《The (Not So Heroic) Adventures of Hans》 Chapter 1: The Unfortunate Birth of a Legend There were men born for glory, heroes forged in battle, strategists whose minds shone like blades of well-tempered steel. And then there was Hans. His story didn¡¯t begin with a prophecy, nor with noble lineage. There were no stars aligning in the sky, nor gods whispering his name. He was born in a humble village, the son of a hardworking, determined woman who never gave up in the face of adversity, and of a paternal absence. From a young age, he learned that life wasn¡¯t easy, but also that there was always a way to get ahead, even if it was purely by chance or coincidence. From the beginning, his life was marked by a... peculiar luck. It wasn¡¯t exactly bad luck, because he always managed to survive the hardships, but it wasn¡¯t good either, because he did so in the most bizarre ways. When he was eleven, an infamous bandit was escaping the village guards after having robbed the local merchant''s house. Hans, who at the time was chasing after his own chicken that had escaped from the pen, tripped on a stone and tumbled down the hill like a sack of potatoes. His uncontrollable fall ended with a direct crash into the fugitive, knocking both unconscious. When he woke up, young Hans was already a hero, having unintentionally captured the most wanted criminal in the region. From that moment on, no one understood how, but he always managed to get out of trouble in absurd and impossible ways. At twelve, during the village fair, a young dragon, more scared than dangerous, swooped down from the sky toward the market. In its clumsiness, Hans tripped over a water bucket and fell backward, throwing the bucket into the air without meaning to. The water flew in a perfect arc and landed precisely on the dragon''s head, putting out the small fire it had accidentally started. This was just another example of the strange power that seemed to follow him. Wet and confused, the dragon turned around and flew off without causing more damage. The villagers cheered him as the brave one who had chased away the beast, although all he had wanted was to recover the bucket. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. At thirteen, during a visit to the capital, Hans was late for his fencing class and was running when he collided with a thief who was fleeing after stealing a large amount of jewels. In the confusion, both fell to the ground and unknowingly exchanged bags. The thief, thinking he had secured his loot, ran off with the wrong bag, while Hans got up without noticing the switch. When the guards stopped the thief and checked his bag, they found only a couple of stale pieces of bread. Meanwhile, Hans, without realizing it, was carrying the stolen jewels. Fortunately, the guards quickly cleared up the situation and caught the thief, and Hans, noticing the exchange, decided to return the bag, as it only contained his bread and a common dice, which at the time had no significance. As a reward, they gave him a medal and an entire month of paid fencing lessons for his good deed. And so began his path, where his reputation as a walking disaster grew quickly. The soldiers said that wherever Hans went, misfortune followed him closely... and somehow, inexplicably, so did victory. The title of "sergeant" wasn¡¯t an actual rank, but rather a kind of mock honorary title, as his companions claimed his clumsiness was so absurd that he deserved a badge of his own. He wasn¡¯t just clumsy; he was a "clumsy sergeant." Hans didn¡¯t have an army, riches, or even a horse that didn¡¯t try to bite him. What he did have was a suit of armor with more patches than metal, a battered sword that screeched when drawn, and an unshakable conviction that, no matter what happened, he had to hold on to any opportunity to get ahead, even if he never quite understood how he did it. And so begins his story, with an impossible mission, a group of soldiers doubting his leadership, and a tavern on fire from which, once again, he miraculously emerged unharmed... Chapter 2: The Gallop of Disaster The bar was packed. The air smelled of stale beer, sweat, and lost bets. The Grand Duke¡¯s Race was about to begin, and everyone wanted to secure a good spot, a winning bet, or, in Hans¡¯s case, a free meal. ¡°Move it along!¡± the bartender shouted, trying to clear space at the counter. Hans stood in line, waiting for his turn, when he saw her. A woman with dark hair and sharp eyes, her posture both elegant and defiant, sipped from her mug, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around her. Something about her expression fascinated him. Was she a noble in disguise? A thief? Or simply someone with far more class than the rest of the drunks crowding the place? Whatever she was, Hans was mesmerized. ¡°Pretty, isn¡¯t she?¡± a man beside him muttered, nudging him with an elbow. Hans barely reacted. His mind was elsewhere. ¡°They say she can gut a man in under five seconds,¡± the man added with amusement. ¡°Hey, are you even listening?¡± Hans wasn¡¯t. What he did hear was a bloodcurdling scream when, without realizing it, he stepped forward¡ªputting all his weight onto another man¡¯s foot. The problem? Hans was big¡ªbuilt like a well-fed ox. The other problem? The foot in question belonged to someone no sane person would ever dare to cross. An illegal racer. More specifically, Viktor ¡°The Swift,¡± one of the most infamous¡ªand notoriously crooked¡ªjockeys in the underground circuit. Hans felt something shift beneath his boot and finally snapped out of his daze. ¡°Huh?¡± He looked down. His foot. A crushed foot beneath his boot. Those toes were probably mush by now. Then, he looked up. Viktor ¡°The Swift¡± had gone crimson with pain and fury, his bloodshot eyes bulging, veins in his neck pulsing like the rigging of a storm-tossed ship. ¡°AAAAAAAAH!¡± Hans immediately lifted his foot. ¡°S-Sorry! I didn¡¯t mean to!¡± Viktor collapsed to his knees, clutching his foot with both hands, tears welling in his eyes. The music in the tavern stopped abruptly. Every eye in the room was now on them. Hans felt a cold sweat trickle down his back. ¡°Do you¡­ have any idea¡­ who I am?¡± Viktor growled through gritted teeth. Hans swallowed hard. ¡°Uh¡­ a guy whose foot really hurts?¡± Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some placed bets on whether Viktor could still fight with a busted foot. Others just waited for the inevitable brawl. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. But the real trouble began when a deep, mocking voice came from the back of the room. ¡°Viktor, my friend, you¡¯re not seriously going to let a brainless oaf humiliate you like this¡­ are you?¡± Hans stiffened. The speaker? Dorian the One-Eyed. The man stood slowly, resting one hand on the bar. The torchlight glinted off his eyepatch. ¡°This guy just stomped you like a cockroach,¡± he continued with a cruel grin. ¡°And everyone here saw it. So¡­ what are you gonna do about it?¡± Viktor, still on the ground, bit his lip and glared at Hans. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ going to break his face.¡± Hans raised his hands. ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa! It was an accident. I don¡¯t want trouble, really.¡± Dorian smirked. ¡°Well, then, let¡¯s make this interesting. Viktor needs to get even¡­ and you, big guy, owe him a debt.¡± ¡°What? I don¡¯t owe him anything!¡± ¡°Yes, you do,¡± Dorian said calmly. Hans glanced at the bag of gold on the table. Then at Dorian, who was smiling like a shark that had already decided to eat him. ¡°So tell me, Hans,¡± Dorian continued, his voice dangerously smooth, ¡°are you going to pay your debt¡­ or start working for me?¡± Hans swallowed hard. Two options:
