Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

Medea's instincts kicked in immediately. "Ambush!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.

Before Adrian could react, a volley of arrows came whistling from the dense brush on either side of the road. The envoy scattered, guards raising their shields to block the incoming arrows.

Chaos erupted as horses reared and men shouted orders, scrambling to form a defensive circle.

Adrian's heart raced as he drew his sword, feeling its familiar weight in his hand. His eyes darted toward the tree line, where figures emerged from the shadows—rough, hardened men with makeshift armor and hungry eyes.

Bandits.

Medea was already off her horse, her blade drawn, with a calm focused look on her face. "Stay sharp," she muttered to Adrian, her eyes flicking between the advancing thieves.

The leader of the thieves, a towering man with a scar running across his cheek, stepped forward, with his sword drawn. "Hand over your coin and provisions, and we might let you leave with your lives!" he bellowed in a thick, confident voice.

Faolan, who had ridden back upon hearing the commotion, barked orders at the guards to form a line. "We won't be negotiating with thieves!" he shouted, trying to rally the men.

Adrian's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his sword. He glanced at Medea whose gaze was locked on the leader of the thieves. "I don't think they're in the mood for talking," Adrian muttered.

The thieves lunged forward with a battle cry, and the guards surged to meet them, swords clashing, metal on metal.

Adrian moved with practiced precision, parrying the first blow from an attacker before driving his sword into the man's chest. His movements were fluid, instinct taking over as he sidestepped another blow and swung his blade in a wide arc, felling another bandit.

Medea fought beside him, her movements a deadly dance. She dispatched her foes with brutal efficiency, her blade cutting through the air like a whisper of death. Every strike was calculated, every motion deliberate.

More bandits poured from the woods, their numbers greater than anticipated. Adrian's pulse quickened as the fight intensified. He caught a glimpse of Faolan out of the corner of his eye, struggling to hold his ground against a particularly vicious attacker.

"Stay alive, Faolan," Adrian called mockingly with a sarcastic voice. "Wouldn't want to miss out on more of your charming company."

Faolan scowled, barely blocking a strike aimed at his head. "Focus on the fight, boy!" he spat, but Adrian could hear the strain in his voice.

Medea dispatched another thief with a brutal downward strike, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of battle. She turned just in time to see Adrian engaged in a fierce clash with two bandits. He ducked under a wild swing, driving his sword through the second bandit's side before turning to face the other.

Adrian felt the heat of the battle coursing through him, his muscles screaming for more. His movements were faster, sharper than before. Each strike felt stronger, as if his body was drawing on some deep reservoir of power.

One of the thieves swung a mace at Adrian, but he parried the blow with ease. The thief snarled and charged again, but Adrian sidestepped, calling on the dark fire within him.

Flames flickered at his fingertips before engulfing his sword, and with one swift motion, he slashed through the bandit's chest, the dark fire consuming him in an instant.

The bandit's scream was cut short, his body collapsing into ash before it hit the ground.

Medea, having finished off her own attackers, glanced at Adrian with a look of approval. "You've improved," she remarked in an even but impressed tone.

Adrian's chest heaved with exertion, but he grinned, catching his breath. "Not enough to beat you, though."

She smirked, wiping her sword clean on a fallen thief's tunic. "No, not yet." She sheathed her blade, scanning the field. "But you're on your way there."

The battlefield had quieted, and the remaining thieves had either died or fled into the woods. The guards were regrouping, gathering the wounded and securing the area.

Faolan, covered in dirt and sweat, stumbled toward them, his face red with exertion. "We need to move," he barked, clearly trying to assert some semblance of control. "There could be more of them."

Medea shot him a cold look, her expression unreadable. "We're not running scared from a few thieves."

Faolan scowled but didn't argue, too winded from the fight to muster a response.

Adrian looked around, taking stock of the aftermath. The guards had held their own, but it was clear that without his and Medea's intervention, the outcome could have been much worse.

His thoughts returned to the map, the temple, and the mission that still lay ahead.

"We'll need to be more careful from here on out," he said to Medea, his voice low enough that Faolan wouldn't overhear. "Something tells me this won't be the last surprise on this journey."

Medea nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning the treeline. "Agreed. But we'll be ready."

Adrian glanced over at Faolan, who was barking orders at the guards, trying to rally them for the next leg of the journey. Adrian shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "And as for him," he muttered, "he'll have to get used to the fact that I'm not going anywhere."

Medea chuckled softly, her gaze hardening as it rested on Faolan. "He'll learn soon enough. And if he doesn't..." Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. Faolan would face consequences if he tried to push too hard.

With the thieves routed and the guards back in formation, the envoy resumed its march toward Brenden, the tension lingering in the air but kept at bay for the moment.

Adrian and Medea rode side by side, their senses sharp and ready for whatever lay ahead.

The journey continued, but in the back of Adrian's mind, the shadow of the temple loomed larger with every mile. Something was waiting for them—something dangerous. He could feel it.

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