At dawn, the heavy oak doors of the small roadside inn didn't just open—they exploded inward, the splintering panels crushing violently against the frame and wall in a synchronized, brutal breach.
Through the swirling dust and cold morning breeze stood a terrifying wall of steel and muscle. Pouring into the ground floor were none other than the finest warriors of Salran Hill, individually picked for this desperate tracking mission. Leading the vanguard were Khunbish and Khenbish, their matching heavy armor reflecting the flickering, dying embers of the hearth from the night before. Khunbish's eyes gleamed with the cold, lethal intent of an executioner. Beside him, Khenbish moved like a shadow, his hand resting tightly on the pommel of his sword, his jaw set in a grim, unyielding line.
Directly behind them stepped Azad, flanked by a sea of rough-necked, heavily armed men. The Salran Hill bandits flooded the tavern floor like a localized plague, quickly fanning out to encircle the space. They were a feral, scarred lot, smelling of cheap wine, sweating horses, and fresh copper blood. Their wicked falchions, notched axes, and broadswords caught the dim morning light, silently cutting off every conceivable line of escape. In a matter of heartbeats, the cramped inn floor was entirely swallowed by a small army.
At the center of this trap sat Minister Gegeen and ten imperial guards, positioned around two central tables as if they were merely enjoying an ordinary breakfast.
Despite the overwhelming force occupying the room, Gegeen didn't flinch. In the tense moments before the breach, he had already quietly ordered his men to monitor the exits, turning the back of the inn into a tightly guarded perimeter. He was cornered, yes, but he remained an unshakeable fox.
Seeing the royal minister surrounded by imperial blades, Khunbish felt a wave of cold skepticism wash over him. In his heart, he demanded to know what business one of the most highly regarded politicians of the Hmagol court had in a lawless border town completely outside imperial control—especially during such a dark and turbulent hour.
Smoothing down the front of his pristine, silk-embroidered robes, Gegeen let out a soft, mocking chuckle that echoed unnaturally in the tense silence. He offered Khunbish a slow, perfectly executed aristocratic bow, his face a flawless mask of smug composure.
"Sir Khunbish. Sir Khenbish," Gegeen greeted, his voice dripping with venomous charm and practiced surprise as he gestured vaguely to the ruined door. "I must say, this is a rather loud way to enter an inn, especially in the borderlands, hundreds of miles away from the safety of the Capital."
"What are you doing here?" Khunbish demanded, his eyes scanning the room. He didn't move an inch, his gaze locking onto the minister like a hawk pinning a field mouse. "You are a long way from home, Minister Gegeen. And you travel with far too many swords for a man of peace."
Gegeen merely grinned, a sliver of sharp, calculating arrogance flashing in his eyes as he leaned casually against a wooden support beam.
"A man of my stature must take precautions, Sir Khunbish," Gegeen replied smoothly, his tone conversational, as if he weren't surrounded by the deadliest bandits in the region. "I am merely on a private journey, traveling the provinces to pay my respects at the ancient graves of my ancestors. Is it a crime for a filial son to honor his lineage? I certainly didn't expect to run into a nest of vipers in such a quaint, out-of-the-way establishment."
Gegeen paused, letting out a soft hum as his eyes swept over the crowded, tense room. "Besides... if I remember correctly, you were supposed to be traveling with Her Highness to the peace talks hosted by Prince Geming of Tanggolia," he said, feigning a sudden look of realization as he looked around the tavern floor. "Are you done playing games, Vanguard? Or is Her Highness resting inside this very inn?" He turned his head sharply, searching the shadowy corners of the room as if expecting Chinua to appear.
"Don't play dumb!" Azad barked, spitting on the floor and taking an aggressive step forward. "What the hell are you really doing here, old man? Especially at a time like this!"
As Azad surged forward, Khenbish quickly shot an arm out, grabbing the bandit leader's shoulder and forcing him to hold his ground.
Gegeen's smile never wavered. "Like I said earlier, I am merely here to pay respect to my bloodline. And as a matter of fact, we only just arrived ourselves and were about to break our fast."
"How many guards did you bring with you?" Khunbish pressed, his voice dropping an octave.
"Just these ten men standing right here with me," Gegeen said smoothly. Then, he tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Tell me... where is Her Highness?"