  1. Work as a thug for Dorian (which probably meant he¡¯d end up dead before the week was out).
  2. Pay the two hundred gold coins (which he didn¡¯t have¡ªnot even in his wildest dreams).
Before he could answer, Viktor¡ªwho had been groaning in pain just a moment ago¡ªraised a hand to interrupt. ¡°Wait.¡± Dorian raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes?¡± Viktor, his face still red, took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on Hans. The rage in his eyes now burned with something else. ¡°There might be another way to settle this,¡± he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. Hans frowned. ¡°Another way?¡± Viktor nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal.¡± Dorian crossed his arms, intrigued. ¡°And what do you propose, Viktor?¡± The racer grinned proudly. ¡°We both know he can¡¯t pay me back right now. But¡­ what if he raced in my place?¡± Hans froze. ¡°WHAT?!¡± Viktor leaned against the table, ignoring his injured foot. ¡°Listen, big guy. Tonight¡¯s race has a prize of four hundred gold coins. If you race and win, we split the prize 50/50.¡± Hans felt the world tilt beneath him. ¡°You want me to race¡­ in an illegal, high-risk competition¡­ against riders who¡¯ll probably try to kill me?¡± Viktor shrugged. ¡°Would you rather work as Dorian¡¯s hired muscle?¡± Hans glanced at Dorian, who smiled at him as if to say, Pick whatever you want¡ªyou¡¯re screwed either way. Then, he looked back at Viktor. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know how to ride a horse.¡± Viktor grinned confidently. ¡°You just have to stay on and not fall headfirst.¡± Hans wasn¡¯t convinced that was as simple as it sounded. But then¡­ he thought about it. Four hundred gold coins. Never in his life had he seen that much money. Instead of evaluating the obvious dangers¡ªhis inexperience, the criminal crowd, the guaranteed risk of death¡ªhis brain filled with images of feasts, fine clothes, and maybe even a comfortable inn where he could sleep without worrying about getting his boots stolen. His eyes lit up. This was madness. This was suicide. But¡­ what if he won? ¡°¡­ I¡¯m going to die,¡± he muttered. Viktor grinned. ¡°Welcome to the underground races, Hans.¡± Chapter 3: The Night of the Unexpected Turn The twilight loomed over the makeshift track as Hans took his place with firm determination. As he lined up, he noticed in Viktor "The Swift"¡¯s gaze a contained fury¡ªa silent threat that promised no mercy¡ªthough there was a hint of resignation, as if, should the race be won, Viktor might be inclined to forgive Hans. In a dark corner of the field, while savoring a beer, Viktor¡ªstill bearing the injury sustained in an accident provoked by Hans¡ªobserved with cold, calculating eyes. In an abrasive tone, he launched his first challenge: ¡ªIf you triumph, what will you do with such precious spoils? I have already devised my plans, and believe me, not a single coin will be wasted. It is in your best interest to win, for I have designs that wait for no man. Hans, with a wry, defiant smile, replied: ¡ªViktor, with that gold I will forge my destiny. I shall purchase armor worthy of legend and weapons that will instill fear in my enemies. I refuse to remain a mere wretch; I long to become a valiant knight, one who defeats colossal dragons and rescues damsels in distress. My spirit burns with an insatiable thirst for adventure, and tonight I will carve my path to great deeds. Viktor fell silent for a few moments, his hardened face showing a spark of recognition, before leaning toward Hans in an authoritative tone: ¡ªVery well, young man. Words of fire are not enough; it is time to act. Go and prepare your steed for the race. Remember, I myself ride a noble and fierce horse, loyal to one who displays the same virtues. Prove that your soul burns with the spirit of a true knight. With that command echoing in the air, Hans focused even more. Until that moment, he had been known for his misfortune, but tonight was different: the race was his chance to change everything. Brimming with courage, he set off toward the area where the riders gathered, for the contest would soon begin. The tension grew even further with the arrival of Ignacio "The Fierce," a rider of stalwart temperament and piercing gaze whose commanding presence distinguished him among the competitors. Although other riders took part, the most outstanding was undoubtedly Ignacio, whose reputation as a master of control on the track had earned him a place of honor. That night, his presence promised to transform the race into an epic duel, especially given the news of Viktor¡¯s injury¡ªhis only rival who might have offered a genuine challenge. At that moment, Viktor, beer still in hand and his voice laced with cold admonition, addressed Ignacio: ¡ªIgnacio, although I barely know Hans, I''ve heard he''s a hard nut to crack. His fate is forged not merely by luck but by an unyielding determination. Do not underestimate what he might achieve¡ªhe could surprise you at every turn. Ignacio, with an arrogant smile and a confident tone, replied: ¡ªViktor, in a race everything is decided in the heat of battle. I train to face any contest, and my steed will obey my every command without hesitation. Let true rivalry be unleashed on the track; you will see that determination prevails. Viktor, coldly, added: ¡ªSo be it, but I warn you: do not charge in without considering the magnitude of your opponent. Though I know little of him, I''ve heard that his spirit is stronger than it appears. Ignacio, his gaze unflinching and his resolve unyielding, concluded: If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡ªThen let fate decide, and may the worthiest win on this night of challenges. With the rivalry echoing in the air, Hans concentrated even more. The race was his opportunity to change everything. When the whistle sounded, the pounding of hooves shattered the evening''s silence, heralding the start of the contest. Hans, astride his borrowed steed, surged forward in a whirlwind of speed¡ªthough at first he fell behind. With each turn and leap, he discovered the subtle slope of the terrain, an ill-placed obstacle that transformed into an opportunity, and the whisper of the wind that seemed to offer the key to a flawless glide. As the race progressed, Hans began to mount a determined comeback. In a particularly tight curve, he executed a bold maneuver. With a blend of instinct and calculation¡ªa sensation new to him, having until then relied more on luck than on his own precision¡ªhe sharply leaned to one side, taking the optimal path to gain ground. His steed responded with near-mechanical precision, while Ignacio "The Fierce" held his course, forcing Hans to readjust every move in the heat of the contest. The crowd, which had witnessed his initial disadvantage, was left in awe as Hans turned every stumble into an opportunity. With unwavering determination, he advanced, leaving behind those who had presumed they had overtaken him. In the final stretch, as the horizon blazed like an inescapable beacon, Hans unleashed his ultimate maneuver. With audacity that defied fate itself, he executed an unparalleled sprint¡ªa move that, at first glance, appeared yet another misfortune, but was the result of a daring calculation and unmatched bravery. In those final moments, the steeds became locked in a brutal struggle: Ignacio¡¯s steed battled fiercely against Hans¡¯s, and the riders launched themselves into a violent melee at the finish line. Amid the chaos, both riders fell into a savage brawl, while only Hans¡¯ horse managed to cross the line; Ignacio¡¯s steed broke down in the tumult. With the deafening roar of the crowd at his back, Hans¡¯ horse crossed the finish line not as a victim of fate, but as the very instrument of the epic destiny Hans had forged. The echo of victory spread throughout the field. For the first time, Hans had triumphed not by mere luck but by mastering every setback and transforming it into a vital lesson. The ovation merged with the serene satisfaction in Viktor¡¯s eyes¡ªwho, though unable to compete, rejoiced in securing his prize¡ªand with the astonishment of Ignacio, proving that all the rules had been shattered that night. With his heart pounding and a defiant smile on his lips, Hans knew he had taken the first decisive step toward redemption. In that moment, he understood that his fate would no longer be dictated by mere fortune, but would be forged by the strength of his resolve and the ingenuity born of every fall¡ªeven if that skill sprang from the very clumsiness that had once defined him. The night of the unexpected turn marked the beginning of a new era. However, Hans¡¯ triumph was not sealed immediately: his horse, not he, had crossed the finish line, so the judges needed to deliberate to determine the final verdict. The panel was composed of Cassius Aurelius, a judge of unyielding and impartial criteria, accompanied by Titus Valerius and Publius Flavius, who, visibly perplexed, barely knew how to proceed and limited themselves to summoning the participants with unceremonious remarks. Meanwhile, the crowd, awestruck by the spectacle, remained in tense anticipation, and both competitors and steeds, now calm after the chaotic struggle, awaited the judgment that would define the fate of the contest. ¡ªCall yourselves silent, all of you! ¡ªCassius Aurelius bellowed over the expectant murmur¡ª. Before we render our verdict, let us debate the matter. Hans¡¯ horse has crossed the finish line, but the rider was absent at the last moment. Is such a feat admissible, or have we broken the fundamental rule? Titus Valerius interjected: ¡ªThe law is unyielding. The rules dictate that the rider must cross the line alongside his steed. The absence is an infraction that cannot be remedied, regardless of the daring displayed during the race. Publius Flavius added: ¡ªOur verdict rests upon this principle. However, the regulations do allow, in exceptional circumstances, for the prize to be shared among the involved parties if a unanimous