"It seems we are being attacked by a group of bandits!" Starlion said, rushing to Lord Draven's side. But as soon as he saw me in Draven's arms, an arrow lodged in my back, his breath hitched.
"What happened? Lord Draven, are you okay?!" His voice was sharp with urgency, but he didn't get a response.
When he looked at Draven, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time—pure, unrestrained fury. Draven's entire body was rigid, his grip on me tightening as his knuckles turned white. His usually cold eyes burned with something dark and dangerous, his expression unreadable yet terrifying.
Then, through clenched teeth, Draven finally spoke, his voice low and shaking with barely controlled rage.
"Starlion... g-get someone to help Majesty."
Two soldiers rushed forward to take me away and tend to my injury. Their movements were quick but careful, as if afraid I might shatter in their hands.
Draven stood still for a moment, his head lowered slightly. Then, in a cold, measured voice, he spoke.
"Listen well. If even one of them escapes, you might as well run away with them."
The air turned heavy. His voice wasn't raised, yet every soldier stiffened at the weight of his words.
His grip on his sword tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His heart pounded, but it wasn't from the battle ahead. It was something else. Something unfamiliar.
He exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought. Right now, there was only one thing to do—erase every last one of those who dared lay a hand on my guest.
Draven stood still, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as the soldiers carried Majesty away. His eyes, cold and unreadable, locked onto the group of bandits emerging from the trees. There were many of them, rough-looking men with mismatched armor, their weapons stained from past battles. They smirked, confident in their numbers.
One of them, likely their leader, stepped forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar running down his cheek. He twirled a bloodstained dagger between his fingers and sneered.
"Are you gonna cry because I hurt your girlfriend? Huh?" His voice was mocking, his men chuckling behind him.
Draven didn't respond. He simply unsheathed his sword.
The bandit leader's smirk twitched. "Oh? Silent type? What, no threats? No desperate plea for mercy?"
Draven took a slow step forward. Then another.
The bandit leader's grin faded slightly, and he raised his dagger in warning. "Tch. Guys like you always get the pretty girls. What about the rest of us huh? Still not going talk?"
"..." Draven was so infuriated he couldn't utter a word.
"You really are one annoying guy, kill him."
The first attacker lunged, but before his blade even reached Draven, a silver flash cut through the air. A sickening schlk echoed as the bandit's head rolled to the ground, his body crumbling a second later. The laughter died instantly.
The other bandits froze. The man had been cut down in a single stroke, so fast they barely saw it happen.
"Wh-what the hell?" One of them stumbled back.
"Don't just stand there! Kill him! Attack together" the bandit leader commanded, gripping his sword with shaking hands.
They rushed him all at once.
Draven moved like a shadow. His blade cut through flesh effortlessly, severing limbs, slicing through armor like paper. Arrows whistled toward him, but he twisted his body, deflecting them mid-air with his sword like falling leaves. Blood splattered across the dirt, screams filling the forest.
The soldiers of Persia watched in stunned silence.
"I-Is this really Lord Draven? He told us not to let them escape but at this rate, there will be nothing left for us to do." One soldier whispered, his grip tightening around his own weapon.
"I've never seen him fight like this…" another muttered, his voice uneasy.
Even Starlion, who had fought beside Draven for years, felt a cold sweat on his brow. This wasn't just battle—it was punishment. A wrath unleashed upon anyone foolish enough to stand against him.
The bandit leader and a few other remaining bandits, realizing they stood no chance, turned to run.
Draven flicked the blood from his blade.
Before they could take another step, he was already behind them. The dull thunk of bodies hitting the ground was the only sound that followed.
When the final bandit fell, silence stretched across the clearing. The Persian soldiers stood rigid, barely daring to breathe. None of them had ever seen such an efficient massacre.
Draven exhaled slowly, sliding his sword back into its sheath. His hands were steady, his expression unreadable. But inside, his heart was a storm.
Why did it bother him so much? Why did he feel this sharp, burning anger? Majesty wasn't his sister. She wasn't his wife. He had only met her yesterday.
So why… did it feel like something inside him had snapped the moment that arrow struck her?
"How is Majesty?" Draven finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence.
The soldier hesitated before answering, his expression grim. "I'm sorry to say this, but it's not good. The arrow was poisoned, Your Majesty. We don't have the equipment to treat her properly out here."
Draven's jaw tightened, his grip on the reins firm. He didn't hesitate. "Then we leave for Persia immediately."
The soldiers sprang into action, quickly preparing to move. Majesty was too weak to ride on her own, so Draven made the decision himself. He lifted her into his arms and mounted his horse, securing her in front of him. She rested against his chest, her body limp from exhaustion and the effects of the poison. His hold on her was firm yet careful, his cloak draped over her shoulders to keep her warm.
They rode hard, pushing their horses to their limits. The dense forests thinned, giving way to rocky hills and open plains. The road stretched endlessly ahead, dust rising from the hooves of their steeds. Hours passed in tense silence, the only sound being the rhythmic pounding of their horses against the earth.
Then, Persia came into view. Unlike Runevale, where castles stood tall but exposed, Persia was a fortress. Massive walls surrounded the entire kingdom, standing as an unshakable shield against invaders. The closer we got, the more imposing it became.
A soldier on the watchtower spotted them and immediately bellowed, "HIS MAJESTY HAS RETURNED! OPEN THE GATES!"
The command echoed through the air. Within moments, the colossal platinum gates groaned and swung open, revealing the bustling streets beyond. The moment we crossed the threshold, the scenery changed. The rugged terrain outside Persia was nothing compared to the vast fields within.
Golden wheat fields stretched far and wide, swaying under the gentle breeze. Orchards of pomegranates and figs lined the roads leading toward the palace, their branches heavy with fruit. Streams of clear water ran between them, nourishing the land and making the air cool and refreshing. Farmers working the fields stopped what they were doing, their eyes widening as they watched the king's return.
Draven did not slow down. With me still unconscious in his arms, he rode straight through the entrance, past the astonished faces of the citizens, and toward the royal palace.
"Why do I feel like if anything happens to her, I'll burn the world," he thought.