The long-awaited tribal hunt that Egil had called for before the marriage ceremony finally comnced, though it was quickly overshadowed by unforeseen complications. Egil, Alpheo, and Jarza had envisioned a traditional hunt, as they used to do when they went in search of at in forest during their long march south after they regained their freedom. However, their plans t an immovable obstacle: Jasmine.
Determined to ensure Alpheo's safety, Jasmine had ordered the eighty knights assigned to guard the prince to remain at his side at all tis. Their steadfast presence, though well-intentioned, turned the hunt into an exercise in futility. The sheer number of knights, clad in their heavy armor and thundering hooves, made it impossible to approach any ga quietly. Animals that might have been viable prey scattered long before the party could get within striking distance.
For Egil, this was an affront to the spirit of the sacred hunt. They had hoped to bond with Alpheo in the ancient tradition of the his tribes, stalking their prey as one with the land, celebrating their connection to nature.
After much deliberation, and reluctance from Alpheo, the group made a difficult decision: Egil and Jarza would press on without the prince. It was a painful but necessary compromise. The royal hunt, as Jasmine and the nobility envisioned, would have seen the knights capturing an animal for Alpheo to slaughter while it was restrained and bounded —a far cry from the authentic experience Egil intended.
Alpheo, though dismayed, understood their reasoning. His safety ca at a price, and while he longed to take part in the hunt as they used to , he had no choice but to relent. Left behind with his knights, he watched as the others lted into the dense foliage, their spears and bows ready.
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Jarza crouched low, his broad fra blending surprisingly well with the dense undergrowth. Ahead of him, Egil knelt with his head nearly to the ground, his sharp eyes scrutinizing faint tracks in the soil. They had been following the trail for the better part of half an hour, but the ease with which Egil navigated the wilderness was nothing short of impressive.
"You're good at this," Jarza muttered, his deep voice carrying a note of reluctant admiration as he glanced at Egil, who was hunched over, studying the faint traces on the forest floor.
Egil didn't bother to look up but allowed a faint smirk to play on his lips. "Good enough to keep us from starving back in Arlania,every week I either hunted ga or stole sheep and goats from villages" he replied lightly. After a pause, he leaned in closer "On the steppes, though, hunting was a whole different ga. We used hawks always on horseback. But when my father brought us to the empire, everything changed. Horses stumble in the forest, and hawks are useless under the canopy. He taught to hunt like this—on foot, reading the signs in hoofprints and animal'shit."
Jarza raised an eyebrow, his expression half-amused, half-thoughtful. "My father never taught anything like that," he admitted with a wry chuckle. "He was more interested in drowning himself in wine and wasting coin on whores after my mother died. Until the first killed him. I'll admit, I kind of envy you."
Egil straightened, his sharp eyes softening for a mont. He clapped a hand firmly on Jarza's shoulder. "That's because I'm one of a kind," he quipped with a grin. "A true genius. No point in asuring yourself against perfection."
Jarza snorted and shook his head. "Genius, my ass," he muttered before giving Egil a good-natured shove that sent him sprawling onto the forest floor.
Egil landed with a theatrical grunt, brushing dirt off his tunic as he sat up. "Geez," he grumbled with mock indignation. "Always so quick to use your fists."
Jarza let out a low sigh, his gaze sweeping the dense forest around them. "I wish Alpheo could be here too," he said, his voice tinged with disappointnt.
Egil chuckled, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes. "Well, apparently, the man handed over his balls as bridal gift" he said with a bark of laughter, shaking his head as though the thought were too ridiculous to believe. "I an, why the hell would he take orders from his wife? Isn't he supposed to be the man in the marriage? The one who makes the decisions?"
Jarza shot him a sharp look, his brow furrowing in disapproval. But Egil, undeterred, leaned back, his grin widening. "Alpheo's always been a paradox, hasn't he? One mont, he's leading a slave revolt—actually winning it, mind you—and the next, he's ek as a lamb the second she raises an eyebrow. It's like he's got two personalities stuffed into one body."
"Or maybe," Jarza interjected, his tone heavy with aning, "he just understands what's at stake. You ever think of that? She's the reason we're all sitting pretty right now. If she hadn't backed him, our so-called good life wouldn't exist."
Egil paused, his smirk faltering. "Fair point," he admitted begrudgingly. "Though let's not pretend she had much of a choice. A blade to your throat tends to make decisions for you. Still, I'll give her this: She's sharper than most recognizing an opportunity . Her princedom was weak as a starving pup when she took over—ripe for anyone's plucking. And now?" He gestured vaguely, his tone tinged with reluctant admiration. "It's strong enough to hold its own. Damn near unshakeable. I an, look at two months ago—Alpheo wiped the floor with Lechlian, and yet sohow, now, he's too scared to stand up to his wife?"
Jarza's expression darkened like storm clouds rolling in. His eyes locked onto Egil with an intensity that cut like a blade. "Mind your words," he said, his voice a low growl. "He's the reason we're lords, Egil. The reason we command soldiers, own lands, and have peasants who toil for us instead of the other way around. Speak like that in jest all you want, but know this—so jokes are better left unsaid."
