The large man's punch came so fast that Alaric, who had initially braced to block it, ended up choosing to hold back. He wanted to protect the boy first. His body twisted halfway as he reached out to grab the child's small shoulder, shielding him from harm. But that protective move left him wide open.

Thud!

A brutal blow slammed into the side of his face with a sickening thud. Alaric's head snapped to the left, and for a moment, everything tilted. His ears rang, his vision wavered like ripples in a pond. The taste of iron filled his mouth as he staggered back, the ground beneath his boots soft but unyielding.

He steadied himself with a sharp inhale, grounding his stance in the grass. Pain flared across his cheek, hot and pulsing, but his expression didn't waver. His eyes remained fixed and cold. Like steel forged in fire. Unyielding, defiant, utterly unafraid.

The boy flinched, his eyes going wide in terror. He backed up quickly, hiding something behind his back. His hands were trembling, but his grip never loosened. From the look in his eyes, it was clear he was holding onto something with all his might. Something he was willing to be chased and even beaten for.

Alaric blinked once, then turned toward the large man, a frown deepening on his brow. "Why are you chasing this kid? Do you have a problem with him?" he asked firmly, the question laced with barely concealed curiosity.

The man didn't answer. He rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket until the fabric bunched at his elbows. The thick skin of his muscular arms was revealed, decorated with black, winding tattoos that clearly spoke of a hard life and a violent past... tattoos he was clearly showing off, like a warning.

Alaric didn't flinch, but the child behind him looked even more frightened. His eyes were fixed on the tattoos like they were marks of a demon.

"No need for small talk," Alaric said coldly, standing tall again even though his cheek still stung from the surprise blow. "Just answer the question."

The man let out a short laugh. "That kid," he said loudly, jerking his chin toward the boy. "He took something from me. And he needs to give it back."

Alaric paused, eyebrows tightening. Confusion stirred in his thoughts. "Took something? What could a child possibly steal from a man like that?"

He slowly turned to face the boy again. Lowering himself to one knee, Alaric crouched until he was eye level with the child. His expression softened, and his voice shifted into something gentle. Completely different from the tension of just moments before.

"Can I see what you're hiding behind your back? What is it? Did you really take something?" he asked.

Alaric still harbored greater suspicion toward the big man than toward the boy. But he knew the truth the child held was key to understanding what was really at stake.

Even as he looked at the boy with kindness, Alaric remained on high alert. His body leaned slightly forward, one arm subtly positioned to block or strike back if the tattooed man dared attack from behind.

The boy finally found the courage to speak, though his voice came out as a trembling whisper. His lips quivered, and his brows pinched together in a look of heartbreak and determination. Tears welled at the corners of his wide eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He looked straight into Alaric's eyes—searching them for safety, for the permission to speak the truth he had carried like a weight on his chest.

"He's a criminal," he said quietly. Then his voice rose, bursting from a chest that had held back too much for too long. "He kidnapped children and made them work. Even though they're just kids! My little brother disappeared... and he's one of the victims. They need to be stopped!"

The words hung heavy in the cold air. A breeze rolled in from the lake, as if carrying the weight of the truth further, deepening the tension in the moment. The three of them locked eyes. Alaric's gaze never left the thug's face, not for a second, as that single, undeniable truth hit home.

That answer was far bigger than anything Alaric had anticipated. The pieces clicked into place and his gut had been right all along. This boy wasn't lying. What he guarded so fiercely behind his back wasn't just a trinket or some petty stolen item.

It was evidence, tangible proof of something far darker, something sickening. A cruel underground network that exploited the most innocent. Rage simmered just beneath Alaric's skin, his jaw tightening. He had seen corruption before, but this... this was vile in a way that shook even his seasoned instincts. He felt a sudden surge of responsibility, not just to protect the boy. But to bring this entire operation crashing down.

The tattooed man let out a guttural growl, like a cornered beast. The boy's outburst wasn't just brave—it was a direct threat. His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging in his arms. His rage was moments from spilling over.

Without a second thought, Alaric moved. He pulled the small body close, wrapping an arm protectively around the boy's shoulder. His stance made it clear: no one was going to lay a hand on this child again.

"You need to go to the police," Alaric said loudly, his voice shifting into a command.

The man let out a harsh, raspy laugh. "I'm not going anywhere! Who the hell do you think you are, huh? You little punk!"

The thug's eyes burned with fury. He took a heavy step forward, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. Each step made the ground beneath him tremble. He was clearly ready to strike again, more brutally than before.

Alaric didn't move back. He dipped his head slightly, studying every twitch of his opponent's body. In an instant, he made a decision. He couldn't let the boy be caught in the crossfire. With a swift feint, he yanked the child's hand and pulled him slightly to the side, then spun them around.

It wasn't just a dodge. It was a repositioning. Now the boy was tightly at Alaric's side, while the large man was forced to shift his stance or risk losing sight of his target.

Alaric stayed alert. His breathing was deep, his shoulders tense. The fight wasn't over. In fact, it was just beginning.

Then Alaric pointed toward the lake's edge, barely visible through the gaps in the trees. There, tethered to a crooked wooden dock, a small boat rocked gently with the rhythm of the water. The lake shimmered under the fading light, its surface calm, masking the urgency of the moment.

The old boat looked weathered, almost forgotten. But to them, it was salvation. It was freedom. The boy followed Alaric's gaze. His breath catching. That fragile vessel, bobbing softly in the breeze, now held the weight of their hopes. He had never set foot in a boat before, but in that moment, he knew it was their only way out.

They both held their breath. The boy nearly broke down into tears. Alaric gave his shoulder a reassuring tap, silently urging him to stay quiet. He crouched lower behind the tree, his eyes sharp, tracking every movement the thug made.

Time seemed to slow. The man looked left and right, his face twisted in rage, but finally moved a few meters away. Still cautious—but at least creating a window.

The boy quickly reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out something small, wrapped in a worn cloth. The very thing that had caused all of this. With shaky hands, he nearly tossed it into the bushes.

But Alaric grabbed his wrist before he could.

"No," he said firmly. His eyes locked with the boy's, steady and full of conviction. Then he pointed through the trees toward the lake's edge. There, tied to a rickety wooden dock, a small boat bobbed gently with the waves.

Alaric's eyes flashed. "That's our way out."

The boy swallowed hard, doubt written all over his face. "Are… are you sure, sir?"

Alaric nodded. "I'm sure. Just trust me. Even if we fail, we'll still have a chance. But if you throw away that evidence, it'll all be for nothing."

Silence settled between them once again. The boy stared at the boat, that fragile sliver of hope rocking in the distance. Then, slowly but resolutely, he nodded and tucked the item back into his pocket.

Alaric gave his shoulder another gentle pat, then nodded toward the path ahead. Together, they crept out from behind the trees, inching their way toward the shore. Every snapping twig, every whisper of wind felt like it could give them away. But they had a clear goal now—the boat.

And not far behind them, the tattooed man was still prowling the woods, sniffing out his prey like a wild beast that had lost its trail.

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