Serot had brutally slaughtered Maria. However, why he had settled for merely exiling Befar became a question mark within the Brotherhood. After the events, Mervilion approached Rylen. Seeing Mervilion coming toward the garden, Murple pulled her darkened purple, wavy hair away from Rylen and helped him straighten up. Rylen was overwhelmed with guilt for what he had caused.
"Why are you unhappy?" Mervilion asked.
"Today, you ensured the death of a traitor and the exile of another. In a single day, thanks to you, we rid ourselves of two traitors. Yet instead of feeling pride, you cower in fear, whining like a baby in this witch's lap. You should be proud, Rylen." Hearing the word "witch," Murple felt slightly offended, yet she agreed with Mervilion.
"If it weren't for you, who knows what those traitors might have done to us, Rylen. I think you should be proud as well."
"I don't know. I—I only saw them and told you, Mervilion! It didn't have to go this far!" Rylen shouted toward him.
"What's done is done. We will wait for the night and see Serot's decision."
Inside, the cleaning continued. Maria's body was buried in the garden by Fatnir and Buyarn. However, they did not tell Serot.
After five long hours of darkness and tension, Serot stepped out of his room. Thoughtfully, he scratched and adjusted his long, black, dandruff-covered beard. The moment everyone saw him, they stood up at once. Serot moved toward a table near the garden gate.
"Sit," he said calmly.
Everyone, scattered across the tavern, watched Serot carefully. Straga stood beside him in deathly silence, scanning the surroundings.
"My comrades!" Serot began passionately.
"My brothers! For years, we have survived by stealing the gold of the kingdom and its common folk. We have done nothing else. People see us as a crawling gang of vermin. In their eyes, we are nothing but sons of whores! But the time has come to start putting an end to this perception. For months, we have been scraping by. The time to begin new stories, new adventures, and a new life is long overdue!"
"And how is that supposed to happen, Serot?" Kromnir couldn't help but ask.
"You all trust me, and I trust you. And I have a friend whom I trust more than anyone. He is a man obsessed with knowledge, and I believe he is over a hundred years old. Recently, he told me about something he found in the Quar Library. A treasure, at the far end of the world, in the Lagbrot Triangle."
"This sounds complicated, Serot. How are we supposed to trust this friend, and how will we even get to Jargyar? Lagbrot lies at the other end of the world," asked Mervilion.
"I trust my friend completely. He has risked his life many times to save mine. As for reaching Jargyar… that is the difficult part. A long journey awaits us. Because our goal is not only Jargyar. We need the key to this treasure. The exact location of the key is unknown, but there are four possibilities.
The first is an ancient ruin in the Northern Montragan Mountains.
The second is a cave on a beach west of the forests on Elwad Island.
The third is a monastery at the highest peak of the Southern Montragan Mountains.
And the fourth, in the Skerban Forest, within the underground dungeons of a massive tower on the slopes of Mount Skerban.
I will send some of you to each of these places."
"How are we supposed to enter Elwad, Serot? It is part of the Elven realm, and entering without the king's permission is nearly impossible," asked Burrei.
"Have you forgotten, Burrei? We are the most skilled thieves in the realm. Stealth is our greatest strength. I will assign each of you according to your abilities."
"And what about Skerban? To reach it, we must cross the Shadow Sea. Even small Vrafgarn patrols make that passage extremely difficult," asked Aftul.
"Do not worry. I have made an arrangement with an experienced pirate captain in the south of Revga. No matter how long it takes, he will wait for the team heading there and ferry them across the sea," Serot answered.
"Now, I will tell you who goes where."
Everyone became completely attentive.
"Burrei, Aftul, Avania, and Palwar—you will go to Elwad."
"What! You're separating me from my beloved?" Fatnir shouted, thinking of Burrei.
"You must make sacrifices, Fatnir."
"B-but I can't be without her."
"There is no 'but'! We must make every sacrifice for this mission." After those words, Fatnir fell silent.
"Buyarn and Firan—you will go to the Northern Montragan Mountains."
"Straga and I will go to the Southern Montragan Mountains."
"And finally—Murple, Mervilion, Kromnir, Rylen, Tarnash, and Sadagat. You will go to Skerban. You will travel as a larger group, because your path is more dangerous than the others."
"When do we set out, Serot? And what lies within this treasure?" Firan asked with pride.
"At dawn tomorrow. The treasure contains relics of the old Jadmar Kingdom and artifacts used in the wars of the First Age. Since you asked, you will prepare the horses and wagons before morning. And gather provisions—load all the tavern's supplies onto the wagons." Firan instantly regretted asking the question.
"Then tomorrow morning, our fate will be rewritten!" Kromnir shouted excitedly, and everyone joined him with pride and fervor.
