Battle struck

"How much longer?" Lance asked, panting lightly. “We’ve been walking for an hour.”

Sunflower didn’t slow her pace. “Do you expect us to build our village out in the open? Where it can become an easy target?”

The sun sank lower, washing the sky in shades of amber and crimson. Shadows stretched across the fields, and soon, darkness crept in fully.

Without a word, Sunflower reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a small round object. She squeezed it silently.

A golden light radiated from the orb, casting a soft, circular glow around them—just enough to see the ground beneath their feet.

Lance looked at the orb, curious but cautious. Asking questions could make him seem suspicious. He didn’t want to give Sunflower more reasons to distrust him—especially while she still carried that knife.

But just as he was debating whether to speak...

Sunflower stopped.

She squeezed the orb again, and the light faded into nothing. Pitch black returned.

Then—before Lance could even ask what was happening—Sunflower turned and kicked him in the face.

Thump!

"Ow! What the hell?!" Lance hit the ground, dazed. He blinked up in confusion—only to freeze.

A knife hovered inches from his throat.

Sunflower’s face was still, her green eyes cold and unreadable.

The silence between them turned dense. Unbreakable.

Then she spoke, voice sharp as steel:

"Tell them to leave and I’ll guarantee your life. Your freedom, however... is uncertain."

Them? Lance's thoughts raced. Are we being followed? Does she think I’m with them?

He opened his mouth to respond—only to realize he couldn’t. No sound. Nothing. His voice had been cut off, like someone had muted reality.

Before he could panic, Sunflower grabbed him by the hair and lifted him—with one arm, holding him up like a trophy.

"Ow—dammit, let go!" Lance squirmed and shouted, but it made no difference. She wasn’t letting go.

Then she shouted into the dark:

“It’ll take one second to kill this man. If you want to save his life, come out. Both of you!”

The grass rustled.

Two figures emerged.

One was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black coat, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck. Brown hair. Cold eyes. A revolver on his hip.

Beside him stood a woman in heels, also dressed in black. Long black hair, eyes a piercing violet, and another revolver on her thigh.

They said nothing.

Lance continued to groan in pain as Sunflower kept her grip tight.

The woman finally spoke, calm and deliberate:

“Drop him, or we’ll be forced to respond in kind.”

Sunflower dropped Lance. He hit the ground beside her.

“Fine,” she said, never taking her eyes off the two. “But if he tries to move, I won’t hesitate.”

The brown-haired man smiled faintly. “Who might you be, miss?”

Sunflower sneered. “You think this is an interview? I’ve got the hostage. I’m the one asking questions.”

Lance tried to speak: “Sunflower, I don’t kn—”
But nothing came out. His voice was still gone.

What is this? he thought. Some kind of power? A spell? Why mute me? Are they using me as bait—to pressure her into slipping up?
No… Sunflower already doesn't trust me. That wouldn't work.
Then… they're trying to overextend her focus. Three directions to watch instead of two. Smart.

Sunflower pointed her knife toward Lance.

“Why were you following me? What do you want?”

Silence.

She drew her dagger and pressed it lightly to Lance’s neck.

Still nothing.

The tension rose like a storm cloud, heavy and electric. No one moved.

Finally, the woman spoke.

“We were hired to locate your village. No one needs to get hurt. We’re not here to kill—just to find it.”

She glanced at Lance.
“You should also consider not hurting him.”

Sunflower narrowed her eyes. “Why? Who hired you? What do they want?”

This time the man answered.

“Sorry. We don’t reveal client information. Not part of the deal.”

“Fine,” Sunflower said. “How much did he pay you?”

The two exchanged glances, then chuckled—low, amused.

“I’m afraid we values loyalty more than gold,” the woman said.

Sunflower sighed, half a smirk forming.

“Guess I tried to talk my way through.”

The woman tilted her head, grin sharp. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

BAAM!

The ground shattered.

Dirt exploded upward, a cloud of dust filling the air.

When the smoke cleared, the brown-haired man lay broken in a crater, blood pouring from his mouth, coughing violently.

And standing over him…

Was Sunflower.

She held only a dagger—her right hand steady, her stance unwavering.

Her eyes turned upward to the woman. Her killing intent was unmistakable.

The black-haired woman instinctively stepped back, her grin gone.

For the first time, she looked afraid.