The dense canopy of the Dead Forest loomed overhead, suffocating what little moonlight tried to pierce through.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and every step the knights took was muffled by layers of fallen leaves. Their horses had been left behind—the risk of triggering hidden traps was too great.
Lancelot took the lead, his senses sharpened by instinct and years of training. Behind him, six knights followed, their movements slow and deliberate. Among them were Arcaniors, their robes slightly fluttering as they moved with caution.
They were visibly tense, their hands glowing faintly with mana as they probed the surroundings for magical traps and hidden mana stones. Every now and then, one would pause, murmur a few words, and adjust the group’s path, ensuring they remained undetected by the tracking map the rogues were supposedly using.
"We’re going in blind," said Gareth, one of the knights, his voice hushed but carrying enough frustration to be heard. "Do we even know where we’re heading?"
"Keep your eyes open," Lancelot answered curtly. His own frustration mirrored Gareth’s, but he refused to let it show. They didn’t have the luxury of knowing their destination, only the certainty that they had to keep moving. Any clue—disturbed ground, discarded supplies, even a broken branch—could hint at the direction Florian had been taken.
A rustle in the distance made everyone freeze. The Arcaniors1’ fingers twitched, their mana intensifying for a split second before they exchanged glances and nodded. "No immediate threat," whispered Arlen, one of the Arcaniors, though his voice was still uneasy.
Lancelot exhaled, motioning for the group to continue. His mind, however, was restless.
Lucius’ words from earlier echoed in his head.
’If they took Florian, they could be taking advantage of him. Or worse.’
Lancelot clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away. Florian was a fool for what he did, acting recklessly, throwing himself into danger with a smile that had irritated Lancelot more than once. It was his fault for volunteering himself. It was his fault for being taken.
But then, the memory struck him—Florian’s face when he had stepped forward. There had been no hesitation in his eyes, only unwavering determination.
And when they had seized him, there was a flicker of something else—something Lancelot had failed to register at the time. Was it regret? Or had Florian simply accepted his fate, knowing there was no other way?
"Tracks," muttered Elias, another knight, as he crouched on the forest floor. "Several people passed through here recently."
Gideon, kneeling beside him, examined the ground. "Heavy footprints. Someone was being carried."
Lancelot’s heart pounded. "Prince Florian."
Arlen extended his hands over the ground, his mana forming faint glowing tendrils that slithered through the dirt and roots. He closed his eyes, sensing. Moments later, he sucked in a breath. "I feel traces of enchantments ahead—concealment magic. They didn’t want to be followed."
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. "Then we’re on the right track."
Another Arcaniors, Rhys, shifted nervously. "They know how to use magic well. If we make a mistake, they’ll know we’re coming."
Lancelot tightened his grip on his sword. "Then we won’t make a mistake."
A tense silence settled over them as they pressed forward. The Arcaniors continued scanning, one pausing every few steps to whisper incantations under his breath.
The knights, meanwhile, took care to test the ground ahead of them, using the pommels of their swords to prod for hidden traps. One nearly stepped into a snare, but Dorian, the most experienced knight among them, yanked him back just in time.
"Careful," Lancelot murmured. "They’re not just using magic. There are physical traps everywhere."
One of the younger Arcaniors, Finn, exhaled sharply, his voice a hushed whisper. "This is madness. We’re completely surrounded by unseen dangers."
"Then don’t let your fear consume you," Arlen muttered. "We’ve trained for this."
Lancelot didn’t interrupt them. Their fear was valid, but hesitation would only get them killed. Instead, he kept scanning the area, searching for anything that might give them a clearer direction. His thoughts still flickered back to Florian—his reckless smirk, the way he had always seemed to brush off danger like it was a passing inconvenience.
"Commander," Dorian called in a low voice, breaking his thoughts. "Something’s ahead."
Lancelot strode forward, peering past the thick brush. His breath caught slightly. Up ahead, half-buried in the dirt, was a broken mana stone, its glow weak but unmistakable.
"It’s fresh," Arlen murmured, kneeling beside it. "Someone must have dropped it recently."
Lancelot’s eyes darkened. "Then we’re close."
A sudden movement in the sky caught their attention. A massive bird, far larger than any hawk or eagle, circled above the forest. Its feathers glistened with an unnatural sheen, and around its neck, something dangled—a small satchel or a scroll case.
Rhys sucked in a breath. "There shouldn’t be animals here."
"Because it isn’t just an animal," Arlen said, his tone grave. "That thing doesn’t belong in the natural order."
Lancelot’s gaze followed the bird’s movements, his mind working quickly. "It’s carrying something," he murmured. "If it’s a messenger bird, it has a destination. It won’t leave until it delivers its message."
He turned to his knights. "Get its attention. If it was sent by the rogues, it’ll be looking for someone to take that message. If we make it come to us, we can track it back to its source."
Dorian nodded, grabbing a reflective shard of mana crystal from his pouch and angling it toward the moonlight. The sudden flicker caught the bird’s attention, making it hesitate mid-flight.
The other knights followed suit, raising their weapons slightly, making subtle movements—enough to intrigue but not threaten. The bird hovered for a moment, then let out a piercing cry as it began circling lower.
Lancelot’s grip on his sword remained firm. If this was their lead, they had to take it.
Then, his thoughts darkened as he recalled Heinz’s final command. His breath slowed as the memory surfaced.
"You know what to do, Lancelot." Heinz’s voice had been calm, unwavering. "Bring Florian back. But I also want one of the rogues alive. Kill the rest. No one is to be spared."
The king’s crimson eyes had locked onto him, the weight of his expectation clear. "You understand why."
Lancelot had bowed his head without hesitation. He knew exactly what Heinz wanted. Information. No matter the method.
His gaze hardened as he looked ahead. Besides Florian, they needed one rogue alive.
And Lancelot would see it done, just as he always had.
Arcaniors are individuals born with a natural affinity for magic. They harness their magical abilities using mana stones, essential crystals that amplify and channel their magical powers.