Chapter 29: The Escape Towards The Lonelywood Forest
Year 0002, VIII-IX Month: The Imperium
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The Escape
Red and Jonathan burst through the rear door of the village manor, their ragged breaths forming small clouds in the cool evening air. Blood trickled down Jonathan's arm where a guard's blade had cut through his leather bracer. Behind them, shouts echoed through the manor's stone corridors.
They had dispatched at least five guards—all loyal followers of Rommel, men who had abandoned their duty to the village in favor of coin and false promises of power. These were the worst of the watchmen, the ones who enforced Rommel's will with cruel efficiency.
Jonathan had served as their vanguard, his broad frame and heavy shield absorbing most of the enemy's attacks. Red provided covering fire from behind, his bow singing as arrow after arrow found their marks in the gaps of their opponents' armor. Years of hunting in the dense forests surrounding the village had honed his aim to deadly precision.
They had managed to lose the remaining guards in the labyrinthine corridors of the manor, finally breaking free through the servants' quarters. Without hesitation, they made for the Southern Gate, where the rest of their party awaited.
Christopher stood with Red's family—his wife clutching their young daughter's hand, their faces pale with worry. Christopher's eyes widened when he saw the state of the two men.
"Goodness, man, what happened to the two of you?" he asked, reaching out to steady Jonathan who swayed slightly on his feet. The warrior's body was a tapestry of wounds—non life-threatening, but collectively enough to drain the strength from even his formidable frame.
"Ask later," Red panted, adjusting his quiver. "We don't have much time. We need to run away from here and lose whoever is pursuing us."
The guards stationed at the gate remained oblivious to the skirmish that had occurred within the manor walls. By the time news of the intruders reached their posts, Red and his group were already swallowed by the darkness beyond the village perimeter.
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Far Enough
A few kilometers and several hours later, they had finally crossed beyond the boundaries of Ogind County. The dense undergrowth slowed their progress, but it also concealed their tracks from any pursuers. At last, they allowed themselves a moment of respite, collapsing beneath the canopy of an ancient oak.
Jonathan winced as Red's wife, Theressa, cleaned his wounds with water from a skin. Their daughter, Isabel, sat nearby, her small face solemn as she watched the proceedings with eyes too old even for an eleven years old.
"We should leave the trail entirely," Red suggested, scanning the forest around them. "Head in a random direction for now."
Jonathan nodded, the movement causing him to grimace. "The Lonelywood Forest to the south. It's our best chance, they might have run there."
Christopher, who had been keeping watch at the edge of their small clearing, turned back to the group. "So... are you going to tell me what this is all about now?"
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Christopher Snek
He was a young bachelor with no family left in the village. Two decades ago, his parents had perished in a logging accident, leaving him to fend for himself. Neither Red nor Jonathan had interacted much with him back then—few in the village did. Christopher had always seemed a bit odd, his attempts at conversation often stilted and awkward. People called him "strange" behind his back, and eventually, he stopped trying to make friends altogether.
When the call for volunteers came during the war, Christopher was the first to step forward. He had nothing tying him to the village and everything to prove—to himself and to the community that had never truly accepted him.
During the brutal campaign, Christopher had found an unexpected kinship with Jonathan Ross. Despite being nearly a decade older than Chris, Jonathan had treated him with respect, showing him the ways of war and shield craft. For the first time, Christopher felt like he had an older brother, someone who saw his worth.
During their final battle, when arrows blackened the sky above them, Christopher had been certain he would die. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught of steel and wood that would surely end his life.
But when he opened his eyes moments later, he remained untouched. He frantically inspected his body, unable to believe he had somehow escaped harm. Around him, his comrades lay dead or were dying, their bodies riddled with arrows.
It was only when he looked up that he understood what had happened. Jonathan stood before him, his shield raised. Most of the arrows had embedded themselves in the tough wood and leather, but several had broken through, piercing Jonathan's arm. More arrows protruded from his legs where the shield could not protect him.
Despite resembling a human porcupine, Jonathan remained standing like an immovable fortress, his face a mask of determination. Only when the arrow storm ceased did he finally collapse.
