“What the hell?” Becket muttered, his brows knitting together in confusion. “The servants…”
Stick tensed. “Maybe they need more ingredients for the holiday feast?”
But Becket wasn’t buying it. He watched the servants as they slipped away behind some bushes, their movements hurried and almost fearful. It was completely out of place, and he knew it.
“Doesn’t feel right,” he said, a hint of steel entering his voice. “Something’s off.”
Becket’s keen instincts started to kick in. Stick had to think fast. He felt his heart pound in his chest, every beat, every second, stretching into an eternity. He swallowed hard, trying to come up with a way to regain Becket’s attention.
“Then, the Initiation is a bigger event than I thought.”
Becket turned to him, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the hillside behind the mansion. A figure was running downhill, a flash of red catching the rays of the sun. Becket squinted, recognizing the figure instantly. Lydia. She was clutching something in both hands.
“Helmets.” Becket’s mind raced, connecting the dots in a heartbeat. The servants leaving, Lydia fleeing, the plan unravelling before his eyes.
“Damn it,” Becket hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “What did you do?”
He turned around, brandishing his sword again, towering above Stick from his horse. Stick opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. The look in Becket’s eyes told him there was no point in lying anymore. Fuck!
A sudden, deafening thud split the air, and a rusty axe embedded itself in the ground between them, just inches from Becket’s mount. The horse neighed in terror, rearing up on its hind legs. Becket, caught off guard, tried to regain control, but it was too late. The horse bucked violently, and Becket was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground with a loud bang, his head bouncing off the hard earth, and lay still. Stick’s breath caught in his throat as he stared down at Becket, who was sprawled out unconscious. For a moment, Stick couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Becket was out cold. The unbreakable Protection that the high LVL Players always carried, that aura of invincibility, was shattered by a simple concussion. He let out a nervous chuckle. It really worked. It actually worked!
image [https://i.imgur.com/babHsuR.jpeg]
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“That’s what you get for not wearing a helmet,” he muttered.
As Stick’s gaze shifted to the weapon that had caused the chaos, he recognised it immediately—the old, rusty axe Varyan used to split firewood. His heart raced as he turned toward the direction it had been thrown from. Shadis emerged from behind the cluster of tree stumps. The old man’s scruffy beard and wild eyes made him look like a feral predator that had finally cornered its prey. He moved with a deliberate calm, years of combat experience, though his gaze was anything but.
“You’re honest to a fault,” Shadis scolded, his voice gravelly and stern as he approached Stick. “You can’t lie to save your own skin!”
“Thanks?” Stick replied, not entirely sure if it was a compliment or a critique.
But Shadis wasn’t interested in conversation. While Stick still processed the situation at hand, he had already calmed the upset horse.
“Check his bags for rope. We have to move quickly,” he ordered, constantly checking over his shoulder if a figure appeared in the windows of the mansion’s tower.
Stick nodded, snapping into action. He rushed by Becket’s unconscious form, his hands trembling as he rifled through the [Saddlebag Inventory]. It was mostly packed with supplies: [Torches], [Raw Venison], [Water], and some [Cloth]. He sifted through the list until he found it [Rope (5m)]. He produced it out of the menu and held it up to Shadis, who gave a curt nod of approval.
“Good,” Shadis grunted. “Get to it. I’ll make sure he stays hidden.”
Stick hesitated for a moment, glancing down at Becket, who lay completely vulnerable on the ground. Despite everything, the sight made him feel a pang of guilt. It’s the same they did to us.
Shadis noticed Stick’s hesitation and stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t go soft on me now, boy. Do what needs to be done.”
Stick nodded quickly, shaking off his doubt. He knelt beside Becket and began tying his wrists and ankles with the rope, making sure the knots were tight but not cruel.
“Let’s go,” Shadis commanded, tying the rope into the saddle rings. “We need to move before anyone comes looking.”
“Stop!” Stick protested. “We’re not gonna drag him on the ground!”
Shadis, already mounted on the horse, looked down on him with disgust. “We don’t have time for weakness.”
“It’s not weakness. It’s decency.”
“Decency they never showed us.”
“Exactly! That’s why we won’t stoop to that level.”
Shadis scoffed. “Honest to a fault.”
Stick ignored Shadis’s comment and mustered all his strength to pick Becket up. He had to flex all the muscles in his body, immediately breaking into a sweat, to raise him high enough to place behind the saddle. His armour probably adds half a person’s worth of weight.
“There’s not enough space on the horse to fit an unconscious person and two riders, no matter how starved they are,” Shadis said.
“You just make sure to safely get him to Cadmun. I’ll join the servants coming this way and be right behind you.”
Shadis begrudgingly agreed and wordlessly spurred his horse to head to the camp. As the distance grew between them, Stick watched closely to see if Shadis paid enough attention to not let Becket fall. If he loses any Life Points, I’ll have you keelhauled.
His eyes strayed a little further towards the shanty town where a pillar of smoke was slowly rising towards the sky. No! Why are the shanties on fire? This is too soon!