Drip—Drip—
Raindrops kissed the forest floor, their rhythm building into a gentle symphony as the downpour deepened. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh rain, weaving an almost tranquil mood into their otherwise tense journey.
Arlon's mind was lost in thought, contemplating their next steps, when Ace suddenly leapt from his shoulder, his fur bristling with unease.
"Ace?" Arlon called, his voice edged with concern. "What's wrong?"
The small black cat didn't respond immediately, his sharp red eyes scanning the dense woods around them.
"I can feel something… something off," Ace murmured, his tone low and wary. Without another word, he darted ahead, leading the way with a swift grace.
Arlon exchanged a glance with Lawrence, who nodded silently, the unspoken understanding between them clear. They followed Ace, their steps quickening as they navigated the winding forest path.
They emerged into a clearing, the rain-slicked ground glistening faintly beneath the gray light. Arlon's steps faltered as his eyes locked onto a figure slumped amidst the underbrush.
The man lay motionless, his tattered clothes soaked through, his body marked by jagged wounds that spoke of violence. Blood stained the dirt beneath him, pooling into crimson rivulets that mixed with the relentless rain.
"..!"
Lawrence darted to the man's side, his breath quickening as he knelt down. His fingers pressed against the man's neck, searching. When he found the faint thrum of life beneath his touch, his shoulders eased, and a quiet exhale escaped him.
"He's alive," Lawrence confirmed, though his voice was tight with worry. "But he's badly injured."
Arlon knelt wordlessly beside the man, his sharp gaze tracing the dried blood and jagged tears in the fabric. His hands moved with calm precision, brushing dirt away from wounds and feeling for fractures.
"These aren't fresh," he murmured, his tone as steady as his hands. "But he won't last long if we leave him here."
We need to move him quickly before his condition worsens,Arlon thought grimly.
Lawrence nodded in agreement, his resolve firm. "We need to get him to the village. Sir Dimitri will know what to do."
Without hesitation, Lawrence carefully lifted the man onto his back, ensuring not to aggravate his injuries. As the gloomy skies began to pour, the cold seeped into the air, causing Lawrence to frown with concern. The chill would only worsen the man's condition.
Arlon, noticing Lawrence's unease, silently removed his robe and draped it over the unconscious figure. Lawrence's eyes widened in surprise.
"Master Arlon—" Lawrence started, his voice filled with both surprise and gratitude.
"Just focus on carrying him," Arlon cut in, draping his robe with a practiced motion. His voice was steady, but his gaze lingered on the unconscious man.
"The cold's already working against him—we can't let it get worse."
"..."
Arlon stood, his gaze scanning the forest with quiet vigilance, alert to any signs of lingering danger. His eyes landed on a small, broken-down wagon nearby, its horse lying lifeless beside it. The scene suggested that the man was likely a traveler who had met with misfortune and tried to flee, only to be caught.
He glanced at Ace, his voice low but curious. "Anything to add?"
Ace's tail lashed once, a sharp motion betraying his unease. His crimson eyes darted toward the broken wagon but didn't linger. "Nothing I can pin down," he muttered, his voice unusually clipped.
"But this... this feels like something I've seen before."
Arlon's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. If I had to guess, it must be the Pry cult behind this.
Drip— Drip—
The rain showed no signs of relenting, each drop soaking into the earth beneath their feet.
Arlon's hand hovered briefly over the faint pulse of energy within him, the Sky Dragon Soul stirring as if sensing his indecision. The rain pressed down on them like a relentless curtain, but he shook his head. Not yet. Draining their strength now would only invite more trouble.
We're still far from the Empire's boundaries. Conserving energy for the journey ahead is crucial.
With a decisive nod, Arlon turned to Lawrence. "Let's go. We can't linger here. Our priority is getting him to safety."
Lawrence adjusted the man on his back, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes flicked to Arlon, filled with determination. "Understood," he said, his voice steady. "We'll make it in time."
Arlon crouched, gathering the man's scattered belongings with methodical precision. As his fingers brushed against a small, heavy pouch partially hidden beneath a patch of grass, a faint unease prickled at the back of his mind.
"..!?"
He stilled, the subtle weight in his palm feeling colder than it should in the damp rain.
Curiosity gnawed at him. He loosened the drawstring and reached inside, his fingers brushing against something smooth and unnervingly cold. As he pulled the object free, a shiver ran up his arm.
The stone was cold, unnaturally so, its surface gleaming wet beneath the dim light. As Arlon held it, a faint pulse—like a heartbeat—throbbed against his palm, spreading a whisper of cold up his arm. The air around him seemed to shift, a distant hum brushing against his ears, barely audible yet deeply unsettling.
What is this? Arlon's breath hitched, unease prickling at the edges of his mind. The stone's aura was suffocating—thick and unnatural, like a force trying to claw its way into his thoughts.
He tried to release it, but his fingers wouldn't obey immediately. For a split second, a sense of weightless detachment washed over him, as though the world around him had dimmed. A fleeting image flashed in his mind—crimson skies and fractured ground, a haunting echo of voices calling his name.
"Arlon?" Lawrence's voice jolted him back to the present.
"..!"
Arlon blinked, his grip loosening. The stone slipped from his hand and fell back into the pouch with a dull thud. Quickly, he tied the drawstring shut, his movements precise but tense.
