At first light, the enemy camp stirred to life as soldiers emerged from their tents, stretching and grumbling about the morning cold. The routine was the same as every other day—until someone noticed something was off.

  The guards assigned to the Count’s quarters stood at their post, but there was no movement from inside the tent. Usually, the Count would have already called for his attendants by now, demanding his morning meal. But today, there was only silence.

  One of the guards hesitated, then called out. "My lord?"

  No response.

  Exchanging wary glances, they stepped closer. One reached for the tent flap, pulling it aside cautiously. The interior was dark, save for the dying embers of the brazier. The bedroll was empty. The Count was gone.

  Panic set in immediately.

  The guards rushed inside, searching for any sign of him. The sheets were rumpled, but there was no blood, no struggle—just an absence that sent a chill down their spines. One of them noticed the faint smell lingering in the air—something chemical.

  By the time the alarm was raised, the entire camp was thrown into chaos. Officers barked orders, soldiers scrambled to search the perimeter, and messengers were sent galloping in every direction.

  The realization hit them hard—their leader had been taken, right from under their noses, and no one had seen a thing.

  +++

  Lane and Mario stared at the Count’s sleeping figure, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and triumph. The man who had terrorized Lina and commanded the enemy forces now lay before them, unconscious and vulnerable. His breathing was steady, his face slack with the effects of whatever substance had been used to put him under.

  Across the room, Emilia worked quickly, checking his pulse and examining his condition. As the only doctor—well, doctor in training—in Lina, she was the closest thing they had to a medical expert.

  “He’s stable,” she muttered, adjusting the Count’s arm and glancing at Lane.

  Emilia knew exactly what had been used to knock him out—it was her own supply, given reluctantly and with strict instructions not to overdose the Count. As she checked his vitals, she let out a sharp exhale and shook her head.

  “That will be the last time I’m giving you any of my anesthesia,” she said, her voice tight with disapproval. “I don’t want it used like this.”

  Lane, standing behind her with Mario, met her gaze with a solemn nod. “I understand, sister, and I apologize.” His voice was sincere, but there was no regret in his eyes—only the weight of necessity.

  Mario, arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. “At least it worked. He’s out cold, and we got him here in one piece.”

  Emilia shot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

  Lane placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know. And I promise, we won’t ask you for something like this again.”

  She hesitated, then sighed, rubbing her temple. “Just… figure out what you’re going to do with him before he wakes up. I don’t want to be patching up wounds if this turns into a mess.” Lane nodded in agreement to his sister.

  Mario let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day. The great Count, snoring away in his enemy’s abode.” He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “What now? Parade him through the streets? Trade him for supplies? Toss him in a ditch and hope his soldiers take the hint?”

  Lane shot him a look. “I was just joking, come on,” Mario said, raising his hands in mock surrender to deflect Lane’s glare. “Of course, I know what needs to be done,” he added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

  Lane sighed turning to Emilia. “How long do you think we have before he wakes?”

  She frowned, considering. “A few hours, maybe less. Hard to say.”

  “Then we don’t have much time,” Lane said, his mind already racing through the next steps. “The enemy’s bound to realize he’s missing by now. We need to turn this advantage to our favor while we still can.”

  Mario sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate to say it, but this might be the hardest part yet.”

  Emilia glanced between them, then down at the unconscious noble. “Well, whatever you plan to do, let’s hope it was worth the risk.”

  "Right. I'll go prepare my horse. I leave in thirty minutes," Mario said, already turning toward the door.

  Lane nodded. He trusted Mario not to screw this up. "Watch yourself out there," Lane added.

  Mario grinned as he stepped through the doorway. "Come on, have a little faith. I’ll be back before you even start missing me."

  Emilia rolled her eyes. "Just go already."

  With that, Mario disappeared into the early morning light, leaving Lane and Emilia alone with their unconscious prisoner. The Count stirred slightly, but the effects of the anesthesia still held him under.

  Emilia sighed, standing up and dusting off her hands. "Now what?"

  Lane exhaled, glancing at the man they had risked everything to capture. "Now, we wait."

  +++

  The Count’s army scoured every inch of the camp, overturning supplies, questioning sentries, and even searching the nearby forest for tracks. But it had all been in vain. There were no signs of a struggle. No footprints leading away from the barracks—nothing. It was as if the Count had simply vanished into thin air.