agreement is reached; if not, we must either repeat the race or seek another solution that preserves the integrity of the contest. ¡ªLet the law be law, and let it be enforced without hesitation! ¡ªCassius Aurelius declared in a tone of implacable authority. ¡ªSo it is decreed, for the honor and justice that govern these realms. May the word of this tribunal be eternal! Chapter 4: Gold, Betrayal, and Chaos Cassius Aurelius: ¡ªSilence in the hall! Hans has the floor. Hans: ¡ªHonorable judges, though I may disagree in some ways, I respect any law that is just. If fate dictates that the spoils must be shared in exceptional cases, I will not oppose it, for I believe that fairness is the foundation of our honor. Now, I ask you, Ignacio, what is your opinion on the distribution? Ignacio "The Fierce": ¡ªHans, my youthful days taught me never to yield victory easily. But I have seen in you a courage and boldness I had not witnessed in ages. Though I will not allow triumph to fall without a fight, I acknowledge that your spirit shines like a beacon in the dark. Therefore, if we reach a mutual agreement, I will be willing to yield all my spoils. But let it be known: I will not surrender my share unless you maintain that combative spirit, for I trust that, with time, you will hone your skills and forge yourself into a knight of great lineage. Hans: ¡ªIgnacio, your words have left me breathless. I appreciate your gesture, for only great men speak with such honor. I accept this noble pact, committing myself to keeping the flame of valor alive every day and to forging my destiny with the determination I have demonstrated today. Ignacio "The Fierce": ¡ªSo be it, Hans. Let this agreement stand as proof that, in adversity, true greatness is measured by the nobility of the spirit. May fate always find us worthy! Cassius Aurelius (with an implacable tone): ¡ªSo let it be decreed, in the name of honor and justice that rule these lands. May the word of this tribunal and this sacred pact be eternal! The night had not yet died completely, but the contest had already left a trail of chaos. Though the judges had delivered their verdict with the unyielding severity of the law, the true shock came when the chest containing the gold was opened. The crowd gathered around the heavy oak chest, adorned with forgotten heraldry and seals of ancient deeds, eagerly awaiting the glimmer of coins that would seal the fate of the contest. However, when the escort lifted the lid, the chest revealed its treacherous truth: it was empty. A deafening silence took hold of the place. Every eye widened in disbelief, and every breath became an echo of disappointment. ¡ªThis cannot be! ¡ªsome exclaimed, while others murmured in astonishment and distrust. Hans, his face serious and his gaze fixed on the chest¡¯s emptiness, muttered to himself: ¡ªFate grows darker than I ever imagined... Ignacio "The Fierce" stepped forward with a firm stride and exclaimed fiercely: ¡ªNo one move! The thief is still among us! The judges, barely able to process what was happening, were left stunned by the revelation. Before they could give any explanations, the crowd descended upon them in fury. Cassius Aurelius tried to raise his voice, but his authority was drowned out by the roar of the mob. ¡ªI order you to maintain composure! We must clarify this before¡ª! A cup flew straight at his face, silencing him instantly. Viktor, caught in a heated argument with a man insisting this was not the judges¡¯ fault, could barely make himself heard. His injured leg prevented him from moving quickly, and before he knew it, the brawl had begun. Hans looked at Ignacio, but his companion wasted no time trying to calm things down. He did not mediate with words¡ªhe mediated with fists. ¡ªIf you want answers, hit those who stole it, not me! ¡ªroared Ignacio, knocking a man down with a punch. Hans, seeing everything spiraling out of control, tried to step back, but he wasn¡¯t fast enough. A pair of men grabbed him roughly. ¡ªYou were in the race, bastard! This is your doing! ¡ªone of the aggressors growled. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡ªGet your damn hands off my cape! ¡ªHans roared, headbutting the first and shoving the second into the crowd. He felt his blood boil in his chest. He had no idea who had stolen the gold, but if he stayed there, they would make him pay for it anyway. He tried to force his way through with elbows and shoves, but a burly man with a weathered face and dark eyes intercepted him. ¡ªDid you think you could walk away from this without consequences? ¡ªspat the stranger, drawing a dagger. Hans barely had time to react before the thug lunged at him. Instinctively, he dodged and kicked the attacker in the shin. The man grunted, but before he could recover, Hans leaped over an overturned table and ran into the shadows. ¡ªCatch that bastard! ¡ªsomeone shouted. He needed no further warnings. Hans fled through the alleys, the sound of pursuers close behind. He had no fixed destination, only one clear decision: if he wanted to survive in this world, he had to stop relying on luck and start forging his own legend. As the brawl in the contest raged on, Hans vanished into the night, with the echoes of battle fading behind him. Hans ran, his breath ragged, the metallic taste of blood still in his mouth from the blows received during the contest. Two thugs chased him, hot on his heels like hungry wolves. ¡ªRun, kid, run! ¡ªone of them jeered¡ª. When I catch you, I¡¯ll rip out each of your teeth one by one! The narrow, cobbled streets seemed to close in on him. Hans zigzagged through dark alleys, but he knew he couldn¡¯t run forever. When his house appeared in the distance, he forced himself to muster every ounce of strength to reach it before they caught him. He pushed the door open and slammed it shut, barricading it with a barrel and an old chair. His mind raced. I can¡¯t stay here. I have no time. I need to grab what I can and get out. But before he could move, the pounding on the door began. ¡ªWe know you¡¯re in there, scum! ¡ªone of the thugs growled¡ª. Come out and give us what you owe! Hans scowled. ¡ªI don¡¯t owe you idiots anything! ¡ªYou were in the race! You must know where the gold is! Hans let out a dry laugh. ¡ªWell, I¡¯ve got bad news for you... I¡¯m looking for it too! The silence that followed only meant one thing. They didn¡¯t care what he had to say. ¡ªBreak the door. Hans grabbed a thick wooden stick from a corner. It wasn¡¯t a sword, but it would do the job. He wouldn¡¯t go down without a fight. With a loud crash, the door gave way. The first thug, a tall man with a scar on his cheek, stepped in confidently. Hans didn¡¯t wait. He swung at the man¡¯s leg with all his might. The thug grunted in pain and dropped to one knee. ¡ªYou little bastard! Hans swung again, striking his face. The thug staggered, but the second, bulkier and fiercer, grabbed Hans from behind and threw him to the ground. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Before he could get up, a kick landed on his side. ¡ªYou put up a good fight... ¡ªthe scarred thug growled, wiping blood from his mouth¡ª. But this is the end for you. Hans, aching, forced a grin. ¡ªWhat are you waiting for? You gonna beat me till dawn? The bulkier one drew a knife. ¡ªNo. We¡¯re ending this right here. Hans closed his eyes for a moment. ¡ªShit... Then, a sound. A dull thud. A crack. And then, a scream of pain. When Hans opened his eyes, the burly thug was collapsing to the ground like a sack of flour. Behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows, holding a sharp dagger still dripping with blood. ¡ªAlways getting yourself into trouble, big guy... Hans blinked. It was her. The same girl he had seen at the tavern the night before. The thief of the gold. Though Hans didn¡¯t know it yet. The scarred thug tried to react, drawing his own dagger and lunging at the mysterious woman. But she was faster. A sidestep. A swift, precise movement. A silver flash in the darkness. The girl¡¯s dagger sliced through the air with surgical precision, piercing the thug¡¯s wrist before he could strike. The man howled in pain, dropping his weapon. With a fluid turn, the thief moved behind him and struck him on the nape with the hilt of her dagger. The thug fell to his knees, trembling. Hans, still on the ground, stared at her in disbelief. ¡ªWho the hell are you? The girl smirked playfully, wiping her blade on the unconscious thug¡¯s clothes. ¡ªSomeone who just saved your hide. Hans frowned, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The mysterious woman stepped closer and held out her hand. ¡ªGet up. It¡¯s not safe to stay here. Hans hesitated for a second, but before taking her hand, his instinct forced a question he couldn¡¯t ignore. ¡ªWhy are you helping me? She looked at him with a half-smile, her eyes reflecting the spark of someone who knew far more than she was willing to say. ¡ªI heard you say you needed to stay alive to find the gold. Hans felt a chill run down his spine. ¡ªSo what? The girl leaned in slightly, her voice barely a whisper. ¡ªLet¡¯s just say¡­ I want to know who has it, too. Hans didn¡¯t know if he could trust her, but at that moment, he had two choices: And for the first time in a long while, fate offered him a choice. Chapter: 5 The Hands That Save, The Hands That Play The previous night had been a nightmare. Hans had no idea how many blows he had taken, but his body made sure to remind him with every stab of pain. His head throbbed with a dull pulse, and his side burned as if he had been struck with a war hammer. His skin felt tight where he had scrapes, and when he tried to move his right leg, a cramp shot up from his thigh to his back, forcing a muffled groan from his lips. The scent of burnt wood and dried herbs floated in the air when he opened his eyes. The dim glow of an oil lamp cast flickering shadows on the uneven stone walls. He was inside what looked like a small cabin carved into the rock, hidden and blending into the environment. It wasn¡¯t a typical shelter; it felt