"Fuck me." There was no sugarcoating it. The wound was bad, deep, and he had no immediate way to heal it.
Clamping his right hand over the gushing bite on his left arm, Vincent began the slow, painful trek back to camp. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain through his body, a stark reminder of his vulnerability.
When he finally stumbled into the clearing, the two elven guards were locked in a hushed, urgent discussion. They spun around at the sound of his approach, their hands flying to the hilts of their swords.
"Vincent!" one of them barked, his voice sharp with alarm and suspicion. "Where have you been? Explain yourself!"
"If you must know," Vincent grunted, not breaking his stride as he moved toward the fire, "I was hunting." He kept his right hand clamped firmly over the bleeding wound.
"Hunting? In this forest? At this time?" the other guard retorted, his tone thick with disbelief.
"Not voluntarily, of course," Vincent shot back, casting a dark glance toward the oppressive tree line he'd just escaped. "Something with a silver tongue and a rotten heart lured me in. But that's a story for when the sun's up. Right now, get me a healing potion."
He finally nodded down toward his injury. In the flickering firelight, the guards' eyes widened as they took in the scene they'd missed—the torrent of blood soaking his sleeve and the splatter of gore that painted his face and torso.
The moment their eyes locked on the blood pouring from his arm, one of the guards finally asked, "Do you need a potion?"
"Preferably, yes," Vincent answered, his voice tight with pain. The guard immediately rushed off to their supplies.
"We will be expecting a full explanation at first light," the other guard announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Vincent responded with a curt nod, then carefully lowered himself onto the log behind him, his energy spent.
As he lay back, his gaze drifted to the clear night sky—the exposed stars and the single, dominant blue moon. His mind, however, was churning. *How **did** I fall into their trap?* The transition had been seamless: one moment investigating a sound, the next trapped in an illusion indistinguishable from reality, and then fighting for his life. *Maybe the illusion began the moment I heard that sound.*
His thoughts were cut short as the guard returned, holding a potion. Vincent recognized it instantly by the faintly decorated glass and the opaque, swirling liquid inside: an intermediate-grade healing potion.
*As much as I hate to... but it is what it is* . He knew exactly how much he was wasting by using it so early in the journey, especially since he was the one who sourced it.
Gulp.
He swallowed most of the bitter liquid and splashed the remainder directly onto the gnashing wound. A familiar, medicinal sting spread through his mouth, but the sharper pain was the financial one. As the magic knitted his flesh back together, he summoned a gentle stream of warm water, pouring it over himself while still lying down to wash away the blood and gore.
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*Thank God we're still a ways from winter.*
With that pragmatic thought, he remained sprawled near the campfire. To dry off, he conjured a dozen almost invisible, flames around his body, combining them with a subtle current of wind to blow a blanket of warm air over himself. It was the most efficient way to get the job done without moving a muscle.
As the warm air dried his clothes, a faint tingling bloomed in his head—the familiar sensation of mana being actively used.
The feeling instantly reminded him of his conversation with the elven princess.
A wave of quiet embarrassment washed over him at the memory of his own foolishness.
To think I believed this was mana exhaustion.
He couldn't help the bitter, self-deprecating smile that touched his lips as he finally drifted off to sleep.
***
Vincent woke with the first rays of the sun spearing through the canopy. A quick scan of the camp confirmed all was quiet. He checked his pocket watch; a few minutes remained until the final watch ended. He decided to break his fast with some tough meat jerky, wisely reasoning that eating the flesh of the forest's corrupted creatures was a profoundly bad idea.
As he nibbled on the salty strip, he flexed his left hand, examining the smooth, unbroken skin where a gruesome bite had been just hours before. I hope I didn't get some weird disease from that.
The moment the watch ended, the elven guard approached him. Vincent spoke first, cutting off any question. "If your watch is over, get the others up. Let's hurry out of this hellhole."
Thankfully, Vincent traveled light, without a tent. The two elven tents were packed away with efficient, practiced speed. By the time the elves had finished their own breakfast, Vincent had already checked the horses' hooves and tethered them back to the wagon.
Once the wagon was rolling, the tension broke. One of the guards, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, asked the question that had hung in the air since dawn: "What happened in the forest last night?"
The princess looked up, her expression one of confusion, having missed the earlier drama.
Vincent kept his eyes on the path ahead. "Long story short, something lured me deep into the woods. Once I was deep enough, it hit me with a powerful hypnosis or illusion. When I broke free, I was in the middle of a fight with a pack of decaying wolf-like creatures."
He deliberately left out the part about Ghost and the nightmare beach. Some truths were too heavy to share.
"What?" the princess breathed, her confusion deepening into alarm.
The guards, however, seemed almost satisfied to have an answer, however unsettling. "Why didn't you tell us this last night?" one pressed.
"Because I was too tired," Vincent replied, his tone flat and final.
"And your injury was from these creatures?" the guard continued, his concern shifting to a more practical fear. "You should have it checked by a healer or a disenchanter immediately. Such wounds can carry curses or filth-fevers."
"I don't feel anything wrong with it," Vincent said, flexing the hand again. "But I am planning on finding a healer at the first opportunity. I'm not an idiot."
***
Luckily for Vincent, the rest of the journey passed without incident, and they reached the edge of the elven territory in the predicted week.
The forest ahead was ancient and impossibly dense, a living wall of gnarled trunks and deep shadow. There was no visible city, no grand gates—only an unnerving, watchful silence.
Vincent glanced at the guard seated beside him. "You're sure they're not going to start shooting at us on sight, right?"
"Yes," the guard answered, a hint of dry mockery in his tone. "After all, we are not savages. And they already know we are here."
Since when?" Vincent asked, his gaze sharpening as he scanned the canopy.
"Since we crossed the river a while ago. The border is not a line on a map; it is a ward they feel cross."
"Huh." Vincent's eyes tracked a flicker of movement high in the branches. "I felt something. I thought they were monkeys."
The guard stared at him, utterly baffled. "Why in the world would you think that?"
Vincent shrugged, his expression deadpan. "I don't know. I thought only monkeys jumped from tree to tree."
"That doesn't make any sense," the guard replied, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
A smirk tugged at Vincent's lips. "Of course I knew they weren't monkeys. I'm just messing with you." His expression hardened, the brief amusement vanishing. "But how long are they going to keep shadowing us?"
"I don't know," the guard admitted, his own eyes scanning the treetops. "They're likely on high alert. We've been gone far longer than we should have been."
"Understandable," Vincent conceded.
They continued for another hour under the silent, watchful gaze from the trees. Suddenly, Vincent yanked hard on the reins, bringing the wagon to a jerking halt.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Three arrows struck the earth directly in front of the horses, making them snort and rear in panic.
"Damn it!" Vincent snarled, struggling to control the team. He shot a glare at the elven guard beside him. "I thought you said you weren't savages!"
Before the guard could form a reply, a figure dropped from the high branches of a tree to their right, landing with preternatural grace. It was a stern-faced elf in practical leathers, his expression unyielding.
"Do not take anot
her step," the elf commanded, his voice cutting through the air. "You are not permitted entry into our lands."
Should I release two side chapters this time? I kinda already have their stories ready but it feels like too big a gap to put between two chapters. I'll either way only release one main story chapter after the side story so idk.
