"Who the hell is he..?" Rauan exhaled hoarsely.
"I didn't even sense him!" The commander whipped around to the squad and yelled, his voice cracking: "Prepare yourselves immediately! Battle positions!"
Oswin, Torin, and Lorand reacted instantly, taking up combat stances.
However, the stranger on the road behaved with defiant indifference. With a fluid motion, he drew a sword from his back and, with a dull thud, simply thrust it deep into the dirt right in front of him, leaning on the hilt.
Rauan's fingers reflexively gripped the metal cube. It unfolded into a longbow with a dry clack. A second later, a yellow energy arrow flew toward the stranger with a supersonic whistle.
The stranger calmly pulled out some small, round gadget with his left hand. The device flickered dimly, and the arrow's pure mana was literally sucked right into the contraption mid-flight, dissolving without a trace.
Unable to believe his eyes, Rauan instantly drew his bowstring a second time. Another blinding streak tore through the air, but the scenario repeated itself.
"Damn it... things are bad," Rauan gritted through his teeth.
By this point, Torin was already frantically finishing the incantation of his first spell, making the surrounding air spark with tension.
Realizing that ranged combat wasn't working, Oswin and Lorand charged straight at the enemy at top speed with furious battle cries.
Smirking, the stranger casually drew a second sword that had been concealed by his cloak.
A deafening screech of steel rang out. Lorand and Oswin swung their swords, raining down a hail of blows from all sides, but the stranger effortlessly shredded all their tactical combinations, parrying every thrust.
Torin found his focus, habitually closing one eye for a perfect aim. The air above the stranger's head cracked open, and a colossal vertical column of lightning crashed down right onto the interloper with a deafening roar.
The ground shuddered, but in the final fraction of a second, just as the blinding discharge touched its target, the man simply dissolved into thin air, leaving nothing but a smoking crater behind.
Rauan didn't even have time to turn around before a silhouette materialized right in front of his face. The stranger stood nose-to-nose with the squad commander and asked quietly:
"So, are you going to tell me or not?"
Startled, Rauan reflexively threw a punch forward, aiming right for the stranger's jaw.
But the man easily tilted his head, swaying out of the trajectory, and instantly unleashed a lightning-fast flurry of counter-blows to the gut and face. Rauan crumpled to the dirt with a groan, convulsively gasping for air.
"You bastard!" Lorand charged in from behind with a furious roar, raising his sword for a crushing blow.
Without even turning around, the stranger threw his blade up behind his back. The swords met with a deafening clash, throwing off a shower of sparks.
In that exact second, Torin, overcoming his mounting fatigue, finished his second spell.
He swung his hand sharply in a wide arc—an invisible slash tore through the space where the enemy stood, distorting the air. He managed to step off the line of attack once again. Torin staggered, breathing heavily: in a single moment, this magic had drained practically all his inner strength.
The stranger, now standing off to the side, glanced at them and simply extended his free hand toward the horses.
A massive, invisible wave of kinetic energy slammed into the heavy carriage with a roar.
The wooden frame literally splintered into tiny pieces and was hurled backward, reducing all their gear to a pile of debris. The coachman Kron, who had been sitting on the box, miraculously managed to tuck into a roll mid-flight and landed on his feet, but the horses, terrified by the deafening sound, tore through their leather harnesses in a panic and scattered into the woods with wild neighs.
"No, the horses! You bastard!" Kron screamed in despair, clutching his head, but he was powerless to do anything.
Using the general chaos, Oswin tried to sneak around the flank and attack the enemy, but the stranger beat him to the punch.
Without using his sword, the stranger executed a lightning-fast lunge and, with one precise upward kick, struck right under the guard of Oswin's sword. The weapon flew out of the mercenary's fingers.
Meanwhile, Rauan fought through the pain and pushed himself off the ground. He wiped the blood from his split lip with his sleeve and peered into the face of the man standing across from him.
Red hair... crimson eyes... All the puzzle pieces finally clicked together in his head, and his pupils dilated from the rising terror.
"And what is Lucius Feramir doing out here?" Rauan asked hollowly, hesitating for only a second.
The stranger tilted his head slightly to the side, and a smirk played on his lips:
"Wow. So you know my name?"
"Of course I do. The whole kingdom knows your name," Rauan gritted out, tightening his grip on his bow. "A criminal who kills people simply because he feels like it."
While this short dialogue took place, Torin tapped into the last hidden reserves of his body. He exhaled, activating a spell—dozens of sharp icicles materialized right in the air around Lucius.
They shot toward the center, trying to fatally skewer Feramir from all sides. Dodging the ice spikes, Lucius closed the distance to Rauan in a single blurred step. His leg was already chambering for a devastating strike.
"I'm flattered that you know me..." Feramir tossed out casually, "but call me Order."
A terrifying right-legged sweep sliced through the air with a whistle. The heavy sole struck Rauan square in the head, sending him flying far to the left to crash heavily into the roadside dust.
I'll have to hold back even more, he thought to himself.
At that moment, Lorand, capitalizing on the enemy's momentary lapse in concentration, silently loomed up from the side. His blade traced a thin line—the steel barely but perceptibly slashed Feramir's cheek, leaving a cut. Almost simultaneously, Oswin, whom Torin had accelerated with a magical impulse using his last ounce of strength, appeared right behind Lucius.
Oswin, with a shout, plunged his sword hilt-deep straight into the enemy's heart.
The mercenary yanked the bloodied blade out with a crunch and raised it again, aiming to lop off the stranger's head in one swing, but Feramir vanished again, slipping off the line of attack.
Except Rauan, who had been brutally knocked down a minute ago, had anticipated this maneuver.
He snapped up his bow and loosed an arrow exactly to the spot where Feramir was bound to shift after dodging.