"She is missing," Khenbish answered grimly. "We lost her trail, but the tracks led us straight to this isolated ridge."
"If that is the case, then we have not cross paths with Her Highness at all," Gegeen said, playing his innocent card flawlessly. Yet, for a split second, a flicker of genuine anxiety crossed his face, cracking his smug facade. "Then this is grave indeed. We must hurry and assist you in looking for her."
During this tense exchange of words, Khunbish's battle-trained eyes noticed a fatal flaw in the minister's posture. Gegeen's eyes kept rolling subtly to the left. Furthermore, six of his ten imperial guards were shifting their weight, intentionally flanking his left side in a desperate attempt to block a small, inconspicuous door leading to the back courtyard.
Khunbish decided to test his theory. He took a heavy, commanding step forward, making a direct line toward the heavily guarded door.
Before he could reach it, the side door burst open. An imperial scout rushed into the common room, completely out of breath. He sprinted straight toward Gegeen, ignoring the tense standoff.
"My Lord!" the scout gasped, looking up at Gegeen. He rolled his eyes down toward the floor, blinking rapidly in a silent, urgent signal. "Some travelers who just entered the valley town this morning report... there are dozens of dead men littering the main road to Cigan Pass."
The air in the room instantly froze.
"Chinua—" Khunbish and Khenbish barked in unison.
The political standoff was instantly forgotten. Realizing their princess was fighting a desperate battle for survival just miles away, the two vanguard commanders turned on their heels and sprinted out of the shattered entrance. They threw themselves onto the first horses they could reach, slamming their spurs into the mounts' flanks as they bolted furiously toward the main road leading to Cigan Pass.
"Quickly! Follow Sir Khunbish and protect the Fourth Princess!" Gegeen roared to his men, putting on a desperate show of loyalty.
"Yes, My Lord!" the imperial guards shouted, immediately chasing after Khunbish and Khenbish, with Azad and the shouting tide of Salran Hill bandits hot on their heels, leaving the silken minister alone in the quiet of the ruined inn.
The sun reached its highest point of the day, baking the harsh, high-altitude landscape in a blinding, unforgiving light. Her lungs screaming and her vision blurred with pure exhaustion, Chinua finally dragged her bleeding feet onto the high, windswept summit of a small ridge on Whitefang Peak.
She stopped, her knees shaking violently beneath the crushing weight of the giant warrior on her back.
Squinting through the stinging sweat and dust, she looked out over the vast horizon. There, in the distance, lay the rugged, familiar ridges of Salran Hill. Below that, cutting through the base of the rocky terrain, was the wide, winding dirt road—the main commercial artery heavily traveled by civilians and merchants from all three nations. Cigan Pass was right there, just a little further down the slope. Safety was finally within her sight.
Slowly, painfully, Chinua turned her head slightly to the right. The side of her face pressed against the cold, unmoving temple of Khawn's head resting heavily on her shoulder.
"Khawn... we made it," she whispered, her voice cracked, hollow, and barely audible over the wind.
She gave his arm a gentle, frantic shake. She knew the truth. She had known it for hours. And yet, throughout the entire grueling morning, as she dragged his massive frame up the mountain trail, a desperate, irrational part of her had kept hoping against hope. She had thought that if she just shook him hard enough, if she spoke loud enough, some impossible miracle would shatter the silence of the forest. She hoped he would grunt, wince, or open his eyes with a low groan.
But there was no miracle. Khawn's body had already passed through the stiffening onset of rigor mortis, his heavy frame settling into a cold, permanent stillness against her back.
A single tear cut through the dried blood on her cheek. Chinua closed her eyes for a brief second, drawing in one deep, ragged breath of the thin mountain air, gathering the final, absolute remnants of her earthly strength.
"We are going home, little brother," she murmured into the howling wind.
With unyielding, stubborn resolve, she adjusted her grip around his heavy legs and forced her battered body forward. Step by grueling step, the commander began her slow, painful descent down the rocky mountain trail of Whitefang Peak, carrying her fallen brother toward the main road below, where the first civilian travelers of the morning were already beginning their day.
