Chapter 38. Hunting Season
On the dark streets of Avermoor, the band of hooded mercenaries marched like ghosts as they tracked their prey, a carefree noble boy and his maid. Their movements were careful, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The boy led them deeper into the abandoned alleys, his path turning unpredictably. The mercenaries advanced, their patience thinning as the two made another turn, vanishing from view. Fear spread through the group as they rushed to the corner, turning it hastily.
The street was empty. Silent. Still. Only crumbling buildings and shattered windows. The mercenaries scanning the area.
"We lost him," a slim man muttered with frustration. His fists clenched, knuckles white. "Should've acted sooner. Shouldn't have waited."
Another mercenary grumbled, "Yeah. This was a mistake."
The muscular leader silenced them with a sharp glare, his eyes darting between the shadows. "He wouldn't have gone far," he said firmly, his voice low and commanding. "He's here somewhere. We find him—and bring him and the maid back alive."
"Why are we chasing them anyway?" a younger mercenary asked, his voice breaking the tension.
The leader sneered, irritated by the question. A nearby man scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Why? That brat's bounty is 800 gold crowns if we deliver him alive!" His voice was filled with greed.
"What about his maid?" the younger mercenary asked again, his tone cautious.