Conradin pressed his hand against his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth seeping through his fingers. When he pulled it away, his palm was coated in blood. The cut was shallow, but it bled heavily, worse than it should have, especially for soone who hadn’t trained his body much beyond idle sword drills.
He cast a hateful glare toward the trees where the woman had vanished, fighting the urge to order his n to give chase. But he couldn’t abandon the carriage. His orders were clear. He had to deliver it to Prince Erik…his future depended on that.
"I will find you" - he muttered under his breath, yanking the dagger from where it had buried itself deep into the wood of the caravan. He studied it for a mont, noting the craftsmanship, before slipping it into his pocket.
Then he turned sharply to the three won lying collapsed on the ground. "Wake them up," he ordered, his voice cutting through the night. "And where is the Lenin powder? I need to treat this damn wound."
Without waiting for an answer, Conradin stord into his carriage, still clutching the crooked twig in his trembling hand. Inside, he rummaged through a small chest, pulling out a pouch filled with a fine, greenish-white powder. His hands shook badly, overexerting his mana control had drained him far more than he wanted to admit.
Outside, the soldiers remained tense, so keeping their weapons ready in case the attackers returned, while others gathered around the three won, checking their wounds and murmuring in low voices.
A few monts later, Conradin reappeared, furiously rubbing the Lenin powder into his wound. His once-luxurious clothes were now stained with blood, and his face was twisted with frustration.
"Damn it!" he roared, seeing the soldiers carefully treating the won. "I said wake them up, not nurse them!"
Despite his trembling fingers, he grabbed a nearby bucket filled with water and, without hesitation, dumped it over the nearest woman.
"Wake up!" he shouted again, his patience wearing thin.
The water splashed onto the three won, and one of them stirred weakly, coughing and blinking in confusion as Conradin stood over them, his bloodstained clothes clinging to his fra, the crooked twig still clutched tight in his free hand.
One of the woman gasped, flinching instinctively as the cold water soaked her. She struggled to sit up, her arms trembling, blood from the shallow cuts on her legs and arms mixing with the muddy water pooling beneath her.
Conradin crouched low, ignoring the pain flaring up his shoulder, his face inches from hers. His voice dropped to a low growl.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The woman blinked at him, her lips quivering, like a perfect drama actress - "P-Please..." she whispered, her voice hoarse, almost broken. "We—we are just traders’ daughters... bandits... they killed everyone..."
Tears welled up in her eyes, or at least, she made it seem so, and her whole body shook as if from terror and exhaustion. Her eyes also drifted towards the dark forest.
Conradin sneered. He didn’t believe her, not entirely. But he didn’t have ti to waste sorting truth from lies tonight. He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look up into his eyes - "And how exactly did you survive?" he hissed.
"I-I ran..." the woman sobbed, her voice cracking. "We hid... they were chasing us... but then we saw your camp... we just ran... please, my lord, we have nothing... nothing left..."
Conradin’s lips curled in disgust. Weaklings. Survivors by chance or treachery, either way, it didn’t matter now. He needed information, not stories. They could be spies sent by the second prince, Halvar.
"Get them inside the periter" - he barked to his n, standing up and wiping his bloody hand on his already ruined coat - "Separate them. Search them. If they try anything, kill them."
The soldiers moved quickly, dragging the three won apart and beginning a rough inspection. In their eyes, they were not won, so there was no lascivious intent. Blood and mud sared across their torn clothes. Conradin watched closely, his sharp eyes catching every flinch, every hesitation.
Nothing suspicious surfaced. Just shallow wounds, torn clothes, and fear. Or a damn good performance.
Conradin’s hand drifted back to the dagger he had pocketed. His mind raced. Soone had sent these won. He was sure of it. No matter how good their act was, it stank of manipulation. There was no way that such feeble won would be able to outrun those mysterious figures. Sothing was screaming at Conradin that this situation was not right.
Still, he needed to keep moving. The longer they delayed, the greater the risk of another attack, or worse, losing the chance to deliver the cargo to Erik. He would decide what to do when he entered safe grounds, maybe even a through torture.
"Bind their hands," he said curtly. "They walk with us. If they slow us down, leave them behind."
The soldiers nodded in acknowledgnt. None dared to question him openly. He was a mage and a noble.
Conradin adjusted the crooked twig in his hand, feeling the last traces of magic still humming weakly within it. His body ached. His mana reserves were low. And deep down, he knew if another serious fight broke out, he wouldn’t be able to rely on magic to save him.
He turned his gaze once more to the forest, where the enemy had lted into the darkness. His jaw tightened.
"I will find you," he repeated, almost to himself, voice low and seething. "And when I do, there won’t be a forest thick enough to hide you."
The caravan began to move, slower, more cautious. Conradin mounted his horse with a grimace, the bandaged wound throbbing. Around him, the soldiers tightened their formation, the three won dragged along under heavy guard. The woman only gave each other a brief glance. It wouldn’t be easy, but they were ready.
The night stretched ahead of them, heavy and cold.
"Will they be alright, Captain?" one of the shadows asked, a note of worry in her voice.
Leier didn’t take her eyes off the caravan. "That noble is suspicious of them," she said quietly. "They will have a hard ti, maybe even face harsh questioning when they reach their destination... but they will manage."
She narrowed her gaze slightly, studying the soldiers dragging the won into the caravan’s ranks.
"At least," she added after a mont, her voice low, "these n seem more disciplined than most. No one tried anything filthy. That alone makes things easier for them."
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