Chapter 42 : On the Brink of Death

The forest was now eerily quiet, leaving only the sound of Yamile and Zhao's labored breathing. They took a short rest, sitting side by side and leaning against a large tree.

Yamile closed her eyes, savoring the fresh air she breathed in. "Sora used to be one of our father's subordinates. They said Mother was deliberately sacrificed so Father could obtain the demon power of Niroki."

Zhao, who had been unwinding and relishing the peaceful moment, experienced a sudden shock. He turned sharply and stared at his sister, unable to believe what he had just heard.

Understandably, he had long held the belief that their mother had perished at sea. High waves had hit the ship she was on, causing it to capsize.

"And Father didn't die while on duty… He was murdered by someone named Mugan," Yamile continued.

"H-ha… hahaha…" Zhao laughed nervously, visibly flustered and unsure of what to say.

"You're joking—we can't trust what our enemies say," Zhao insisted, still laughing. However, the reopening of old wounds deepened the pain inside him.

"Maybe! But I'm going to interrogate Uncle Marco. Hopefully, he's still alive," Yamile declared, her eyes burning with anger. She looked as if she couldn't wait to uncover the truth about their parents' deaths.

"Let's go save the children now," she said, standing up.

Yamile stood quickly. She looked at Zhao, who was still seated and deep in thought. But the determination in her eyes reminded Zhao there was no time to dwell on the past.

He nodded slowly, stood up, and grabbed his black sword resting against the tree. "Alright. We've got a more important mission now," he said firmly.

Yamile and Zhao walked slowly toward Sora's headquarters. There stood a building beautifully decorated, its walls painted with murals of animals and stunning landscapes. Childlike ornaments hung from nearly every corner. However, the building had suffered some damage from the fierce battle between Yamile and Sora.

"The door's locked!" Zhao called out as he checked the entrance. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his sword and sliced the door in two.

Immediately, frightened cries from children echoed through the room. Yamile and Zhao's arrival startled the children, causing them to hide behind beds, under tables, and some even ran into the bathroom.

"Don't be afraid. We're not here to hurt you. You're free now, and you'll be reunited with your parents," Yamile said gently, trying to calm them.

However, Yamile's soft voice didn't immediately reassure them. Fear still lingered in their eyes—deep trauma etched after days of being held captive by Sora's forces. Some of them even began to cry, their bodies trembling.

Zhao slowly placed his sword on the floor and raised both hands. "We're not the enemy. We're here to rescue you. We've defeated all the bad guys," he said as calmly as possible.

Yamile approached a small girl hiding behind a curtain, her face dirty and her eyes puffy. Yamile crouched in front of her and offered a warm smile. "What's your name?" she asked softly.

The little girl hesitated but then slowly answered, "Maya…"

Yamile nodded. "Maya… you've been so brave to hold on this long. Now come on out, okay? Your friends can come too. We'll take you all home."

Maya's sobs subsided. She looked at Yamile and slowly reached out her hand. That single touch was the beginning of trust between the children and their rescuers. One by one, the children began to emerge from hiding. They saw that Yamile and Zhao were not there to harm them—but to give them hope.

Some of the children began asking questions. Some asked if Sora was really gone; others wondered about their parents. Yamile and Zhao answered as best they could. Although not every child would immediately find their family, at least they were now on the right path.

Yamile and Zhao guided them out of the room. But fear crept back into their hearts upon seeing the wrecked condition of Sora's headquarters. Some of the younger children stepped back, trying to retreat into the building again.

"Don't be afraid. Zhao and I are here. We'll protect you," Yamile whispered gently.

Zhao looked around for the truck used to transport the children. Eventually, he spotted it parked at the far end of the compound, alongside a car and a motorcycle.

The children were led to the truck and asked to climb into the back. They still looked fearful, haunted by the trauma of being separated from their parents. Yamile understood and climbed into the truck bed first.

"Come on up," she said softly, extending her hand to help the children climb in.

One by one, the children climbed into the truck bed, helped by Yamile and Zhao. Although hesitation still showed in their eyes, Yamile's constant smile and calming presence eventually reassured them. The sound of tiny shoes scraping against the wooden floor of the truck filled the quiet, approaching dusk.

From behind the bushes, birds began chirping again—as if the forest itself was giving thanks that these children were finally free from darkness.

"How many of them are there?" Zhao asked, glancing at the children now huddled together in the truck.

"Thirty," Yamile replied, gently stroking Maya's hair as the little girl sat on her lap.

Zhao nodded, walked to the front of the truck, and opened the driver's door. He started the engine, which groaned before finally roaring to life. Dust flew into the air as the truck began slowly making its way down the narrow, slippery dirt path.

---

Meanwhile, Tora had reached the center of East City to seek help. A journey that normally would take 30 minutes, he completed in just 10 thanks to his strength. He had already brought his father to a hospital.

As soon as Tora and his father arrived at the hospital, a team of doctors immediately took action.

Inside the emergency room of East City Hospital, the atmosphere was tense. The beeping of the heart monitor was steady, but Marco—Tora's father—was in critical condition. His body was covered in burns and stab wounds, especially around the chest and abdomen. His breathing was labored and unstable.

Tora stood frozen in front of the treatment room, his face tense. Sweat poured down his temples even though his body felt cold. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling helpless as he watched the man he had always admired now lying weak and broken.

"The patient is in critical condition. We're preparing for a transfusion and emergency surgery to stabilize him," said a young doctor stepping out of the treatment room. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, a sign of how serious Marco's injuries truly were.