He wasn't entirely sure this would work, but it was the only thing he had—the only card left to play that might convince them.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Nyx reached into the inner lining of his tattered, dirt-streaked coat. His fingers brushed against something cold and solid. He grasped it carefully and pulled it out—a small, worn medallion, partially covered in grime and flecks of dried ash. Despite the filth, a faint golden gleam broke through as it caught the dim light filtering through the trees.
The emblem was unmistakable, even in its battered state: twin lions encircling a blazing sun, their forms intricately engraved in a style only known to the palace craftsmen. The royal seal of the Guard.
Nyx stepped forward just enough for them to see it clearly. He held it between two fingers, steady despite the pounding in his chest, and let the silence stretch for a moment.
"This," he said, his voice low, edged with something quiet but resolute.
He didn't know exactly what the medallion was. Not truly.
He had taken it from the robe of the black-dressed woman—the one who had saved him from those assassins. Right before he lost consciousness, he had reached out instinctively, and his fingers had brushed the medallion pinned to her robe. Without thinking, he had torn it free and clutched it tightly as darkness swallowed him.
He didn't truly know how much authority this medallion carried—but one thing he was certain of: it belonged to someone high up in the chain of command.
There was weight to it, not just in the way the metal pressed against his palm, but in its very design—the craftsmanship, the detail, the unmistakable aura of importance. No low-ranking soldier or rogue mercenary would ever carry something like this. It was forged for someone significant… someone powerful.
And more than that, Nyx knew—he felt—that this badge didn't come from the wrong side of the war. It wasn't born of cruelty or shadows. No dark cult or villainous faction would ever craft something so regal, so proud. The golden crest of the twin lions circling the sun radiated nobility, strength, and protection.
This medallion was a symbol of justice.
A mark of the good.
He hadn't intended to reveal the medallion. Not at first.
There was always a risk—too many in this world wore masks, and showing the wrong symbol to the wrong person could be the same as painting a target on your back. Nyx wasn't naïve enough to believe that all strangers were good, especially in a forest where monsters roamed and trust could be a fatal mistake.
But when the man in red mentioned having a friend who served as a knight in the kingdom, something shifted. That single detail—small as it was—sparked a quiet certainty in Nyx's mind. These weren't rebels or outlaws. They weren't enemies of the crown.
They were citizens.
People tied to the kingdom, to order… maybe even to justice.
So as he held out the medallion, exposing a piece of whatever fragile identity he had left, all he could truly do was hope.
Hope that these strangers were decent.
Hope that they weren't hiding knives behind their silence.
Hope that they would see the crest and recognize the oath it represented—not as a threat, but as a plea for unity.
He swallowed hard, chest tight with uncertainty, and thought quietly to himself:
'Please… let them be good people.'
The moment the emblem caught the light, the man in red froze. His eyes widened in disbelief as he took a cautious step forward, his voice trembling.
"Y-you're really from The Obsidian Vow? The ones who serve only at the word of Her Majesty—the Empress herself?"
The weight of the name hung heavy in the air. Even the second man, who had been silently skeptical until now, stiffened with wide eyes. Recognition dawned on his face, followed quickly by a mix of awe and unease.
Nyx blinked once, masking the confusion that stirred within him. He had no idea what The Obsidian Vow truly was—only that the crest had belonged to the woman who saved his life. Still, if this name held power, if it earned their trust… then he would let it carry him.
He gave a small, firm nod.
Nyx seized the moment before they could overthink it. He stepped forward and spoke quickly, his voice laced with urgency.
"So now you believe me—I'm truly from the royal palace. I didn't show you this from the beginning because we're strictly forbidden to reveal our badge to strangers. But I made an exception… because I needed you to trust me."
The crest still glinted faintly in his hand, the grime unable to fully mask its weight.
Seeing the crack of belief forming in their expressions, Nyx pressed harder, his tone sharpening.
"We have only a few moments left—at most—before those monsters get here. That's all the time we've got. So I'm asking you one last time…"
He looked them both in the eyes, gaze unwavering.
"Are you with me?"
This time, there was no hesitation. The fear remained, but it was no longer paralyzing. The two men exchanged a glance, then nodded—firmly, without a word.
They both turned to each other, locking eyes for a brief moment, as if silently exchanging a final wordless agreement. Then one of them spoke, his voice steadier now, though still tinged with fear.
"Tell us what we need to do. We'll do it."
For a heartbeat, Nyx stared at them—stunned. He hadn't expected the medallion to hold such weight, such unquestionable authority. The shift in their attitude was almost instant. If he'd known this emblem could earn that kind of trust, he might have shown it from the beginning.
But perhaps it was better this way.
Now, the hesitation that once clouded their eyes had vanished. All that remained was fear—yes—but it was no longer the fear of Nyx or his plan. It was the primal kind, the kind that came with knowing death was closing in fast. And beneath that fear, blooming quietly like a desperate prayer, was hope.
Hope that they might survive this forest.
Hope that maybe—just maybe—this stranger could lead them out alive.
And Nyx gave them exactly what they needed—what they were searching for in his eyes.
Confidence.
He straightened his back and met their gazes with unwavering calm, his expression radiating assurance as if his plan was carved in stone. The flicker of doubt that had lingered in the air began to dissolve under the weight of that look. It was the kind of confidence that made people believe—even if only because they had no better choice.
"I'm already bleeding a little," he began, his voice clear and steady, "so if I hide ahead of you two, the bloodsucker monsters will pick up my scent. They'll sense me."
He let the words sink in for a moment, watching their faces closely before continuing.
"That's why… if either of you have a knife, or anything sharp, you'll need to wound yourselves—just slightly. Enough to let a bit of blood flow. That way, it won't just be my scent in the air. It'll confuse them… dull their senses. Give me the opening I need."
His tone never wavered. Even as he spoke of pain and blood, it was as if he were discussing a calculated step in a dance.
Because for him… this was a performance he couldn't afford to fail.
"They're stronger than us in raw power," Nyx said, his voice low but firm, "but their thirst for blood—that's their weakness."
He narrowed his eyes, the glint of strategy gleaming behind them. "They lose focus when they smell it. That's when they stop thinking, and that's when we strike."
"If both of you are bleeding—just enough for the scent to carry—and stand on opposite sides of the road, hidden behind the trees, the monsters will catch the smell and assume you're easy prey," Nyx explained, his tone calm but urgent.
"They'll come straight for you, probably split up to attack from both sides. That's when I'll strike—while their backs are turned and their attention is fixed on you. I'll come at them from behind before they ever reach you."
He looked at them both with steady eyes, making sure they understood—not just the plan, but the trust he was placing in them.
After hearing the plan, fear flickered in their eyes—but they still nodded in agreement. With a silent understanding between them, all three stepped out of the carriage, the cold forest air brushing against their skin like a warning.
The two men grabbed small knives from the carriage—plain, sharp, and just enough to draw blood. Their hands trembled slightly as they gripped the hilts, already imagining the sting to come.
As they were about to separate, heading toward their respective positions along the shadowy road, Nyx suddenly raised a hand to stop them.
"Wait a minute…" he said, his voice low but commanding, eyes narrowing as a new thought struck him.