"It's... nothing," Arlon muttered, his voice low and distant, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Ace leapt back onto his shoulder, his piercing red eyes narrowing. "Nothing?" he scoffed, his tone laced with skepticism. "You looked like you'd just seen a ghost."
Arlon shook his head, forcing his features to remain calm. Whatever this stone is, it's not ordinary.
He slipped the pouch into his pocket, securing it carefully. It's dangerous, but I'll figure it out later. For now, it stays hidden.
He straightened, glancing at the injured man Lawrence was carrying. The rain was picking up, and the chill was settling into his bones.
"Let's move," he said, his voice firm but quieter than usual.
The trio set off, the rain falling steadily around them, their focus fixed on the task at hand—saving the life of the stranger they had just found.
Rustle— Step— Step—
The trio pressed on, the rain intensifying as they made their way toward the village. The forest, once serene, now felt ominous and foreboding, as if watching their every move.
The journey was arduous, the weight of the injured man adding to the strain, but Lawrence carried him with determination. Arlon walked close by, his eyes scanning the path ahead.
The village emerged from the veil of rain, its lanterns casting a golden glow through the gloom. The sight was a welcome reprieve, a promise of shelter and safety against the relentless storm.
Step— Step—
They trudged through the village, their footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones. As they neared an inn, Arlon's eyes caught sight of a familiar carriage parked beside it.
Dimitri must be here.
The trio made their way to the inn, Arlon pushing the door open. Inside, the warm light and the hum of conversation greeted them. The sudden entrance drew the attention of the patrons, who glanced curiously at the newcomers.
The warm hum of the inn faltered as a familiar voice cut through. "My lord?"
Dimitri weaved through the room with practiced grace, his boots tapping lightly against the floorboards.
His usual composure wavered as his eyes landed on the unconscious man draped across Lawrence's back. For a fraction of a second, his gaze flicked to Arlon, the faintest crease of worry marring his otherwise stoic expression.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.
"We found him in the woods," Arlon explained quickly. "He's badly hurt. We need to get him help, fast."
Dimitri nodded, his composure steady.
"There's a doctor staying just down the lane," Dimitri said briskly, already turning to lead the way. "We'll settle him in one of the rooms first. No time to waste."
With Dimitri's guidance, Lawrence carefully carried the injured man into one of the rooms Dimitri had secured at the inn. The room was modest but warm, with a small fireplace crackling in the corner.
The gray skies outside continued to weep, the rain tapping softly against the windowpanes, adding a melancholic rhythm to the quiet interior. Yet within the village walls, a fragile sense of safety began to settle over them, offering respite from the foreboding forest they had left behind.
The man was carefully laid on the bed, his battered form sinking into the soft mattress. The village doctor arrived moments later, his expression calm but focused as he assessed the extent of the injuries.
He unpacked a small satchel, producing bandages, antiseptics, and other medical tools, the clinking of instruments filling the otherwise quiet room.
Arlon watched silently from a corner, his sharp eyes scanning the doctor's every movement. Lawrence, on the other hand, stood closer to the bedside, his gaze fixed on the man's pale, unconscious face.
The tension in his shoulders only began to ease when the doctor straightened, wiping his hands clean on a cloth.
"He'll live," the doctor said with quiet confidence. "The wounds, while severe, are not life-threatening now that they've been properly treated. He just needs rest. He should wake up soon."
Lawrence let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. The tightness in his chest loosened slightly at the doctor's reassurance. "Thank you," he said earnestly, his voice steady but tinged with gratitude.
The doctor nodded, his professional demeanor unwavering. "It's what I'm here for. I'll check on him again later, but for now, he's stable. Let him rest."
As the doctor packed up his supplies and quietly exited the room, a heavy silence settled in its wake. The rhythmic patter of rain against the windows filled the void, its soothing sound contrasting with the tension lingering in the air.
"..."
Lawrence stood beside the man's bedside, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the stranger's pale, battered face.
Lawrence's fists clenched at his sides, the tension so fierce his knuckles turned white. He exhaled sharply, the sound more a growl than a sigh, and paced to the window. The steady patter of rain seemed to mock his helplessness, feeding the fire behind his usually composed gaze.
"They don't care who they hurt," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the storm.
"The Pry cult... it has to be them."
Arlon, leaning casually against the wall, tilted his head slightly at Lawrence's words but said nothing, allowing the younger man to speak his mind.
"They don't care who they hurt," Lawrence continued, his voice low but heavy with conviction. "Everywhere they go, they leave a trail of suffering. Innocent people get caught in their schemes, and for what? Power? Control? It makes me sick." His fists trembled slightly, his nails digging into his palms as his frustration bubbled over.
"I can't let them keep doing this to anyone else."
Arlon's gaze remained steady, studying Lawrence quietly. The fire in him was unmistakable—the fire of someone who had seen too much pain and was determined to stop it, no matter the cost.
In Lawrence's resolve, Arlon saw the glimmers of the protagonist he was meant to become, a hero who would fight for justice in a world fraught with darkness.
Keep growing like that, Arlon thought, his expression softening ever so slightly. You'll find the justice you're looking for.
"You're right," Arlon finally said, his voice calm but firm. "They thrive on destruction and manipulation. And it's people like him," he nodded toward the injured man, "who pay the price."
Lawrence's gaze shifted to Arlon, a spark of determination lighting his features. "Then we have to stop them. No matter what it takes."
Arlon allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smile to cross his lips. "That's what we're here for, isn't it?"