After Rejection, she crawled to my feet for forgiveness

Arriving at the borderline

Meanwhile, at a mountainous landscape. A helicopter landed gracefully, Norman, Bethany and two other escorts stepped out. The Mountains were a little farther, crossing the territory of both nations. So technically they were still in Valkoria, about 20 ft away from Eldrida.

Norman sighed deeply, staring at the mountains. About to climb up before a noise caught his attention. He heard angry voices echoing down the dirt path. He turned to see a group of seven men surrounding an elderly man.  The old man was clutching an intricately carved wooden chest, its polished surface gleaming even in the dim light.

“Come on, old man,” one of them sneered, his tone dripping with menace. “Hand it over. Don’t make this difficult.”

“These are priceless heirlooms!” the old man protested, his voice trembling. “They belong to my family and this village. Generations of history are inside this chest! You can’t just take it!”

The apparent leader of the group chuckled darkly, stepping closer. “History? We’re not running a museum. Hand it over, or you’ll regret it.”

The old man hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t belong here, do you? You’re not from this town. Who are you?”

The leader’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it. “We’re locals, just like you. What, you don’t recognize your neighbors?”

The elderly man’s suspicion deepened. “Neighbors? I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen your faces. What’s going on here?”

Annoyed by his persistence, another man grabbed the old man by the collar and yanked him forward. “You’re asking too many questions. Maybe you need a lesson in minding your own business!”

The man yelped as he was thrown to the ground, the chest falling from his hands. The lock broke on impact, and a cascade of gleaming gold coins, intricately designed jewelry, and a few ancient scrolls spilled out onto the dirt. The old man scrambled to gather them, but one of the men kicked the chest, scattering the treasures further.

“Stop it!” the old man cried. “Please, these items are sacred!”

The leader crouched down, grabbing the man by the chin. “Sacred? Not anymore, old man. Now they belong to us. Stay down, and we might leave you in one piece.”

As the group began pocketing the treasures, another young man approached cautiously. “Hey! Leave him alone!”

The spies turned toward the new arrival, their eyes narrowing. “And who’s this hero?” one of them taunted.

The man balled his fists. “You don’t belong here. You’re not locals, are you?”

The leader’s grin faded entirely. “You’re pretty bold for someone unarmed. Maybe you need to learn what happens to meddlers.”

Two of the men moved toward him, who tried to back away, but they were faster. They knocked him down with a hard punch to the gut, and he crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.

The old man watched in horror. “Stop this! Do you think you'll get away with this? The Executioner will punish you!”

At the mention of the Executioner, the group hesitated briefly, their leader glancing toward the mountain range. Then he smirked. “The Executioner? In this remote village? Don’t make me laugh. He’s not some all-seeing god. Now, shut up and stay down.”

But before the group could continue, a cold voice cut through the air like a blade.

“What was that about omnipresent gods?”

The men froze, the leader spinning around to face the source of the voice. His face paled as his eyes landed on the figure standing in the shadow of the mountains.

Norman stepped into the light, his piercing gaze locked on the group. His presence was imposing, his reputation far preceding him.

“The Executioner!” the leader stammered, his bravado crumbling.

The men exchanged panicked glances, their earlier confidence evaporating. They had been caught red-handed, and now they realized their worst fears were standing before them.

Norman’s gaze swept over the scene—the beaten people, the scattered goods, and the trembling spies. His expression hardened.

“Who were you trying to silence? And you're from Eldrida, right?” Norman asked, his expression darkened, and his tone dangerous.

Immediately all those men dropped their knees. “Please forgive us, Executioner. We've made a terrible mistake crossing the border.”

The residents all came out, immediately they saw Norman. Their hero had come to save them, like he always did.

Norman’s eyes narrowed. “Mistake? Crossing into Valkoria, beating innocent people, stealing their treasure—these are not mistakes. Who sent you? Was it the president of Eldrida?”