For a moment, Ruth wondered if he was dreaming. But as he heard the ground rumble and saw two groups of knights descending the steep mountain path, he realized this wasn’t an illusion.

The advancing group, drawing their swords, charged toward them on horseback. The desert people, momentarily stunned, quickly regained their composure, raised their weapons, and began fighting back. A red-haired man at the front of the group raised a hook and swung it to slice off the head of a man. The head cleanly separated and rolled on the muddy ground. Taking advantage of the chaos, a man wielding a large sword circled around Ruth and charged at Kasha.

Ruth stood up and drove his sword into the man’s left side. The blade pierced the skin, tearing through muscle, and struck bone. The sound of the sword meeting bone echoed. As the vibrations were transmitted through his hand, Ruth withdrew the sword from the man’s back and swung it again to decapitate him.

Blood sprayed like a fountain as the massive man writhed in pain, and Kasha twisted his head, breaking his neck with a snap. The man collapsed with a thud, and Ruth supported the staggering Kasha. Just as he grabbed his arm, a circular throwing star embedded itself into his back. In that instant of sharp pain, Ruth froze. Strange sounds began to echo from the forest by the road, and desert men dressed in black began to emerge one by one.

“Ruth!”

A familiar voice called out. Just as he tried to turn his head toward it, someone’s arm wrapped around his waist, lifting him off the ground. When he regained his senses, he found himself on horseback.

The familiar warmth and the steady breath at his neck made his heart race. He looked up, and there, to his amazement, was the face of the man he had longed for. Red hair wet from the rain, and golden eyes that shone brighter than jewels. Though the face was as beautiful as a sculpture, Ruth couldn’t believe it.

So, he lowered his gaze. He couldn’t bear to look up.

“Stay still.”

Even as the voice whispered in his ear, Ruth couldn’t bring himself to look up. He was afraid that if he did, it might all vanish like a dream.

Trembling with fear and the cold that wrapped around him, the throwing star that had lodged in his back was finally removed. Ruth, though in pain, leaned his body against the man’s chest without letting go of his sword.

He wished this wasn’t a dream. He hoped he wasn’t just seeing a vision because he was dying, or dreaming of him because he missed him so much. In the desperation of the moment, he clutched the man’s collar and shut his eyes tight.

He was afraid that if he let go, it would all disappear. What if, when he opened his eyes, it was all just a dream?

Ail, looking down at Ruth who clung to his collar, felt as though his heart was breaking. Seeing him alive brought relief, joy, and excitement, but Ruth wasn’t looking at him. Their eyes had met, but in that moment, Ruth turned away. For a moment, Ail had been angry that, even with injuries, Ruth had rushed to save the dark-haired man first, but when he realized Ruth recognized him, his heart ached.

Ruth had already been shot with an arrow, and blood was flowing from his left shoulder. Ail pulled the throwing star from his back, and when he saw the blood pouring out, it felt as though his own heart was bleeding.

Ruth’s clothes were soaked through with rain and blood, and he had lost a lot of blood. He would collapse soon, maybe even die. The thought made him tremble in fear.

If he had known Ruth would get hurt like this, he would never have let him go. He didn’t understand why these people had followed Ruth, but if he had known this would happen, he wouldn’t have let him leave, even if it meant dying. He had been too slow. He should have acted faster. He should have gone to find Ruth himself, instead of waiting for someone else to do it.

With Ruth still in his arms, Ail turned, drawing his sword again as he saw more desert people charging toward them from the distance. He couldn’t count how many there were, as more kept emerging from the forest. Normally, assassination squads operated with around ten to twenty people, but this number was unprecedented. It was clear that a deep grudge fueled this, as even those who had wanted to kill him never used such reckless methods.

Though his shoulder injury throbbed, Ail gritted his teeth and endured it. He knew the wound had reopened when he had fired the bow, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting Ruth out of there.

As more desert people appeared from the forest, Ail felt a chill run down his spine. They were coming at them, wielding large, heavy weapons. The screech of a flute sounded again, grating on his nerves, and at the same time, a cold wind blew as the rain began to pour heavily once more.

Large hooks and throwing stars began to fly toward them. Amidst the torrential rain that obscured their vision, Ail urged his horse forward and swung his sword to decapitate a man. Screams echoed from all around, and blood burst from the wounds. The blood mixed with the rainwater, flowing over the muddy ground. The damage on their side was also significant. The mercenaries were falling, their arms severed, and their backs impaled by the desert people’s weapons.

Ail rode through the chaos, cutting down desert men’s heads and backs with his sword. During the skirmish, Ail was also struck on his thigh and waist. The wounds weren’t severe, but blood slowly dripped from them. With the temperature dropping and his body cooling from the rain, the situation wasn’t looking good. The desert men had no horses of their own. That meant retreating was the best option.

“Retreat, everyone!”

Shouting as he slashed the chest of a man charging at him, Ail ordered the mercenaries and knights on horseback to turn toward the direction he was heading. Ail, holding Ruth, urged his horse forward, with the mercenaries following behind. At the command to retreat, Ruth lifted his head to look for Kasha. Kasha and the young mercenary were trying to mount the horses of the dead knights and mercenaries. Kamiel was holding off the assassins attacking them.

