❝
THE WAGON creaked slowly along the forest path, wooden wheels rolling steadily over an undulant road. In the rear of the old merchant's cart sat Charlotte, Saevionh, and Vladimir, cloaks fluttering with the wind amid the trees towering around the wagon. The merchant was an ancient fellow, bent with time, his crooked smile revealing tales borne of the lines on his face. He talked placidly between them as they rode toward the Hollow Grove, which was the village they were headed for, indicating the plights beyond in the forests surrounding it.
"It is better not to travel in these woods at night," the man said in a casual tone, but with an edge of seriousness creeping in. "Once the sun is set, the wolves come out. Many who wander past dusk never return. They just disappear into thin air." He snapped his fingers dryly.
"The people you find there…be cautious. It is lined with barbarians. The sort are rough, scarred, and glaring as ever, ready to pounce any time. One glance from them, and most run away." Charlotte, still in her cloak and sitting with her hands on her lap, tilted her head in interest. "But... Isn't it mostly in the mountains, highlands, or ancient ruins that you find barbarians?" she asked. "That's what books tell, anyway."
The old man chuckled softly. "You're wise, indeed, young missy. That's mostly true. But some of them have found their way into the great woods too. They love their solitude; it makes it easier for them to be home without disturbance."
Saevionh leaned in a bit forward, who had been listening quietly. "Do you by any chance know the cost of the inn at Hollow Grove?" he asked.
The merchant scratched his beard with some hum on his part. "Not too steep, as far as I've heard. But I'd give you a warning that the stay isn't really that peaceful, though. That village keeps making clamor throughout the nights. Drunken shouting, music, and all that."
"That's okay," Saevionh replied coolly. "We won't stay there long, anyway."
The old man raised his eyebrow. "Are you three perhaps on holiday or something? Where are you going with such nice clothes while riding this old wagon?"
Charlotte answered before Saevionh did. "To the El-Daumier Galleria."
The merchant's eyes widened a little. "Is that the one run and owned by the present Viscount of the Daumier family?"
"Yes," Charlotte responded, nodding. "Why?"
He whistled softly. "Didn't know that place had any company. The gallery wouldn't even be there—had the House of Gaston not helped the Daumiers in their younger days. Those two families used to work together during the Dreston Era, you know. But everything fell apart. Selfishness ruined whatever bond they had. I don't know all the details, but I'd bet something rotten lies under that whole mess."
His weight leaned against his seat as he steered the stagnant wagon ahead to the telling. "Last I heard about that gallery, someone robbed it–stole a bunch of portraits. Wouldn't be surprised if the House of Gaston was behind it."
Then, without breaking stride, the old man turned to the travelers with curiosity. "You lot don't look like the usual travelers I see. From this place, are you?"
"Albiana," said Saevionh, "is where we come from."
The merchant's brow climbed at that. "Albiana, eh? Well, just recently there was this buzz about a mystery case in Grenswood, right? Transgressing borders like wildfire. Can't see what part of it is so exciting, though. Sounds pretty normal, if you ask me." He shrugged again before lowering his voice almost conspiratorially, "But you know what's even more curious? That missing bride of the Albiana crown prince. Now that has the nobles spinning in circles. Everybody's talking about it. Tsk... nobles these days; every nation has theirs."
His brow scrunched upward in recognition. "There's been some buzz about a mystery case around Grenswood, huh? Flooding across borders like wildfire." He scoffed. "Can't see what's so exciting about it, though. Sounds like a normal case to me." Shrugging again, lowering his voice as if almost conspiratorially, though not necessarily "Wouldn't that missing bride of the crown prince of Albiana be more interesting? That's really got the nobles spinning. Everybody's talking about it. Tsk... nobles these days; every country has their dramas."
And as that old fellow went on, animated voice, wildly gesticulating hands all the while, Saevionh sat quiet in his corner, an ever-polite smile at the corners of his lips. His eyes drifted lazily between Charlotte and Vladimir, as though seeing how their expressions were measuring up. Then, with a low breath and a glance toward the still-chattering merchant, he muttered under his breath, "Does this man not know how to shut his mouth?"
But, without looking at him, Vladimir exhaled a long, patient sigh. "Common thing," he replied, voice low but amused. "These sort of travelers keep talking all the way while their wagons drive. Part of the job. Keeps them awake."
There was no holding back; Charlotte stifled a laugh, managing only soft chuckles as she looked at the two men. "Well, at least he is entertaining," she whispered, her eyes dancing with delight beneath her hood.
Saevionh leaned a little back, and now the smile crept wider on his face: "Entertaining, yes. But I fear my ears might retire before we reach the Hollow Grove."
They exchanged a look—silent agreement and shared amusement—and for a moment, the heaviness of the journey lifted, replaced by a quiet, fleeting warmth.
With that, the wagon fell into an uneasy silence. None of the three passengers said a word, their gazes momentarily locked on the old man, whose remarks had cut a little too close to home. The forest around them deepened in shadow as the sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks through the leaves. The day was ending, and the air had begun to cool, thick with the scent of moss and wood.
