The Boundary, Part 1
Pitch-black figures tore through the night. The forest was draped in the veil of the goddess of night. Upon the land where silence had settled, the galloping steeds added the thunder of their hooves. The sleeping animals woke in terror, as if the world were tearing apart. The pounding of ten sets of hooves was as sudden and menacing as a thunderclap from a clear sky. Had any humans been nearby, they surely would have cowered, thinking an entire army was on the march.
Every last one of them was clad in black. Masks concealed their faces, and deep hoods shrouded their heads, making the men seem entirely dissolved into the night. In truth, they were. Even outside the forest, they operated only under the cover of darkness. They were those who hid from the moonlight, using the deep gloom as their shroud. Professional killers who took lives without leaving a trace. In the underworld, their name was whispered only in hushed, fearful tones: the Dark Moon.
"A magic beast is pursuing us from the right. It seems to have been drawn by the noise. What are your orders?"
"Dispose of it and catch up. Are two of you enough?"
"More than enough."
"Go."
Dispatching the beast did not take long. If they had been weak enough to struggle against a mere magic beast or two, he would never have taken them on as subordinates in the first place. As the black-clad men tore through the deep night, the man at the lead navigated by relying on a crude map and an overgrown, abandoned forest trail. Though his tools of navigation were pitifully poor, the man possessed absolute certainty. He was sure they were on the right path.
His eyes could discern traces that others missed. The faint, ancient ruts of carriage wheels—signs that people had traveled back and forth a few times. Estimating the age of the tracks, they aligned perfectly with the timeline his client had provided. If they simply followed these ruts, they would undoubtedly reach the Cabin where their targets were said to be.
He was a former Ranger. Or at least, he had been, until he slept with his captain's wife while serving in the unit, got caught, and killed the enraged captain. Frankly speaking, it was a despicable affair. But it had been fun. To those who needed someone to handle their 'dirty work,' such a past was hardly a flaw. If anything, he wore his crime like a badge of honor. Deserting from the Rangers was normally considered an impossible feat.
The Rangers were as ruthless in their punishments as they were strict in their discipline. Thus, to kill one's captain and successfully desert carried a deeper implication. It meant he had slaughtered every single squad member sent to hunt him down and erased his tracks completely. It was a testament to his exceptional skill and flawless execution. Once again, his talents were steering them smoothly toward their goal. A cruel smirk played on the man's lips. He raised his right arm, signaling a halt.
"Halt."
They had arrived. Before them lay a scene that was clearly artificial. A circular clearing of snow nestled in the heart of the forest, and right in the center stood the Cabin. His eyes swept the surroundings with practiced speed. Near the cabin, he spotted piles of burnt-out firewood. The circular arrangement of the logs was a telltale sign of a cremation ritual unique to the Illencia Grand Duchy. A short distance away, the corpses of adult men lay scattered. They were the incompetent predecessors who had failed before him.
"This is the cabin the client spoke of. Search the surrounding area thoroughly. I will inspect the inside."
"When do we regroup?"
"I'll give you fifteen minutes."
"Understood, Captain."
As if on cue, his subordinates scattered. He rode his horse up to the front of the cabin, tied it nearby, and immediately began tossing the interior. For an old place, it bore heavy signs of recent use. He headed down to the basement first. The supplies in the cellar had been meticulously organized, as if someone had cared for them with great devotion. This made it easy; the man only had to examine the items that had been disrupted. He didn't need to look too closely. Most of what had been taken were preserved rations and first-aid supplies. Naturally, they seemed to have packed exactly what was necessary for a long journey. So, they aren't completely clueless brats, he thought, pleased by the prospect of a more challenging hunt.
It appeared that while the four of them lived here, they hadn't touched the preserved rations. The consumption rate of fresh ingredients compared to the rations was starkly different. No doubt because they tasted awful. There was no reason to eat them when better food was available. He, too, knew the taste of the rations he had eaten during his days as a Ranger. They were excessively salty, rock-hard, and had a leathery texture he despised. He could surmise that the missing rations were intended solely for their current journey. But for four people, the amount taken would only last a day or two at most. It was woefully insufficient.
