Prologue

Orda Rudochfie ordered his dark horse to stop for a moment with a watchful gaze. The surrounding trees were violet under the bluish moonlight. After listening to something for a while, Orda stomped his horse back on his way without haste. Many times his eyes darted to the edge of the path he was passing.

The movement in the thickets brought Orda to a halt again, his horse grunting and neighing softly. Orda drew the double-edged ax he threw onto his back. The handle of the object was rather long and silvery in color. Each blade bears a sign of a roaring tiger.

“Whoever you are, come out,” Orda said, his voice was firm yet still. Even so, a drop of sweat seemed to be dripping down his forehead.

The scrub rustled again. There was a sound of broken branches and a few seconds later the bushes opened, revealing a large man in a black robe and a blue mask. Other figures with almost the same appearance began to appear one by one from behind the bush or trees; some jumped down from the tree itself. There were about a dozen of them. Each carried a weapon similar to a black-handled cone. Orda knows what a weapon is. The Sword of Stake, people call it.

The black gang surrounded Orda while his horse neighed restlessly. Understanding seemed to be created in the eyes of the beleaguered man.

“What makes you think I deserve to be followed and surrounded like this?” Orda said stiffly as he looked at one of them who appeared first.

“What makes you think that we can't block you here?” the big man asked back in a deep voice that was so cold.

Orda's eyes narrowed. His horse was grunting frantically and he tried to calm it as best he could.

“You Lor people, never had enough to inflict suffering on others!” Orda hissed sharply. “For whatever's in this world, step aside!”

Someone chuckled and scoffed, “Or what, coward?”

The big man took another step forward, looking like the leader of the gang. The man stuck his left hand into his trouser pocket, while his right hand reached out as if he wanted to ask something.

“We know you brought something, you runner Suuvoc,” said the man again. His voice was still as cold as the Sea of ​​Death. “Give me that thing and you're free to go. Alive.”

“As you can see, blocker.” Orda grinned and stretched out his arms, sneering. “I only brought the ax, the clothes and the robe I wore. After all, why should you feel the need to get hold of these trivial things?”

“Zanxer!” his enemy spoke a name angrily. “You know very well what it is, damn White man! Give it to me, or you will die!”

“I don't want to die.” Orda grinned again, his expression pale and strange under the blue moonlight. “I must add, I am sorry. I don't have anything you talk about. Just go to hell!”

The big man suddenly jumped at Orda and slashed his strange weapon. The movement was so fast and sudden. Orda parried it with an ax, making a strange clanging sound from the impact of the two.

However, the sudden attack shocked Orda too much to knock him off his horse and crashing hard. He snorted in pain, but immediately stood up even though his body was a little wobbly. His horse reared up, then ran somewhere.

“I guess I know where the hell is you mean, coward,” said the enemy heartlessly. He turned to his other friends. “How about the idea of ​​looking for hell in the heart of this White guy?”

“Sounds exciting,” someone replied.

The eleven people armed with Stake Swords charged at the same time, accompanied by a compact roar that sounded odd in the silence of the forest. Orda deflects several of them with fast, well-practiced movements. However, the strange sensation caused by the impact of the two different types of weapons made Orda's arm hurt from time to time.

In the third minute Orda struggled to swing his ax again. There were too many opponents to face. His ax stopped in midair when he suddenly jerked forward. White blood gushed out from his mouth. He stared down stiffly. The last thing Orda saw in his life was the tip of a black cone piercing his chest. The stake was then pulled by force and Orda fell to his knees. The hole the weapon had left in Orda's back hissed as if it had just caught fire.

Without waiting for anything else, the gang then looked for something in the body of the dead Orda. When finished, one of them shook his head at the big man. The man didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes hardened and his fists clenched.

“They changed plans, huh?” the big man hissed, furious.

“But our Argas says that this Daga[1] will pass through the Moa Forest to the capital,” said another.

The big man looked down and stared at the dead Daga below him, as if Daga's name Orda was just a caterpillar that was accidentally stepped on.

“So true,” the big man said quietly. His blue, white-patterned eyes sparkled behind his blue mask. “Too bad the stupid Argas didn't say that there would be 'two' Daga to be sent by Suuvoc.”

His friends know poor Argas's life will stop soon. They had failed to get what they were looking for because the misinformation he provided was incomplete.

However, as people know about the reputation of this organization, they will never stop.

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[1] Daga: messenger from Suuvoc