Chapter 7: An Interlude

A tall man was stumbling toward the door, followed closely by several agile men dressed as warriors. Komer and Ilot exchanged glances, stopped stepping onto the carriage, and watched quietly as everything unfolded before them.

The tall man was clearly injured—his running path showed streaks of blood spreading across the smooth stone floor, and his movements lacked coordination. Yet when he saw Komer and the others in front of the carriage, he seemed to regain his strength and rushed in that direction. The warriors behind him also realized his intent and immediately lunged at him to subdue him. But the fleeing man was no weakling; with fierce slashes from his bloodstained sword, he blocked their advance. Then, with a series of agile rolls, he arrived before Pilo, who still seemed dazed, pressing the bloody sword against Pilo’s neck.

“Dare you!” “How insolent!” Roars of anger erupted from the warriors, but they hesitated to act, fearing hurting their master. With the gleaming sword at the edge of Pilo’s neat tie, they seemed powerless beyond shouting.

“Put down your sword.” Though this was the first time he had encountered such a situation, Pilo’s calmness and sense of dignity prevented him from losing his composure in front of strangers or servants. Frowning slightly, he considered how to handle the situation and calmly suggested, “If you’re a slave, you’ve achieved your goal. I can free you from slavery. Holding me hostage serves you no purpose—you can hardly escape Homer.”

Komer and Ilot watched the scene with interest. The tall man holding Pilo must be a slave. His otherwise neat shirt had a large tear, with an iron chain passing through his collarbone, visible through the gap. The infected wound was grotesque, with clotted blood and pus intertwined like the maw of a monstrous beast, extremely eye-catching. His somewhat pale face had dark gray, sunken eyes, and his disheveled grayish-yellow hair stuck to his cheeks and forehead from sweat from running. His chest heaved violently as he gasped for breath, clearly having expended a great deal of energy covering this distance.

A sharp gaze swept over Comer and the other man, while a sword remained firmly pressed against Pilo’s neck, tightly controlling the major artery there. It was clear this guy must be a skilled assassin.
Eloot seemed somewhat excited, his eagerness impossible to hide. His hand on the sword at his waist had already gripped the hilt tightly, waiting for Comer’s signal to launch an attack. This was a rare opportunity. Although the opponent had Pilo under control, judging from the stability of his grip, Eloot was confident he could take him out before the sword could harm the hostage.
Yet Comer stopped Eloot from taking risks with his eyes. The burly man before him was already struggling to control his body; intense exertion had drained his strength to the limit. He must be a standard soldier, and Comer had realized this as well. Given the current situation, he couldn’t run far anymore. His only reliance was the hostage in his hands, but the hostage’s calm demeanor clearly angered him. Perhaps just a little more provocation would make him explode or take desperate actions.
The opponent could clearly sense the hostility and danger from the two of them. Though Comer made no moves or showed any signs, even maintaining a seemingly amiable expression, his years of combat experience made him immediately realize that this seemingly gentle man might actually be the most dangerous enemy. The clearest proof was that the eager attacker had temporarily abandoned his assault at Comer’s mere glance.
Comer quietly focused his attention on the young man. His somewhat youthful face didn’t show anything unusual, but his experience in life and death in a world of swords and knives told him there was definitely something strange about this guy. However, it seemed he didn’t have time to think further—his opponent was already smiling as he challenged him, “Let Mr. Pilo go. Mr. Pilo keeps his word. Since he’s agreed to end your slavery and grant you freedom, you should be satisfied. Stop making any further demands.”
The tall man, usually full of bravado, now showed signs of wariness. He couldn’t explain why he felt this way—like a frog stared at by a snake, a chill creeping up his spine. “I have a companion. I want to leave with him. That’s all I ask.”

“Demands? Do you really think you still have the chance to make any demands now?” Komer shook his head with a smile. It seemed this man was delusional, thinking he could truly control the situation. “This is Homer, this is Cyprus. Do you really think you can get out of here?”
“If I don’t try, how will I know if it’s possible?” The man had already sensed the danger approaching—the blade was almost piercing through the already tilted flesh of Pyro’s neck. Komer knew he couldn’t hesitate any longer. Muttering under his breath, he snapped his fingers, and a strange ripple spread through the space between them as a paralyzing electric spell was silently sent out.
His entire body jolted violently. The tall man tried his best to control his wrist, but with his body instantly paralyzed by the spell, he couldn’t even control his toes. After swaying slightly, he collapsed softly. Words couldn’t even reach his throat, let alone a final cry, as he fell away filled with utter regret and dissatisfaction.
Pyro and Eilot stared in surprise at Komer, who hadn’t even changed his posture. Though they hadn’t seen how Komer had acted, they could vaguely guess the method he used to resolve this crisis—it must have been some kind of magic. Pyro had long known this newly appointed Caucasus lord wasn’t that simple; otherwise, his discerning father wouldn’t have valued him so highly. Yet he never expected Komer to be a magician. He didn’t know what level of magic Komer possessed, but the fact that he could effortlessly take down a strong, burly man who was also a skilled soldier meant his magic must be quite powerful. His curiosity about Komer grew even more.
“Well, Mr. Pyro, who is this guy? It seems he’s quite skilled—managed to get away from your guards.” Komer smiled and shook his head at Pyro’s thanks, then asked curiously.

“Uh, this guy must be from the Duchy of Mellen. He looks somewhat like a warrior from that duchy. But sadly, Mellen’s capital, Mycenae, has been captured by the orcs. The entire city has turned into ruins, and its castle has been looted and destroyed. What a pity—Mellen is no longer existent. These guys are probably defeated deserters or captives who were sold here.” Pilo gestured to the guards to tie up the man lying on the ground, his eyes filled with resentment and hatred, then shrugged and said, “It seems we were a bit careless. We didn’t expect him to be able to break free even with bones pierced through him. The warriors of Mellen truly live up to their reputation.”

“Oh? Mellen was captured by the orcs? When did this happen?” Before Komer could reply, Ilot, who had remained silent until then, couldn’t help but exclaim in shock. The Duchy of Mellen was a small country to the west of the Kingdom of Nicossia and an important ally in defending against the orcs’ southern invasion. Now that it had been captured, it was truly appalling news. What about the north of the kingdom? Both Ilot and Komer could see the shock in each other’s eyes.

“It happened over three months ago,” Pilo said calmly, glancing at the two shocked men. “The north of the kingdom is also in a state of high alert. However, the kingdom’s army has a relatively solid defense line there. Though the orcs are brave, they are likely exhausted now and unable to advance further. Still, this situation is unprecedented in recent decades. His Majesty the King is extremely angry and has ordered the formation of the Iron Cross Corps. I think customs duties and territorial taxes will likely increase.”

“But with the fall of Mellen, a huge gap has opened up in the northwest of the kingdom. Even if this time they fail, the orcs will attack through this gap next time.” Ilot, who had spent two years in the northern border fortresses, knew this all too well. Without Mellen as a buffer, the empire’s northern defense line was no longer intact, and the kingdom’s situation would immediately become extremely precarious.

“Hehe, this is beyond our control. I’m sure the nobles in Jazair are even more anxious than we are.” Pilo glanced regretfully at the man still struggling on the ground. The magic’s effect hadn’t lasted long on him, who was already extremely weak, which only proved how strong he was. Waving his hand, he signaled the armored guards who had tied him up to take him away. Then he said, “Although the army of the Principality of Melen is strong, its numbers are indeed too small. Without the support of the empire, the Principality of Melen is doomed to destruction.”