chapter 13.4

The night air hung thick with tension, a silent force pressing down upon the small clearing where the confrontation had reached its turning point. Alcard moved forward, his steps slow and deliberate, ensuring that every motion conveyed control rather than aggression. His sword lowered slightly—not in surrender, but as a signal that there was another way to resolve this without unnecessary bloodshed. The cold wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves above, the only sound that accompanied the heavy silence between them.

"Lower your weapons," Alcard commanded, his voice calm yet unyielding. "This doesn't need to end in pointless bloodshed. We are Outcasts—reason is worth more than wasted lives."

The three assassins exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. They hesitated, their grip on their weapons no longer as firm, their stance no longer as sure. Alcard could see it—doubt creeping in, logic warring against duty. They were thinking now, reassessing the situation with the weight of his words pressing down on them.

Finally, the leader of the group—a man clad in a dark, tattered cloak—was the first to act. He lowered his blade slightly, a subtle but telling gesture. His two companions followed suit, albeit with a measure of caution still in their posture.

Alcard exhaled slowly. With measured ease, he slid his sword back into its sheath, signaling his own intent. "I'm Alcard," he stated, his crimson eyes locked onto theirs. "From the Central Headquarter."

The reaction was immediate. The Outcasts in front of him stiffened slightly, their eyes widening ever so slightly at the name. The woman among them, a wiry figure with tangled brown hair, parted her lips in muted surprise before speaking.

"We're from the Eastern Outpost," she admitted, her voice quieter than before. "We joined the Outcasts only a few months ago."

Alcard nodded, understanding now why they hadn't recognized him. The Central Headquarter and the Eastern Outpost rarely interacted beyond occasional supply runs or mission reports. Their directives often diverged, shaped by the unique dangers of their respective regions.

A burly man with a scar running down his cheek finally spoke up, his voice rough, edged with wariness. "Central Headquarter… is it really that different from how we live in the east?"

Alcard regarded him carefully before answering in a neutral tone. "The Central Headquarter is the core of The Wall. Oldman leads from there, overseeing everything—supply chains, Bloody Potion rations, and the major strategic operations. It's the last true bastion against the south." He hesitated before adding, "But I know that beyond the Central Headquarter, things aren't always as structured. Every outpost faces its own struggles."

The scarred man nodded, his expression hardening. "In the east, we deal more with humans than with monsters."

Alcard's jaw tightened. He had heard the rumors. The Eastern Outpost, positioned closer to Middle Earth's border, had long been caught in the web of lords who sought to use the Outcasts for their own ends. The Wall was meant to stand apart from the politics of the world, but reality was rarely so simple.

After a brief silence, he finally posed the question that had been weighing on him since the confrontation began. "What was your mission tonight?"

The leader hesitated, glancing at his companions before finally answering. "We were ordered to kill a noblewoman—someone named Arwen. We've been tracking her movements for days."

Alcard's grip on his sheath tightened. His suspicion had been right. "Who gave you that order?"

The woman looked down briefly before answering. "Lord Tanivar."

The name landed like a stone in Alcard's gut. "Tanivar," he muttered under his breath. He knew that name well. One of the 68 lords of Middle Earth, a man infamous for his cunning and his belief that everything had a price—including lives.

The pieces were starting to align, but Alcard wasn't satisfied yet. How had Tanivar known about Arwen's journey? He turned over the possibilities in his mind, and one name surfaced like oil on water—Cevral Hamilton. The Prime Minister of Edenvila had too much influence, too many eyes watching from the shadows. If he had fed Tanivar this information, it meant the game they were now a part of was much larger than a simple assassination plot.

Alcard turned his full attention back to the Outcasts in front of him. "The Central Headquarter never authorized this mission," he stated firmly. "I know the Eastern and Western Outposts sometimes take outside contracts, but you need to understand—letting the lords dictate our actions is a dangerous game."

The three assassins remained quiet, but he could see the wheels turning in their heads.

He pressed on. "Listen to me—Tanivar, Hamilton, all of them—they see us as tools. They will use us until we are no longer useful, and then they will discard us without a second thought."

After another long pause, Alcard finally revealed his own objective. "My mission is to escort Lady Arwen Delareu to Edenvila."

The revelation struck them hard. The scarred man inhaled sharply. "Then that means… you're our target?" He frowned, his unease evident. "You're escorting a noble through here? That's suicide."

"I know." Alcard's voice was steady. "But this mission came directly from Oldman. I don't know the full reasons yet, but I don't have the luxury of questioning it."

The leader of the assassins was silent for a moment before finally speaking again, this time with more caution. "If this is Oldman's command, then we won't interfere."

Alcard gave a slow nod but didn't drop his guard. "Then make sure there are no misunderstandings," he said, voice firm. "The Wall is not a playground for the lords of Middle Earth. We exist to protect it, not to serve their ambitions."

This time, their response was different. There was no lingering hostility, no resistance in their eyes—just reluctant understanding.

The woman, who had remained mostly silent until now, finally spoke again. "We understand," she said simply.

That was enough.

Without another word, Alcard turned and walked back toward Arwen, who had remained at a safe distance, watching the exchange. Her expression was unreadable, but he knew she had been paying close attention.

As he reached her, Arwen exhaled softly, breaking the silence between them. "You convinced them without a fight."

Alcard glanced back toward where the Outcasts stood. "Not all battles need to be won with a blade," he murmured. "Sometimes, the right words are enough."

She studied him for a moment before nodding slowly. "And what now?"

Alcard's gaze turned toward the distant horizon, his mind already moving several steps ahead.

"Now," he said darkly, "we prepare. Because this was just the beginning."

The wind howled through the trees, as if whispering warnings of the battles yet to come. And Alcard, knowing full well what awaited them, tightened his grip on his sword.

This mission was far from over.

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