more like a hideout, a refuge meant to go unnoticed. The stone floor was covered with animal skins and some worn blankets, and a weak fire smoldered in a small stone fireplace, offering barely any warmth. On crude wooden shelves nailed into the rock with iron spikes, glass jars filled with various colored liquids sat alongside small bundles of herbs tied with string. On a sturdy wooden table, rolled-up parchments lay scattered among well-sharpened daggers and an open map with dark ink markings. He tried to sit up, but the pain forced him to collapse back onto the blankets with a grunt. Lifting his torn shirt, he saw that his torso was wrapped in tight, well-secured bandages. The bruised skin beneath them and the burning sensation told him that someone had cleaned his wounds with alcohol or some strong salve. ¡ªWell, at least you¡¯re still breathing. ¡ªA voice spoke from the shadows. Hans turned his head with effort. To the side, leaning against the thick wooden door, stood her. It was the same woman he had seen at the tavern. Now, under the dim lamp light, he could make out her features more clearly: she wore modest but elegant clothing, dark fabrics with subtle embroidery on the sleeves. Her hair was pulled into a long, well-kept braid, and her sharp eyes observed him with the patience of a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Hans swallowed, trying to steady his mind. ¡ªWhere¡­ am I? ¡ªhe asked, his voice hoarse. The woman didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, she regarded him in silence for a few seconds, as if deciding whether he was even worth answering. ¡ªSomewhere you¡¯re not supposed to be ¡ªshe finally said, her tone dry. Hans frowned. ¡ªThat doesn¡¯t tell me much. ¡ªIt doesn¡¯t need to ¡ªshe replied, indifferent. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Hans scoffed and forced his body to move despite the pain. ¡ªLook, I¡¯ve woken up in plenty of strange places, but this¡­ ¡ªhe glanced at the stone walls, the low-burning fire, and the neatly arranged supplies¡ª. This isn¡¯t some random cave. Where are we? Lysandra didn¡¯t respond immediately. She walked over to the table, picked up a small rolled parchment, and toyed with it in her hand before speaking. ¡ªI suppose you¡¯re not important enough for it to matter if I tell you. This is a Smell. A ¡®natural¡¯ hideout. Hans raised an eyebrow. ¡ªA what? Lysandra spun the parchment between her fingers with a casual air. ¡ªImprovised shelters. Hidden places that survivors, travelers, or hunters mark and prepare for emergencies. They can be caves, hollow trees, abandoned houses, anywhere that might offer shelter on a night like the one you just had. At first glance, they look deserted, but they always have a hidden opening, a passage, or a secret entrance that leads to the real refuge. Hans took another look around, more attentively this time. ¡ªAnd this one in particular? ¡ªhe asked¡ª. Did you make it? Lysandra shook her head. ¡ªNo. I just found it. Before he could say anything else, Lysandra grabbed a waterskin and set it beside him without a word. A simple act, but Hans noticed it. She no longer treated him with the same coldness as before. ¡ªSo¡­ why did you do it? Lysandra sat on a wooden crate, crossing her legs with practiced ease. ¡ªDo what? ¡ªSave me. Lysandra idly adjusted the buckle on her leather glove. ¡ªAnd you don¡¯t seem like the kind of person who asks smart questions¡­ yet here we are. Hans scoffed. ¡ªSo that means you¡¯re not going to answer, huh? Lysandra smirked. ¡ªLet¡¯s just say¡­ the night didn¡¯t go as I expected. Hans frowned. ¡ªThat doesn¡¯t explain anything. Lysandra shrugged. ¡ªYou¡¯re right. But what I can tell you is that you owe me. And it wasn¡¯t a small favor. Hans noticed that her tone wasn¡¯t a threat, but it wasn¡¯t just a casual remark either. ¡ªAre you saying I have to do something for you in return? ¡ªDon¡¯t call it a debt. Let¡¯s just say¡­ it¡¯s a way to balance the scales. Hans studied her cautiously. Under different circumstances, he would have pushed for more answers. But in his current state, he could barely move without feeling like his body was shattering. He knew he didn¡¯t have the strength to argue or demand explanations. ¡ªI don¡¯t like owing favors ¡ªhe muttered, narrowing his eyes. ¡ªThat¡¯s too bad ¡ªLysandra replied with a smirk¡ª. Because you already do. Hans sighed and let his head drop back onto the blankets. There was no point in pressing the issue now. ¡ªAm I going to regret this? Lysandra let out a low, teasing chuckle. ¡ªOh, no doubt. But don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s going to be fun. Hans half-opened an eye, too exhausted to play along. ¡ªThat doesn¡¯t reassure me¡­ Lysandra simply shrugged and, with a distracted air, nudged the fire in the hearth with the tip of her boot. ¡ªAt the end of it all, there will be a reward. She said it with the same nonchalant tone one would use when discussing the weather. But even in his exhaustion, Hans caught a faint glint in her eyes. Was it simple anticipation¡­ or was she enjoying knowing something he didn¡¯t? Hans frowned, but fatigue was dragging him under. ¡ªReward¡­ ¡ªGet some rest, Hans. We¡¯ll talk tomorrow. Hans tried to respond, but his body refused to obey. He sank into sleep, completely unaware that Lysandra was talking about the gold stolen from the race¡­ the very same gold he had lost. Chapter 6: The Judgment of the Shadow The cabin was silent. Only the crackling of the fire and the relentless patter of rain against the rock filled the darkness. Hans slept deeply, his breathing heavy and steady. His body, exhausted and sore, barely moved. With each exhalation, his expression softened, shedding for a few hours the tension that usually accompanied him, even when he spoke. Asleep, he seemed less clumsy, less chaotic. Just a man with too many wounds and too much history behind him. Lysandra, seated in a corner of the cabin, watched him without a word. Her gaze remained fixed on him, but her mind was elsewhere. Hans'' words had struck deeper than she was willing to admit. "I wouldn¡¯t know if I¡¯d call it luck¡­ I felt something different." It was just a phrase. Something said in the middle of an unimportant conversation. But now it echoed in her head. Lysandra had learned not to believe in luck. In her world, nothing happened by chance. Everything was cause and effect, calculation and risk, decisions made in the span of a heartbeat that could mean life or death. But Hans¡­ Hans was walking chaos. And yet, he was still standing. Something about him defied logic. As if luck did not favor him, but played with him, carrying him from one disaster to another until, in some inexplicable way, he emerged unscathed. It made no sense. What was he, really? Her gaze grew distant as her mind began to weave together scattered thoughts, fragments of words she had heard in taverns, in dark corridors, in voices that had never had a face. Reflections buried deep within her, now rising like a lost echo.
There are cursed souls, consumed by fear, forged in the hardness of time, hardened by fate. And there are men of noble bearing and upright walk, who, at the slightest distraction, drive the dagger deep and move on, without remorse, without looking back, for they shall never see themselves as brothers, nor stop for the one they wound. Yet there are also those of noble heart, but stone-like will, who, in their strength, find weakness, and those broken by life, who, in the darkest corners of their souls, find courage. Sometimes, fate weaves together unexpected paths. Different faces cross in a single day. And the one who never spoke a word may yet surprise you, for what he hides in his chest burns in secret, like embers in the wind. There will always be those who seek quarrel, Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. just as there will be those who offer a hand without reason. Those who never fall silent, those who do not know how to betray, those who will give everything for a true comrade. There are fools who believe the world is theirs to command, yet they sow only chaos and destruction in their wake. They taint the air, they defy order, as if they were strangers to the very laws of fate. We gather, we err, and at times, for fleeting moments, honor seems to exist among men. But always, there are those who lose themselves in their own thoughts, and those who, in the deepest solitude, find the essence of their being. Yet weakness need not stand in the way of strength when it is rage that ignites it, when it is truth that shields it, when will is crystalline and firm as steel. Drops of purity shine in the gaze. Sometimes, I wonder who they are, where they go. With uncertain steps, they endure their roles, wandering threads, lives entwined beneath the same and eternal sun. There are those who speak little, those in whom you would place no trust. Others, with sharp tongues, are keepers of secrets. Some walk with steady strides, absorbed in their duties, while others languish in perpetual idleness. Sometimes, a single glance is enough to glimpse the soul. Sometimes, not even a lifetime is enough to truly know someone. Men worthy of praise, men who are nothing but filth. The art of choosing who must leave and who will remain. Who will be the next to break the laws? Who will be the next to rise and impose their will? The cycle of men repeats itself time and again, and through the years, we learn the script well. We know the rogue, the cripple, and the liar. The lamb that plays at being a wolf, the deceiver with soft hands and a venomous tongue. A crucible of shadows and light, of wounds that still bleed, for it is our scars that tell our story. There are those who seek others because they flee from themselves, those who drown their sorrows in drink until reason fades. There are those of sound mind who are mad in truth, who shun the herd and scale mountains. And there are weary souls who seek only respite. Wandering souls upon an uncertain path. Souls who have suffered, and who, deep within, still seek a friend.