The old man's tales kept flowng with travel along the way, then suddenly went mute because of some sound like the rustling of the underbrush.
The creaking wagon came to a standstill.
They all turned towards the sound.
"Stay here," murmured Saevionh as he climbed out of the wagon. His boots met the earth in a way that made no noise, but with every step toward the bushes, the air thickened, something wasn't right.
He crouched lower and pulled back the branches in one swift, smooth motion.
"…A squirrel?" he stared at it with covered eyes.
The tiny creature blinked at him, frozen in mid-nibble. Saevionh exhaled with a quiet laugh, scooping the squirrel gently into his palm. "It's just a squirrel," he called out, grinning faintly as he turned toward the wagon.
Charlotte let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank goodness—"
Then she froze. Her eyes widened. "Saevionh! Behind you!"
The warning came just in time. Saevionh ducked instinctively, and a gleaming axe whooshed over his head—its blade kissing the air where his skull had been, slicing through a few strands of his ash blonde hair.
Deadpan surprise clouded his gaze as he directed it toward his assailant all while still holding the squirrel. "Woah!" he muttered. "That's... one way to greet a stranger."
Vladimir had already begun scanning the treeline. "We are surrounded," he said.
From the shadows of the forest, at least half a dozen men came forth. Towering beasts with broad shoulders, shaggy manes, and skin scored by a myriad of cuts. One of these, stepping forward, cracked his knuckles, sniffed the air, and growled, "I smell danger in you."
The old man in the wagon shrank down behind his seat and trembled. "Barbarians," he whispered.
Saevionh calmly approached the wagon and placed the squirrel gently onto Charlotte's lap. She looked between him and the tiny animal in confused alarm. "Why are you giving this to me?" she whispered harshly.
"I don't want it to get squashed," he said simply, then turned back toward the oncoming threat. "And don't let it bite."
He rolled back his sleeves. "No weapons; this should be fun."
Vladimir stepped down beside him. "Your idea of fun needs some work."
The barbarians would not wait. One lunged ahead with a war cry, swinging a club toward Saevionh's ribs. He slid under the swing, twisting the man's arm behind his back and flipping him to the dirt. Another came with a hammer-like punch aimed at Vladimir, but Vladimir intercepted the man's arm with both hands and threw his weight into a shoulder lock, throwing him around.
The fight broke out.
Dust filled the air. Grunts echoed amid the trees. Saevionh's motions were sharp and liquid, bending, twisting, ducking under, and against forward—come attacks. He slipped past two men, grabbing one by the back of the neck, smashing his face into the other man's chest, and then kicking both back.
Vladimir fought in rigid precision-somewhat less finesse than Saevionh, but raw power was his forte. He caught a barbarian wrist, twisted, and smacked the man to the ground, cracking with a thud. Bloodied, but still breathing, his stance remained very much grounded, all the coldness focused on his foe.
One barbarian roared, swinging an axe as heavy as itself toward Vladimir. Dodging the blow, he felt the blade's kiss on his shoulder. Wincing.
Another fighter brandishing twin blades came charging for Saevionh, who ducked under the first slash and seized the second wrist mid-air, twisting it till the blade clattered to the ground. He swept the legs of the barbarian, rolled over his back, and delivered a spiking boot straight to his jaw.
A third assailant nearly took down Vladimir from behind, but he turned, seized the man by the neck, and then used the barbarian's own momentum to slam his head palm-first into the trunk of a nearby tree, bark cracking from the impact.
The fourth one swung a chain at Saevionh's feet, wrapped it around him, yanked him hard, but instead of falling down, Saevionh used that yanking force to propel himself forward and deliver a flying knee strike right on the man's face from the other side. The chain snapped.
They were getting winded. An enormous brute came charging in, bellowing, like a slamming of thunder, with his fists together. Both Vladimir and Saevionh dodged in opposite directions. The brute went for Saevionh and clinched him. Saevionh was held for a moment; he then head-butted the guy, jabbed his elbow repeatedly in the neck until the hold was broken.
Saevionh freed himself, panting, with his hair flying.
Amidst the confusion, Vladimir ducked underneath yet another swing, caught the barbarian's wrist again, and punched his elbow clean in—shattering the joint with a sickening crunch. The barbarian howled.
"There's too many!" Vladimir screamed.
"We need to break formation," Saevionh said.
At that moment, Charlotte tightened her grip on the squirrel and stared wide-eyed at the scene in panic. "I can\'t just... sit here," she muttered.
"Don't!" the old man hissed. "It's too dangerous!"
Charlotte, however, wouldn't listen. Her heart thundered, but not from fear; she was ashamed that she was helpless while they were fighting. Her hand reached for the nearest hold she could find-a rusty shovel stuck upside down in a corner of the wagon.
She rose.
Another barbarian had matched onto Saevionh. Just as he had moved to block it, a shovel suddenly brought a whack on the man's back of the head.
Charlotte stood there, wide-eyed, breathing heavily, the shovel trembling in her hands.
"Sorry!" she squeaked.
Saevionh glanced back, astonished-then smiled. "You're a natural."
