What in the godsforsaken hells was this? What sort of twisted, absurd, once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck had just fallen into his lap? No, wait—could something this convenient truly be called luck?
Actually... yeah, it was. It was the insanely brilliant kind of luck that only appears when you're teetering on the very precipice of death. This—this bizarre turn of events—lined up perfectly, almost mockingly so, with his singular goal: finding out who this 'big man' was. The thought sent a jolt, a mixture of terror and exhilaration, through his veins.
If that person needed him—him, of all people—for some unknown reason, then a glorious, unspoken rule had just been laid across this deadly game board.
These men, this pack of wolves circling their lost prey, couldn't kill him.
A 'Get Out of Death Free' card, pretty much.
Sure, he had no intention of charging out like some monstrous berserker, swinging his arms until they fell off. And if it really came to a fight, after that display against that serpentine monster, he honestly believed he'd be able to win against them all.
Whether that was just arrogance or not, he didn't quite know, though.
And so, with his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, he chose the only path that made sense. The simplest, the most insane, and therefore, the wisest course of action…
With the grating sound of rustling leaves, Lacerta stepped out from the shrubbery that had been his temporary salvation. He emerged into the dappled light of the clearing, blinking, directly into the collective gaze of a dozen weapon-wielding men.
He offered a surprisingly casual, childish smile.
Lacerta: ["Isn't this a weird coincidence...?"]
The forest fell silent, save for the hum of insects now suddenly deafening. Every eye, hard and unpitying, was fixed on him. The gray-haired one—the other man from earlier had called him Glenn, a name that now felt etched—didn't flinch, though a hint of confusion was etched into his face.
Instead, Glenn lazily raised a hand, his scarred knuckles a testament to a brutal life. He made a subtle, sharp signal. In an instant, the tension in the men around him eased, their stances shifting from imminent attack to wary observation. It was the practiced, fluid motion of a wolf pack obeying its alpha.
Glenn: ["I'm a bit confused, kid. Why in the world would you just show yourself? We'd lost sight of you completely. A few more hours and you'd have been just another ghost in this jungle. Kept your head down after that, and you would've been perfectly fine."]
Lacerta blinked, the sheer absurdity of the situation threatening to make him laugh. Was the enemy leader… critiquing his escape strategy? No, no matter. Stick to the plan. Play the part.
Lacerta: ["Well, haha… I figured I'd probably starve to death on my own out here. I don't exactly have survival skills, you know? In fact, I think the animals are actively avoiding me, so hunting is out…"]
Glenn's brow furrowed, his gaze analytical.
Glenn: ["Hrn… that is odd. Considering your size, most predators 'round here would see you as a free meal, not something to run from."]
Frankly, Lacerta couldn't help but silently agree with his surprisingly conversational enemy. It was weird. The entire world was weird.
Glenn's eyes narrowed, the flicker of amusement gone, replaced by a cold, penetrating stare.
Glenn: ["Ah, right, kid. I've got a better question... how are you still breathing?"]
The words were blunt, stripped of all pleasantry. They hung in the air like the promise of a blade.
Lacerta felt a chill that had nothing to do with the forest air.
Glenn: ["Back where we lost sight of you was clearly Witchbeast territory, where Elgina tend to roam. Running into one of those is like drawing the death card from a deck. It's the embodiment of rotten luck. But you're here. Alive."]
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Lacerta's unharmed form.
Glenn: ["Guess you're the luckiest... unlucky person, eh?"]
Mabeast. Elgina.
The words flew into Lacerta's mind, clicking into place with a near instantaneous clarity. The snake. The monstrous, forest-shattering serpent he had fought, the creature he had somehow, impossibly, killed. So that's what it was. A witchbeast. An Elgina. Good to know. Useful information for a corpse, probably.
Just then, one of the bandits nearest to Glenn tapped him on the shoulder, his voice a blunt whisper.
???: ["Boss… you're, uh… getting off-topic…"]
Glenn blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, a sharp, metallic sound. He took a heavy step forward, the earth seeming to groan under his boot.
A scarred hand went up to scratch the thick nape of his neck.
Glenn: ["Hrnn… I know, damn it. Just been a while since I had good company. Forgot about business."]
In an instant—a surprisingly swift motion—the hand scratching his neck dropped. It fell to the handle of the axe resting on his shoulder, his fingers wrapping around the worn leather grip. The air itself seemed to grow heavy, thick with intent. The affable man was gone. In his place stood the predator.