Lysandra blinked slowly. She had seen too many people in her life. People who were worth nothing. People who were worth more than the world had given them credit for. Hans¡­ he did not fit into any of those categories. He was a disaster. But a disaster with something more. He was not the kind to plot his actions with cold calculation. He was not the kind to carve out a clear path with certainty. He was not the kind to betray for pleasure. And most unsettling of all, he was not the kind to surrender, either. Lysandra exhaled softly and looked away. She tightened the buckle of her glove with an automatic gesture, as if trying to grasp a thought before it slipped away. At the end of the day, it did not matter what she thought of him. Only what he would do now. And what she was willing to do with him. She rose silently, stepping toward the fire. She lay down in the hammock, letting its slow sway envelop her. Outside, the rain continued to fall, each drop marking the rhythm of the night. Before she fully reclined, she cast one last glance toward Hans. He stirred slightly in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. He did not seem like a man whom life had treated with much kindness, but neither did he seem like someone who would let himself be broken by it. Lysandra closed her eyes. Sometimes, a single glance is enough. There was something in him. Something she had yet to decipher. It did not matter. Tomorrow, she would find out. Tomorrow, everything would continue as it should. But tonight¡­ Tonight, she would let chaos rest in peace. Chapter 7: A Code in the Night The rain had subsided, but the sound of droplets sliding down the rocks still persisted in the darkness. The shelter remained silent. Hans slept deeply, his breathing steady, unaware of the world around him. Lysandra, on the other hand, remained awake, lost in her thoughts. Then, a sound broke the stillness of the night. A faint creak. A footstep. Lysandra didn¡¯t move immediately. Her body tensed, her senses sharpened. It wasn¡¯t an animal. Someone was outside. With the caution of someone who had lived through too many dangerous nights, she slid a hand toward the dagger within reach. Her fingers gripped the hilt firmly, the cold metal providing her with a familiar sensation: control. Knock, knock. A sharp, precise knock on the wooden door. A pause. Another knock. Lysandra perked up, expectant. It wasn¡¯t an attempt to force the door open¡ªit was a code. A code she knew well. She kept her breathing steady, but her mind was already at work. If it was who she thought it was, it meant trouble. She pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment. Finally, she stood up silently and approached the entrance. Her dagger remained firm in her hand, hidden beneath the folds of her clothing. With the other hand, she cracked the door open slightly, letting the darkness of the forest seep into the refuge. Standing before her, under the dim light of the moon filtering through the clouds, was a hooded man. His boots were caked in dried mud, his cloak soaked, and his breathing was slow yet intense. A resilient man, hardened by a life on the road. His dark eyes examined her with severity. Lysandra felt a slight shiver run down her spine. Geronimus. A loyal companion from her guild. She hadn''t expected to see him. If he had found her, it meant something had gone wrong¡ªagainst her. He stared at her in silence for a moment before letting out a deep sigh, full of exhaustion. ¡ª"Five days. Five damned nights looking for you." Lysandra tensed internally, but her face remained expressionless. ¡ª"And that tells me something went wrong." Geronimus let out a dry chuckle. ¡ª"More effort, you say? I¡¯ve tracked footprints, followed rumors, and left bodies in my wake. And all because of your damned habit of vanishing when you''re needed the most." Lysandra gestured for him to enter the cabin and closed the door behind him in silence. She glanced at Hans, ensuring he was still asleep. His breathing was steady; he didn¡¯t seem to have heard anything. With a swift motion, she lowered the oil lamp slightly, shrouding the cabin in deeper shadows. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡ª"How did you find me?" ¡ªshe whispered. Geronimus shook his head, still tired. ¡ª"I had a rough idea of where you were last seen and estimated where you might have gone. But I didn¡¯t expect you to hide in a Smell." Lysandra frowned. ¡ª"It¡¯s not an obvious place." ¡ª"I know. That¡¯s why it took me so long." Lysandra crossed her arms. ¡ª"If you found me, others could too." Geronimus fixed his gaze on her. ¡ª"The guild is already looking for you." Lysandra felt a cold sensation creeping up her spine, but she didn¡¯t let her expression change. ¡ª"I know the task never returned." Geronimus raised an eyebrow. ¡ª"Then what the hell happened?" Lysandra clenched her jaw for a second before replying. ¡ª"I couldn''t complete it." Geronimus narrowed his eyes. ¡ª"I figured that much when the wagon never arrived. What I want to know is why." Lysandra sighed, crossing her arms. She knew she would have to explain things at some point, but she hadn¡¯t expected it to be this soon. ¡ª"The chaos of the race changed everything. There was too much movement, too many eyes looking in the wrong direction¡­ My escape route was blocked." ¡ª"And the loot?" Lysandra kept her face impassive. ¡ª"I couldn¡¯t deliver it." Geronimus let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face in frustration. ¡ª"Tell me at least you didn¡¯t lose it." Lysandra didn¡¯t respond immediately, which was enough for Geronimus to click his tongue in irritation. ¡ª"Damn it, Lysandra¡­" She lifted her hand, cutting off any further reprimand. ¡ª"It¡¯s not lost. It¡¯s just¡­ out of reach for now." Geronimus looked at her with a mix of incredulity and frustration. ¡ª"You have no idea how much pressure is on the guild right now. They think you ran off with the gold." Lysandra met his gaze, unwavering. ¡ª"Give me two days. I¡¯ll fix it." Geronimus shook his head. ¡ª"You don¡¯t have two days. I can¡¯t go back empty-handed." ¡ª"If I go back now, I won¡¯t be able to complete the task." Geronimus stared at her. ¡ª"If you show up now, at least you can explain yourself and negotiate. If you wait, two days might be too late." Lysandra remained firm. ¡ª"If I return without finishing the task, there will be no negotiation. Only accusations." Geronimus sighed heavily. ¡ª"I can¡¯t promise things will be fine when you return." Lysandra nodded slowly. ¡ª"I appreciate it." There was a tense silence between them. Finally, Geronimus grunted: ¡ª"Do what you have to do, but don¡¯t take too long. I¡¯ll do what I can to buy you time." ¡ª"I appreciate it." ¡ªLysandra repeated firmly. Geronimus gave her one last look before turning away. ¡ª"Just make sure it¡¯s worth it." Just before stepping out the door, Geronimus turned back and took a glance at Hans, who was still deeply asleep, completely unaware of what was happening. ¡ª"Sleeps like a log." Lysandra exhaled lightly, unsurprised. ¡ª"Not surprising. He took quite the beating before I found him." Geronimus raised an eyebrow with curiosity. ¡ª"You found him? I thought it was the other way around." Lysandra shook her head. ¡ª"The task got more complicated than expected. Just when things were turning difficult, I crossed paths with him." Geronimus gave her a knowing look. ¡ª"And what? Did you decide to save him out of kindness?" Lysandra shrugged indifferently. ¡ª"I saved his life, yes. But he helped me too, even if he didn¡¯t realize it." Geronimus gave her a skeptical glance. ¡ª"Don¡¯t tell me he¡¯s useful." ¡ª"Not in the traditional sense," Lysandra replied with a faint smile. "But trust me, he has a peculiar talent for twisting situations in his favor¡­ or at least for surviving them." Geronimus let out a short laugh. ¡ª"Well, with how loud he snores, he doesn¡¯t seem too concerned." ¡ª"Not yet," Lysandra corrected, her eyes glinting. Geronimus gave the cabin one last look before stepping outside and vanishing into the night. Lysandra sighed and let silence settle once more in the shelter. Two days. That was all she had. She glanced at Hans, who muttered something in his sleep before shifting under the blanket. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms and silently extinguished the oil lamp, letting darkness claim the refuge once more. Dawn would bring new problems. Chapter 8: Blunders and Challenges Hans woke up with the strange sensation of having actually rested. His body, though still sore, no longer ached with every movement. His head no longer pounded like a war drum, and for the first time in a long while, he felt as though he had slept enough. But his stomach had other priorities. A deep hunger growl shook him even before he managed to sit up. He ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his mind, and blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the shelter. A faint glow from the oil lamp still illuminated the stone walls, but the first thing that truly caught his attention was the sound. A steady, measured rhythm. Firm footsteps. The rustling of leather against wood. Hans frowned and looked around. Lysandra wasn¡¯t just awake¡ªshe was moving with the urgency of someone who had no time to waste. Her hands worked with precise efficiency as she packed, securing bags, tightening straps, checking every detail with the focus of a seasoned fighter. This wasn¡¯t just preparation. It was determination. And urgency. Hans narrowed his eyes, still shaking off the haze of sleep. His stomach growled again, almost as if demanding answers. ¡ªAnd what about food? ¡ªhe asked, his voice still rough. Lysandra didn¡¯t even turn. ¡ªI save your life, I feed you¡­ what more do you want? Hans blinked. ¡ªWell, if you''re offering¡­ Lysandra shot him a sharp look, and Hans wisely chose not to finish that sentence. ¡ªCheck the bag on the chest ¡ªshe added with a sigh. Hans followed her indication. On top of an old, worn wooden chest lay a small cloth bag, tied with a simple knot. He grabbed it with curiosity and opened it, expecting to find something substantial¡ªperhaps dried meat, a wedge of well-aged cheese, or, if he was lucky, a thick and hearty loaf of bread. What he found was¡­ less promising. A dark, compact loaf with a faint scent of spices. It wasn¡¯t rock-hard, but it didn¡¯t look particularly appetizing either. He held it in his hand, inspecting it with suspicion. