oben furiously scread as his wrist flicked, the whip lashed through the air with a sickening crack.
The barbed tip tore across the backs of the rcenaries, easily ripping through cloth and flesh alike. Blood splattered everywhere, so drops even landing on Agusa's face as agonized screams filled the cold mountain air. So rcenaries dropped to their knees while others completely threw themselves onto the ground, wriggling like dying worms.
However, the rcenaries preferred pain over death. This was a good result. A smile appeared on their bloody lips - "Vermin." - Oben said, spitting on a rcenary's face.
Then, his gaze shifted to Zahra.
Despite her sowhat haggard breath, Zahra's stance remained steady, her sword resting lightly at her side, blood dripping from its edge. Agusa stood slightly behind her, his bow still raised, an arrow already nocked, ready to fly at the first sign of danger.
They were challenging him.
Oben's lips curled into a snarl. "Fine. I don't need these rats." He took a step forward, the ground crunching beneath his boots. "If no one else will do it, I will deal with you two myself."
His figure disappeared and in the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Zahra, his whip raised high. Zahra and Agusa had no ti to react. Oben's whip lashed down, moving faster than their eyes could track. Zahra's instincts scread at her to dodge, but her body couldn't keep up. The barbed tip tore through the air, aiming straight for her throat—
Then, with a sharp tallic clang, the whip stopped.
Zahra's eyes widened.
Between her and Oben, a gleaming iron sword blocked the strike, catching the whip's barbs between its blade. The force behind the attack sent a sharp tremor up the sword, but its wielder didn't move.
A figure in black, standing between them like a mountain holding the heavens.
The king, Henry.
His gray eyes, now tinged with flickering purple light, locked onto Oben. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he gave the whip a sharp twist, yanking it free from the old man's grip and sending it snapping uselessly to the side of the mountain's narrow path.
Unard and with his palm stinging from the pull, Oben froze. His sharp eyes locked onto the man before him, analyzing every detail. He had survived years navigating the treacherous halls of the royal castle, mingling with nobles and schers. That experience had sharpened his instincts, and right now, every fiber of his being scread that he was standing before a true predator.
At the new figure, Zolun and the half-dozen guards imdiately stepped back, their hands tightening around their weapons as they closed ranks around the carriage. Their priority remained unchanged, protect the one inside.
Henry's lips curved into an easy smile, though his eyes remained sharp - "It seems there's been a slight misunderstanding," he said smoothly. Without shifting his gaze from Oben, he continued - "Agusa, would you mind explaining what happened?"
Agusa didn't lower his bow as he answered. "My liege, when we spotted the carriage approaching, Zahra and I moved to greet them and report back" - he said evenly - "But before we could even speak, this man—" he nodded toward Oben, "—ordered his n to attack. No questions. No warnings."
Oben scoffed, straightening his disheveled coat. "Don't act innocent, boy." His voice dripped with disdain. "I could sll it. My Winter Eagle's blood was on you."
Henry humd, his gaze flicking toward Agusa. There were no visible stand of blood on his armor.. "And?" the king asked, turning back to Oben. His voice was calm, almost amused. "So, you attacked my people… on my lands… over a bird's blood?" He spoke slowly, as if testing the absurdity of it.
Oben's fingers twitched, but a fox-like expression appeared on his face- "Forgive the rash actions," he said, his tone suddenly smoother, more asured. "We are tasked with guarding the Fifth Princess of the Sylvanhart Empire, Eleanor Sylvanhart." He gestured toward the red carriage behind him, tightly surrounded by the knights. "The Winter Eagle was an integral—"
Before Oben could finish his words, the sound of a carriage door creaking open cut through the tense surrounding, drawing all eyes toward the ornate red carriage. The heavy silence that followed felt almost unnatural, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as a young woman stepped out.
She moved with slow, deliberate grace, the layers of her deep crimson and gold gown flowing like liquid fire with each step. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders in elegant waves, framing a face that looked as though it had been sculpted from the finest marble. Even Henry was stunned. She beautiful. Even more than those models he rembered from Earth.
Eleanor lifted her gaze, eting Henry's eyes. Those golden eyes seed to hold a wild depth, filled with boldness and intelligence. It was as if she was trying to decipher his every being. Then, her gaze swept over the battlefield, the bodies strewn across the rocky path, the trembling rcenaries, the blood still wet on the snowy ground.
"Enough, Oben," she said, her voice weak, as if forcing the words out. "Stand down."
Oben turned to face her. There was no reverence in his expression, no sign of respect, only the thin smile of a man who had just been given an escape route - "As you command, Princess" - he said, his voice dripping with false servitude. Without another word, he stepped away, retreating toward the carriage.
Then, suddenly—cough.
Eleanor's shoulders shook as a violent cough tore through her body. She turned her head, covering her mouth with a delicate handkerchief, her fingers trembling slightly. A few monts passed before the fit subsided, but as she lowered the cloth, Henry's sharp eyes caught the dark crimson staining the fabric, even darker than the color of her dress.
"Princess, you should not be out here" - Zolun called out, his usually composed voice laced with concern - "The cold will only worsen your condition."
Eleanor lifted a hand, silencing him with a simple gesture. "I rely need to show courtesy to the king of this place, do I not?" she said, flashing a smile, one filled with pride, with an air of undeniable royal presence.
With that, she tucked the bloodstained handkerchief away and slowly stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Henry. She was small compared to him, barely reaching his chest, yet she stood as if the very earth beneath her feet belonged to her.
"A pleasure to et you," she said, lifting the hem of her dress slightly in a practiced curtsy. "I am Eleanor Sylvanhart, Fifth Princess of the Sylvanhart Empire."
Henry remained still, his expression unreadable. Yet, beneath the surface, sothing stirred. A strange familiarity. A feeling he could not place.
He did not know it yet, but this eting would beco one of the most defining monts of his life.
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