Glenn: ["So what'll it be? You gonna come along nicely, kid? Or are we going to have another spirited game of cat 'n' mouse?"]
His voice was a low, deadly growl, all traces of curiosity burned away.
Lacerta didn't need to understand the analogy to feel the meaning behind it coiling in his gut. The stench of blood and steel seemed to radiate from the man. This was it. The precipice. His gamble.
He swiftly raised his hands into the air, a gesture of absolute surrender.
Lacerta: ["Uhuh. Sure!"]
The words came out as a squeak, high and instant.
Glenn froze, his hand still gripping the axe. He raised a brow, a flicker of genuine disbelief crossing his hardened features. Just moments ago, this boy had been running for his life, a seemingly cornered rat running with every ounce of its being. And now? Now he was just… giving up? Willingly walking into the cage?
The mouse had not only stopped running, it had turned around and offered its throat to the cat. And for the life of him, Glenn couldn't figure out why.
In all honesty, he found it somewhat… perplexing. No other way to put it, really. The kid they'd been chasing, the reason for this whole damn mess, was standing right in front of them, willingly.
And for what? For what purpose?
They had no clue.
The order had been simple enough: bring the child.
But simple orders, in his experience, often led to the most convoluted of paths. And this had been a wild goose chase, a damn marathon of confusion that had landed them here, in this oh-so green, forgotten corner of the world, with a kid who looked as bewildered as they felt.
Glenn let out a sigh, the sound rough and tired.
Glenn: ["Whatever… this whole damn thing's too much to wrap my head around."]
A voice, a bit too eager, cut through his thoughts.
???: ["Boss?"]
Glenn grunted, eyes still fixed on the small figure before him.
Glenn: ["Nothing, Tyrell. Just… get the rope."]
Lacerta, the child in question, tilted his head, a flicker of understanding—or perhaps apprehension—crossing his face at the implication.
Glenn, unconcerned, simply offered a shrug, not even bothering to look at Tyrell as he bustled off to retrieve the requested item from their small encampment.
Glenn: ["Sorry, kid. Wouldn't do to drag you in front of the big man looking all… presentable. Gotta maintain appearances, y'know?"]
Lacerta blinked, a small frown creasing his brow.
Lacerta: ["Well… I suppose I get what you mean? But what's this 'big man' all about anyway?"]
Glenn tilted his head, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
Glenn: ["Hrn… well, since you're soon going to find out yourself, I guess a little heads-up wouldn't hurt. Basically, he's… powerful. Powerful and peculiar. There aren't many folks I can't get a read on, but he's definitely one of them."]
Seeing Lacerta's continued silence, Glenn decided to elaborate, the words tumbling out with a weary familiarity.
Glenn: ["… In simpler terms, that means he's unpredictable as a storm. Could want you as a slave, could want you to be his personal pickpocket, or he might just want you dead because you glanced at him the wrong way a few years back. Though, that last one's probably a long shot, considering you're just a brat, but you get my drift, right?"]
A nerve twitched in Lacerta's cheek. The word—brat—sank into his ears and immediately curdled his mood. He understood the logic, of course, he wasn't exactly an idiot, but understanding didn't stop the jab from landing precisely where it was meant to. With cheeks puffed out in a way that only served to prove Glenn's point, he shot back.
Lacerta: ["…Rude."]
A low chuckle escaped Glenn's throat, a gravelly sound that vibrated in his chest. The boy's indignation was so predictable, so perfectly childish, it almost brought a genuine smile to his face. Almost.
Glenn: ["Oh? Did I strike a nerve? Doesn't make the truth any less true, brat."]
He broke eye contact before Lacerta's glare could fully ignite, turning his gaze toward the empty path leading to their small encampment.
The flicker of amusement died instantly, snuffed out and replaced by a familiar, grating impatience. A sharp click of his tongue echoed in that short silence.
Glenn: ["Goddamn that idiot… How hard is it? How hard can it possibly be to find a single coil of damn rope...?"]
His voice, a low growl moments before, now dripped with a tint of frustration that had nothing to do with the pouting child beside him. He dragged a hand through his matted hair, knuckles brushing against his scalp with bruising force.
Glenn: ["We're bandits, for shit's sake! Bandits! We loot, we pillage, we tie people up! By all rights, we should have enough rope with us to hang every last noble from here to Guaral! And he can't find one measly piece!?"]