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡ªWhat is this? Lysandra clicked her tongue. ¡ªTrail bread. Won¡¯t fill you up, but it¡¯ll keep you standing. Hans blinked, then looked at the bread with resignation. ¡ªSo it doesn¡¯t stop the hunger, but it won¡¯t let me drop dead either? ¡ªExactly. Hans let out a short chuckle, then took a bite. The texture was dense, the flavor barely passable, with a hint of spices that kept it from being completely bland. Not the worst thing he¡¯d eaten, but certainly nothing he¡¯d trade his soul for. ¡ªThank you. ¡ªhe said at last, without a hint of sarcasm. Lysandra didn¡¯t respond, but Hans noticed that her expression softened for the briefest moment before she returned to tightening one of her pack¡¯s straps. The air in the shelter felt heavy, charged with a quiet urgency that Hans couldn¡¯t quite ignore. Something had changed since the night before, though he wasn¡¯t sure what. ¡ªSo, uh¡­ what¡¯s the rush? ¡ªhe finally asked. Lysandra didn¡¯t pause. She simply picked up her dagger and fastened it to her belt before replying. ¡ªBecause we¡¯re leaving. Hans raised an eyebrow. ¡ªWe? ¡ªI¡¯m leaving. ¡ªLysandra turned to face him, her tone firm¡ª. You can stay here if you want. Hans blinked, taken aback by how blunt she was. ¡ªWait, you¡¯re serious? Lysandra folded her arms, her gaze assessing him. ¡ªYou don¡¯t have to come. I saved your life, I gave you food. You¡¯re recovered. I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. Hans didn¡¯t respond right away. He looked around¡ªthe small shelter, the few embers still glowing in the fireplace, the marks on the stone that told him others had taken refuge here before them. He could stay. He could wait for Lysandra to leave and then figure out what to do with himself. But the idea didn¡¯t sit well with him. He stood up, dusting off his clothes and fastening his sword at his side with a gesture far more confident than he actually felt. ¡ªWell, I owe you one. Lysandra tilted her head slightly, as if doubting what she had just heard. ¡ªI didn¡¯t ask you to. Hans smiled easily. ¡ªDoesn¡¯t matter. You saved my life. Least I can do is help. She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to determine whether the man in front of her was serious or if this was just another sign of his usual clumsiness. Hans shrugged, unconcerned. ¡ªBesides, if you¡¯re in such a hurry, an extra pair of hands might come in useful. I¡¯m not saying I¡¯m the best travel companion, but at the very least, I know how to run when things go south. Lysandra let out a slow breath, looking at him with a mix of frustration and resignation. ¡ªIf you come with me, there¡¯s no room for mistakes. Hans grinned confidently. ¡ªI always mess up at the worst times. But somehow, I¡¯m still alive. Lysandra shook her head, but a flicker of amusement crossed her face before she turned away and resumed packing. She slung the bag over her shoulder and strode toward the exit without looking back. ¡ªDo what you want. But if you fall behind, I won¡¯t wait for you. Hans smirked, realizing that, somehow, he had just gotten himself into something much bigger than he¡¯d anticipated. Before stepping outside, Lysandra hesitated for just a moment. Without turning, she spoke, her voice as cold as ever: ¡ªAnd when this job is done, we go our separate ways. Hans raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t argue. ¡ªRight, right. No lasting bonds. Got it. Lysandra shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. ¡ªDon¡¯t get the wrong idea. This isn¡¯t an alliance. It¡¯s just a¡­ temporary coincidence. Hans let out a short laugh and shrugged. ¡ªWhatever you say. But as he stepped out into the daylight, following Lysandra¡¯s brisk pace, a thought crossed his mind. Something told him this "temporary coincidence" was going to last a lot longer than she expected. Chapter 9: Two Guardians and a Shadow The dawn filtered through the leaves, bathing the path in a pale golden glow. Hans walked behind Lysandra, trying to keep pace without tripping over the roots protruding from the ground. Despite the morning chill, the air was thick with barely contained tension. "Tell me something," Hans said after a while in silence. "This ''task'' you mentioned¡­ does it involve transporting something or escorting someone?" Lysandra neither stopped nor turned her head. Her response was curt, devoid of patience: "I didn¡¯t ask for your help, so don¡¯t expect answers." Hans pressed his lips together. Her attitude didn¡¯t surprise him, but he didn¡¯t like being left in uncertainty either. Before he could insist, Lysandra sighed and added: "The only thing you need to know is that if you¡¯re coming, you¡¯ll have to help transport a package. Nothing more." Hans raised an eyebrow. "Right, that sounds completely innocent. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just a simple errand and not something that could get us into mortal trouble, right?" Lysandra cast him a sidelong glance, making it clear she had no interest in arguing. "We still have a long way ahead. Walk!" The path Lysandra had chosen was far from the most traveled. Winding and narrow trails wove through the underbrush, where wild grass grew freely, concealing ancient roads that seemed long forgotten. In some stretches, the silence became eerie: neither birdsong nor the rustling of leaves disturbed the stillness. Hans noticed, to his unease, that even the wind seemed to avoid these routes. As they advanced, he spotted remnants of what might have once been a well-paved road¡ªmoss-covered stones jutting out from the earth, and in certain places, rotted wooden posts with inscriptions too eroded to read. As if this path had belonged to someone¡­ and had then been deliberately erased from the map. The journey continued with the chatter of birds, their songs almost resembling a conversation. As if they were discussing the events unfolding in the forest and beyond. Hans, ever eager to fill the silence with words, took advantage of the quiet atmosphere to speak. "You know, before the illegal race, I was in a tavern on the outskirts of Avalon. I thought I saw you there, but you weren¡¯t alone." Lysandra didn¡¯t stop, but her response was immediate and firm: "Impossible. I don¡¯t like crowded places, and I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about." Hans tilted his head, unconvinced. "You seemed quite busy with a rather dangerous-looking fellow. Then again, I suppose there are plenty of women with your sharp attitude and mysterious air." Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Lysandra let out a short exhale, as if the conversation wasn¡¯t even worth her time. Hans got the message but couldn¡¯t help but smirk. "Alright, my apologies." Around them, the vegetation thickened in places, forcing them to walk in single file. There were traces of ancient stone routes half-buried under vines, suggesting that this path had once been more frequented. "Looks like someone used this before," Hans said, nudging a rock peeking through the foliage. "A long time ago," Lysandra replied in a low voice. "And we don¡¯t want them using it again." Hans felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was because of the implied warning in her words or the feeling that, at any moment, they might encounter someone who didn¡¯t want them there. He paused briefly, scanning the forest around him. Something felt off. It wasn¡¯t just the sense of treading a path that wasn¡¯t meant to be found¡ªit was the way the shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally between the trees, as if something was watching them. A thought crossed his mind like a silent warning: this simple favor might just be the tip of the iceberg. Hans had a feeling that what he was doing wasn¡¯t just a small act of assistance. That something deeper was hidden within Lysandra¡¯s mission. However, between his adventurous spirit and innate curiosity, he decided to ignore the questions for now. After all, he¡¯d come this far without overthinking. What could possibly go wrong? And with that thought lingering in his mind, he continued following Lysandra, unaware that the true danger had yet to reveal itself. Suddenly, they noticed a grave at the center of a small altar, completely claimed by nature. Roots coiled over the stone, moss and vines obscured most of the inscriptions. Despite her hurry, Lysandra decided to stop. Hans narrowed his eyes and read aloud, trying to decipher the timeworn words: "Where water falls and never returns, An echo answers when gold is kissed. Two mouths it has, yet one is fatal, Who seeks the key must never leap." The wind stirred the leaves around them, as if the forest itself had heard the words. Hans and Lysandra exchanged a glance, but neither spoke