With staggering steps, Melius was slowly approaching Silas and Lucas. In the distance, he spotted horsemen galloping toward him. As the riders drew closer, their figures became clearer. The man leading the group shouted with a commanding voice, "Halt!"

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All the horsemen stopped in perfect unison. The leader dismounted and, with a serious look, asked, "Melius, are you alright?"

Melius, visibly exhausted and seething with frustration, shot back, "Yes, but not thanks to you mage dogs!"

The leader's face darkened as he retorted, "We just saved your sorry asses, and we lost men in the process. Is this how you thank us, you ungrateful bastard?"

Melius' anger flared as he spat, "You've been tailing us like hounds for days, and then, out of nowhere, these mercenaries ambush us? If you ask me, this looks damn suspicious!"

The leader's raspy voice turned cold. "I'm not here to argue with a one-handed, washed-up swordsman. We're here under orders from Lady Marona herself."

Turning to one of the black-robed men behind him, he barked, "Jacob, give him a spare horse."

Melius, barely standing and on the verge of collapse, clenched his teeth in silent fury but said nothing as he was handed the reins. His rage simmered just beneath the surface, but his exhaustion won the battle, and he simply mounted the horse, his mind still spinning with bitter thoughts.

Soon, Melius and the horsemen reached their destination. Lucas, with wounds scattered across his body, sat beside Silas, who appeared pale and worn, resting on a rock near the fallen mercenaries. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and the remnants of battle.

The black-robed leader approached Silas, his voice low with regret. "Sir, please accept my deepest apologies for failing to warn you about the ambush. I must admit, we were caught off guard."

Silas, lifting his frail, bony hand, stopped him mid-apology. "No need to apologize. You and your men aided us in a desperate time. Without you, we would have surely met our makers."

Lucas, still somewhat dazed but now more stable, asked quietly, "Who are these black-robed swordsmen?"

Silas turned to his grandson and replied, "These are Marona's men. She sent them to watch over us days ago, foreseeing the attack."

Lucas nodded slightly, though a hint of bitterness lingered in his voice as he mumbled, "They sure took their sweet time getting here."

The leader of the black-robed men reached into his pouch, pulling out three small vials filled with shimmering liquid. He handed one to each of them. "Please, drink this health potion. It will help you move better and heal minor wounds."

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Melius inspected the vial carefully, surprised that the man was offering such valuable potions so casually. Without a word, all three downed the potion in one swift gulp. Warmth spread through their bodies, dulling their pain and mending minor cuts. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them going.

The black-robed man spoke again, his tone urgent. "We should head to the city. The forest isn't safe at night."

In the cover of darkness, the group made their way to the city. Along the journey, Melius split off from them, heading toward his home in the outskirts. Silas and Lucas, now feeling somewhat better, continued on to the inn.

Once they arrived, the black-robed leader turned to Silas. "Sir, I strongly advise you to relocate to Marona's protection area within the black market. Your cover has been compromised, and staying here would be too dangerous."

Silas nodded slowly, acknowledging the wisdom of the suggestion. "We will make arrangements."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"My men will guard the inn tonight," the leader assured him.

"Thank you," Silas replied, his gratitude sincere.

Inside the inn, the morning air carried the scent of fresh bread and bitter herbs. Lucas and Silas sat quietly at the wooden table, the remnants of last night's battle etched across their faces—wounds, exhaustion, and the weight of survival. The crackling of the hearth did little to warm the chill of their thoughts.

As they picked at their breakfast, two familiar figures approached. Aline, the innkeeper's eldest daughter, stood tall beside her younger sister, Betha, who clutched the hem of her dress. Aline's eyes shone with clear worry as she stopped in front of Lucas.

"Oh, great Magus Almer, what happened to you, Lucas?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern.

Lucas blinked in surprise at their sudden appearance, but quickly forced a casual smile. "It's nothing," he replied, brushing off the question. "Just a run-in with some wild animals."

Aline frowned, clearly not convinced by the vague excuse, but she chose not to press further. "If you say so…" she muttered, glancing at the cuts and bruises that betrayed the truth.

Betha, small and innocent, piped up, her eyes wide with childish indignation. "Brother Lucas doesn't love us anymore! He hasn't come to see us in days!"

Lucas couldn't help but chuckle at her bluntness, his smile softening. "I've been busy, Betha. I'm sorry," he said, his voice kind.

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Betha huffed, crossing her arms. "Sorry won't cut it! You're always gone before dawn and back after dusk. What are you really doing?" She paused, casting a suspicious glance at Silas. "Is this old man hurting you, brother?"

Silas, who had been quietly chewing his food across the table, choked at the accusation. He glanced at Lucas, eyes wide in disbelief, while Betha continued her playful interrogation, unaware of the tension lingering in the room. The weight of last night's battle hung heavily between Lucas and Silas, but the girls' concern brought a momentary warmth to the bleak morning.

From the corner of the inn, a pair of dark eyes watched the scene unfold. A tall, scarred man with a missing hand—Nutface—stood with his right-hand thug, Pugface, both hidden in the shadows. Nutface's jaw clenched tightly as he observed Lucas laughing with the innkeeper's daughters, the easy camaraderie fueling the rage that simmered within him.

A cold fury coursed through Nutface's veins. The memories of last night's ambush, the blood, the losses—everything was gone because of that mage and one-handed Melius. They had stripped him of his men, his pride, and his power. Now, seeing Lucas smiling and chatting so freely, it was as if the universe itself mocked him.

Nutface gritted his teeth, his scarred hand twitching with barely contained hatred. "You took everything from me, mage and the one handed fucker," he muttered under his breath, voice low and venomous. "But just wait… I'll take everything from you, tenfold."

Pugface, standing beside him, nodded silently, his own face twisted with resentment for Lucus. The boy who chopped his cock. The two men exchanged a look, a silent vow of vengeance hanging in the air. The time for retribution was drawing closer, and they would make Lucas pay dearly for every wound, every loss.

After breakfast, Silas turned to Lucas with a worried expression. "We need to leave the inn as soon as we can," he said quietly. "I can feel the malicious gazes of people around us."

Lucas nodded, understanding the gravity of Silas's words. They quickly packed their belongings. Lucas retrieved his bow from the corner—a Crown Eagle bow. He had previously considered it useless in a fight against aura swordsmen. However, the events of the previous night had shown him the potential of combining it with aura techniques for long-range attacks.

As they prepared to leave, Lucas approached the innkeeper. "Thank you for your service. I hope we'll meet again someday, Can you please let Aline and Betha know that I'm leaving?"

The innkeeper lady responded with a strained smile. "Oh, they're busy at the moment, but don't worry, I'll let Alice and Betha know you're leaving."

Lucas sensed a change in the innkeeper's demeanor since the morning but chose not to comment. He hoped to see Alice and Betha before he departed, but it seemed he would not have that chance.

Silas suggested they move to a safer location within Marona's sphere of influence. "We should head to the black market near Marona's area," he advised. "Marona is a top potion master in Almera and wields considerable influence in the black market."

Lucas, curious, asked, "Why didn't we stay in the black market from the start, Grandpa?"

Silas replied, "The black market is teeming with spies. If we had stayed there, we might have been attacked months ago."

Soon, they reached Marona's place, in black market of the city.