Enslaved | Jongsang

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As he peered at the indifferent moon, a bitter lament quivered off his lips. To Jongho, somehow, the moon seemed red, a menacing, bloody red.

Maybe this was it, his time of redemption; to rinse off all those sins staining his hands, with his own blood. But if he were to die here, he wouldn't even have the satisfaction of being buried in the chest of his motherland he'd so ardently served.

The blood from his ripped obliques was painting the mares white silky coat in a deep red. Her gallops inaudible against the clatter of hooves getting closer, closer to his impending peril.

His Master had been perfectly sure that his immaculately laid plan won't be outsmarted, but here they were, being chased by a swarm of patrol guards.

"To the Marquess's Tent." Seonghwa laid their next course of action.

"Do you want to get both of us killed?" The respect was thrown out of the window during such dire circumstances.

With a tsk of disapproval, he made his point, "Those low ranks could never even fathom we'd take the most precarious path. And actually, we don't have a choice."

The mentioned tent was at the end of the whole battalion's base, so after passing it, it's only the woods between the borders to cross. Simple; that's if they can make it up till there.

But why was it so terrifying this time? In a war, he knew his comrades would be there alongside, treat him if wounded, and albeit he died, they'll be there to turn his bravery into folklores. But this was so tragic, no one would know if he died that day or was tormented for a decade before being killed, a cold end in anonymity.

This literally outlandish espionage had taken a lethal turn.

Jongho tried to shake the thought and prayed to the Heavens for mercy. As if his ardency were responded to, he turned back and Hallelujah, the divergence did make them outrun the guards.

An unsettling relief washed over him, coursing through the foliage, he breathed out, 'God- If I get out of this alive-' But just as he was to finish, he saw a figure standing between them and their freedom.

The two guards of monarch exchanged a glance, and he saw something vile surfaced in Seonghwa.

"Master," The Royal Guard muttered, implicitly warning him to not do anything rash.

"Go get him, we are taking him with us."

"This aversion won't stall them for too long. We need-"

"Do as I say!"

The said person turned abruptly at the sudden disturbance, to meet the penetrators of his peace.

Jongho's wits wavered at that moment.

As if it was not a human but a Seraph, sent by the Lord he had beseeched to spare his life, to take his hand and lead him out of this harrowingly grim situation. He swooned as he looked at the face; if angels existed, they would've surely looked like this.

"Now!"

Snapping out of his wonderment, the subordinate obeyed instantaneously.

Oh.

He saw it now, after hurling himself; the stranger was wielding a dagger.

All of it happened and ended in a single heartbeat.

With a slithering seasoned movement, knocking the weapon out of his grip, he threw himself and the stranger on the ground and pressed him under his weight, covering his mouth with his big hand, not letting a single sound escape his throat.

"Knock him out, tie his hands and get him on the horse. Quick."

As if the words snapped him out of the daze, the still form beneath him was now squirming, trying to get out of his grip. Tears trickled down those terrified eyes, wetting his fingers as he gripped hard on his mouth.

Against his will to harm the dainty, with a single strike on his tenth cranial nerve, Jongho rendered him unconscious and tied his hands into captivity.

Leaving no trace behind, they disappeared into the woods with their catch.

But would this silk stoking, limp in his arms, however, be enough to save their foiled infiltration?