"The amount of other supplies taken is also too small for four people. At least two of them must have died. Since there were signs of a funeral outside, my men will bring back the exact numbers soon."
His eyes fell upon several ransacked boxes. They had been torn open haphazardly, a clear sign that whoever did it had no idea what was inside. If the person who had originally organized these boxes were still alive, they would never have made such a mess. It was obvious who had managed this cellar. There was no way noble brats would tidy up a storehouse themselves when they had a maid.
"If two died, one of them must be that maid. Which means at least one of the siblings made it out of here alive."
This was highly welcome news. If both siblings had perished here, it would have been difficult to secure the 'proof' he needed. His client had promised a handsome bonus depending on the results. He would need to bring back at least one of their heads, fresh and cleanly severed, to save face.
He continued his search of the cabin. On the first floor, old, dried bloodstains caught his eye in various places. The placement of the stains and the volume of blood loss were inconsistent and chaotic. Deep gouges from swords were also scattered haphazardly across the walls and floor. He concluded that the battle here had been a desperate, chaotic melee. In such a brawl, everyone gets hurt. Of the four, only two were capable of fighting. At the very least, one of those two must have died or been gravely wounded. And in a remote wilderness like this, a severe wound was practically a death sentence. Even if they survived, they would be little more than a living corpse.
Quite a few blood-soaked bandages and scraps of cloth lay discarded. There were even torn pieces of fabric, likely ripped from their own garments to serve as makeshift bandages. One piece looked like a girl's dress. The situation must have been dire. Under these circumstances, it was safer to assume death rather than a mere injury.
"Either the young lord of Ilencia or the young Count of Bertus is dead. I hope the young count is the one who survived."
His client had warned him that this forest was treacherous. And the young count supposedly possessed a remarkable talent for the sword—he was told to expect someone at least on par with an Expert. Rather than a scenario where two clueless, pampered children wandered blindly into the woods, it was far better to have a capable guardian with them. That way, they would manage to stay alive until he caught up. And if the surviving direct descendant of Ilencia was the girl, it would be absolutely perfect.
"And that seems to be the most likely outcome. Highly satisfactory."
He truly loved his profession. By its very nature, his job frequently allowed him to spill noble blood. Every time he slaughtered those pampered highborns who had lived lives of absolute luxury, a dark, intoxicating pleasure surged from the depths of his chest. Killing the pampered young ladies who had been worshiped all their lives was the finest delicacy of all. Seeing their pretty, delicate faces stained with tears and snot brought an indescribable rush. It made him want to sever their sobbing heads right then and there and keep them as trophies.
What did it taste like, he wondered, to meet one's end at the hands of a commoner they had looked down upon as scum their entire lives? How utterly miserable must they feel in their final moments? Savoring the despair of his victims was the greatest pleasure the man had found in this line of work. And this time, his target was none other than the daughter of the Grand Duke of Ilencia. A noble among nobles, someone whom ordinary people would never even dare to look upon in their entire lifetimes.
Would a girl with such noble blood still weep when she felt pain? Would she beg for her life? If he offered to spare her in exchange for licking his boots, would she do it? If she did have a guardian, he hoped the young lady cherished him deeply. The despair of watching the guardian knight you trusted with your life get slaughtered was always a spectacular sight.
"Well, we'll have our chance to meet soon enough. Let's see that pretty face of yours shortly, my lady."
By the time he finished gathering the necessary information, the fifteen minutes had passed, and his subordinates returned. He had already mapped out the fugitives' potential habits in his mind. When cross-referenced with the reports his men brought back, the reality aligned perfectly with his deductions. Two had died here. Judging by the skeletal remains, one female and one male had perished. And as he listened to the report, the most satisfying piece of news was delivered.
"We found the tracks of their escape. Footprints of two individuals."
"And their composition?"
"Exactly as you deduced, Captain. One female, one male. They appear to have headed northeast."
"Is that so?"
A sinister grin split his face. His thick, suffocating killing intent manifested in a chilling laugh.
"We continue the hunt. We'll be seeing them very soon."