The river narrowed, its banks crowding in like closing jaws. Dense foliage arched above the water, casting broken shadows across the surface. The Grimknights remained tense aboard the old wooden boat, their senses alert. The calm mist that had once been a comfort now felt like a veil before a trap.
Then came the movement.
From both riverbanks, figures emerged—grimy men clad in patchwork armor, wielding rusted swords, dented axes, and cruel intent in their eyes. The attackers moved with coordinated purpose, a dozen or more on each side, their feet sinking into the marshy soil as they advanced.
Before any of the Grimknights could react, the old ferryman gave a growling laugh.
""Tch. Thought they'd wait till we reached the bend," he muttered, a knowing smirk curling under his weathered beard.
