Chapter Six - The Search

  The forest was quiet.

  Vecht and Alura moved with purpose, but the weight of the ambush still clung to them like a second skin.

  Vecht exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his ribs. The dull throb of pain from Dain’s strike flared with every step, but pushed through it. He had no choice.

  Alura, on the other hand, was composed. Her bow remained in her grip, her sharp gaze flicking between the trees, the river, and the terrain ahead. Checking for threats. Checking for signs of Lucan.

  Neither had spoken much since their escape. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t an empty one. It was calculated. Strategic.

  But Vecht couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  “We need to find him.”

  Alura didn’t react at first. Then, after a pause, she spoke. “We don’t even know if he’s alive.”

  Vecht turned sharply toward her. “He’s alive.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “He has to be.”

  Alura met his gaze, her green eyes searching his face for something. She sighed. “Even if he is, we have no idea where the river took him.”

  Vecht refused to accept that.

  “We track him,” he said simply.

  Alura’s expression remained neutral. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? The river’s fast, Vecht. He could’ve been carried miles away. And without his relics or his weapons—”

  “We track him,” Vecht repeated, cutting her off. His voice was quieter this time, but no less resolute.

  Alura studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Fine. Let’s think this through.”

  They moved back toward the river, keeping their steps light and deliberate.

  “If you were Lucan,” Alura murmured, eyes scanning the terrain, “where would you go?”

  Vecht frowned, thinking. “He’d get out of the water as fast as possible. Find cover.”

  “Would he move inland or follow the river?”

  Vecht exhaled slowly. “Depends on what he lost. If he still had his daggers, he might’ve gone deeper into the trees to stay hidden. But if he lost them…”

  “Then he’d need to find a weapon first,” Alura finished.

  Vecht nodded. “Which means he’d be looking for a camp. Or a vulnerable group.”

  Alura’s gaze turned toward the trees, considering. “We need to check the riverbank. Look for anything disturbed—footprints, drag marks, broken branches.”

  They split slightly, keeping within earshot of each other as they scanned the area.

  It didn’t take long before Alura stopped abruptly. “Vecht.”

  He turned, stepping toward where she crouched near the river’s edge.

  A set of deep grooves marked the wet earth—a log had been dragged here.

  Vecht’s pulse quickened. “That’s Lucan.”

  Alura ran her fingers over the indentations. “The current was too strong for him to swim out easily. He must’ve grabbed onto something.”

  Vecht pointed farther ahead, where the ground looked more disturbed. “And he made it to land.”

  As they followed the faint trail leading away from the water, Alura suddenly tensed.

  Vecht noticed immediately. “What?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, listening.

  Then she turned her gaze toward the treeline.

  “Someone’s moving.”

  Vecht followed her line of sight. Through the shifting foliage, faint figures moved in the distance.

  A group.

  They weren’t running or moving erratically. They were searching for something.

  Or someone.

  Vecht clenched his jaw. “Do you think they saw him?”

  Alura didn’t answer right away. Instead, she crouched low, watching their movements carefully. Assessing.

  “If they did,” she finally murmured, “they might have chased him. Or they might have just seen the river take him.”

  Vecht exhaled, frustration creeping into his voice. “Either way, they might know something.”

  Alura’s expression remained unreadable, but she nodded slightly. “Then we track them.”

  Vecht’s eyes darted between the distant figures and the river. “We keep an eye on both,” he muttered. “In case Lucan left any other signs behind.”

  Alura didn’t argue. She adjusted her grip on her bow, her stance shifting.

  Then, without another word, they began to follow.

  Vecht and Alura moved swiftly, using the cover of dense foliage to conceal their presence. The group ahead of them was moving at a steady pace, their formation deliberate but not overly cautious. They weren’t expecting to be followed.

  That was a mistake.

  “How many?” Vecht whispered, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves.

  Alura’s sharp green eyes scanned over the figures ahead, tracking their movement. “Three.”

  Same as them. But numbers weren’t everything.

  “Do you recognize them?” Vecht asked.

  Alura hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “Not from our class. They must be from another one.”

  That complicated things. Lucan could’ve encountered them, or they could have just been passing through. Either way, Vecht needed answers.

  “We get closer,” he murmured.

  Alura shot him a sharp look. “Vecht, we don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  “We’ll find out,” he said. “We don’t engage unless we have to.”

  Alura exhaled through her nose but didn’t argue.

  They continued forward, moving with trained precision, avoiding twigs and loose earth that might give them away. Vecht had spent years moving like this—watching, waiting.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Alura was just as silent. She moved like a predator in her element, her bow lowered but ready.

  As they crept closer, the voices of the students carried through the air.

  “…said he got pulled downstream.”

  Vecht’s pulse quickened.

  Another voice responded. “He was fighting before that. If he made it out, he’s either hurt or unarmed.”

  Alura’s gaze flicked toward Vecht. They had heard enough.

