Red Alert

Far East, Outskirts of Jublean Territory

The wind whispered through tall grasses as Adam crouched low in the bushes. His crimson kimono brushed against the leaves, katana sheathed and fingers twitching. His eyes narrowed, fixated on the enemy camp.

“Damn, they’re professionals,” he muttered.

The center of the camp was a pit of firelight and twisted celebration. At its heart stood a behemoth of a man—towering, beastlike, and caked in blood and glory.

Jurgen the Brute.

Standing 7'9", his mountainous frame wore scars like medals. Around his thick neck, nestled against a lion's mane of a beard, hung the Red Eagle Crystal—a sacred artifact stolen from the Jublean Tribe. Its crimson hue pulsed like a heartbeat.

“With this crystal, we rise,” Jurgen bellowed, arms stretched. “The lands will kneel. The Red Moon rises in four days, and with it—the Ritual of Blood begins. Kenya. Hata. We need their alliance.”

Roars of excitement erupted around him.

The Raiders weren’t just any group. They were monsters. Kingdom-burners. Slaughterers of infants and the elderly alike. Their reputation painted the pages of guild warnings in red ink.

A cloaked figure emerged near Jurgen. Familiar.

The mage. The one Adam fought before.

“Our operation... failed,” she said, bowing. “Adam intervened.”

Jurgen’s nostrils flared. “You let that small fry stop you?”

With a snarl, he slapped the mage. Her body was flung like a ragdoll, crashing against the dirt. The crowd cheered, unfazed.

But one person wasn’t cheering.

Adam.

He stepped from the shadows, eyes blazing. “You don’t lay a hand on a woman like that and get away with it.”

Jurgen turned, amused. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Arrest him!”

The horde surged.

But Adam was ready.

In a flash, his katana sang.

Slash. One arm gone.

Slash. A head rolled.

Slash. Slash. Blood sprayed as bodies dropped.

Then—Jurgen stepped in.

CLANG.

Adam’s blade stopped mid-air, caught in the Brute’s bare hand. No wound. Not even a scratch.

A fist the size of a pumpkin slammed into Adam’s face.

CRACK.

The world tilted. Pain exploded. His footing faltered.

“You're not even worth stepping on,” Jurgen growled.

Adam, groggy, blinked—eyes falling on the unconscious mage. He cursed under his breath, grabbed her body, and bolted into the treeline. Leaves parted. Branches bent. Trees became his stepping stones.

Back at the camp:

“Boss, the mage—he took her!” a raider gasped.

Jurgen grabbed the man—Dagfin, the hyena tamer—by the collar.

“Shut your damn mouth, Dagfin.”

He released him.

Then cleaved his head off with a casual swipe of his war axe.

“No one smiles tonight.”

Hours Later, Forest Outskirts

Adam collapsed near a creek, chest heaving. The mage stirred beside him.

“You’re brave… and reckless… but thank you,” she whispered.

“What’s your name?” Adam asked between breaths.

“Mira,” she said, smiling softly. “I only tell that to people I trust.”

“Glad to earn it, Mira.”

“Jurgen will use the crystal in four days. We need a plan.”

Adam looked westward, toward Lugunica.

“Then we make one. A brilliant one.”

Meanwhile, in Lugunica...

A cloaked man stood beneath the moonlight, eyes on the horizon.

Dark coat, white trim. One long blade strapped to his back. A single hand.

“So, they move for the crystal?” he mused. “Interesting. Let’s see how far they get before I get involved.”

He turned, stepping over corpses in the hallway.

“They can’t move without me.”

Back in Capital – Apok’s Blacksmith Shop

“Yo, Apok! Got that katana ready?”

Adam stepped into the forge, Mira in tow.

The rotund blacksmith, mustache proud and belly round, grinned.

“Business is booming, art boy! So, bringing girls to my shop now, eh?”

“She’s not—It’s not like that!”

Apok smirked. “So your mage girlfriend wants gear, huh? What’s her element?”

Mira stepped forward, smiling.

“Wind... and a hint of fire. I like things that explode.”

Apok’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, I got just the thing for you.”

Adam’s boots crunched softly over dried forest leaves, his eyes occasionally flicking to the girl walking beside him.

Mira.

Slender, deadly, shrouded in mystery.

And every time she smiled at him, his spine tingled—not from affection, but from a gnawing question that wouldn’t let go.

She’s going to betray me. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But she will.

“Um… Mira,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. “Why should I trust you?”

She stopped walking. The wind rustled through her hood, moonlight catching in her pale hair as she turned and locked eyes with him.

Her gaze was fearless. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“I want revenge on Jurgen the Brutal,” she said. “He used us. Treated us like broken tools. I want to make him pay for everything he did.”

Then she smiled faintly. A soft, icy thing.
“But I won’t lie to you. I have no ill intentions against you… yet.”

Adam’s brows twitched. Yet?

There it was. The red flag. Hand-delivered and gift-wrapped in brutal honesty.

But oddly, he relaxed. Mira might be dangerous, but at least she was honest.

“That’s good enough for me,” he said. “For now.”

The forest stretched out before them, dark and wild. The road to Jurgen wouldn’t be easy—and if they failed this time, there wouldn’t be a next time.

But another thought gnawed at Adam.

Where the hell is Hafiz?

Jurgen’s caravan thundered through the forest—a convoy of armored dragon carriages, flanked by crossbowmen and steel-eyed swordsmen.

Jurgen rode at the center, his axe resting lazily on his lap, like he was out for a countryside picnic instead of transporting a war artifact.

They stopped under a massive, ancient tree. The moon hung heavy and full, casting silver light across the camp.

Wolves howled in the distance.

“Bad night for a campfire,” Mira whispered, her hands warming a small flame.

“Perfect night for an ambush,” Adam murmured.