Christopher had screamed for a field medic, cradling Jonathan's head as the man's life blood seeped into the churned earth beneath them.
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A Plea Answered
Shortly after, an elderly field medic arrived—a true healer, as evidenced by the Healers Cross Emblem adorning his combat garments. Such individuals were rare and precious commodities on any battlefield.
This particular healer was Viscount Ronaldo Bradmoore, a man whose reputation preceded him throughout the Empire of Elms-Arkanus. Unlike most healers who hoarded their talents in the capital, enjoying nobility and comfort, Bradmoore believed a true healer belonged where people needed him most—on the front lines.
When the Viscount reached Jonathan, his expression suggested he expected to find a corpse. The warrior's legs and shield arm bristled with arrows, and blood pooled beneath him. Yet somehow, Jonathan clung to life with the same tenacity he had shown on the battlefield.
Bradmoore worked tirelessly, his hands glowing with a faint blue light as he extracted arrows, sealed wounds, and fought back infection. After two months of intensive treatment, Jonathan finally opened his eyes, weak but alive.
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Back to The Present, Chris Learns the Truth
"Lord Kirka is no longer leading the village," Red explained now, as Christopher listened in growing horror. "His stepson has taken control, and the man is both incompetent and cruel. He had set his eyes on Jonathan's family and during your absence he had constantly tried to woo his wife in his bed chambers and after constant rejections, he had done the unspeakable. He had them banished from the village, in the middle of winter. What made it worse was, it was a decision made during one of his drunken stupors. Jonathan learned this from his slaves who had received such orders and could only follow his ridiculous demands."
Jonathan nodded grimly. "When we went to his manor after being summoned, that bastard lied once again after being confronted. He feigned ignorance and didn't admit it, but I saw it in his disgusting fat face!"
Christopher's face hardened as he listened to their tale. He had nothing left in the village—no ties, no purpose. "I see, Big Boss," he said, only nodding to Jonathan. "We must find your wife and daughter then. Don't worry; I'm going to help you with that."
With the decision made, they searched for a defensible position to rest and recover before continuing their journey.
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The Famed Lonelywood Forest
To their dismay, they discovered no settlements in the vicinity—only the endless expanse of the Lonelywood Forest stretching in every direction. No dirt roads or paths marked the land; they had entered the forest's outer thicket and were now truly beyond civilization's reach.
Still, this isolation brought a certain comfort. Their pursuers would have difficulty tracking them through such dense wilderness. They took care to leave no traces of their passage—no broken branches, no footprints in soft earth, no remnants of campfires.
Unknown to them, the Empire's major road, lay approximately 200 kilometers to the west, following the Great river's course. It was the same route the imperial army had used during their march to war, but the fugitives had veered too far east after leaving the trail behind.
Jonathan and Christopher had no Idea of this hidden path for their group was taken through boat by their kingdom.
For days, they trekked through the seemingly endless forest. Their progress was slow, hampered by Jonathan's wounds that, while healing, still limited his mobility. More concerning were the dangerous beasts that prowled among the ancient trees.
Their most perilous encounter came in the form of a lone wolf—a "Grimfang" according to the Imperial Beastiary. These creatures stood taller than a man at least twice their height and for the older ones even more. This particular wolf has a matted gray fur that was no longer full and thick, it had been scarred from a recent battle. One of its eyes was bloodshot red from an injury on its face, as for the reason it had been cast out from its pack, that they don't know. Still a young adult Grimfang even though injured was a grave threat. As not much details have been observed with this secretive beings, or perhaps there was, but those who did their research around this beast could no longer speak of it, as they lie within the beasts stomach.
Christopher had taken the vanguard position, allowing Jonathan to rest his still-healing legs and once again injured body. When the Grimfang attacked, it moved with astonishing speed despite its injuries. Its powerful claws raked across Christopher's left arm, shredding his sleeve and the flesh beneath. Before he could recover, the beast's massive jaws clamped around his right leg.
The wolf's single-minded focus on Christopher gave Red the opening he needed. Drawing his bow in one fluid motion, he sent an arrow flying true into the creature's temple. The battle with the fearless Grimfang ended as it collapsed instantly, its massive body crushing the undergrowth as it fell.
