Dawncer sat at the center of the camp like a crowned flame.
Slaves gathered around him, voices overlapping in genuine admiration.
"That red burst… I've never seen anything like it."
"He didn't hesitate in the fall."
"Commander himself noticed him… that's rare."
"If anyone's getting out of here, it's him."
Dawncer grinned, relaxed in the attention. He tapped his teeth with a finger, flashing them proudly.
"These? I'll get rich and buy better ones soon."
Laughter rippled through the group. Some nodded, others clapped his shoulder, their praise steady, real, unforced.
Dawncer leaned back slightly, eyes bright.
"Being strong… this is actually fun."
Far from the circle, Grenzabell watched in silence.
His gaze stayed fixed on the red glow still faintly clinging to Dawncer's presence.
"He's the only one who can release his energy outward freely now," Grenzabell murmured.
Fally stood beside him, arms crossed loosely.
"Is that what they call talent?"
"Yeah," she said. "And he's not just good… he's quite literally the strongest among all of us slaves."
The next day, Gareth stood before the assembled slaves as if drawing lines across fate itself.
Names were called. One by one.
Hundreds reduced into order.
Then groups of four formed, each cluster pulled aside under silent instruction. Murmurs rose, confusion settling into reluctant structure.
Dawncer was called forward.
"Leader."
Three stepped in beside him.
Grenzabell.
Fally.
And a red-haired teen with sharp eyes and a guarded posture—Thyssara.
Dawncer looked them over, then smirked.
"Alright… this should be easy."
Fally crossed her arms. Grenzabell stayed quiet, observant.
Thyssara spoke first. "You talk like we're already behind you."
Dawncer chuckled, pointing lightly at his chest.
"Not behind. Just… not on my level."
His gaze flicked across them, dismissive.
"Try to keep up. I don't slow down for weak links."
They moved forward as one, each holding up the letter handed down by the knights.
The parchment was simple, direct.
Three missions:
Identify the location of the snake bandits.
Capture one alive.
Deliver them alive.
Reward: new clothes of their choice… and food.
Dawncer read it once, then scoffed.
"Sounds like busy work."
Thyssara's eye twitched.
By the time they finished reading, her patience had already snapped.
"I'm tired of your mouth."
Dawncer tilted his head, amused. "Then close it."
"Fight me."
He laughed, loud and careless.
"Fine."
They stepped into position.
Thyssara moved first, fluid and precise. She closed distance, seized his arm, twisted his balance, and drove him down. The impact echoed.
Dawncer barely had time to react before the world flipped again.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again.
Each attempt met with controlled redirection, leverage, and clean throws. Over thirty times, Dawncer hit the ground, pinned, flipped, or locked down. His confidence began to crack into frustration.
Far to the side, Grenzabell and Fally watched.
"You think this changes anything?" Grenzabell asked quietly.
Fally shrugged. "People fight to feel something. Freedom, maybe."
"Yeah…" Grenzabell said. "I get that."
Thyssara finally rose, breathing steady.
Dawncer lay unconscious beneath her.
She sat casually on his chest, then lifted a hand and waved at the others.
"Come here."
Grenzabell stood with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing as Dawncer finally stirred awake.
"You took one hour to get up. Stop wasting our time."
Dawncer pushed himself upright slowly, jaw tight. His eyes avoided theirs for a moment, still carrying the weight of the defeat. His confidence was cracked, but he forced it back into place with a strained calm.
"…It was nothing."
Thyssara glanced at him, unimpressed, then stretched slightly as if the fight had never mattered.
Grenzabell exhaled, then took the paper from Dawncer's hand.
"We just need to identify their location."
Silence followed.
Then Thyssara smirked.
"Or we let them come to us."
Grenzabell looked at her. "Explain."
"We bait them."
She pointed between them, outlining the idea.
"Dawncer goes with Fally. They pose as merchants on the main road. Weak, easy targets. We already know that's their pattern."
Her eyes shifted toward Grenzabell.
"They'll get kidnapped. Me and you follow at a distance, track them quietly, and trace the route back to the bandit base."
