The branches slapped against his face, scratching his skin, but Kael didn't slow down. Three days had passed since he'd left Exelia behind. Three days running restlessly, sleeping little, eating whatever he could find along the way. Three days with his mind focused on one thing: finding Irelia, Amelia, and Sylphie again.

His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, and each step echoed in the dense silence of the forest. The moonlight barely penetrated the intertwined canopies, transforming the world into a maze of shadows. But Kael knew the terrain, or at least pretended to. His body, though exhausted, moved on pure instinct, dodging roots, leaping over rocks, piercing the darkness like a living arrow.

"Three days… I hope you're all well."

The image of Irelia, sword in hand, eyes steady, flashed through his mind. Then Amelia, sharp-tongued, probably complaining about everything. And Sylphie, calm and serene, holding the princess as if she were part of the forest she swore to protect. Kael clenched his fists. "Hold on just a little longer."

The wind carried a strange sound.

Kael stopped suddenly, leaning against the trunk of a tree. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heart, and heard it again: footsteps. Not his own—heavy, deliberate, muffled by leather-reinforced boots. More than one. Many.

He crouched low, slipping through the roots, until he found a natural rise in the ground. He climbed slowly, like a cat, until he reached a spot where he could peer unnoticed.

What he saw made his stomach churn.

In the clearing below, lit by flaming torches carried on long poles, a whole troupe of men advanced. These were no ordinary bandits. The disciplined silence, the way they moved in sync, their eyes ever-watchful of the shadows… every detail screamed professional assassins. At least two dozen of them, dressed in light armor, dark cloaks that barely reflected the light. Their weapons varied from curved daggers, small crossbows, and short swords. Their gloved hands were always close to the hilts, ready to strike at any moment.

Kael remained still, his heart hammering. "Who the hell are these?"

It didn't take long to figure it out.

The man who seemed to lead the troupe raised one of the torches, drawing their attention. His voice was low but charged with authority.

"The princess must be this way." He opened a folded map, where red dots marked possible routes. "Three guardians are accompanying her. The swordswoman, the ice mage, and the nature mage. Information confirmed."

A murmur ran through the group. Kael felt his blood run cold. They know. They know everything.

The leader continued:

"The orders are clear. No witnesses. We kill the guardians, we capture the princess. If she resists, her head will serve as a message."

A cruel smile crossed his face.

"Whoever brings back the swordswoman's body will have an extra reward. Apparently, she caused too much trouble."

Kael clenched his fists. His first instinct was to leap from the slope, sword in hand, and cut a path through them. But he restrained the impulse. No. Alone, I have no chance. There are too many of them. If I attack now, I will only die... and they will never know.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain still, watching.

The assassins reorganized. They moved in three groups, each following a different route. The leader explained:

"The group on the left will follow the valley. The one in the center will keep the main trail. The one on the right will skirt over the hill. Close the circle. If we cross them, the woods will make the perfect grave."

A chorus of "yes, sir" echoed.

Kael closed his eyes. They'd already planned everything…

His thoughts raced. He had to act, but how? Facing them all would be suicide. Warning the girls was essential—but he didn't know exactly where they were. If they took the wrong path, they might fall straight into the clutches of the assassins.

The leader lit another torch, pointing it skyward.

"Move silently. Leave no trace. The hunt begins now."

And, like a pack of wolves, the men disappeared into the trees, scattering in different directions.

Kael stayed behind, kneeling, his body tense like a bow about to release. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

"Damn it… if they find it first, it's over."

He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for clarity. He could almost hear Exelia's voice in his mind: "Don't be an idiot. Think before you act."

And then, as if the forest were conspiring, a rustling sound to his left caught his attention. It wasn't wind. It was someone. Another group of assassins, smaller, probably late, was walking closer than they should have been. Just three of them, chuckling softly as they spoke.

Kael huddled even tighter against the trunk, holding his breath.

"Did you see the map?" one of them murmured. "They say the girl is pretty."

"Pretty or not, that's not our problem. Our job is to take her," the second replied, more harshly. "The higher-ups decide the rest."

"I just hope the swordswoman is a handful. I heard she fights like a demon." The third laughed. "It'll be fun to see how much blood she can spill before she dies."

Kael gritted his teeth. Each word was like a blade skewering his skin.

"If they lay a finger on her…"

But he held back. He couldn't risk revealing his position. He remained motionless until the three disappeared in the opposite direction, their voices fading into the night.

Silence returned. A heavy silence, heavy with decisions.

Kael knew he had to choose:

"Follow one of the groups to delay them, risking his own life." "Try to run ahead, find the girls first, and warn them."

"Or create a distraction to lure the assassins away."

Neither choice was good. They all risked death.

He stood slowly, taking a deep breath, and looked up at the moon through the canopy. "It doesn't matter. I said I would protect you. And I will."

He adjusted his sword at his waist, steadied his pace, and began to move silently, like a shadow among shadows. His eyes burned with determination.

The hunting game had begun.

Kael moved like a shadow, a figure the forest accepted as if it were just another branch swaying in the wind. He followed the central group, the largest and, from what he'd heard, the one most likely to cross the guardians' path. Whenever an assassin got too close, he would cower behind bushes or cling to a wall of roots to disappear from view. His breath was a thread; Any sound beyond what was necessary could betray him.

They walked in lines, their steps controlled, communicating with short signals—pointing hands, shadows falling across the ground. Kael observed each pattern: who opened the way, who carried the torch, who complained softly. He remembered the map he'd heard the leader unfold in that clearing. If he could get hold of that map, he'd have not only their route, but also the points where they believed ambushes might be, the shortcuts, the orders. And, most importantly, he'd know which of the three groups was closest to the Dark Vale—the shortcut Irelia, Amelia, and Sylphie had decided to take.

He walked parallel, without exposing himself. Three nights of tracking had made him almost as silent as the night itself. Sometimes the assassins stopped to listen; Kael froze in a shadow, the veins in his neck pulsing, feeling the cold of the steel beneath his own cloak. When they finally camped for a few minutes, Kael saw his opportunity. A small fire, three sentries, most of them asleep in a tight circle. The leader was overconfident: there was arrogance in that kind of professional, and arrogance was flawed.

He waited until the smoke from the fire rose and partially obscured their figures. He crept closer, using dead leaves and a large trunk as cover. The distance seemed greater than it was, a gap of silence between him and the enemy. When he reached the man holding the map hanging from his belt, he took a short leap, his dagger gleaming. The cut was clean across the jugular; not a sound. The body fell, and Kael dragged it into the shade of a bush, covering it with leaves and bark.

The map was there, bound in leather. His hands trembled for a moment as he carefully unrolled it, reading the red dots, the small symbols that only soldiers and hunters understood. Marked points: "Main trail—traps," "Dark Valley—patrols," "Dry well—observation." A line crossed the route that led straight through the valley—the same one the princess had chosen. Kael's hands clenched until it hurt.

He couldn't leave with the map: if the leader discovered he'd lost it, they would rearrange the routes. So he tore a small strip from the leather where the map had been rolled, removed a small piece of the cloth from the cloak itself, and tucked the strip into place. Then, using the assassin's blood as ink, he scrawled barely discernible signs that signaled "veer north—false" and "abandoned village—trap." It was a lie, but it was the tool he needed to manipulate the enemy's movements. If the leader had to check the map later, he would see the markings and follow the path he'd chosen. Manipulation was a weapon as sharp as a blade.