  Lucan was alive.

  But that meant someone else had seen him.

  Vecht tensed. “We need to know what they saw.”

  Alura’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And how do you plan to do that? Walk up and ask?”

  “No,” Vecht said. “We cut them off.”

  The students were following a game trail—a narrow path winding through the forest, bordered by thick brush.

  Perfect.

  Vecht signaled to Alura, motioning toward an overgrown section ahead. If they moved fast, they could flank them before they reached the clearing.

  Alura nodded, disappearing into the trees.

  Vecht took the longer route, moving parallel to the trail. His ribs ached from the previous fight, but he forced himself to push through it.

  He reached the clearing first. Then he waited.

  Seconds stretched.

  Then—footsteps.

  The students stepped into view. Vecht moved.

  He emerged onto the path, cutting off their route forward. Alura stepped in behind them.

  The students froze.

  One, a dark-haired swordsman, immediately reached for his weapon. The second, a slender girl with a crossbow strapped across her back, raised a hand, stopping him. Her posture was relaxed but purposeful, the kind of stance that suggested agility and experience.

  The third, a sturdy-built student with a sword and shield, narrowed his eyes. “What is this?”

  Vecht kept his expression neutral, his grip on his sword firm. “We heard you mention a student being pulled down the river. We need to know what you saw.”

  The crossbow-wielder—likely the leader—crossed her arms. “And if we say no?”

  Alura shifted slightly, her fingers resting near her quiver. “Then we take the answers.”

  The swordsman’s eyes flicked between them, assessing. Then scoffed, “You want a fight?”

  Vecht didn’t blink. “If that’s what it takes.” His tone was cold and focused.

  The sword-and-shield fighter adjusted his stance, but not aggressively. More like he was preparing himself for an unnecessary fight. “We’re at the end of this exam,” he muttered. “We’re exhausted. We know when to fight and when not to.”

  The crossbow-wielder nodded. “If you think we’re wasting what little energy we have left on something pointless, you’re wrong.” She exhaled. “We don’t have relics to spare. If that’s what you’re after, look somewhere else.”

  Vecht kept his sword raised. “We don’t need relics. We need information.”

  The swordsman hesitated, then relented.

  “We saw him,” the girl admitted. “He was swept downstream. He got out. But if you’re looking for him, you’d better hurry.”

  Vecht’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

  The girl looked unimpressed. “Because he’s being hunted.”

  Alura stiffened. “By who?”

  The girl shrugged. “Didn’t recognize them. But they were tracking him before we left.”

  Vecht felt his pulse hammer in his ears.

  “Where?” Vecht demanded.

  The girl nodded toward the east. “There’s a ridge further down the river. That’s where we last saw movement.”

  Vecht didn’t waste another second. He turned on his heel, already moving.

  Alura was right behind him.

  They had wasted enough time.

  Lucan was out there, and they weren’t going to let anyone else find him first.

  The uneven terrain stretched ahead, twisting through dense foliage and over slick, moss-covered roots. Vecht and Alura moved quickly, but not recklessly—each step calculated, each movement deliberate. The urgency of finding Lucan pressed against them like a weight neither spoke aloud.

  The group they had confronted earlier had given them a direction. Now, all they could do was hope they weren’t too late.

  “He was unarmed,” Alura muttered, her voice clipped with frustration. “At least, when he fell into the river.”

  Vecht exhaled sharply. “If he’s smart, he’ll have found something by now.”

  Alura nodded. “He’s smart. But if someone else found him first…”

  She didn’t need to finish the thought. Vecht felt the same unease gnawing at him. Lucan was fast, but even he wouldn’t last long against an armed opponent without a weapon.

  Vecht forced himself to focus. “We find him,” he said. “And we fix it.”

  Alura gave a short nod, adjusting her bow as she kept stride beside him. The ground sloped downward, leading them toward the river. Sunlight trickled through the thick canopy above, streaking the forest floor in golden shafts.

  They were getting close.

  There were signs that something was wrong.

  Not silence—there was still the rustling of branches, the distant murmur of the river—but something was missing.

  The usual sounds of birds or small creatures scurrying through the undergrowth had faded. It was the kind of quiet that settled when something had passed through recently—something unnatural to the forest’s rhythm.

  Vecht slowed, searching the ground for tracks.

  Alura caught on immediately. “What is it?”

  He crouched, fingers brushing against a faint imprint in the dirt—a scuff mark, deep and uneven, like someone had been forced back. Nearby, broken branches and churned-up leaves hinted at a struggle.

  “Someone fought here,” Vecht murmured.

  Alura knelt beside him, eyes sharp as she studied the ground. Multiple sets of footprints, some deeper than others. There had been movement in all directions—a fast exchange.

  She pointed to a patch of dirt where the soil was most disturbed. “Looks like he held his ground. Then moved.”

  Vecht followed the trail with his gaze. The signs of movement curved toward the river—but not into it.