They were forced to halt their journey for several days while tending to Christopher's wounds, fearing infection in the damp forest air.
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A Grueling Trek
When they resumed their trek, they moved with even greater caution. During their recovery, they encountered several "Skitterpigs"—or Boarats as locals called them—bizarre creatures that seemed a nightmarish fusion of boar and rat. Despite their unsettling appearance, the beasts provided much-needed meat to replenish their dwindling supplies.
Before Christopher's injury, they had managed to cover approximately 20 kilometers each day. Now, with both Jonathan and Christopher nursing wounds, their pace slowed to barely half that distance before exhaustion forced them to make camp.
They avoided clearings where Grimfang packs might hunt, sticking to dense underbrush despite the difficulty it added to their journey. A single pack of the wolves would easily overwhelm their small group.
Nearly two weeks of slow and progress passed before Jonathan's wounds healed sufficiently for him to help carry the injured Christopher during difficult terrain. Their pace improved slightly, though still far from ideal.
By now, they had traveled roughly hundreds of kilometers away from Maya Village. Three weeks had passed since they entered the forest, and the warm summer air had given way to autumn's chill. The canopy above them began to thin as leaves turned golden and red before drifting to the forest floor.
Four more days of travel brought them within 30 kilometers of Maya Village, though they remained unaware of how close they had come to a potential sanctuary.
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The Sole Inhabitants of the Lonelywood Forest
Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Maya Village were engaged in a rare excursion beyond their settlement's boundaries. August, their de facto leader, had decided the group needed respite from the monotony of village life and repair work. They established a temporary camp atop an overlooking cliff that provided a commanding view of the surrounding forest below.
For two days, they had enjoyed the change of scenery, but now prepared to return home. Gel, their resident agriculturalist, worried about the garden fields they had left unattended.
Before their departure, the children had spent the first few weeks of fall clearing debris from the dikes and water basin. August had personally overseen the reinforcement of the basin with wood, stone, and mud. They had allowed the basin to begin refilling before their brief camping expedition, and it should have been half-full by their return.
The water wheel remained unrepaired—a task requiring expertise beyond their capabilities. They had also postponed tilling the farm grounds until the following year.
By the time they completed repairs to the basin, exhaustion and close quarters had frayed tempers. The camping trip served as much to prevent infighting as to provide recreation.
On what was to be their final morning on the cliff, a commotion echoed from the forest below. Having already packed most of their supplies, they grabbed only weapons and essential gear before rushing to investigate.
August had trained the women of the village in spear combat, with Bren serving as their senior after a month of intensive practice. When they arrived at the source of the disturbance, they discovered a group of travelers surrounded by Grimfangs.
The beleaguered travelers included two children, one adult female, and three adult males—one of whom appeared injured. Three wolves circled them, with the largest being an [Level 8 Advanced Rarity Commander Rank 'Grimfang'], (actual level 33) beast. While August was a level 11 [All-Rounder Class Human], recognized the threat immediately. The remaining wolves were mere level 5 [Novice Rarity Soldier Rank] creatures, but dangerous nonetheless.
In the hierarchy of forest predators, Grimfangs ranked among the deadliest, sharing top position only with the Peregrine Eagles. Their strength far exceeded that of prey animals and even semi-predators like the Skitterpigs. A true predator's power often doubled that of its typical prey.
"HEY YOU STINKY BUM!" August bellowed, drawing the wolves' attention.
The plan formed quickly—August, Erik, and Bren would distract the beasts while the women led the travelers to safety at their camp. The Commander Grimfang turned toward them, sensing a greater threat in August's confident stance.
It charged, powerful muscles bunching beneath its silver-gray coat. August and Erik loosed arrows simultaneously. August's found its mark, piercing the thick hide, but Erik's merely bounced off the dense fur.
With the beast now pursuing them, August ordered Bren to retreat. "This one is twice as strong as the Commander Boarat I previously faced! Help Erik with the other two wolves!"
As Erik and Bren raced back toward the travelers to engage the remaining Grimfangs, August faced the Commander alone, his hand reaching for the short blade at his belt. The wolf's eyes gleamed with primal intelligence as it sized up its prey, unaware that the hunter had become the hunted.