Egil shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Jarza's words, his cocky deanor visibly dampened.
"Our fate," Jarza continued, his voice gaining a steely edge, "was to die as slaves—broken, naless, and forgotten. Yet here we are, basking in wealth and power, because of him. But that's not why we owe him respect." His gaze grew distant, his tone softening as if he were choosing his words with care.
"The gods could strip of every gift Alpheo's given —my lands, my title, this very sword at my side—and I'd still follow him. Not out of gratitude or duty, but because I need to see it through. I need to witness what he'll accomplish. What a man who started with nothing can achieve before the end of his days—or mine."
Jarza tilted his head back, staring at the patch of sky visible through the treetops. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over his face. "You know," he began, his voice tinged with a rare wistfulness, "the week after the revolt, I asked Alpheo what his dream was. What drove him through all of it—the chains, the blood, the misery—when the rest of us had nothing left. He was the one who kept hope alive when we couldn't."
"And?" Egil asked, leaning forward despite himself, his curiosity piqued.
Jarza's lips curled into a faint smile, a mix of reverence and disbelief. "He told . And at the ti, I thought he was mad—more than usual, anyway. But now? Now, seeing what he's built, I realize just how close he is to making that madness a reality."
Egil frowned, intrigued despite himself. "What was his dream?"
Jarza's smile widened, a glimr of admiration shining through his otherwise stern deanor. "He said he wanted to sit on a throne higher than any other, with his banner flying over lands so vast it could blot out the sun. He wanted people to bow before him, not out of fear or duty, but with the reverence they'd show to an angel—or a demon. He wanted to carve out a dynasty so powerful, its na would live for a thousand years." Jarza chuckled softly, shaking his head as though still processing the enormity of it. "And of course, I called it horseshit back then."
Egil stared at him, dumbfounded. Then, slowly, he shook his head, a smirk creeping back onto his face. "You're right. That does sound like horseshit."
Jarza laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "Maybe it is. But here's the thing, Egil—he's already halfway there."
Jarza turned to him, his voice heavy with conviction. "We've been honored by the gods, Egil. Honored to have t him, to follow him. And to witness him building that dream—a dream that no slave should have ever dared to think, let alone chase."
Silence stretched between them for a mont,when suddendly the stillness of the forest was shattered by the guttural roar of a boar, its deep, savage grunts reverberating through the underbrush like an on. Jarza and Egil froze for a mont, their eyes locking before their training took over. Jarza's hand flew to his bow, his fingers nimbly nocking an arrow, while Egil pulled a javelin from the quiver on his back, his muscles tensing like a coiled spring.
The boar burst from the shadows like a storm given flesh. Its hulking fra bristled with wiry hair, its tusks gleaming sharp and lethal in the dappled light. Egil's lips twitched into a satisfied grin. A boar this size was a worthy challenge—a beast like this would make their hunt a tale to rember. According to his traditions, the more dangerous the prey, the greater the blessing for the union.
But the boar was too far for a javelin to strike true. Egil gave Jarza a nod, the unspoken signal clear.
Jarza exhaled, raising his bow with practiced precision despite the pounding of his heart. He drew the string tight, his breath steadying as he aid for the boar's flank. The arrow sliced through the air and struck ho, burying itself deep into the beast's thick hide.
The boar let out an enraged bellow, its fury shaking the forest. The wound, far from slowing it, seed only to ignite its wrath. It charged, each thunderous step pounding against the earth, tusks lowered like a battering ram as no arrow could kill such an animal.
"Here it cos!" Egil barked, stepping forward, his stance firm as he prepared to et the beast head-on. The arrow had done its job; it had provoked the boar, ensuring it wouldn't retreat.
Jarza discarded his bow, seizing his spear with a grim determination. His breath was steady now, his grip tight as he prepared for what was to co. Egil, anwhile, hefted his javelin, its polished tip gleaming as he braced himself to throw. A spear might stop the beast, but a well-thrown javelin was their best chance to halt its deadly montum, allowing for Jarza to deliver the final touch.
As the boar barreled toward them, Egil hurled the javelin with a burst of raw power. The weapon flew straight and true, striking the boar in the chest with a sickening crunch. The beast stumbled, its charge slowing as blood stread from the wound. Yet, even impaled, it pressed forward, driven by a primal will to fight.
Now was the mont. Jarza lunged forward, his spear held firm in both hands. With a roar of his own, he drove the weapon deep into the beast's neck, the force of the thrust knocking the boar off its feet. The beast's body convulsed before it slumped to the ground with a final, bone-shaking crash.
They stood over the fallen boar, their chests heaving, hands trembling from the rush of adrenaline. The forest seed to hold its breath, the earlier tension replaced by an almost reverent stillness.
Egil broke the silence with a sharp exhale, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "That'll wake you up, for sure," he said, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
Jarza chuckled, his voice still unsteady. "Good enough to call it a day?" he asked, as he took out the spear , holding it still in his hand, though now it was more for balance than defense.
Egil nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah, I'd say we've earned it."
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