Only one of the two mercenaries survived. Fro’s sweeping strike was inaccurate, failing to kill him in one blow. Thus, under the threat of Fro’s blade, the mercenary confessed everything about the bald bandit leader.
“What? He has a six-wheeled carriage? You bandits weren’t satisfied with stealing her carriage—you also wanted to kidnap her!”
“No, not me. I’m just an innocent mercenary…” Pale-faced and weak-voiced from blood loss, the mercenary pleaded, “By the Celestial Deity, grant me mercy.”
Fro raised his blade and thrust it through the mercenary’s heart. The man’s head slumped, and he fell before the withered tree. Earlier, to avoid drawing attention, the Elven Knight had dragged the wounded mercenary to this spot outside the market. Nearby onlookers, satisfied with the spectacle, left contentedly.
The priestess stood beside Fro, seeing his terrifying expression and clenched iron fist, unsure what to say. She only hoped he wouldn’t do anything foolish for that witch. She’d be very upset—that woman had a thicker waist, strange ears, and a face that looked fake. Yes, her face must be under a spell. Whose face glowed like that, without a single shadow? Besides, she wasn’t good, the priestess thought, staring at a hole in Fro’s breastplate. Rumor said the armor was forged by the witch Aelina, but it had a weak spot over the heart. That flaw nearly cost Fro his life when he saved her. Only her exhausting divine magic kept him alive; otherwise, he’d still be bedridden.
“Lis, can I borrow your horse?”
“Huh? The horse? Of course.”
Hearing Lis’s reply, Fro turned and dashed toward the refugee camp. Behind him, Lis’s voice called out.
“Fro! Where are you going?”
“To get the contract.” The contract with the Silverhaired Maiden.
“What contract?”
The Elf didn’t answer. He ran incredibly fast, covering ground in leaps, leaving the priestess’s voice behind. He reached the Flame Fist Church tent, grabbed his backpack filled with three days’ dried rations, and stepped out. He spoke to the Flame Fist guard watching the horses. Without hesitation, the guard handed him the reins of a chestnut-red steed.
This was the priestess’s horse—well-proportioned and tall, with a shiny coat and bright eyes, but it looked a bit plump. Fro mounted, whipped it hard, and the startled steed bolted outside. The breathless priestess whistled, and it immediately stopped.
“Tell me, Fro, what’s this about the contract?” She ran up to the horse and demanded.
“Aelina and I have a contract: I protect her, and she forges armor for me.”
“No, no, you mustn’t go get it.” Lis grabbed the bridle. The steed nuzzled her affectionately. “Your contract is terminated. She’s using you.”
“I breached it, Lis.”
“No, you didn’t.” Lis pointed at the small hole in his breastplate. “She forged fake armor. What Full Armor can’t stop a rotten spear? She tore up the contract first; you didn’t.”
“Lis, it’s complicated. I only know that because I left, she ended up here, nearly defiled.” After the rescue, Fro had never mentioned a word about Aelina’s “constitution” to anyone.
“You saved her today; we’re even.” Lis angrily pulled the bridle, leading the horse back. It happily carried Fro toward the feed trough—it hadn’t eaten enough today. “Your wounds aren’t healed; you need to rest for days.”
“No, I must go kill all those bandits now.”
“For that woman, you’d go injured?” Lis stamped her foot.
“Yes!”
“It’s magic! She must have enchanted you again, sending you to your death! No, I can’t let you go. This is my horse; I won’t lend it!”
Fro immediately stepped on the stirrup, dismounted, and ran westward with his back to the sun. His longsword slapped against his thigh, and his backpack bounced with each step.
“Fro, come back!” Lis shouted at his retreating figure.
Fro seemed not to hear her.
“That damned witch,” Lis muttered. She mounted the chestnut horse, cracked the whip hard, and the horse whinnied pitifully. With rhythmic hoofbeats, she caught up to Fro.
“You won’t find the bandit camp!” she shouted.
Fro ignored her. Helmetless, his golden ponytail bounced on his backpack.
“You’re wearing inferior Full Armor—heavy and useless. Even if you find them, you can’t win.”
Fro didn’t slow his pace. Lis grew angrier, whipping the reins furiously.
“By the Lord of the Flame Fist,” she cried, “the backpack is mine; give it back!”
Fro ran while unshouldering his backpack, then tossed it to Lis with a flick of his wrist.
“Won’t you even stop to take it off?”
The rhythmic hoofbeats gradually faded. Fro gave no thought to food or water. He gazed at the distant western hills, determined to cross them to find the stolen six-wheeled carriage. If not found, he’d keep crossing mountains until he did.
His mind was filled with Aelina’s past image. Pure as a snowflake under bright moonlight, shining like a star—her beauty seemed otherworldly, unreachable. Yet, that cruel, cold night shattered the goddess in his heart who lived among the stars. He felt his inner beauty shatter—sadness, disappointment, anger. Anger lingered. When calm, he thought he should pity Aelina. With her constitution, she naturally distrusted everyone, including himself. But anger wouldn’t leave him, for it didn’t stem from her deception.
Now he didn’t know why. Seeing someone slap Aelina, he lost his mind with rage, hearing only a buzz before his feet charged out. He needed to find the culprit. Who killed the Silverhaired Maiden in his heart? He didn’t know. He only wanted to chop up all the bandits who dared to touch her.
Fro ran for two hours in his Full Armor. His throat rasped like a broken bellows. Dry air, sharp as a knife, scraped his throat with each breath. Sweat streamed down his cheeks…
“Clatter-clatter-clatter.”
The hoofbeats drew nearer. The priestess caught up to the running Elf, reined in to block him. Her azure eyes were red-rimmed and filled with worry.
“Lis…” Fro bent over, gasping. Inside the Full Armor, it was wet and stuffy. “W-what is it?”
Lis dismounted and handed him a fully packed bundle. “You fool, you forgot to bring water.”
“Thank you, Lis.”
“Remember to come back.” She turned her head away, holding back tears, and handed him the reins. “What silly things am I saying? You’re the bravest Knight; you’ll wipe out those bandits.”
With that, the priestess turned and ran.
“Lis!”
Fro called her name. She didn’t stop, shouting back, “Take good care of Little Red! Don’t worry about me, just go!”
Though she said that, she perked up her ears, catching every sound. Urgent hoofbeats sounded. She hoped he’d stop. The hoofbeats grew fainter, only a cold autumn wind chasing after her.
The priestess could no longer hold back. She covered her eyes, leaned against a roadside tree, and let out low sobs. Tears overflowed, dripping from her slender fingers into the dust.