  The sentries swore they had seen and heard nothing unusual during the night, and that only deepened their frustration. A man of the Count’s stature did not just disappear. Someone had taken him, and whoever it was had done so with an almost unnatural precision.

  After another couple of hours, a lone rider, clad in the colors of the Governor—or rather, the Prince—came galloping towards them. The second-in-command’s eyes narrowed as the messenger reined in his horse a few feet away, his expression unreadable but his presence alone already a threat.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “I bring a message from the Prince,” the rider announced, his voice steady despite the palpable tension in the air. The officers exchanged uneasy glances.

  “The Count of this army is now in our custody.”

  A stunned silence followed.

  Then, chaos.

  One of the officers, face twisted in disbelief, yanked his pistol from his holster, his hands shaking with rage. “Lies! Do you take us for fools?!” He raised the weapon, finger pressing against the trigger.

  But before he could fire, another officer lunged, grabbing his arm and forcing the barrel skyward. The gunshot rang out into the open air, startling the horses.

  “Stand down!” the cooler-headed officer barked, wrenching the gun away. “Killing a messenger won’t bring him back!”

  The would-be shooter breathed heavily, his fury barely contained, but he didn’t resist as the pistol was taken from him. The second-in-command, now fully composed, turned his piercing gaze on the messenger.

  “If this is true, then the Prince has made a dangerous enemy today,” he said coldly.

  The messenger didn’t flinch. “The Prince has a proposal,” he said. “One that will determine the fate of your Count—and this battle.” And with that, he extended a sealed letter.

  +++

  Now, they waited for the representative of the Governor, their expressions unreadable. Some of them whispered among themselves, speculating, trying to piece together how their leader had vanished without a trace. Others remained silent, gripping their reins as they scanned the horizon.

  Mario rode toward them at a steady pace, his posture composed yet deliberate. The sun cast a golden glow over the battlefield-turned-negotiation ground, and dust rose in small clouds beneath his horse’s hooves. Unlike the heavily armored officers before him, he wore only a simple leather vest over his tunic, his sword strapped to his side—not as a threat, but as a reminder that he was no mere messenger. He was here to parley, but he was also prepared for anything.

  The officers watched him with sharp eyes, their horses shifting beneath them. Some muttered to one another, trying to gauge whether he carried an offer of diplomacy or mockery. Others sat still, gripping their reins tightly. They had spent the morning in a fruitless search for their commander, only to be blindsided by the news of his capture. Now, the man before them had come to dictate the terms of their misfortune.

  Mario slowed as he neared, stopping a respectful distance away. He let the silence stretch, giving them a moment to absorb the weight of his presence. Then, with measured confidence, he spoke.

  "I come as the Prince’s representative," he announced, his voice even. "And I bring terms regarding your unconditional retreat from Lina town’s territory.” He spoke going directly to the gist of the message.

  The officers bristled. A few exchanged incredulous glances, while others stiffened in their saddles, their hands instinctively drifting toward their weapons.

  The second-in-command’s expression remained unreadable, though his jaw tightened. “Unconditional?” he repeated, his voice edged with disbelief. “You expect us to simply turn our backs and leave?”

  Mario met his gaze steadily. “That’s exactly what I expect.” He gestured towards the horizon. “Your commander is gone. Your men are leaderless. Drag this war any further, and you won’t just lose him—you’ll lose your lives.”

  A lieutenant scoffed. “This is absurd. We still have soldiers, weapons. We are not beaten.”

  Mario didn’t waver. “Perhaps. But tell me—how many of your men will die for a cause that’s already lost? How many will follow you into a battle where your leader has already been taken in the dead of night, without a single shot fired?”

  That struck a nerve. The officers shifted in their saddles, uncertainty creeping in. They had scoured the camp, searched every shadow, questioned every guard—and still, they had no explanation for how their Count had vanished without a trace.

  Then, one of the officers snapped, rage replacing uncertainty. “How ‘bout we kill you instead?” he shouted.

  Mario barely blinked. Instead, he gave a small, knowing smirk. “Well, you can,” he said casually, “but what is a commoner’s life worth compared to a noble’s? Surely, you’re not suggesting that the Count’s life is worth no more than mine?”

  The officer who had spoken clenched his jaw but said nothing. Mario’s words were undeniable. They couldn’t afford to throw away their only leverage.

