Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 210: Dying As Shoto & Enjo.

Chapter 210: Dying As Shoto & Enjo.

Late Afternoon,

Battle Forest.

Critic-Ishire.

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Meanwhile,

The forest was a battleground, the air thick with the sounds of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded. The Caramel Skin Twins, Gabriel and Tom, fought side by side, their movements a coordinated dance of deadly precision. Their daggers flashed in the dim light, slicing through the air with synchronized ferocity.

Gabriel, his skin glistening with sweat, moved with an agility that belied his growing exhaustion. His brother Tom was a blur of motion beside him, their twin blades creating a formidable barrier against the advancing witches. The enemy’s eyes glowed with malevolent intent, their cackling laughter echoing through the trees as they launched their attacks.

"They brought kids to the playground" the magic practitioners taunted repeatedly.

In the midst of the chaos, a particularly vicious witch lunged at Gabriel, her nails sharp as claws. He parried her attack, his dagger deflecting her blows with practiced ease. But as he fought her off, another witch, hidden in the shadows, saw her opportunity. With a wicked grin, she raised her hand, and a jagged, dark blade appeared, its surface shimmering with dark magic.

Before Gabriel could react, the witch struck, her blade cutting deep into his shoulder. The pain was immediate and excruciating, a fiery line that burned through his flesh. "Ah!" Gabriel cried out, his voice a mix of pain and surprise. He stumbled back, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped through his fingers, staining his skin a deep crimson.

Tom, hearing his brother’s cry, turned in alarm. "Enjo!" he shouted, his voice filled with worry, he had slipped up and called his brothers real name. But there was no time to reach him, as he was beset by two witches, their laughter mingling with the sounds of battle.

Tom paled with fear and hurt.

Gabriel’s vision blurred as the pain intensified, each heartbeat sending waves of agony through his body. He fought to stay upright, his dagger still clenched in his hand, but his movements grew sluggish. The world around him seemed to spin, the forest a dizzying swirl of shadows and light.

The witches, sensing his weakness, pressed their advantage. They circled him like predators, their laughter cruel and mocking. "Look at him, barely standing!" one of them jeered, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He’s almost done for!"

Gabriel gritted his teeth, fighting the encroaching darkness. He knew he couldn’t give up, not while his brother and people were still fighting. But the blood loss was taking its toll, and he could feel his strength waning. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the overwhelming pain.

As he tried to fend off another attack, his movements slowed, the dizziness making it hard to focus. The witch before him sneered, raising her blade for another strike. But before she could land the blow, a dagger flew through the air, embedding itself in her throat. Tom, his eyes blazing with fury, had come to his brother’s aid.

"Stay with me, Enjo!" Tom shouted, his voice a lifeline in the sea of chaos Gabriel was almost drowning in. He fought his way to his brother’s side, their backs now against each other as they faced the encircling witches.

Gabriel nodded weakly, his grip on his dagger tightening despite the pain. Together, the twins fought on, their bond and determination driving them forward. The witches’ laughter turned to snarls of frustration as they realized the twins would not fall so easily.

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The forest was a cacophony of chaos and violence, with the clash of swords, shouts of warriors, and the groans of the wounded filling the air and from where Blanc had been left with the cart he could hear everything so he decided to move a bit after he noticed a movement. So amongst this turmoil, Blanc rushed through the underbrush, his heart pounding with urgency. He was a man of medium build but possessed an unyielding determination that drove him forward working for Theodore he had to be reliable. His dark eyes scanned the surrounding trees, seeking out the captives from the first hunting team, rumored to be bound and held for some dark ritual.

Blanc moved with swift, surefooted steps, his senses honed by years of service. The chill of the approaching winter nipped at his skin, but he paid it no heed. The forest was thick, and the path was treacherous, but he navigated it with practiced ease, ducking under low-hanging branches and leaping over fallen logs.

Ahead, through a gap in the trees, he spotted a small clearing. The tied up hunters that Theodore had seen earlier were an illusion the magic practitioners had set and if they had gotten closer enough to touch them they would’ve dissolved into nothingness which proved that it had been a trap to lure the next people which unfortunately for the witches, it was Theodore and his group.

In the center of the clearing, was a group of men lay bound, their hands and feet tied with rough, cruel knots. They were guarded by a pair of sinister-looking figures, cloaked in dark robes, their faces obscured by hoods. The captives’ faces were pale, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and exhaustion. They had clearly endured much during their captivity.

And if he could get past the guards they would be freed by him, he just didn’t understand why they left without lord Theodore’s approval.

Blanc’s grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger as he assessed the situation. The guards seemed preoccupied, their attention diverted by the sounds of the ongoing battle nearby. It was now or never. He crept closer, using the natural cover of the forest to stay hidden, his movements as silent as a shadow. If he could help the crew with this part it would be easier for them to leave with their hunts before the foes increased.

When he was within striking distance, Blanc sprang into action. He leapt from the underbrush, his dagger flashing in the dim light. Before the first guard could react, Blanc drove the blade into his side, twisting it sharply. The guard let out a strangled cry, collapsing to the ground.

The second guard turned, but Blanc was already upon him, delivering a swift, incapacitating blow to his temple with the hilt of his dagger.

With the guards dealt with, Blanc turned his attention to the captives. He knelt beside the nearest man, his hands working quickly to untie the cruel knots. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice calm but urgent. "I’m here to help." he reassured.

The captive nodded weakly, his gratitude evident despite his exhaustion. As Blanc worked, he could hear the battle continuing nearby, the sounds of swords clashing and men shouting a constant reminder of the danger still present.

One by one, Blanc freed the captives, his fingers deftly undoing the bonds that held them. The men, though weak, began to stir, their spirits lifting with the promise of rescue. "Can you walk?" Blanc asked one of them, a burly hunter whose face was streaked with dirt and sweat.

The man nodded, though he wobbled slightly as he stood. "Aye, we can manage," he replied, his voice rough but determined. "But we need to get out of here, quickly." he had seen how crazy those creatures can be.

Blanc helped the man to his feet, then moved to assist the others. He glanced around, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the forest for any signs of further threats. The battle was still raging, and there was no telling when more enemies might arrive.

In the midst of the battle, the other men fought with equal ferocity. Sir Conan, despite his leg wound, swung his sword with deadly precision. Hound, with an arrow protruding from his side after he broke the end, he fires arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark, he avoided combat because it triggered his dark side.

Theodore, his presence a commanding force, rallied them all, his sword cutting through the witches with powerful swings.

But the witches were relentless, their dark magic and vicious attacks testing the limits of the men’s endurance. Each moment was a struggle for survival, the forest echoing with the sounds of their desperate fight.

Gabriel’s vision continued to blur, the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he was on the verge of collapse, but he refused to give in. With Tom at his side, he found the strength to keep fighting, their combined efforts turning the tide of the battle.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the witches fell. The forest grew silent, the only sounds the labored breathing of the victorious men. Gabriel sank to his knees, his strength finally giving out. Tom was at his side in an instant, his face a mix of relief and concern.

"We made it, Enjo," Tom said, his voice gentle despite the exhaustion. "Just hold on a little longer. We will get you patched up."

Gabriel nodded weakly, "I told you I do not wish to be remembered with a faux name, Shoto," he mumbled, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Despite the pain and the dizziness, he knew they had won despite temporarily, the witches have significantly reduced. Together, they had faced the darkness and emerged victorious. The witches’ laughter was silenced, replaced by the quiet resolve of the men who had fought so fiercely for their lives. He has never loved the feeling of belonging as much as he does now.

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