Dara's heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drumbeat of fear. Taylor was approaching, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, each sound a nail hammered into Dara's growing panic. He couldn't even try to slip away unnoticed; Taylor was too close, his gaze sharp and piercing. Dara hated himself for this weakness, for the fear that choked him. His own heartbeat echoed the rhythm of Taylor's steps, a relentless, terrifying symphony of dread.
Dara desperately searched for an escape, his mind racing. He could try to fight his way out, but that would leave him vulnerable, exposed. He couldn't risk leaving Ruth behind, but the thought of facing Taylor alone, sword in hand, sent shivers down his spine. The God Killer, a weapon forged by King Genesis specifically to vanquish their kind, was a terrifying symbol of their weakness. Its mere presence drained their powers, stripping them of their strength and speed, rendering them mere mortals.
The sword was a constant reminder of their vulnerability, a symbol of gods defeat. It was a weapon that could not be countered, a force that could not be defied. Dara knew that facing Taylor, armed with that cursed blade, was a battle he could not win. He was trapped, his options dwindling with each passing moment.
Taylor was closing in, his movements stealthy and deliberate. Dara held his breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. He was ready to spring, to land a blow before Taylor could even see him, but fate had other plans. Just as Taylor's hand reached for the concealing weeds, a voice cut through the tense silence.
"Sir!" The soldier's voice was sharp, interrupting Taylor's search. He had sensed something, a flicker of movement, a hint of suspicion in the part he was searching.
Taylor paused, his gaze sweeping over the area. He had been so focused on the hiding spot that he hadn't noticed the soldier's urgency. He turned, his expression impatient, demanding an explanation.
The soldier, flustered, stammered out a report. "Found some clues here" The man reported having Taylor reached him, It was a footstep, it's still fresh. His "clue" was insignificant, a flimsy thread of suspicion, hardly worth mentioning. Taylor, however, was not easily swayed. He dismissed the soldier's findings with a dismissive "Hmm," his voice laced with annoyance.
"Of course they're around here. You see something like this, you don't need to inform me! it means you should continue searching. Get back to work! Continue searching until I say it's over! No rest until you find them!" He barked the orders, his eyes returning to the spot where Dara was hiding which was where he was searching before he was interrupted.
The soldier, clearly intimidated by Taylor's harsh tone, mumbled a quick "Yes sir!" and rejoined the search. Taylor, however, remained fixated on the very spot, his gaze piercing, his suspicions of that particular area growing.
A deep, primal instinct, a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, told Taylor that something was amiss. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was hiding there, lurking just beyond the veil of the concealing weeds. His gut, honed by years of experience, never steered him wrong.
He cautiously approached the spot again, his senses on high alert. With a decisive movement, he pushed aside the tangled foliage, revealing an empty space. Relief washed over him, momentarily dispelling the nagging suspicion. He had been wrong, his instincts had betrayed him.
He stepped back, a sigh escaping his lips. He called out to his men, his voice echoing through the clearing. "Alright, everyone! Let's go. We'll regroup and block his escape route. If the footsteps was his then,l he'll be trying to cross the sea, so we need to get there quickly!"
His orders were met with immediate obedience. Those mounted on horseback spurred their steeds forward, while the foot armies marched in a disciplined formation, their movements precise and efficient. They were soldiers, trained for combat, their ranks and formations ingrained in their very being.
Dara emerged from his hiding place, his chest heaving, his heart pounding in his ears. He had been so close, a hair's breadth away from being discovered. Taylor had almost found him, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine.
He was exhausted, his body aching with the strain of hiding and the fresh wound on his stomach. The pain was a constant throb, a reminder of his vulnerability. It wasn't the god Killer sword that had inflicted the injury, but a lesser blade, one that would heal in time. But right now, the pain was sharp and intense.
He glanced down at Ruth, still unconscious on the ground. He knew he needed her, more than ever. She was his anchor, his reason for fighting, and he wouldn't let anything happen to her.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the river, a few steps away. He splashed water on his face, washing away the grime and sweat, and drank deeply, quenching his thirst. He knew what he had to do. He needed to get to safety along with Ruth, he had to go to a place where Taylor wouldn't even think of coming to search for him.
                      • Golden Castle •
Princess Mara and Peter sat in the grand courtroom, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. They had been waiting for news from Taylor, hoping for a swift and decisive victory.
As Taylor entered the room, Mara rose to her feet, her eyes bright with expectation. "How was the hunt?" she asked, her voice laced with urgency. "Tell me he's dead, without all the unnecessary details."
Taylor bowed his head respectfully, his hand resting over his chest in a gesture of deference. "We were close," he said, his voice measured. "He narrowly escaped, but my men are still searching. He has no connections here, no allies among the citizens. He's on the run, and everyone is against him."
Mara's face contorted with frustration. "Everyone is against him? That doesn't matter! He'll still find a way to sway them to his side! You should be out there with your men, not here reporting useless news! You shouldn't be here!" she yelled, her anger palpable.
Taylor remained calm, his gaze unwavering. "My men are hungry, Your Highness. We've been hunting since last night, without food. They need to eat."
"They'll eat and be satisfied once Dara is dead," Mara snapped, her voice laced with venom. "I gave you one job, Taylor, and that's your only job: find him and make sure he doesn't breathe again! As long as he's alive, he's a threat to me, to all of us!"
Taylor simply shook his head, a weary smile playing on his lips. It was a smile that spoke of frustration, of being pushed and prodded like a puppet. He had served Dara, and Dara had treated him with respect, even when giving orders. Mara, on the other hand, treated him like a tool, a pawn in her game.
"My princess," Taylor said, his voice calm despite the rising tension, "this is already a victory for you. The best thing you can do now is gather your people, draw them closer. Crown yourself or your brother king. Dara has no army, no way to reclaim the throne. You have the people, the power. There's nothing he can do to poison their minds anymore. My army shouldn't be the ones to suffer for this. They need food."
"Your army?" Mara scoffed. "They're not your army, Taylor. The army belongs to the Golden Castle!"
Her words were like a slap, a reminder of his position. He was a hired hand, a tool, not a kingmaker. He clenched his jaw, his voice rising in frustration. "We had a deal!"
"Which is Dara's death," Mara said, her voice cold and hard. "But unfortunately, Dara is still alive. So there's no deal. You haven't completed your mission. Just like you said, we had a deal, and a deal is a deal. There shouldn't be any changes, no matter what."
Taylor stared at her, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He was at a loss for words, fed up with her relentless demands and her condescending tone. He simply shook his head and turned away, leaving the courtroom. He was furious, ready to storm back to the search and finish what he started, to make sure Dara's life ended. But he was also increasingly wary of this princess. There was something about her, something off-putting, something he couldn't quite place.
He reminded himself of the promises she had made – the army, the riches, the power. But he wouldn't dwell on them yet. He had a job to do, and until it was complete, those promises were just empty words.
"You saw the way he spoke to you," Peter said, his voice laced with concern. "Do you think he can still be trusted?"
"Of course not, he will be on our watchlist from now on in case he tries to make any funny move, he will pay with his life, no doubt about that, nothing is going to stop us from accomplishing this mission we have already started, Dad died because of it, who else should stand in our way?" She said her voice thick and dangerous.