  The second-in-command exhaled slowly, weighing his options. “And if we refuse?”

  Mario knew that the longer the negotiations dragged on, the more restless the officers would become—something that would surely work against him. "It's time to finish this," he thought.

  "If you do not retreat, then you would have to answer to a Judge and to the Emperor himself," Mario declared, raising his hands to the sky and pointing at an individual floating above them.

  A collective gasp rippled through the officers as they followed his gesture. Suspended midair, untouched by the weight of the world, the figure hovered in eerie stillness, the dim morning light outlining their form against the sky. Cloaked in dark fabric that barely fluttered despite the height, they bore no visible weapon, no sign of hostility—yet their presence alone sent a chill through the gathered soldiers.

  The murmurs among the officers turned into tense whispers. Some gripped their swords, uncertain whether to attack or flee. One muttered a curse under his breath, while another struggled to keep his horse steady.

  "What kind of trick is this?" one of them barked.

  Mario smirked. "No trick. No illusion. Just the eyes of justice upon you."

  The second-in-command narrowed his eyes, but there was unease in his expression. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but the Count had been stolen away in the dead of night, and now this? He couldn’t dismiss it as coincidence.

  Mario pressed on. "If you refuse to retreat, then the Prince will ensure that your actions are judged. And should the Emperor himself hear of this, do you truly think any of you will be spared? Not to mention the Duke?"

  The officers looked to one another, uncertainty growing. Their forces were strong, but even the most hardened soldiers knew the consequences of defying imperial authority. If the Governor—no, the Prince—had the Emperor’s side, they were playing a dangerous game.

  The second-in-command clenched his jaw, frustration flashing across his face. He wanted to call their bluff, to deny their claims outright—but the risks were stacking too high. After a long, tense silence, he tightened his grip on the reins and muttered a curse under his breath. “Damn you.” Then, his voice louder, more resolute, “We will withdraw.”

  As if hearing the officer’s words, the floating figure began a slow, steady retreat, drifting higher before gliding effortlessly toward Lina. The eerie silence that followed was broken only by the rustling of the wind and the faint creak of leather as the soldiers shifted uneasily in their saddles.

  The second-in-command exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling from what he had just witnessed. Then, turning his gaze back to Mario, he asked, “How? How did you win over a Judge?”

  Mario shrugged, an infuriatingly casual smirk playing on his lips. “Does it matter?” he said. Then, leaning forward slightly in his saddle, he added, “Maybe the Emperor has had it with the Council of Nobles down there in the capital.”

  The officer clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. He knew well enough what Mario was implying. The so-called “Circus” of nobles had been bleeding the kingdom dry for years—fighting over titles, estates, and influence while the kingdom itself grew weaker. If the Emperor was finally willing to act, then perhaps this was just the beginning.

  Mario let the silence linger before shifting in his saddle. “Tell that Duke of yours…” he started, his voice sharp.

  The officer narrowed his eyes. Ah yes, the Duke—the man who wanted to be king.

  Mario exhaled slowly, his expression hardening. “Tell him he will never get his way.”

  The second-in-command studied him for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of hesitation. But Mario stood firm, unwavering. The officer had seen men bluff before, but this was different. This wasn’t arrogance or bravado—it was certainty.

  Without another word, the officer turned his horse, motioning for the others to follow. Hooves kicked up dust as the group wheeled around, retreating toward their camp. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant cries of birds and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

  Mario watched them go, his hands gripping the reins tightly. He didn’t allow himself to relax—not yet. Even as the officers rode away, the air felt heavy with unspoken words. He knew the retreat wasn’t just a decision made out of fear—it was a calculation. The enemy would not forget this humiliation. But that was a problem for another time.

  Exhaling slowly, Mario loosened his grip on the reins and turned his horse toward Lina. He gave the animal a light nudge, and it obeyed, strutting forward with a steady gait. As he rode, he cast a final glance over his shoulder, watching as the enemy officers disappeared into the horizon.

  With the sun dipping lower in the sky, Lina’s silhouette came into view. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sound of distant voices carried on the wind. He had delivered the message. Now, it was up to Lane—and Zed the so-called Judge—to ensure that Lina would never have to endure another invasion.

  With that thought, Mario pressed his heels into his horse’s sides, picking up speed as he rode back to the town, his home.