immediately. "Any idea what it means?" Hans asked after a moment. Lysandra shook her head. "Not yet." Hans studied the inscription again. "It speaks of a place with two entrances¡­ maybe a waterfall or a river." "Or maybe none of that," Lysandra replied. "We have no way of knowing yet." Hans sighed and ran his hand over the moss-covered stone. "Well, we won¡¯t solve it here. But I¡¯ll remember it." Lysandra nodded and stepped away from the grave. "So will I." There was nothing more to be done here. Without understanding the meaning of the riddle, the only thing they could do was commit it to memory. Someday, in the least expected moment, the words of the inscription might make sense. Hans took one last look at the altar before following Lysandra. They had barely walked a few steps when they spotted another inscription on the stone, partially hidden by foliage. Hans brushed the leaves aside and read aloud: "When the sun declines and the shadow of the first mouth marks the way, A hidden path shall be unveiled. Two stone guardians shall seal its threshold, Yet if dawn finds you there, you shall find nothing." Hans felt another shiver crawl up his spine. "This isn¡¯t just a warning," he murmured. "It¡¯s an instruction." Lysandra frowned. "It speaks of a shadow marking the path. If the first riddle mentions a waterfall or a river, then the shadow might point to a second entrance." "And it mentions two stone guardians¡­" Hans glanced around. "They could be statues or¡­ stones arranged in a particular way." Lysandra observed the altar with renewed interest. "We¡¯ll only know when the time is right." Hans nodded, feeling that the mystery was far from over. "We leave for now," Lysandra said firmly. "But when the time comes, we will return." And so, with the certainty that this place still held secrets, they resumed their march, unaware that fate would inevitably lead them back to that forgotten grave. Chapter 10: The Path of the Brave and the Fools The road stretched ahead of them, winding like a serpent through the dense undergrowth and the remnants of ancient forgotten trails. Despite Lysandra¡¯s apparent indifference, Hans noticed that she, too, was thinking about the riddle. Her steps were measured, and her eyes occasionally flicked toward the tree shadows as if expecting to find a hidden clue in the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves. ¡ªI''d say someone wants to make sure this enigma isn¡¯t solved easily, ¡ªHans remarked, breaking the silence. ¡ªThat¡¯s obvious, ¡ªLysandra replied without taking her eyes off the path.¡ª What we don¡¯t know is whether the reward is worth it. Hans smiled thoughtfully. ¡ªBut it is a reward, after all. And according to the inscription, whoever deciphers it will gain something. Lysandra said nothing, but her gaze sharpened. As they advanced, the riddle tangled itself in Hans¡¯s mind. Two mouths. A shadow marking a path. Two stone guardians. There was one certainty in all of this: the place existed. It wasn¡¯t just a cryptic warning or a forgotten fable. There was a treasure or something valuable enough to be hidden so carefully. Moreover, clues had been left behind so that only the worthy or the clever could find it. Hans glanced at Lysandra. ¡ªWhat do you think it is? Lysandra sighed impatiently. ¡ªIt could be anything. Gold, weapons, lost knowledge¡­ or a trap. ¡ªA trap with a reward. ¡ªOr a reward with a trap, ¡ªshe countered. Hans let out a soft chuckle. ¡ªAlways the optimist. ¡ªAlways a naive lucky fool, ¡ªshe corrected coldly. Hans shrugged. He couldn¡¯t deny that Lysandra¡¯s caution made sense. If he had learned anything in life, it was that hidden treasures never came without consequences. However, what intrigued him the most was Lysandra¡¯s attitude. Despite her distant and calculating demeanor, it was clear that the riddle had captured her interest more than she wanted to admit. Hans could see it in the gleam in her eyes when she thought about it, in the way her mind seemed to process every word quickly, searching for a pattern, a clue. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Her ambition made her dangerous¡ªnot just because it drove her to uncover whatever lay behind the riddle, but because it revealed that she desired it. But all ambition froze when the persistent reminder of her situation crept back into her mind. Lysandra didn¡¯t have time. It wasn¡¯t on her side but against her. Every second spent away from her true objective was a threat, a reminder that she couldn¡¯t afford distractions. Hans saw it in the way she tensed her shoulders, in how her steps sometimes quickened as if trying to outrun an invisible danger. And though she didn¡¯t say it out loud, it was clear: the riddle was important. But not as much as the time she was losing. Hans sighed. The real question was: was it worth the risk? For now, they didn¡¯t know. But they would find out. And with that thought lingering in their minds, they continued on their path, each certain that sooner or later, they would return to solve the enigma. The trail grew increasingly treacherous. Between steep slopes and cliffs shrouded in mist, the path narrowed, forcing them to proceed with caution. The undergrowth had vanished, replaced by hard rock and uneven terrain that crunched beneath their steps. The wind howled through the mountain crevices, carrying a sudden chill that contrasted with the heat of the trek. Hans moved carefully, securing each step. He could feel the void to his right, the looming threat of a fatal slip with every step forward. Lysandra, on the other hand, moved with the confidence of someone who had walked worse paths before. Her fingers occasionally brushed against the rock when the incline steepened, and her gaze never wavered from the road ahead. It was then that, perhaps to distract herself from the perilous terrain or simply out of curiosity, she changed the subject. ¡ªTell me, Hans, ¡ªshe asked without looking back¡ª, where are you from? Hans blinked, slightly surprised by the question. ¡ªFrom a small village. One of those places no one remembers unless they get lost along the way. Lysandra smirked. ¡ªThat explains a lot. Hans raised an eyebrow. ¡ªWhat¡¯s that supposed to mean? ¡ªThat you have the attitude of someone who never had much to lose, ¡ªshe answered casually¡ª. And yet, you keep moving forward as if the whole world depends on you not tripping. Hans shrugged. ¡ªWell, if I trip here, the world won¡¯t care¡­ but I will. Lysandra let out a short, dry laugh. ¡ªI wasn¡¯t just talking about now. Hans fell silent for a moment. He knew Lysandra rarely spoke without a reason, so he waited. And then she asked what truly interested her: ¡ªThat adventurous spirit of yours¡­ that courage to face invisible enemies, where does it come from? Hans frowned slightly. ¡ªInvisible enemies? Lysandra nodded. ¡ªYou don¡¯t know what you¡¯re up against. You have no certainty about what lurks ahead, and yet you summon a kind of innate courage that very few men possess. Hans chuckled softly, as if the idea seemed strange to him. ¡ªI wouldn¡¯t call it courage. ¡ªOh, really? Hans shook his head. ¡ªTo me, fear is like hunger. It¡¯s always there. The difference is that some people hide it better than others. Lysandra watched him closely. ¡ªThen what keeps you going? Hans smirked. ¡ªI suppose I¡¯ve always believed that if something bad is going to happen to me, it will happen anyway. So instead of standing still and waiting, I¡¯d rather walk toward it and see what happens. Lysandra turned her gaze back to the path ahead. For some reason, Hans¡¯s words felt more accurate than she would have liked to admit. The road remained uncertain. But one thing was clear: no matter how many cliffs or riddles appeared in their path, Hans would keep moving forward. And, somehow, so would she. Chapter 11: Beneath the Trees That Remember
The mountain was now behind them, and the ground had begun to soften. At first, the trees were sparse, but soon they multiplied until they formed an imposing forest. This was no ordinary forest. It was old. Ancient. As if time itself had taken root among its branches. The trunks were as wide as temple columns. The bark, rough and covered in lichen, seemed to have survived centuries of history. The canopies formed a natural vault that barely allowed light to pass. The air grew denser, more humid, and something in the atmosphere demanded respect. Hans walked in silence, chewing the last piece of road bread. He looked at the trees as one might tread on sacred ground. He wasn¡¯t afraid, but he felt that strange discomfort reserved for places that seem alive. From a small rise, just before entering fully, he caught a glimpse of Avalon in the distance. Faint through the mist, its silhouette barely visible beyond the hills. The sight stirred something strange in him, like he had been there before¡­ though he couldn¡¯t remember when. Lysandra, a few steps ahead, also stopped. She looked at the horizon for a moment, then continued walking without a word. They walked in silence for a while. After crossing through tall ferns and twisted trees, Lysandra came to a halt. The path split. One continued east, wide and well-trodden. The other, barely visible, wound into the undergrowth toward a moss-covered hollow riddled with roots. ¡°This is it,¡± she said, without turning. Hans raised an eyebrow. ¡°This is what?¡± Lysandra glanced at him, then pointed to the narrow path. ¡°The task. It¡¯s in there.¡± Hans squinted. ¡°And what kind of task brings you alone into a forest older than the continent?