The word hung in the air.
"Soldiers."
For a moment—
Neither of them moved.
The wind whispered across the broken wagons, carrying the smell of smoke and blood through the valley.
The silence felt heavier than before.
More dangerous.
More real.
Arin stared at the injured man.
Confusion twisted in his chest.
"Soldiers?" he repeated softly.
The knight's expression hardened.
His eyes scanned the surrounding hills instantly.
Alert.
Focused.
Calculating.
Human enemies were worse than monsters.
Because monsters hunted from instinct.
Humans hunted with purpose.
The injured man coughed suddenly.
A wet, painful sound.
Blood stained his lips.
His body trembled violently as he tried to push himself up.
Failed.
Collapsed again.
"They came at night," he whispered.
His voice was weak.
Barely steady.
"They knew our route…"
The knight leaned closer.
Listening carefully.
Every word mattered.
"How many?" he asked.
The man swallowed slowly.
His throat dry.
Burning.
"Too many," he said.
A faint tremor ran through his body.
Fear.
Real fear.
"They wore black armor…"
He paused.
Struggling to breathe.
"No banners…"
Silence followed.
The knight understood immediately.
No banners meant no nation.
No allegiance.
No rules.
Mercenaries.
Or assassins.
Arin watched the exchange quietly.
Trying to understand.
Trying to stay calm.
But fear crept slowly into his chest.
"Why attack a caravan?" he asked.
The injured man turned his head slightly.
His eyes filled with desperation.
"They weren't after goods," he whispered.
A long pause.
"They were searching."
The word landed heavily.
Searching.
The knight's grip tightened on his sword.
"For what?" he asked.
The man's breathing grew uneven again.
Shallow.
Rapid.
Panicked.
His eyes shifted suddenly.
Past the knight.
Toward the road behind them.
Fear flooded his face.
"They're coming back," he whispered.
The words struck like thunder.
The knight stood instantly.
Every muscle tensed.
Every sense sharpened.
His head turned slowly toward the distant ridge.
At first—
Nothing.
Only wind.
Only silence.
Only empty land.
Then—
Movement.
Small shapes appeared at the top of the hill.
Dark.
Distant.
Unmistakable.
Riders.
Several of them.
Their silhouettes cut sharply against the bright sky.
Still.
Watching.
Waiting.
Arin felt his heart slam against his ribs.
"They see us," he said.
The knight did not answer.
He already knew.
The riders began to move.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Their horses charged down the slope.
Dust rising behind them.
Weapons glinting in the sunlight.
Hunting.
The knight made his decision instantly.
He turned to Arin.
His voice sharp.
Urgent.
"We leave now."
Arin nodded.
Fear tightening his chest.
But before they could move—
The injured man grabbed the knight's arm weakly.
"Please…" he whispered.
His hand trembled.
Desperate.
"Don't leave me."
The words cut deep.
Arin froze.
He looked at the man.
At the blood.
At the fear in his eyes.
Then he looked at the approaching riders.
Getting closer.
Faster.
More dangerous.
His chest tightened painfully.
"Can we help him?" he asked.
The question hung in the air.
Heavy.
Impossible.
The knight hesitated.
Just for a second.
Because he understood the truth.
Saving one life could risk losing two.
But leaving someone to die—
Was not the way of a protector.
The sound of hooves grew louder.
Closer.
Faster.
Time was running out.
The knight made his choice.
He knelt beside the injured man quickly.
Lifted him carefully onto his shoulder.
The man cried out in pain.
But relief followed instantly.
"Hold on," the knight said.
Then he turned toward the road.
"Run," he ordered.
Arin moved immediately.
His legs pushed forward.
Fast.
Desperate.
Determined.
Behind them—
The riders reached the bottom of the hill.
Their leader raised one hand sharply.
"After them," he commanded.
The chase had begun.