Rami stopped abruptly, catching the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't turn but slowed his pace until Marco caught up, standing silently beside him for a moment, glancing sidelong. Then Marco turned his head towards the camp, where the woodcutter sat under Girolamo's care, before looking back at Rami, speaking low. "What do we do with him? Take him with us, or let him return alone?"

Rami replied, his voice flat. "We might verify his story."

Not his true words, nor his personal desire, but what he knew Matteo would soon command. He knew him well, knew that noble mindset. He'd served under him long enough to see the pattern repeat.

"Are you joking?" Marco turned fully towards him, gesturing at the trio behind them. "Verify what? You wouldn't have stopped Gabrieli's usual tactics if the man weren't suspicious. He's from the capital, yet didn't return there when the dragon ravaged every other land, while even village peasants abandoned everything in a desperate bid to reach its gates."

Rami studied Marco's scowl carefully. His words weren't aimed at the woodcutter so much as testing the band's mood. He was tossing a stone into a pond to see how the ripples formed. If Matteo ordered a change in the mission—as he surely would—it was best for Rami to know how his men would digest it, where resistance might lie.

"I know…" Rami lowered Marco's still-pointing hand, then exhaled softly and whispered. "But it's his actions alone that are suspicious. His story, strange as it is, didn't seem fabricated."

Marco leaned closer, nearly touching him, lowering his voice after realising anyone could hear their debate. "With untrustworthy actions, nothing makes his words trustworthy. It's impossible his ordeal was real—he's either a liar or mad."

Rami fixed his eyes on the plains. "We don't need to trust him, but we must confirm. That wound can't be from an ordinary weapon—no blade, however precise, could leave a cut thinner than a needle. Besides, the decision isn't mine."

Marco leaned in, his voice rising but not loud enough for others to hear. "Only because you indulged him. We don't serve under his command, but yours. You know it's a bad idea, same as I do."

"Exactly." Rami grabbed his arm. "And I'm handling it my way, not by challenging my leader before the men." He added calmly, glancing at Matteo watching them, "I may be your friend from childhood, but he isn't. So if you have a reason to turn back now, tell me so I can relay it."

Rami focused on Marco, demanding a reply, even an empty one. But Marco didn't answer, only turned his head back. Then Rami caught the sound of approaching footsteps and looked in the same direction, seeing Girolamo weaving towards them, having left Stefano under Gabrieli's watch. Rami asked, "Have you finished treating him?"

Girolamo shook his head. "He needs time for the willow to work."

"Then why are you here?"

His words came out harsher than intended, but Girolamo, unruffled, merely pointed at the two behind him. "I want to hear the story. Stef won't talk, and you know Gab."

"Madman… thinks he's a victim of spirits," Marco said.

Rami stopped him with a pat on the shoulder. "Enough, man. Just tell him the story. I'll go speak with your madman for a moment."

But Girolamo held up a hand before he could move. "Wait. I'll try to fix his wound soon. Leave the talking until after—he's already tense, and he'll be in pain later."

"Fine." Rami turned towards Matteo. "I'll speak with the leader."

But Girolamo and Marco didn't listen, erupting into an argument.

"You're treating him too gently."

"How's a man in pain supposed to answer… with groans?"

"He'll answer without lies. Give him time, and he'll keep raving."

"Make up your mind—is he mad or a liar? For heaven's sake, how hard is it to question a woodcutter? Now tell me what happened."

Their voices rose, but Rami gave up trying to stop them. He'd long realised they treated it as a hobby, a way to pass the time. He had bigger concerns—like how to convey the inevitable decision ahead. He didn't need to gauge the resistance; he knew his men after years. Marco would grumble but obey. Girolamo would care more about the human cost than tactical risks.

The problem was they didn't know Matteo as he did. They'd never served under him before. They wouldn't follow easily. So he had to present a united front among the leaders, even if it was against them.

He was starting to hate this mission already.

From his position, Matteo watched the scene silently. Gabrieli pressed hard, Girolamo played mediator, and Rami controlled the timing—an old but effective technique. Yet Stefano didn't break. Either he was telling the truth… or he was a masterful liar.

A problem. Masterful liars don't run with a wounded leg towards strange soldiers.

Matteo kept pondering until Rami approached. As he drew near, Matteo said directly, "We need to go there."

Rami dreaded this answer but wasn't surprised. "My men are already weary from a mission that barely existed, but they'll do it under my orders… Changing it mid-course, though…" He paused, rubbing his nose, before adding, "Sorry, but that'll rile them." He gestured towards Marco, defending him. "He grumbles about anything that prolongs the mission, but he never refuses orders."

"I know." Matteo leaned some of his weight on his horse. "I've noticed. But we must do what's needed. There may be victims."

"But he might be lying or hallucinating…"

Matteo looked at him long before answering. "Perhaps, but we can't act on assumptions. That's what's happened all these years—small oversights turned into threats for everyone." He saw Rami wasn't convinced by the change either but was trying not to object openly. "And I believe neither you nor I want our negligence to spark a new threat to the kingdom."

Rami knew it well but sought any excuse, however small, to avoid this and finish the mission. Neither Marco nor Matteo gave him a single chance to back out. ran a hand over his face harder and said, "What do we do? We're a band of scouts and a knight, not soldiers. We couldn't breach a small fort, let alone face whatever magic that woodcutter encountered."

Matteo straightened. "We won't face anything. We'll scout only. Didn't he say it stopped once he left the village's bounds? Confirm that, then we'll decide."

Rami nodded, agreeing to the plan, and asked, "How do we tell them about the new mission?"

"You know them… What are your thoughts?"