As silence fell, they gathered by the fireplace and began to murmur a song named "Brotherhood":
From distant, shadowed seas,
Through elven woods and ruins in memories.
Mulraknar awaits our hand,
Great Raknar greets our band.
Let people see,
Does the Brotherhood still breathe?
Ancient lands and silent graves,
All shall bow before the brave.
Spears will break apart,
Blades will lose their heart.
Axes rise with bloody cries,
Heads will fall as battle flies.
For the Brotherhood is near,
Bound by blood, and forged in fear.
To distant seas we claim our right,
Through endless dark, we bring the fight.
With only minutes left before sunrise, everyone sat at the tables, ready to depart. Serot stepped out of his room.
"We're leaving!" he shouted, and everyone rushed outside.
There were 19 horses in total, along with two wagons. Since Rylen was afraid of horses and too ashamed to face the others, Mervilion pulled him up and seated him in front. The dwarves of the Brotherhood, Sadagat and Kromnir, didn't know how to ride. So one of the wagons was placed under Kromnir's control, while Sadagat, out of pure laziness, stretched himself among the barrels behind him, enjoying the fresh air. As for Serot, being the only one whose face was widely known, he had completely concealed his head beneath a hood.
At the city gates, the guards did not question them. These days, countless caravans were passing in and out of Evan. Once they left the city, Serot began to speak:
"We'll ride south for about ten hours. We'll stop somewhere along the slopes near the elven border. But first, I need to give each group a map—the maps of the possible key locations."
He handed the Elwad map to Aftul, the Northern Montragan map to Buyarn, and tossed the Skerban map to Sadagat, who was still lying down. He kept the Southern Montragan map for himself.
After a long time, the Brotherhood had finally left their tavern and set out on an adventure—the greatest one of their lives.
They rode for four hours, reaching the shadowy forests on the western slopes of the Northern Montragan Mountains, far from the city. Then, a roar echoed through the woods, shaking the Brotherhood to its core. Half-asleep, Sadagat jolted awake and looked at Serot.
"Stop, Serot! Mountain trolls!"
"Mountain trolls? What are they doing this close to settlements?" Serot asked.
"Stay sharp!" Sadagat warned, gripping his staff as he stood upright. A wave of fear swept through the Brotherhood. Everyone who could fight reached for their weapons.
After a few tense seconds of silence, the sound of heavy footsteps came rushing down from the mountain. A mountain troll charged toward them, barely twenty meters away. Everyone scattered on horseback, trying to surround it.
At that moment, an arrow fired by Burrei pierced the troll's right arm. He kept shooting. The troll, unable to keep up with the moving riders, simply ran wildly. Then, as if growing frustrated, it stopped and roared.
That was its end.
Buyarn struck its knee with his axe, bringing it crashing to the ground. A moment later, Straga drove his sword into its skull, finishing it.
But its death only brought more trouble.
Three more trolls descended from the mountain.
The Brotherhood instantly took battle positions. At that moment, Firan shouted:
"Why don't we just get the fuck out of here?! We have horses!"
"The wagons can't move fast with all that weight. You're not the only smart one!" Mervilion snapped back.
As the trolls charged, Sadagat made the first move. Whispering in ancient tongues, he struck his staff against the ground. His blue robes, along with his hair and beard, began to glow. Then, a great burst of flame erupted from his staff, setting the trolls' clothing ablaze.
Though disoriented, the trolls lashed out blindly.
Meanwhile, Rylen stayed back thanks to Mervilion. He pulled his bow, set an arrow, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. With absolute focus, he released it toward a troll's eye.
A perfect shot.
The troll collapsed instantly. The remaining two, blinded by flames, could barely see.
"Now can we get the fuck out of here?!" Firan shouted again.
"Yes. Move! Fucking Run!" Serot commanded.
And just like that, they escaped a deadly threat and fled, leaving the remaining trolls to burn.
"Wasn't Sadagat just some drunk?" Rylen asked Mervilion.
"How did he do that?"
"Sadagat was never an ordinary drunk, Rylen. He's a sage—older than any dwarf you've ever seen. He just prefers to hide it behind a bottle."
"How old is he?"
"Three hundred and thirty-four, I think."
Rylen was stunned. How could someone live that long?
"What about Tarnash? Why is he like that?"
"Tarnash is an elf, Rylen. A very old one."
"Then why is he… grey?"
"Six years ago, Sadagat and I went to the site of the Battle of Elfdif, hoping to find something of value. You may have heard of it—the battle where elves betrayed their own kind and fled with tons of gold. Tarnash was among those who died in that betrayal.