Like the tide changing, the attackers were now in disarray and off balance. Saevionh and Vladimir started fighting back-to-back, dodging and countering. Charlotte swung whenever an attacker came close, her strikes mostly wild but full of heart.
One barbarian grabbed the shovel. Charlotte tugged it back and accidentally hit him under the chin with the handle, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "Oops!" she muttered.
Another one tripped over a stone as he tried to dodge Vladimir, did one complete somersault, and landed sprawled across the squirrel's nut stash. The squirrel shrieked in indignation.
Vladimir dodged a swing, countered with a punch, then turned to Charlotte. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."
Saevionh ducked low, swept the brute off his feet, and then threw a pinecone hard right into another's face. "Weaponized forest debris," he said. "Underrated."
Within moments, only two of the barbarians remained conscious, administering bruises and dirt dusted with pine needles on their faces as their darting eyeballs alternated between each other and the trio that stood there almost like a disorganized war party.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" one of them croaked.
"Yeah," the other solemnly nodded, already stepping back.
At the count of three, they screamed in unison, "RUUUUN!" before setting off like greased pigs, flailing their arms in every direction. One went tumbling over an exposed root, rolling like an unwilling sack of potatoes, while the other let out a shriek that sounded least bit like a goat being stepped on. And just like that, they disappeared into the woods.
Silence fell— long and awkward.
Somewhere in the brush, a lone squirrel was squeaking.
Charlotte stood frozen, still holding the dented, slightly bloody shovel like a sacred relic. Damp, frizzled strands of her hair clung to her forehead. Her cheek was smeared with dirt. Slowly, she blinked, her wide-open eyes looking first down to the squirrel in her lap and then up into the empty canopy of the trees.
"...Did we just... win?" she asked.
No one answered.
Vladimir stood hunched over, grimacing as he rotated his shoulder while looking off into the trees. "Did they actually just scream and run away?"
"One of them might have cried!" Saevionh added, squinting toward the foliage. "Probably peed too, but can't confirm."
All three of them stood, immobile, while their brains appeared to process. And then, almost in sync:
"Did we scare them off?"
"Did I scare them off?"
"Did the squirrel scare them off?"
Charlotte looked at the tiny creature nestled in her lap. "You didn't... growl or anything, right?"
The squirrel just stared up at her, its eyes full of disbelief.
Vladimir pointed to the shovel. "You did cave in someone's skull with that thing."
"It was a reflex!" Charlotte cried, puffing up slightly.
"You screamed, spun like a tornado, and whacked him and a tree," said Saevionh, deadpan. "I thought you were possessed."
"I panicked!" she exclaimed. "I was multitasking between terror and rage!"
"Well, whatever it was, it worked," Vladimir muttered, shaking out his bruised arm.
Charlotte shoved the shovel into the dirt and leaned on it dramatically, like a heroine in a war epic. "So... Do I get a medal, or just lifelong trauma and some squirrel-related mild trauma?"
The squirrel squeaked again, and with great daring climbed up her arm like a tiny battle veteran to settle on her shoulder.
Saevionh raised an eyebrow. "It chooses you as its new god."
Vladimir nodded solemnly. "You now have yourself a battle squirrel."
Charlotte groaned. "Fantastic. I have always dreamed of having a rodent familiar."
Then, the old man popped his head over the edge of the wagon, still gripping his straw hat as though it would fly away if let go. "Is it... over?"
Saevionh, however, merely shook his head. "For now."
As the last few groaning barbarians went down, the conscious ones finally noticed the thin flare of smoke drifting in the distance. It curled languidly in the air-the clear sign of one thing: they were close to Hollow Grove. The realization sank in, chillingly.
Saevionh narrowed his eyes toward the treeline. "We must've crossed into their territory," he said listlessly. "That is why they came upon us like that."
Vladimir nodded quietly in agreement; the logic meshed completely with their recent chaos. He turned toward the old merchant, still clutching the wagon as if it could protect him from any remaining barbarians or divine retribution, looking pale as he trembled slightly, adjusting his crooked hat.
"Can you still take us to Hollow Grove?" Vladimir asked; his tone was not unkind, but firm.
The old man hesitated, visibly conflicted between a fight, a flight, and some feigned fainting. His lips twitched, about to say something dramatic such as, "I value my life more than coin." Yet before he could get a word out, Saevionh stepped forward- expression unreadable, producing yet another small pouch of aurics. With an almost smug grin, he casually shook it, the faint jingle of coins doing better than any spell for them now.
Instantly, the transformation came. The merchant's eyes lit up as if it was a festival day. He snatched the pouch just like a starving man would grab any piece of bread and sat on the driver's seat in astonishing time and with incredible alacrity. "To Hollow Grove we go!" he announced in a voice that clearly no longer trembled. He even began to hum.
Charlotte blinked. "Is he… humming?"
"Money's a miracle cure," Saevionh replied dryly as he climbed back to the wagon.
The wagon began rattling down the path to Hollow Grove without further ado. Behind them, the unconscious barbarians lay on the road like pieces of forgotten laundry, and not one of them turned to watch.
"Those people are dangerous...especially that blindfolded guy."