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going in alone. I won¡¯t be long. If, when I return, you¡¯re willing to help me transport it... I¡¯ll reward you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it? No warning? No creatures with fangs, or tentacles, or eyes glowing in the dark?¡± She gave a faint smile¡ªbarely a gesture. ¡°Nothing you can¡¯t ignore. But don¡¯t stray from the clearing.¡± Hans sighed. He wanted answers. But he knew the game by now¡ªshe spoke just enough, he pretended not to care. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll help you. I suppose that¡¯s why I came.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Lysandra nodded once, turned, and disappeared among the trees. Hans watched until the forest swallowed her whole. And then, the woods fell silent. A dense, unnatural silence. No birds. No insects. No wind. Just a heavy stillness, as if something was holding its breath. Hans sat on a mossy rock. The air smelled of damp, of wood, of things too old to name. He closed his eyes. For a moment, it felt like the forest was breathing with him. And just as he began to relax... something changed. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer alone. Three figures stood a few meters away. One of them was in chains. The first was a massive orc, green-skinned, broad as an oak. He held a thick iron chain dragging behind him a tall, thin creature, its skin cracked like living stone. Its expressionless face looked carved. The third was a long-eared goblin with jittery eyes and a rusted knife in hand. Hans stood, hands raised. ¡°Is that your friend?¡± he asked, nodding toward the chained one. The goblin chuckled. ¡°No. He was lost. Said he wants to go home.¡± ¡°And you plan to sell him?¡± ¡°Of course. Living stone. Not something you see every day. Someone in Avalon will pay. If not... well, he can always be chopped up.¡± The stone being lifted its gaze. Its voice was slow and coarse. ¡°I want... to go back.¡± Something turned in Hans¡¯s gut. It wasn¡¯t pity. It was that irritation you feel when something¡¯s wrong and you can¡¯t look away. ¡°And what are you doing in this part of the woods?¡± ¡°Chasing fortune,¡± the orc grunted. ¡°Selling what we find.¡± ¡°You look lost too,¡± added the goblin. ¡°Careful. Some things aren¡¯t worth much... until someone decides they are.¡± Hans didn¡¯t reply. He just watched them leave. But something inside him didn¡¯t move with them. He rose slowly. ¡°Screw this,¡± he muttered. Then the forest reacted. A thick branch rose from the ground and coiled around the orc¡¯s leg. The brute roared, stumbling. The goblin turned just in time to see Hans advancing, sword in hand. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted, drawing his knife. But a bunch of dry branches fell from above, blinding him. Hans didn¡¯t hesitate. In one clean, direct motion, he drove the sword into the goblin¡¯s throat. A wet sound escaped him before he collapsed. The orc tore the branch away and roared. He raised his axe, ready to charge¡ª But the stone being, still in chains, pulled hard. The orc stumbled. Fell to one knee. Hans moved. Dodged a wild swing and plunged his blade into the orc¡¯s side. The orc groaned, bleeding heavily. He dropped his weapon and collapsed, gasping. ¡°Morvath... will reign... in darkness,¡± he rasped, before falling unconscious. Hans stepped back, trembling. He approached the orc, searched his belongings, and pulled out a ring of keys. He walked to the stone being and unlocked the shackles. ¡°Why were you chained?¡± he asked. ¡°I awoke recently. I must return home.¡± ¡°Where is that?¡± The being didn¡¯t answer. He simply placed a hand over his chest, closed his eyes, and whispered: Elarien thalos, ven¡¯quira sylva, Nol¡¯therien, vasha m¨ªra. Thalan¡¯dor echira¡¯nar, Velnasir luneth, aethil dar. ¡°Spirit of the forest, awaken in peace, Hear the song, feel the soul. Ancient roots that sleep in peace, Awaken to the sun, return in peace.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°If you ever need help,¡± said the being, ¡°whisper those words. The forest will hear.¡± And with that, he vanished into the trees. Hans collapsed onto the rock. He looked at the dead goblin. The barely conscious orc. ¡°Lysandra¡¯s going to say I got into trouble again... and for once, she¡¯ll be right.¡± He sighed. And waited. Now, the forest wasn¡¯t just a mystery. It was an ally.
Chapter 12: The Echo of What Was Left Unsaid The orc no longer made a sound. His massive, defeated body lay on the ground like a collapsed mountain. But what disturbed Hans the most wasn¡¯t the stillness, or even the blood slowly drying on the damp earth. It was his final words. "Morvath shall reign over the darkness." Hans had heard them as a final roar, but now they echoed like a distant warning, something the forest itself seemed to have absorbed. The phrase didn¡¯t fade with the wind. It lingered. It vibrated, as if something was remembering it for him. He ran a hand over his neck, still sweating, trying to shake the tension from his body. He had done something he didn¡¯t believe he was capable of. He had acted. He had fought. And he had won. But what had he really won? The forest, once merely unsettling, now seemed to watch him with silent respect. The leaves didn¡¯t move, the air didn¡¯t sing. Everything had paused. And Lysandra... wasn¡¯t coming back. Hans looked up through the canopy; the light had shifted. He didn¡¯t know how long had passed since she disappeared down the path, but it had been more than just a few minutes. Maybe more than an hour. He was starting to wonder if something had gone wrong. Or if the task Lysandra was chasing was far more dangerous than he had been willing to imagine. Hans stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the goblin¡¯s corpse and the orc¡¯s motionless body, now just a lifeless mass without purpose. But his mind was elsewhere. It wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d heard of creatures like these. Orcs, goblins... sure, they existed. Everyone knew that, like storms in the north or that cheap wine caused headaches ¡ª a distant, tavern-born truth. But seeing them this close to Avalon? That was different. This area had always been ¡°safe,¡± at least as much as anything could be near a city like Avalon. Irregular patrols, the odd forest beast, smugglers and bandits... that was normal. But armed orcs, knife-wielding goblins, and more than anything¡­ a stone creature? This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. That wasn¡¯t. And what disturbed him wasn¡¯t just their presence. It was the stone being, chained like a wild animal. It hadn¡¯t attacked. It hadn¡¯t run. It had only said one thing: ¡°I awoke not long ago. I want to go home.¡± Hans turned the words over in his mind. Awoke? From where? And what kind of home could something like that have? The image of the creature¡¯s blank face returned again and again. It hadn¡¯t seemed threatening. Not even entirely¡­ aware. More like it was starting to remember something it didn¡¯t yet understand. Like its body had slept for centuries and was only now realizing the world had changed. Hans swallowed hard. This forest, the riddles, the murmurs of ancient power ¡ª it all fit together in an uncomfortable way. As if something deeper was stirring beneath the surface of the world, and he ¡ªby accident, by habit, by sheer bad luck¡ª had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. "Morvath shall reign over the darkness." He looked again at the orc. That wasn¡¯t a simple fanatical phrase. It carried weight, like a prophecy crawling through old branches and fallen temples. Hans didn¡¯t believe in dark kings or fates carved in stone... but he did know how to recognize a bad feeling. And this one was big. He stood slowly, gazing once more down the path where Lysandra had vanished. She¡¯d been gone too long. Too much silence. Too much forest. He knew she could handle herself ¡ªshe¡¯d proven that time and again¡ª but something in the air had shifted. Maybe it was the bodies. Maybe it was the orc¡¯s words echoing in his skull. Or maybe he was just done waiting. He took a step. Then another. ¡ª"Just going to take a look,"¡ª he muttered, more to himself than out of need. He was about to move when a crunch of dry branches stopped him cold. From between the trees, a familiar figure emerged. Lysandra. She carried two sacks over her shoulder, sweat clinging to her neck, her gaze sharp. Without a word, she tossed one of the sacks at Hans. It landed at his feet with a metallic thud. ¡ª"Take it,"¡ª she said, not slowing down. ¡ª"I don¡¯t want to know what happened here. I¡¯m not interested."¡ª Hans blinked in surprise. The blood on the ground was still fresh, the goblin¡¯s throat open, the orc barely breathing¡­ and she passed by as if they were just part of the scenery. ¡ª"Aren¡¯t you going to ask...?"¡ª he began. ¡ª"No,"¡ª Lysandra cut him off, already walking again. ¡ª"You¡¯ll tell me on the way. We don¡¯t have time to stop."¡ª Hans frowned. ¡ª"It wasn¡¯t a small thing, Lysandra..."¡ª She paused for a moment, not fully turning back. ¡ª"I know. I saw things I didn¡¯t like either. But right now, the priority is getting this task done. Things are getting messier than I expected."¡ª Without another word, she picked up her pace, casting a fleeting glance at the woods ¡ª as if expecting something else to crawl out of the dark. Hans stood there for a moment longer, eyes on the clearing, the goblin¡¯s corpse, the orc¡¯s slumped body. That was part of the road now. He sighed and followed her, sack over his shoulder, body worn, and mind full of questions. But for now, answers would have to wait.