A brief pause.
Her smirk deepened.
"Simple. Let them think they're hunting us… while we're actually watching them."
Gareth stood overlooking the training grounds, his two lieutenants at his side, voices low as they reviewed the newly formed squads and their potential value when hired out.
His eyes moved across the distant groups with quiet calculation.
"Groups one, two, and three are likely stronger than the rest," he said evenly, as if reading numbers rather than people.
One of the lieutenants tilted his head slightly. "What about group twenty? The one with the slave named Dawncer?"
Gareth's gaze paused. A faint smile formed.
"I have hope for them."
Far across the grounds, group nineteen moved with disciplined silence. At its center walked a black-haired teen named Star, his expression cold, eyes empty of hesitation as he dragged a body by the arm across the dirt.
Behind him, his squad followed in formation, composed of blonde and black-haired males with hardened, unreadable faces. They did not speak. They did not react. They simply moved, like a unit already forged rather than assembled.
Two figures broke from the brush as Dawncer and Fally moved along the road, their "merchant" guise barely set before the trap snapped shut.
Rough hands seized them from the sides.
A cloth hit Dawncer's face first, sharp and suffocating. A second later, a blow to the ribs folded his breath inward. Fally struggled, but another strike silenced her movement, their resistance cut short by practiced force.
Voices. Low. Crooked.
"Easy catch."
"Boss'll like these."
The world blurred into motion, then into darkness as they were dragged away.
Far behind, unseen through layers of trees and distance, Grenzabell moved.
Not close enough to be noticed. Not far enough to lose them.
Beside him, Thyssara flowed through the terrain like a cutting wind. No wasted steps. No hesitation. She adjusted speed, terrain, and angle without breaking rhythm.
Grenzabell pushed himself to keep pace, but even then, he felt it.
She was ahead.
Not by a little.
By instinct.
He narrowed his eyes, breath steadying as he watched her.
"She's… faster than she looks," he muttered under his breath.
Thyssara didn't respond. She didn't need to.
Grenzabell's mind worked quietly as he observed her movement. Clean transitions. No strain. No visible effort to maintain that pace over distance.
His conclusion settled in, simple and unavoidable.
She wasn't just fast.
She was above him.
The realization didn't shake him outwardly, but it sharpened his focus.
They continued like shadows stretched thin across the forest, until the terrain shifted.
A waterfall thundered ahead, its curtain of water crashing into a hidden basin. Spray misted the air, blurring sight and sound. Behind it, partially concealed by the constant flow, lay an opening carved into stone.
Movement at the entrance.
Figures passing in and out.
Thyssara slowed to a stop at a distance, crouching low with Grenzabell beside her.
Her eyes locked onto the structure.
A faint smile formed.
"We did it," she said quietly. "We found their lair."
Grenzabell exhaled once, steady and controlled. His gaze tracked the entrance, the rhythm of movement, the spacing of guards.
"Now we plan," he replied.
Thyssara nodded.
They stayed hidden.
Minutes stretched into hours.
They watched.
Patterns emerged. Guard rotations. Blind spots. Timing gaps between shifts. The subtle habits of men who believed themselves safe.
Thyssara mapped it first, tracing routes with her eyes. Grenzabell confirmed, adjusted, refined. Their observations layered into something precise.
Eventually, silence settled between them again.
"We've got it," Thyssara said.
Grenzabell gave a short nod. "We move when the outer guard leaves his post alone."
They waited.
Then the moment came.
A lone bandit stepped away from the entrance, walking a short distance along a narrow path, separated from the others.
Thyssara moved first.
A blur of controlled motion closed the gap.
A single strike to the side of the neck dropped him without sound.
Grenzabell arrived moments later, catching the body before it hit the ground fully.
They dragged him into cover, stripping his outer clothes and leaving him in his shorts, bound tightly, unconscious and hidden.
No unnecessary force. No wasted time.
Thyssara picked up the discarded clothing, inspecting it briefly before slipping it on. She adjusted the hood over her head, masking her features, her posture shifting almost immediately to match that of the bandits they had observed.