When we found him, he had a drawing of a woman in his pocket. Two children beside her. Most likely, they were killed after the battle as well.
When Sadagat saw him… he did something he had never tried before. For a moment, he saw Tarnash as his own son. He placed his hand on his chest and whispered something. I don't know what he did—but Tarnash came back to life.
He never removes his armor because he wants to be ready if he ever sees those traitors again. And the reason he barely speaks… is the wound in his throat. Every word hurts him. Of course… the betrayal plays its part too."
Rylen couldn't even respond. His blood ran cold, and he felt nothing but sorrow for Tarnash.
After six more hours of travel, they finally left the forests and reached their destination—the point where the Brotherhood would split.
Serot distributed the necessary equipment. They decided to leave the wagons behind and divided the supplies among the groups. Before parting, they chose to spend the night there.
But Mervilion had other plans.
"Serot, it would be better to leave before sunset. I don't want to keep that captain waiting."
"There's no need to rush, brother." The sun still had about three hours before setting.
"Do we have permission to go?"
"You may go, Mervilion. But be careful."
At that, Mervilion mounted his horse and bowed his head toward Serot. The rest of his group—Rylen, Murple, Sadagat, Kromnir, and Tarnash—did the same.
With six horses, they set out. Rylen rode in front of Mervilion, while Sadagat sat before Tarnash. Kromnir refused to ride with Murple, since she wasn't very skilled. Instead, for the first time, he chose to ride alone. They used two horses as pack animals and moved on.
But just as they departed, sounds came from the elven border.
A large elven patrol—nearly a hundred strong—was approaching the camp. Mervilion signaled his group to stop and observe.
For a moment, Tarnash mistook them for the traitors who had betrayed him—but quickly realized they were not.
Serot rose to his feet, watching carefully.
The patrol's apparent commander, dressed in yellow unlike the others in grey, approached a man clad in a full suit of metal armor. His face was hidden behind his helmet. The commander whispered something into his ear—too quiet for anyone to hear.
Then suddenly—
All the elves drew their swords and charged straight at the Brotherhood.
For a moment, everyone froze. Then they rushed to respond, reaching for their weapons and attempting to mount their horses—but there was no time.
They had to fight on foot.
Only Palwar tried to mount his horse—but an arrow pierced his chest before he could. The Brotherhood's dishwasher died where he stood.
The rest fought back in fury—and they held their ground. Nearly ten elves fell in the clash, while none of the Brotherhood were injured.
But fear took hold of Fatnir. He began climbing up the mountainside.
Mervilion and the others realized they stood little chance against such numbers.
But Kromnir thought otherwise.
"Come on then, you pink-asses!" he roared, charging forward on horseback for the first time, both axes drawn.
"Ah, to hell with this!" Mervilion shouted, joining him—and the rest followed.
With four horses, they launched a brutal charge. The battlefield turned into a sea of blood.
As the clash raged on, Mervilion realized things were going terribly wrong. He had already slain four elves—but before his eyes, Aftul, Avania, and Buyarn fell.
The Brotherhood's fiercest warriors died protecting their kin.
Then Mervilion saw him—the armored man.
The stranger noticed him as well and spurred his horse forward.
Mervilion quickly dismounted Rylen and told him to run.
They drew their swords and charged at each other.
As they closed in, Mervilion noticed something—
The sword in the stranger's hand was Ardenel. Befar's blade.
They clashed—and both were thrown to the ground. The stranger, struck in the helmet, was forced to remove it.
Mervilion's rage exploded.
It was Befar.
The two engaged in a deadly duel. Mervilion couldn't pierce Befar's heavy armor—but he deflected his strikes skillfully. The fight carried them up the mountainside.
Then—Mervilion landed a devastating blow to Befar's thigh.
But in the next moment, an elven rider struck Mervilion hard, sending him crashing down.
Befar seized the chance. Raising Ardenel high, he prepared to deliver the final blow.
"DIE!" he roared—
But suddenly, Fatnir's massive, heavy body came crashing down from above—straight onto Befar.
The impact shattered nearly every bone in his body.
Fatnir didn't survive.
But Befar… still lived.
Barely.
Unable to move.
Mervilion stepped forward and drove the finishing blow into his chest.
He took Ardenel and rushed back to his horse, mounting it quickly.
But when he looked around—
Bodies.
Everywhere.
His own group was alive.
But Serot and Straga were nowhere to be seen.
The rest… all dead.
The Golden Brotherhood, the terror of Muntland for years, had been shattered in less than an hour.
Mervilion turned to his group.
"RUN! RUN!" he shouted.
Taking Rylen with him, they fled south together.
"Traitor! Bastard!" they cursed as they ran.
But ahead of them…
A far greater trial awaited.