Ruth felt a wave of relief. As he looked at them, Ail’s horse quickly galloped down the mountain. With half the knights and mercenaries protecting them, they sped off, but once again, the sound of a flute echoed. Given their numbers, it seemed as though the entire Red Scorpion group had gathered in the mountains. Ruth exhaled a breath of white mist, and as he looked behind him at those descending from the mountain, Ail shouted without slowing the horse’s pace.

“Trample them all. Don’t stop, just keep running.”

When outnumbered and with no place to hide, moving quickly and exhausting the enemy was the best tactic. Small skirmishes were a shortcut to defeat. Ail, who understood the basic principles of strategy, gave Ruth another confirmation that this man was real, not an illusion. He was the man who had always spread out maps and pondered which tactics and strategies to use in attacking countries. With Virel and Vera as strongholds, he would move a small army through the north, disrupt the enemy’s forces, and then shift the main force south through treacherous mountain ranges, striking when the enemy had a gap in their defense. If it had been anyone else, they probably wouldn’t have come to this place with just a few mercenaries and knights. Most likely, other armies were on the move somewhere else.

Ail Linus was that kind of man.

“Hang in there a little longer. I won’t let you die.”

As his voice whispered in Ruth’s ear, Ruth once again felt his presence beside him. He was right there, close enough to feel his breath. Ruth could hear his voice, feel his skin, and even his heartbeat, as if it was all real.

It felt like his heart might burst.

He felt that it would be fine to die like this. If he were to die while in Ail’s arms, he thought, maybe it would be a kind of happiness.

Ail continued to slice through the desert men without hesitation as they charged toward them. Ruth briefly raised his head, wondering if the horse would be able to carry both of them. But contrary to his worries, their horse was already far ahead of the rest of the group. Sensing something was off, Ruth looked back and saw Kamiel, along with the knights and mercenaries, blocking the path and slowing down their pace. The assassins were stalled with them. No more desert men were coming down from the mountain.

Ail seemed to know this too. But he didn’t look back; he continued to ride forward. It was just the two of them now. In the misty, blurred world, Ruth felt that he wished they could keep going until the end of this land. If only they could stay together, forever, until the end of this continent…

With that selfish wish in his heart, Ruth quietly leaned against Ail’s chest.

The rain kept pouring down, thick enough to hurt.

—————————- Strength was slowly draining from him. Exhausted from fighting off the endless assassins and the unrelenting rain, Kasha watched his breath mist in the air as he swung his whip at an approaching foe. Not skilled with a sword, he had quickly grabbed a whip with a blade attached, using it to strike. Although he had never wielded a sword before, he was quite adept with a whip.

At first, he thought he could die without much concern. After all, he had resigned himself to death, so it didn’t matter who killed him. The only regret was not being able to see him one last time before he died. Even in a state of resignation, he had come this far just to catch a glimpse of his face, but now, here he was, in this situation. He had given up everything, but the brutal force of his enemies began to ignite a surge of anger within him.

He could not just die passively like this. With Ruth, Ail, and the others now involved, and with his mercenaries all slaughtered, he couldn’t simply retreat quietly. He was determined to make the enemy pay dearly. If they thought he would back down from fear, they were gravely mistaken. He was resilient, and stubborn. Moreover, he was as cruel as anyone else. There was no way he would let their assassins escape. He could send even fiercer forces than the Red Scorpions after them.

He would make them pay. Both the enemy and these Red Scorpions would suffer. He would repay their cruelty a hundredfold. If he was going to die, he would drag everyone down with him.

He would not let this end here. He wouldn’t allow them to achieve anything they had so longed for. He would make them realize their mistake, and carve it into their bones and blood so they would never forget. He would make them spit blood, dying in agony, crawling on the ground.

Exhausted and drenched, Kasha barely had the strength to continue wielding his whip. But at the sound from afar, his senses sharpened. The ground began to shake. It wasn’t the sound of a group of twenty or thirty people moving—it was the sound of hundreds. He stopped, listening intently, and saw that everyone else had also stopped moving.

The sound of the earth rumbling grew louder. With a majestic roar, he saw figures in black knight’s armor marching in unison, charging toward them.

They were the knights of Closerium.

“Everyone, run!”

After the cry of a desert man, the assassins, armed with heavy weapons, turned and began running in the opposite direction to escape the knights. But the knights were faster. Archers in the front row, holding simplified bows that allowed them to shoot arrows with one hand, began firing at the fleeing assassins’ backs. They were elite knights, highly trained.

Among them, familiar faces appeared. Rodin, Elsen, and… the man leading them. Soft brown hair, drenched by the rain, and eyes filled with a strong will. He resembled Ruth greatly. No, maybe it was Ruth who resembled him. That was why he was drawn to him. He was the man who had made him feel whole when he had always been obsessed with a sense of incompleteness.

He had loved him that much, and then painfully abandoned him, tormenting him. A man he loved, hated, missed, felt sorry for, and pitied.

“Rejin…”