The wind howled through the jagged cliffs as Adam pressed forward, his cloak billowing behind him. He had been wandering for days, his journey marked by endless forests, treacherous rivers, and the ever-present hunger for adventure. His heart raced with the thrill of the unknown, but tonight, something felt different—something dangerous lingered in the air.
As he emerged from the dense undergrowth, a vast open valley stretched before him, illuminated by the cold silver glow of the moon. But the beauty of the scene was shattered by what lay ahead—a sprawling encampment, banners fluttering, fires burning, and the unmistakable sound of warriors sharpening their weapons. It was an army. And not just any army.
The Baghdud Mercenaries.
A ruthless band of warriors, feared across the land, known for their brutality and strength. No village was safe once their banners appeared on the horizon. Adam had heard whispers of their infamous leader a man called Inwaar, whose skill in battle was unmatched, whose very presence sent shivers down the spines of hardened warriors.
Adam instincts screamed at him to retreat, but his curiosity—and the burning desire to test himself—kept him rooted in place. He crept closer, weaving through the shadows until he was near the edge of the camp. But just as he was about to slip past, a sharp voice rang out.
"Who goes there?!"
Torchlight flared, and within seconds, Adam was surrounded by mercenaries—scarred men with cruel grins, weapons drawn, eyes filled with bloodlust.
A man stepped forward, his face twisted with amusement. "A lost traveller? Or a fool looking for death?"
Adam smirked. "That depends. Are you offering a challenge?"
Laughter erupted around him, but it didn't last long. The first warrior lunged at Adam, swinging his sword wildly. Adam sidestepped effortlessly, delivering a crushing blow to the man's ribs. Another charged in, only to be met with a swift elbow to the jaw. One by one, they fell, their overconfidence their undoing.
The commotion drew attention. The laughter stopped. Silence fell over the camp as heavy footsteps echoed through the night.
And then, he appeared.
Inwaar.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that burned like embers. His presence alone commanded fear. He studied Adam for a long moment before speaking.
"You fight well," he said, his voice like thunder. "But against me, fists won't be enough."
With a flick of his wrist, a gleaming dagger appeared in his hand. "We fight. To the death."
The air grew thick with anticipation. The mercenaries formed a tight circle around them, eager to witness the bloodshed.
Adam reached for his own dagger, his grip steady. "Then let's see if you're as strong as the legends say."
The fight was brutal. Inwaar moved like a phantom, his blade striking with precision. Adam dodged, countered, his own dagger slicing through the air. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal. Sweat dripped, muscles burned, but neither man relented.
Then, in a heartbeat, Adam saw an opening. With lightning speed, he twisted past Inwaar's guard and drove his dagger forward—stopping just short of his throat.
A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd. Adam had won.
For a moment, Inwaar stared at him, his breath ragged. Then, slowly, he smiled. A deep, satisfied grin.
"You could have killed me," he murmured.
Adam withdrew his blade. "I don't kill for sport."
Inwaar chuckled. Then, to everyone's shock, he stepped back and raised a hand.
"Let him go," he ordered.
His men looked stunned. "But, Commander—"
"He defeated me," Inwaar interrupted. "That makes him worthy of respect."
Inwaar lowered his blade, the firelight catching on the steel one last time before he sheathed it. He raised his hand, his voice sharp and commanding:
"He is not a trespasser. He is not a threat. He is a guest."
His mercenaries looked at one another, confusion furrowing their brows. Never had they seen their commander yield respect to an outsider—especially not one who had just embarrassed them in front of the entire camp. But no one dared to speak. Not when Inwaar's voice held that tone.
He stepped beside Adam, his heavy hand clapping the younger warrior on the shoulder. "Come. Walk with me."
Side by side, the two men moved toward the largest tent in the center of the camp, a massive structure built from dark canvas and draped with crimson war banners. As they entered, the flickering light of oil lamps revealed a space surprisingly warm for a mercenary's den—cushioned seats, detailed maps spread across wooden tables, and a set of finely crafted weapons displayed on the back wall.
Inwaar motioned for Adam to sit, then poured them both dark wine from a bone-handled flask.
"You fought like a man who's seen more death than years. Yet you're young. Strong. Controlled." Inwaar took a drink, eyes never leaving Adam. "Who taught you?"
Adam swirled the wine in his cup. "No one." He looked up with a faint smile. "It was a miracle."
Inwaar raised an eyebrow, then laughed—a deep, thunderous laugh that echoed through the tent. "A miracle, he says! Hah! Well, I suppose some men are born with blades in their blood."
He leaned back in his chair, the flickering lamplight casting deep shadows across his rugged face.
"You know, I didn't inherit this army." Inwaar's voice softened, carrying the weight of old memories. "I built it. From nothing. Started with a handful of desperate men—thieves, runaways, broken warriors. I trained them, led them into battle, watched them die, and watched more take their place. The Baghdud Mercenaries were forged in chaos… but we survived."
Adam listened, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. There was honor in Inwaar's story—twisted, yes, but grounded in something real.
They spoke like comrades—not yet friends, but men who recognized the fire in one another's souls. Laughter rose between them, strange and warm in a place where bloodshed usually silenced joy.
But then—shouts.
A scream.
The sound of something breaking outside.
Adam's head snapped toward the tent flap.
Without a word, he was on his feet and out into the night.
Torches blazed as a crowd of mercenaries circled near the edge of the camp. Adam pushed through them, and what he saw made his blood boil.
A boy—no older than ten—was on the ground, his face bloodied, eyes wide with terror. His arms were wrapped protectively around a girl, perhaps his sister, who was sobbing silently. One of the mercenaries—a burly brute with a jagged scar across his eye—was toying with them, laughing as he grabbed the girl's arm.
Before anyone could move, Adam exploded forward.
CRACK!
His fist collided with the mercenary's jaw with a force that sent him sprawling into the dirt, unconscious before he even hit the ground. The crowd went silent.
Adam stepped over the children, eyes blazing. "Touch them again… and I'll forget I'm your guest."
Inwaar arrived just as Adam turned to face the others.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice like thunder.
Adam met his gaze—not with hostility, but with fire.
"These children were being harassed. Beaten. For what? Entertainment?"
The crowd was frozen, tension thick in the air.
Inwaar looked at the boy and the girl, then at his own man unconscious in the dirt. His expression darkened.
"Who gave permission for this filth?" he growled. No one answered. "Get back to your duties. Now."
The mercenaries dispersed quickly, avoiding their commander's gaze.
Adam knelt beside the children, checking their wounds with surprising gentleness. The girl flinched, but the boy—though trembling—met Adam's eyes with silent determination.
Adam stood and turned to Inwaar.
"I want them," he said simply. "These two. I want them to be mine. My companions. If you don't mind."
Inwaar blinked. "You… want children?"
Adam nodded. "They've seen something… something dark. But that boy? He didn't run. He shielded someone weaker than himself. That's strength. That's what I value."
Inwaar studied Adam, then the children. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face.
"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he said. "Very well. They're yours. Do with them as you will."
He looked down at the children. "You're lucky, little ones. You now walk with a man even I couldn't defeat."
The boy clutched his sister's hand and looked up at Adam, eyes wide with something between awe and hope.
And Adam, for the first time that night, felt something shift in his heart.
Not just destiny.
But purpose.