Act III /Ambush

The moon hung high over the forest as Alexander led his raiding party through the dense undergrowth. The night air was cool, the scent of damp earth thick around them. This was supposed to be another routine strike—a quick, decisive raid on one of the Baron's supply wagons.

But something felt off.

Elias moved up beside Alexander, his voice low. "We should've seen them by now."

Tyrell nodded from the other side. "Yeah. We know their route. They should've been here fifteen minutes ago."

Alexander didn't like it either. They had gathered their best men—Owen, Marcus, and a dozen more of Emberhold's most experienced fighters. If the Baron had increased security on his convoys, they'd need to be quick and careful.

"Stay alert," Alexander murmured, gripping his spear tighter. "We move forward, but cautiously."

They continued through the forest, the trees pressing in around them. Then, the distant sound of wagon wheels creaking over dirt reached their ears.

"There," Marcus whispered, pointing ahead.

Sure enough, a single wagon rolled down the path, lanterns swinging from its sides. Four guards on horseback flanked it, their weapons at the ready. But something was wrong. The load was too small. It wasn't enough for a full supply transport.

Owen frowned. "That's not their usual haul."

Alexander felt his stomach tighten. This was bait.

"Fall back—"

A horn sounded, shattering the stillness of the night.

The trees around them exploded with movement. Dozens of armored soldiers burst from the shadows, swords gleaming in the moonlight. A trap.

"AMBUSH!" Elias roared, drawing his blade.

Chaos erupted as arrows rained down from the treetops.

The Fight for Survival

Alexander barely had time to raise his shield before an arrow buried itself into the wood. He spun, driving his spear into the first soldier who charged him. The man gasped as the blade pierced his armor, but before Alexander could pull back, another soldier was already swinging.

Marcus blocked the strike at the last second, his axe crashing against the soldier's shield.

"We're surrounded!" Tyrell yelled.

The Baron's forces had them pinned, cutting off every escape route. Soldiers with shields pressed forward in tight formations, pushing them back toward the road.

Elias fought like a demon, his blade flashing as he cut through the attackers. Owen had taken up a defensive stance, fending off two soldiers at once. But there were too many.

A soldier lunged at Alexander's back. He turned just in time—too slow.

Pain exploded in his shoulder as a sword sliced through his armor. He staggered, barely keeping his footing as blood ran down his arm.

"Alexander's hit!" Marcus shouted.

"We need to get out of here!" Elias growled, striking another soldier down.

Then Alexander heard a sound that sent ice through his veins—the thunder of hooves.

From the treeline, a second group of cavalry charged in.

Owen turned, trying to brace himself against the impact. Too late. A horse slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Before he could rise, a sword flashed down.

The blade drove deep into his chest.

Owen gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

"Owen!" Marcus roared.

Alexander's vision blurred, rage overtaking the pain. He surged forward, slamming his spear into the soldier who had struck Owen down. The man collapsed, but the damage was done. Owen lay still, his breath ragged, eyes wide in shock.

More soldiers pressed in.

"We're getting cut down!" Tyrell shouted.

"We're retreating!" Alexander barked. "Fall back to the river!"

Marcus hesitated, looking at Owen. But the man was already gone. Gritting his teeth, Marcus turned and ran.

The Escape

The retreat was desperate. They fought through the trees, arrows chasing them with every step. One of their men was hit in the back, collapsing before he could reach cover.

Alexander's head spun from blood loss, his body screaming in protest. He had never lost a raid before. But this… this was a disaster.

By the time they reached the river, only seven of them remained. Half their force was gone.

Elias pulled Alexander across the shallows as arrows struck the water around them. Tyrell covered their escape, cutting down one last pursuer before following.

The Baron's men didn't pursue them beyond the river. The trap had been a total success.

Breathless, soaked, and wounded, they stumbled into the forest, defeated.

The Baron's Victory

Back at the ambush site, Baron Lucius Valtor rode up, surveying the carnage. His soldiers stood victorious, gathering up weapons and stripping the bodies of the fallen rebels.

Darius knelt beside Owen's corpse, turning the body slightly before looking up at the Baron. "This one was one of their best."

The Baron dismounted, stepping forward. He studied Owen's lifeless form, then glanced at the blood trail leading toward the river. Alexander had escaped.

For now.

He turned to Darius. "Take the bodies. Hang them along the road."

Darius smirked. "A message?"

The Baron's lips curled. "A lesson."

As the soldiers moved to carry out the order, the Baron gazed toward the forest, where Alexander had fled.

"Run while you can," he muttered. "You won't get another chance."

The Cost of Failure

When the survivors returned to Emberhold, the village fell into silence.

People gathered, their faces filled with worry. They counted the missing. Owen wasn't the only one lost. Others hadn't made it back either.

Gareth stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "What happened?"

Alexander barely managed to stay on his feet, exhaustion weighing on him. He had never lost like this before.

"The Baron was waiting for us," he admitted. "We walked into a trap."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Clara covered her mouth in shock. Tyrell stared at the ground, fists clenched in frustration.

Silas exhaled slowly. "So… what now?"

Alexander felt the weight of the question press on him. They couldn't keep raiding. They had underestimated the Baron for the last time.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

He lifted his gaze, his voice firm despite his pain.

"We change everything."