Mireille, holding her sword firmly, first felt a strange but familiar vibration in the air, a shiver that ran from her neck to her fingers.
Then the sound came, clearer. A distinct, repeated crackling, as if the forest itself were announcing the approach of predators.
Initially, all that could be seen were blurred shapes. But as the silhouettes drew nearer, they became clearer — revealing the monstrosities that had targeted the pair of travellers.
Without warning, they lunged violently. First came the orcs, advancing with their massive bodies, bulging muscles, red eyes, and sickly green skin, glowing in the white moonlight.
At their side, venomous ochre-furred wolves galloped, fast and silent. Their fangs dripped with venom that, upon contact with the surrounding air, produced a foul-smelling vapour.
The slightest contact of their poisonous saliva with the grass on the ground caused the greenery to wither — indicating the dangerousness of their poison.
As if being endowed with a horrible poison that could kill in minutes wasn't enough, these damn wolves were also massive — with sizes similar to that of a 12-year-old human child — and they also had sturdy paws armed with claws, each as long as a spearhead.
And finally, behind this deadly lot, was one of the most deadly, dangerous, and vicious races of creatures known to Mimi's bestiary: the Mist Hunters.
These ghostly figures glided across the ground, their faces barely visible beneath damp hoods, their almost skeletal limbs contorting in directions that would normally have been against the laws of nature for any other creature.
At the sight of these creatures from hell, Mireille was absolutely certain.
They had all been sent by the cult of Sentios, and each of these monsters had a clear objective.
Kill Silas.
...And possibly retrieve the pendant.
Mireille positioned herself in front of her young master without hesitation, drawing her sword and dagger with an agility that would have surprised anyone — especially since wielding both weapons at the same time was highly unusual.
Her weapons, however, were like extensions of her arms. Every movement was precise and calculated.
A first orc leapt towards her, claws outstretched. She took a step to the side, pivoting to slash its flank with her dagger and using the momentum to plunge her sword into the bottom of the foul creature's jaw.
A wolf immediately charged, but she kicked it in the jaw, using her speed to back away and deliver a well-placed sword blow that pierced the beast's skull.
She swung her sword like a raging demon and took advantage of the monsters' hesitation after their first failed attack to create an escape route for Silas.
"Run!" she shouted, her voice as sharp as metal.
Silas hesitated, clutching his late mother's sceptre with all his might, to the point where his knuckles turned white.
"B-But Mimi. I can't—"
"Now!" she yelled, interrupting the young man's already futile attempt at persuasion.
At that moment, a soft whistling sound pierced the air, and before he had time to react, Silas found himself knocked aside by a kick from his servant.
At the same moment, a kind of air arrow grazed his temple and took away a tiny tuft of silvery blond hair.
The realisation of what he had just avoided terrified the nobleman, who fell clumsily onto his backside. He crawled at first, then in a fraction of a second stood up — with his back to his maid.
"I told you to leave!" Mireille urged.
The young boy needed no further explanation. His heart pounding, his legs carried him in a disorderly but rapid gallop towards the main road.
However, once back on the lanes, he did not immediately know where to go. By some miracle, he spotted some lights in the distance.
Without thinking too much about it, the young master ran at full speed, his heart pounding in his chest like a percussion instrument used in the western kingdoms.
He rushed at full speed towards the village they had tried to avoid earlier that evening. But at this point, he needed to find help. Mimi was in danger, and unfortunately, he would not have been of any use.
After all, he had just narrowly escaped a ridiculous death by an arrow he hadn't seen coming. And without the help of his servant-friend, poor Silas would be a thing of the past.
Without thinking too much about it — his brain was, unfortunately, incapable of doing so at that moment… even if he wanted to — the young man continued running with all his strength towards the village, where he hoped to maybe find some salvaging help. However, a terrible truth had sunk, in the meantime, into his mind.
'I am weak! I am going to die here because I am weak!
Behind him, the clearing was turning into living chaos. The clamour of battle, the growls, the cries, the sound of weapons mingled in an almost supernatural din.
Mireille danced between the enemies, striking, blocking, retreating, then lunging forward again to stop an orc or divert a Mist Hunter who might have grabbed Silas from behind or aimed another arrow of mist at him.
Every breath she took was calculated, every movement she made was another piece in the puzzle of her survival.
She felt fatigue setting in, but she couldn't afford the luxury of slowing down — that would have been the most senseless thing to do.
'Speaking of senseless things. What was the young master thinking?' wondered the servant, as she swiftly decapitated a wolf — all while avoiding the stream of poisonous drool flowing from the beast's mouth.
Out of breath but determined after a frantic dance of combat, she glanced quickly behind her. Silas had disappeared into the darkness, but he was surely still far from the village.
"Well... I'll just have to hold out until reinforcements arrive..."
She looked left, then right. And finally exhaled, closing her eyes.
Opening them again, a smile appeared on her lips, somewhere between murderous madness and childlike excitement.
"...Or I could just take care of you myself."