Her presence changed.
Not just in appearance, but in tone.
"Undercover," she said calmly.
Grenzabell gave a slight nod, eyes still fixed on the waterfall entrance.
The plan was set.
And now, they would walk into the heart of it.
Thyssara stepped through the waterfall's veil, water breaking around her hooded form as she entered the lair. Inside, the air shifted from open forest mist to damp stone and low torchlight.
Voices echoed.
Unseen glances passed over her, but none lingered too long. She moved like she belonged there, shoulders relaxed, pace steady, gaze lowered just enough to avoid drawing attention.
She walked.
Rooms passed. Corridors narrowed. Guards shifted positions. No one stopped her.
Then, after several turns and a stretch of quiet passage, she found them.
Dawncer and Fally.
Bound, guarded, but intact.
Thyssara approached without hesitation.
Her voice dropped into a controlled tone. "Get up. Both of you. Follow exactly what I say."
Dawncer blinked at her, confused, recognition flickering.
Fally tensed.
Thyssara gave a subtle hand signal, cutting off questions before they formed. "No talking. No resistance. Move like you belong here."
She leaned slightly closer, her voice steady.
"Orders from the boss. Your release has been arranged."
Dawncer narrowed his eyes but didn't argue. Fally exchanged a quick look with him, then nodded once.
They followed.
For the next stretch of time, Thyssara walked them through the lair's internal routes, speaking just enough to sell the illusion if overheard. Thirty minutes passed under that quiet performance. Her explanations were layered with false authority, a constructed narrative that made their movement seem legitimate rather than suspicious.
At intervals, she adjusted their path to avoid overlapping patrols, guiding them through timing gaps she had already mapped.
By the time they reached an exit route, the deception had held.
Then, just as they neared a turning point, one of the nearby bandits paused.
His gaze sharpened.
"Wait…"
His eyes locked onto Thyssara's hooded form.
"That's not—"
His voice rose.
"—She's wearing Bathomelew's clothes! Capture her!"
The alert spread too late.
Thyssara had already moved.
Dawncer reacted instantly, grabbing Fally as Grenzabell's position came into view ahead. They closed distance in a rapid retreat, regrouping with Grenzabell, who was positioned as planned.
But Grenzabell was not standing.
He was… asleep.
Leaning against a surface, posture still, unaware.
Dawncer's eyes widened.
"Hey—wake up!"
He reached out and gave him a sharp shake, the sudden jolt snapping Grenzabell awake so fast he nearly lost his balance, heart racing as his eyes shot open in alarm.
"What—!"
Grenzabell's breath caught, his body reacting before his mind fully caught up, tension spiking as if he had narrowly escaped something worse than sleep.
Footsteps echoed from within the lair.
Voices rising.
"Fan out!"
"Find them!"
The pursuit had begun.
But outside the waterfall, the forest remained unchanged. Still. Quiet.
They had already left the danger behind.
Moments later, the four of them were moving away at distance, the tension dissolving into something lighter.
Then it broke.
Dawncer exhaled sharply, a grin forming despite himself.
"That was too easy."
Grenzabell let out a short breath. "Because it was controlled."
Fally shook her head, still processing. "And because she led it perfectly."
Thyssara adjusted the hood slightly, her expression calm but satisfied.
Behind them, Dawncer hoisted the captured bandit—still bound, stripped to his shorts—over his shoulder.
The man squirmed, shouting muffled pleas for help.
"Please! Someone—!"
Dawncer lifted him slightly higher with one arm, unfazed.
The scream echoed louder through the trees.
The group paused.
Then it happened.
A shared glance.
A beat of silence.
And then laughter.
Not forced. Not restrained.
Genuine, sharp, and relieved.
They laughed at the absurdity of it all, at the ease of the plan, at the man's panicked voice carried uselessly into the open air.
The sound of it cut through the forest like a brief release of pressure.
For a moment, they weren't just a group completing a mission.
They were something closer to a unit that had survived one.