chapter 13.5

Alcard stepped closer to Arwen, his movements measured and deliberate, his gaze scanning her for any sign of injury or distress. Though his expression remained composed, a faint glint in his crimson eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.

"Are you alright?" His voice, though steady, held an unusual softness—subtle yet unmistakable.

Arwen, still seated on the large rock, exhaled slowly as if steadying herself. Her face was slightly pale, but not with fear—only the aftershock of adrenaline. She took a deep breath before nodding. "I... I'm fine. Just a little shaken." Her voice wavered slightly but carried its usual steadiness.

Alcard studied her for a moment, noting how well she composed herself despite what had just transpired. Most nobles would have broken down, paralyzed by fear or lost in hysteria. Some might have even fainted. But Arwen was different. She didn't scream, didn't panic—she held herself together, even when facing the unknown.

"You're stronger than I expected," Alcard murmured, almost to himself, before shifting his attention away. His crimson eyes locked onto the three Outcasts who still stood a few paces away, their expressions a mix of uncertainty, guilt, and unease.

Taking a step forward, Alcard's posture remained firm, his presence commanding. "You're still here?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp and unwavering.

The young woman with unkempt brown hair—who had hesitated the most before—finally spoke, her voice quiet but laced with unease. "We... don't know what to do now. This mission felt wrong from the start." It was almost a confession.

Alcard sighed, understanding their predicament. They had been thrown into a mission they likely hadn't questioned until the moment their blades clashed against his. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a sealed letter, its wax imprint gleaming faintly under the moonlight—the official insignia of the Central Headquarter.

"Take this," he said, extending the letter toward their leader. "It's a direct order from Oldman himself. My mission has nothing to do with Lord Tanivar or the political games of Middle Earth."

The Outcast leader took the letter with visible hesitation before breaking the seal and scanning the contents alongside his two companions. As they read, the flicker of confusion in their eyes transformed into realization—and then, slowly, shame.

"What do you expect us to do with this?" one of them asked, his voice quieter than before.

Alcard fixed them with a sharp gaze. "Take it to your elders in the Eastern Outpost. Tell them you were sent to eliminate an Outcast from the Central Headquarter. Once they read that letter, they'll understand that you were being used."

The leader's jaw tightened. "And what about Tanivar? If he finds out, won't he retaliate?"

A faint smirk ghosted over Alcard's lips, his expression as cold as steel. "That's not your concern. Tanivar is my problem, and Oldman's. We'll deal with him when the time comes."

The three Outcasts exchanged uncertain glances, but Alcard saw it—the shift in their stance, the slight ease of tension. Their leader gave a small, reluctant nod, an acknowledgment of the authority Alcard carried. "Understood," he finally said, his voice steadier. "We'll do as you say. Thank you, Alcard."

Alcard merely inclined his head. "You were just following orders. You nearly broke our code, but I know it wasn't entirely your fault. We cannot turn against each other—not when we have far greater enemies."

With that, the three Outcasts turned and began their departure. Their steps were slow at first, weighed down by the gravity of what had just transpired. As they reached the tree line, one of them glanced back and, in a voice barely above a whisper, murmured, "Good luck with your mission."

Alcard gave a small nod, watching as their figures disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Only when he was certain they were gone did he turn back toward Arwen. She hadn't moved from her spot, her gaze lingering on him with a mix of curiosity and quiet contemplation.

"You weren't scared back there?" Alcard asked, his tone softer than before, as if genuinely intrigued.

Arwen tilted her head slightly, then let out a small smile—wry, yet sincere. "Of course I was scared," she admitted. "But I knew you would protect me. You seem like someone who always knows what to do, no matter the situation."

Alcard studied her, momentarily caught off guard by her response. After a pause, a faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of his lips. He shifted his gaze toward the dark sky, the stars above glimmering faintly. "You might be putting too much faith in me," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.

Arwen let out a quiet chuckle, though there was warmth in her voice. "I trust you because I don't have much of a choice," she said lightly. "But so far, that trust hasn't been misplaced, has it?"

Alcard didn't respond immediately. He met her gaze for a brief moment before giving a slow nod—wordless, yet affirming. Then, with a subtle shift in his demeanor, he moved past her, scanning the area once more for any lingering threats.

"We should rest," he said at last. "The journey is still long, and we don't know what awaits us ahead."

Arwen nodded before standing up, brushing the dust from her dress. "I'll try to sleep," she murmured. "Good night, Alcard."

"Good night, Arwen."

With that, she settled back onto her makeshift bedding, wrapping herself in a thick cloak for warmth. Though she closed her eyes, her thoughts continued to whirl, replaying everything that had transpired that night.

Meanwhile, Alcard remained awake a little longer, ensuring their safety before allowing himself even a moment's rest. The embers of the fire glowed faintly in the dark, casting flickering shadows across his face.

Tonight had ended without bloodshed. But he knew deep down—this was only the beginning.

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