Rami seized the moment to propose the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. "Can we alter our course?"

Matteo considered for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Rami continued, "I think I have an idea. Let's redirect our path towards Vineyard Village. Didn't he say it's near the fallen fortress? We can continue our search, making the village itself our final scouting point."

The plan seemed fitting, so Matteo approved it.

He watched Rami head towards his men to rally them, while Girolamo remained occupied, opening the wound on the woodcutter's foot and inserting a cloth-wrapped piece of wood to keep it from closing again. He ignored the woodcutter's cries, as did the others, and instead retrieved a bundle of papers and a missive from a satchel hanging on his saddle. Sitting down, he spread the papers across his knee, pulled out an ink vial and quill, and began writing a letter to the nearest camp, updating them on the latest developments.

Just as he finished, Rami returned, reporting, "They're still vexed, but it won't be an issue. And Stefano confirmed that whatever was chasing him stopped once he left the houses…" He hesitated before adding, "Which only makes him less trustworthy. Why was he still fleeing if the pursuit had ceased?"

"I don't know, but we'll find out when we get there." Matteo handed him the missive. "Give this to your fastest man to deliver, and pray it reaches its destination before we reach ours."

Rami took the missive, saying, "We'll need to wait a bit until the woodcutter can stand."

Matteo smiled. "Good. I'll have him ride with me so he doesn't slow us down."

This delay would give any reinforcements spurred by the missive more time to catch up.

"Paolo!" Rami called loudly as Matteo returned his writing tools to the satchel. "I need you here."

After sending Paolo with the missive and Stefano's groans subsided, the group prepared themselves. Andrea helped the woodcutter mount the horse, and they set off, scouring every unclear patch of ground for signs of the knight.

Hours passed slowly. The sun climbed, then began tilting towards the horizon. Their boots sank into the mud, sweat dripping beneath their armour. But, as in their previous attempts, they found nothing.

As dusk approached, Vineyard Village finally came into view, after spending the late afternoon on their new course. They were exhausted, yet none dared to rest within the village. Instead, they kept it at the edge of their sight and quickly settled on a nearby hill, gaining a broader view of the settlement.

The village crouched behind walls of mud and straw—cracked,
sagging, as if the earth itself were trying to swallow it back. The scent of cooking fires rose from chimneys. Withered fields stretched within the walls, the dry earth splitting under summer's heat. As sunlight waned, scarcely anyone appeared outside their homes.

Matteo strained to catch anything unusual or noteworthy, but his eyes found only an ordinary village, like countless others.

"Anything catch your attention?" he asked, turning his head.

Rami, beside him, shook his head. "Nothing strange."

Nothing in the village, save the palpable tension and fear on Stefano's face, riding before Matteo. Whatever had afflicted him, the woodcutter clearly believed his own tale—no one could feign the terror etched across his features.

"You can start searching now, before sunset," Matteo said.

Rami nodded, then faced his men. "Marco, I want you to watch from the village gate without entering, alerting us to any obstacles."

Marco flashed a faint smile. At last, a task requiring no effort, just standing and watching. He could manage that—far better than chasing a mad woodcutter or sneaking into a village everyone thought cursed. Everyone, that is, except him and Gabrieli.

"Understood, sir," he replied with rare enthusiasm.

Rami gave him a knowing look before continuing. "Gabrieli, circle the wall and warn us if you see anything significant. Andrea and Girolamo, enter the village but don't approach the houses until we signal. Then you can spy on the homes or question the locals, depending on the situation. Giovanni, with me—we'll position ourselves within range to cover anyone in the village with our bows. Our task is to target any threat to Andrea or Girolamo and secure an escape path, coordinating with Marco. Is everything clear?"

Once he confirmed each man understood his role, he let them prepare. He and the others advanced slightly, finding a suitable spot on the hill, the forest a few metres behind them, the village below within arrow's reach. They waited there. Stefano dismounted with Andrea's help, and the others took their assigned positions.

Marco stopped by the main gate, leaning against the wooden wall, while Gabrieli began circling the perimeter cautiously. Andrea and Girolamo entered the village, moving slowly through the sprawling fields, their eyes scanning for any unnatural movement.

When Rami received no warning signals after minutes of watching, he nodded to Marco. The latter acted at once, tapping lightly on the wooden gate—a signal to proceed. Andrea and Girolamo moved quietly towards the first cluster of houses.

Rami's tension rose as the tapping broke the evening's silence. He reached for his quiver, drawing an arrow, poised for any slight movement. Behind him, he heard a bow being readied, a sign Giovanni was prepared too. Matteo, still on his horse, kept one hand on his sword's hilt, the other gripping the reins tightly, anchoring himself in place.

As the tension began to ease, with Andrea and Girolamo moving slowly among the houses, without stirring a soul—or worse, awakening some demon—a sharp crack shattered the silence from behind. Rami and Matteo maintained discipline, continuing to watch their comrades in the village, leaving Giovanni to check the sound.

But Stefano's scream.

Not pain. Terror.

Pure, animal terror.

shattering the wall of professionalism they'd upheld. Both turned their heads as one towards the source. There, at the edge of the shadows, their eyes fell on a man in a long, mud-patched green coat. His blonde hair gleamed in the fading sunset. The scent of fresh blood from his quarry carried on the evening breeze.

A heavy hunting bow hung loosely over his shoulder.

The man looked as startled as they were.

The woodcutter had collapsed. Scrambling backward on
hands and knees. Clawing at the dirt. His face—

God, his face.

"Labi!"

The name ripped out of him.

"LABI!"

His scream rang through the air like a warning bell, as the night around them grew darker still.