As the tribesn stepped forward, they yanked the tal bar from the ground. Shimi and Raika gasped in unison, their eyes widening at the sudden movent. Even Dasha looked surprised, rushing forward instinctively.
"Hey! What are you all doing? Where are you taking them? You can’t just.... Darius told to guard them and keep watch!" she shouted, panic and frustration mingling in her voice.
Veythor’s crimson eyes narrowed, quietly noting the na. So the man’s na is Darius, he thought, his mind cataloging every detail with cold precision. The skinny man, unfazed by Dasha’s outburst, spoke again, his tone flat and authoritative.
"Yeah and that Darius instructed us to do this. Bring them inside the tribe. The tribe chief has ordered it."
Dasha’s expression softened slightly at their words.
"Oh... if that’s the case, then do it," she said, a small, approving smile curling her lips.
The tribesn nodded and began moving forward, their steps deliberate and quiet. Dasha followed closely behind, her movents cautious yet confident. Only the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees disturbed the otherwise silent forest. A cold breeze whispered around them, brushing past Raika and Shimi, who looked utterly broken, their faces pale and defeated.
Veythor’s crimson eyes swept over them. A faint, amused smirk tugged at his lips.
Heh... they gave up on their lives so easily, he thought, rolling his eyes internally.
Suddenly, a distant murmur reached his ears the growing noise of a large crowd.
So... we’re close to the tribe, he noted quietly, lifting his gaze toward the sky.
Above him, the heavens looked dreamlike, the sky tinged with a soft reddish hue. Countless stars sparkled like scattered diamonds, and the large, glowing moon bathed the forest in ethereal silver light. For a fleeting mont, the world seed suspended, almost beautiful, despite the tension pressing in from all sides.
The noise of the crowd grew louder, yet Veythor remained unmoved. He wanted to savor this rare, quiet mont. Soon, however, that serenity would vanish.... death could co at any instant. There was no guarantee of survival; he was already deep in a perilous situation to him, everything besides himself blurred into the background.
To be honest... I don’t want to die. Not yet. If I perish here, only to be reborn, transmigrated, or reincarnated... it would waste every single effort I’ve made in this life. I have to escape. Sohow, I must escape.
Ahead, the faint glow of huts erged, clustered closely together as if grown from the earth itself. Veythor observed carefully, noting the structure and layout. As soon as they entered the tribe’s settlent, an eerie silence enveloped them. Every movent, every sound, seed to vanish.
Veythor’s eyes widened slightly. There were far more people here than he expected sixty, seventy, perhaps even more, their forms barely discernible in the dim firelight. A massive bonfire burned at the center of the tribe, its flas licking the night sky, casting shadows that danced across the surrounding huts. Nearby, a strange statue lood, its shape unclear, shrouded in darkness and flickering firelight.
For a brief mont, everything seed frozen... ti, sound, and space all converging into this singular, tense mont.
So of the tribesfolk began making sounds again, moving in strange, erratic patterns around the roaring bonfire. Their bodies twisted and jerked in a rhythm that seed almost ritualistic. Veythor’s crimson eyes scanned the scene, taking in every movent, every detail.
Suddenly, an old woman appeared before them—the only adult present who wasn’t wearing a mask.
Interesting... the children don’t wear masks either. Must be a tradition... reach a certain age, earn the right to wear one, Veythor thought, narrowing his eyes at the sight of her.
He noted instantly: she must be the chief. Darius was present as well, standing silently nearby.
Those carrying Veythor, Shimi, and Raika set the tal bar down carefully, embedding it into the ground. The old lady’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk.
"Nice to et you childrens," she said, her voice carrying authority and age.
Raika and Shimi didn’t even look up their experiences at death’s door had drained every ounce of courage. Only Veythor stared, his sharp gaze assessing, calculating. A subtle smirk lingered on his lips. Sches and contingencies were already forming in his mind.
Dasha stepped forward, bowing deeply in respect to the old lady.
"Lady Emata," she said brightly, "Darius gave my first mission today!"
The chief’s wrinkled hand moved slowly to pat Dasha’s head.
"Is that so... I see," she murmured. "Then, Dasha... tell , among these three, which one do you favor?" She pointed at Veythor, Shimi, and Raika.
Dasha studied them silently for a mont, her gaze lingering on Veythor.
Let guess... she’s going to choose , Veythor thought, his smirk widening internally.
"That one with red eyes," Dasha finally said, pointing decisively at him.
Veythor couldn’t help the dry, sarcastic chuckle that escaped him. Ah... curse you, fate, he muttered internally, amused and resentful at the sa ti.
Lady Emata’s gaze shifted to him, inspecting every detail. Wrinkles marked her face, and hair loss had left her partially bald, yet she still carried an aura of authority. Her eyebrows lifted slightly in curiosity.
"Oh... that boy looks interesting," she said. "Darius, set him down and untie him."
Darius obeyed imdiately, and Veythor’s hands tingled as they were freed. A subtle ache pressed against his ribs, a reminder of the rough handling.
Oh damn, he muttered silently.
"Boy... tell . Who are you? And why are children like you wandering in this deadly forest?" Emata demanded.
Veythor didn’t answer. For now, silence was his ally. If he revealed that they were powerless escaped slaves, their situation would only worsen.
"What’s this? I’m not hearing any answers, boy!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the tense night. Still, Veythor remained silent. She sighed, irritation flashing across her face.
"Darius... get my whip," she commanded.
Murmurs rippled through the surrounding tribesfolk. Darius hesitated, hands trembling slightly as he glanced at the chief.
"Yes, ma’am," he replied, moving quickly to obey.
Before he could return, Emata planted her foot firmly onto Veythor’s head with a loud thud, pressing him into the ground. His teeth clenched instinctively, but he dared not move. Any sudden motion could an imdiate death.
"Keep your stubbornness... let’s see how much you can endure," she said, chuckling darkly. So of the tribesfolk followed her lead, their laughter echoing through the clearing, adding to the oppressive tension.
Veythor’s crimson eyes narrowed, calm and calculating, as he absorbed every detail, every sound. Pain radiated through his skull and ribs, but he refused to let fear or anger dictate his actions. Every second was data, every motion a clue, and every word a thread he could use to weave his escape.
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