Slowly, one agonizing step at a time, Chinua dragged her feet forward. By the time she finally realized she had reached the dirt road, her instincts had already guided her straight toward Cigan Pass. She moved like a ghost through the waking world, entirely numb to the stares of shock and the murmurs of concerned civilians passing by. She didn't know how long she had been traveling alongside them, or how many miles had bled together, until a hand tapped gently on her left shoulder.
"You there, soldier," a man's voice called out, laced with deep worry. "Young soldier."
The sudden touch broke Chinua out of her hollow focus. She turned her head slightly to the left, her bloodshot eyes staring blankly into the concerned face of a middle-aged traveler.
"The soldier on your back... he's gone," the man said softly, gesturing to Khawn's pale, rigid frame. "Put him down and run for help. The military post of Cigan Pass is less than four miles down this road."
"Yes, please," another woman chimed in, pulling her horse-drawn wagon to a halt beside them on the dirt path. "Put him on this wagon. We will give you a ride straight to the outpost."
"Young man, look at your feet," a merchant gasped, pointing at the dark crimson footprints Chinua was leaving in the dust. "They're shredded. And the side of your abdomen is bleeding right through your armor!"
Because of her tied hair, her battered armor, and the layers of dried blood and dirt caked onto her skin, the civilians couldn't tell she was a woman. They only saw a grievously wounded boy refusing to surrender to the grave.
"Young man," the middle-aged traveler said, his voice heavy with pity as he stepped closer, reaching out a hand. "Let him down. Why carry such a heavy, dead person on your back? It's time to let go of the weight you're carrying."
Chinua stopped. She looked at the man, her gaze empty yet burning with a fierce, tragic finality that made the traveler instantly freeze.
"The weight on my shoulders is nothing," she whispered, her voice cutting through the morning air like a honed blade. "It's the guilt crushing my chest that I can no longer carry."
Before the travelers could respond, Chinua gave a sharp, stubborn heave of her shoulders, adjusting Khawn's massive weight against her cracked, bleeding ribs. Turning her back on their pity, she forced one foot in front of the other, continuing her long, solitary march down the road to Cigan Pass.
The thunder of rushing hooves suddenly reverberated through the valley, vibrating violently against the soles of Chinua's bleeding feet.
The heavy, rhythmic pounding forced her to lift her hollow gaze. Piercing through the dust haze in the distance, a column of riders charged straight toward her. Her heart gave a frail, agonizing flutter as she recognized them—the sleek, black leather armor of the Eastern Military caught the midday sun, making them look like a flock of hunting hawks swooping down the pass.
The massive war horses skidded to a violent halt just a short distance away, throwing up a wall of gravel and dirt. Dismounting before the dust could even settle were the members of Haitao's elite small unit: Timicin, Terbish, Och, and ten of their finest soldiers.
"Chi... Chinua—" Timicin muttered, his stride freezing mid-step. His lips trembled violently the exact moment his eyes mapped the giant, rigid form resting on her shoulders. He knew that face. Everyone in the vanguard knew that face.
Terbish stepped forward, his eyes scanning the empty, winding road behind her, searching the horizon with a desperate, frantic hope. "Od and Muunokhoi?" his shaky voice breathed out into the cold air. "Are they... are they..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. The absolute silence from his commander was answer enough, and the hardened warrior broke into raw, silent tears, dropping his head into his hands.
"They are down the road," Chinua said, her molten eyes locking onto Timicin with a sudden, terrifying ice that cut right through her physical exhaustion. "Timicin... I want Gegeen alive."
"You got it," Timicin snarled, the grief instantly hardening into lethal, unforgiving rage.
Without a second thought, he swung himself back into his saddle, Och mounting right beside him. With a savage kick to their horses' flanks, they and the ten soldiers tore down the road toward the inn, leaving a trail of furious dust in their wake.
Terbish wiped his face with a trembling hand and stepped closer to her side, his voice thick with sorrow. "Let me help you, Chinua. Let me carry him."
"I am good," Chinua whispered, her jaw locking into a familiar, unyielding line. "I promised to take him home... and I will keep that promise."
Refusing to loosen her grip, she gave one final, stubborn heave to adjust Khawn's body on her back. With Terbish walking silently beside her like a protective, grieving shadow, Chinua forced her mangled feet to move forward, continuing her slow, monumental march toward the fortress gates of the outpost now rising clearly within sight.