  Not again.

  “He got away,” Vecht said, rising. He could feel it. Lucan wasn’t the type to go down easily.

  Alura exhaled, tension easing slightly from her shoulders. “Then we’re not too late.”

  They continued forward, following the faint disturbances in the forest.

  Minutes later, they found it.

  A makeshift camp, abandoned but not long deserted.

  The fire pit in the center had been hastily stomped out, the embers still faintly warm. Around it, discarded bedrolls lay in disarray, and a few personal belongings—small rations, a waterskin—had been left behind.

  Alura’s keen eyes swept the scene, taking in every detail. “They left in a hurry.”

  Vecht moved to the far side of the camp, where the dirt was upturned, and the signs of another scuffle were clear.

  Weapons had clashed here.

  He spotted a wooden staff lying abandoned on the ground, dirt scuffed along its length as if it had been quickly tossed aside. A short distance away, deep gouges were cut into the bark of a tree, the kind made by a blade.

  His eyes locked onto something else—a discarded spear, half-buried in the dirt where it had been knocked loose.

  Alura crouched beside the staff, nudging it with the tip of her boot. “He used this.”

  Vecht nodded. “Briefly. But he ditched it.”

  Alura’s eyes went toward the tree, then to the spear. “Then he found something better.”

  Vecht bent down, pressing his fingers into the dirt near the fallen weapon. The imprint of a boot heel, positioned as if someone had pushed off mid-lunge, caught his attention.

  “He took someone down here,” he muttered. “Then kept moving.”

  Alura’s eyes scanned further, her expression thoughtful. Then, she gestured to a gap in the trees, leading toward rockier terrain.

  “This wasn’t random,” she said. “He moved deliberately. He knew where he wanted to fight.”

  Vecht exhaled. “The third fighter chased him.”

  Alura adjusted the quiver on her back. “And lost.”

  Vecht studied the evidence again. Lucan had led the fight somewhere he was more comfortable—then won.

  The realization settled in Vecht’s chest. “He’s out there,” he said. “and still moving.”

  Alura’s lips pressed together, but he caught the flicker of approval in her gaze. “So now he’s got weapons.”

  “So at the very least he's armed,” Vecht confirmed. “At least now he can fight properly.”

  Alura adjusted her bow. “The question is, where did he go after this?”

  Vecht scanned the ground. The terrain beyond the camp sloped downward again—toward another rockier part of the forest.

  He pointed ahead. “That’s where I’d go.”

  Alura nodded once. “Then we follow.”

  They moved swiftly, but cautiously. The air felt heavier now, charged with the lingering tension of a battle already fought. They stepped over the disturbed earth where the fight had taken place, past the spear half-buried in the dirt.

  Vecht kept his eyes on the ground, tracking where Lucan’s footprints led. They were lighter than the others, more precise—Lucan moved like a shadow, but he had still left traces. The indentations suggested a sprint, then an abrupt stop. The broken twigs along the incline ahead told the rest of the story.

  “He went uphill,” Vecht murmured.

  Alura adjusted her bow. “To higher ground. That makes sense.”

  They followed the trail through the dense undergrowth, their boots pressing into the damp soil but making little noise.

  Then, a sound.

  Faint. Almost imperceptible.

  Vecht barely breathed as he tilted his head, listening.

  It wasn’t the rustling of leaves. Not the wind. Not the distant rush of the river.

  Alura had already drawn an arrow, her stance rigid, her eyes locked onto a shadow through the trees.

  Figures.

  Two of them.

  Moving carefully, tracking.

  Vecht and Alura slipped behind the nearest cover—a thick wall of ivy wrapping around an old fallen tree—and observed.

  The first student was a lean, wiry fighter, dressed in dark-toned gear, his posture sharp and poised. His hand rested on the hilt of a curved sword, his fingers drumming against it absently as he scanned the area. He moved with purpose—controlled, focused.

  The second was a solidly built swordsman with a shield strapped across his back, armed with a longsword. His armor was scuffed, his stance more relaxed—but there was a sharpness in his gaze, like he was waiting for something.

  Alura’s lips barely moved. “They’re tracking him.”

  Vecht’s grip tightened on his weapon. “Then we stop them before they find him.”

  Alura nodded once, adjusting her grip on her bow.

  “On your signal,” she murmured.

  Then—the two students slowed.

  The lean fighter raised a hand, signaling for his companion to halt. His gaze swept the area, then settled just beyond the treeline. His fingers curled tighter around his sword hilt, his stance shifting ever so slightly—readying.

  The shielded swordsman turned his head, listening. Then he, too, adjusted his footing, his weight shifting forward.

  A silent understanding passed between them.

  They weren’t searching anymore.

  They were waiting.

  Vecht exhaled slowly, heart steady.

  “They think he’s coming to them.”

  Alura’s arrow remained drawn, her knuckles white against the grip.

  “We move,” Vecht said, eyes locked on the two figures.