Lucius materialized in space, his eyes immediately locking onto the yellow projectile flying at him. Finally, you figured out how I move, he smirked internally. The energy arrow punched forcefully through his chest cavity.
The stranger swayed and, with a hollow exhale, dropped heavily to one knee, pressing his hand to the wound.
Lorand, not losing a single moment, flew at the wounded enemy with a roar, hoisted his two-handed sword high, and completely severed Lucius's head with one mighty swing.
The bloodied head rolled across the grass. Panting heavily, Lorand dropped exhaustedly to his knees right in front of the decapitated body, leaning his sword against the ground. Rauan, swaying, sat down on the shoulder of the road, trying to stop the ringing in his ears.
"How was that, Lorand..?" Rauan exhaled hoarsely, squeezing out a weak smile. "Did you have fun?"
Lorand wiped the sticky sweat from his forehead and wearily tilted his head back, looking up at the clear sky:
"Yeah... a lot."
And then, the heavy breathing of the surviving mercenaries was cut off in a single instant. Lorand's joy, Rauan's relief—all of it was suddenly veiled in a hazy film and began to rapidly dissolve.
Directly inside Torin's mind, deafening him from within, a foreign voice rang out:
So, how was it... living out a false reality?
Torin's eyes snapped open with a sharp, audible gasp.
Absolute silence reigned around him. There were no traces of the recent battle. The road was clear. The heavy carriage stood completely intact and undamaged, and the horses peacefully pawed the ground, not even thinking about panicking.
Torin looked around wildly, clutching his head with his hands. His heart hammered furiously in his chest. Could everything that happened a second ago—Rauan's injury, his own deathly exhaustion, and Lorand's victorious sword swing—have been nothing but a dream?!
"Hey... Lorand! Rauan! Kron! Oswin! Can you hear me?!" Torin shouted in terror, his voice breaking into a panicked falsetto.
He sprang over to Lorand, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him frantically to wake him from this strange stupor. Then he rushed to Rauan, to Oswin, jostling each of them in turn. But his comrades didn't make a sound.
They just stood there, exactly as they had frozen in place that very second. Their gazes were fixed on the void, and their glassy eyes expressed absolutely nothing.
Suddenly, the air behind Torin unnaturally thickened. Silently, Lucius Feramir appeared behind him. There wasn't a single scratch on his face, and his red hair rustled slightly in the light breeze.
He slowly reached out and softly placed his right palm on the trembling Torin's shoulder.
"Tell me, is there any meaning to life if your entire life is a lie?" Lucius asked quietly.
Torin scrambled wildly to the side. He recoiled sharply, convulsively shrugging the foreign hand off his shoulder, and lunged forward, spinning around to face the enemy. His breathing grew jagged, and a primal terror froze in his eyes.
"What... What did you do to them?!" he screamed, stuttering from the surging panic, throwing his trembling hands out in front of him. "Who the hell are you?!"
Feramir merely offered a barely perceptible smile with the corners of his lips, looking down at him.
"I am Order," he answered evenly and calmly, taking a slow step toward him.
He raised his left hand slightly, a soft smirk playing on his lips.
"Look here, isn't this your arm?" he asked calmly.
Torin stared in stupid bewilderment at Lucius's fingers, which were gripping a human limb torn off at the elbow in a familiar sleeve. Torin slowly shifted his gaze to his own right shoulder. His arm was gone. Blood was spurting everywhere from the torn, mangled stump.
Torin's mind exploded with delayed, savage pain. He doubled over, clutching his bleeding shoulder with his left palm, and a frantic, blood-curdling scream pierced the camp.
"Hush, hush, no need to scream," Feramir said softly, as if soothing a fussy child.
Choking on his terror, Torin feverishly began casting every spell he knew. Sparks flared in his surviving left palm, the air around him boiling with chaotic mana currents—he hurled fireballs and ice arrows at Lucius, tried to erect a kinetic barrier.
But every bit of magic, the moment it left his fingers, simply dissipated into the air in dim sparks.
Lucius continued to smile. With a careless flick of his second blade, he cleanly severed Torin's left arm as well.
A new heart-rending scream pierced the silence of the road. Drained of all strength, Torin collapsed to his knees, bleeding out and shuddering helplessly.
"Did you feel the difference in our strength?" Feramir stepped closer. "Now die feeling your own weakness."
Torin shook his head feverishly, his lips trembling, tears rolling from his eyes. He completely lost all grasp of what was happening, what was reality, and what was an illusion.
"N-no... n-n-no..." he squeezed out hoarsely, barely audible.
With a lightning-fast motion of his sword, he ended his life, severing his head.
Feramir leaned down, picked up Torin's head rolling in the mud by its hair, stared indifferently for a second at the grimace of terror frozen on his face, and then dropped it in disgust.
Turning around, Lucius slowly walked toward the stalled carriage. The squad's defenders were still standing in place. Feramir approached Rauan, reached into his inner pocket, and fished out the thick tube containing the letter.
Tucking the missive into his jacket, Lucius pulled a small, complex circular device from his pocket.
He crouched down and attached it right under the carriage's underbelly. The gadget let out a quiet beep. In that same second, the ground in a radius of several meters around the carriage, the frozen mercenaries, and the horses turned a deep purple hue. A blinding flash—and everything within that zone vanished.
Lucius Feramir slowly walked over to his first sword, which had remained buried deep in the dirt this entire time.
He pulled on the hilt, extracting the blade from the soil, and sheathed it with a fluid motion.
His crimson eyes stared off somewhere into the distance, toward the horizon.
"We'll meet soon, Count Wayland..." Lucius said quietly, with a half-smile, into the absolute emptiness of the road.
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