Chapter 11: Towards Rio da Sangria

Last Comradeship Camp, Minas Gerais — 1662

The buzz in the Last Comradeship camp grew as the night wore on, the central campfire crackling with renewed vigor, fed by fresh logs. Mercenaries crowded around, raising mugs of cachaça and celebrating Farpa’s feat, whose flaming arrow had destroyed the Varapau. The kid, now the center of attention, spun his bow in the air while retelling the story for the third time, embellishing with each version.

Gume laughed loudly, downing his tenth mug, while Lâmina, leaning against a stake, watched with a restrained smile, her scimitar resting on her lap. Tetanus, still reeling from Zara’s unexpected kiss and the conversation about his mark, forced a smile, holding a mug he hadn’t sipped from.

Zara, at his side, seemed at ease, drinking with the other mercenaries and laughing at a crude joke, but her green eyes occasionally met Tetanus’s, as did her hand on his arm.

He tried to focus on the celebration, but something nagged at him. Tiradentes, who should’ve been leading the festivities or at least planning, was nowhere to be seen. The commander’s absence was a discordant note in the camp’s joyful chaos.

“Where’s the boss?” Tetanus muttered to Zara, keeping his voice low to avoid attention.

She frowned, scanning the camp. “Good question,” she replied, her tone hardening. “He was with the map earlier, talking to the miners. Haven’t seen him since.”

Before they could speculate further, a horse whinnied at the camp’s entrance, the sound cutting through the air like a warning. A scout, covered in dust and sweat, dismounted in a hurry, nearly tripping as he ran toward the fire. His face was pale, eyes wide with panic. The mercenaries fell silent, the festive mood evaporating like smoke.

“Captain Zara!” the scout shouted, breathless, stopping before her. “It’s Tiradentes… he’s been taken!”

A murmur of shock rippled through the camp. Zara grabbed the scout by the collar, pulling him closer. “Taken? What do you mean, taken? Speak clearly, man!” Her voice was a mix of fury and urgency.

The scout swallowed hard, hands trembling. “I was in Ouro Preto, watching the taverns like the boss ordered. Heard the royal guards talking… the prince knows about the rebellion! Someone talked, I don’t know who. They grabbed Tiradentes on the trail to the city.” He paused, his face contorting. “They’re taking him to Rio da Sangria. Said they’ll execute him in the public square, to make an example!”

The silence that followed was sharp, broken only by the fire’s crackle. Gume dropped his mug, the liquid spilling into the dirt. “Execute the boss?” he growled, hand already on his halberd. “Those bastards…”

Lâmina stood, scimitar in hand, eyes flashing. “How’d they find out? Did someone here betray us?” She looked around, as if she could spot the traitor among the stunned mercenaries.

Farpa, still holding his bow, looked lost, his heroic glow faded. “What do we do now? Without Tiradentes…” For the first time, Tetanus saw him without his smile or enthusiasm.

Tetanus immediately thought of Rastro—had he spilled about the rebellion too? He scanned the camp, but Rastro was nowhere in sight, which only deepened his suspicion.

Zara released the scout, who fell to his knees, gasping. She turned to the mercenaries, climbing onto a crate to be heard by all. Her voice cut through the air like a blade. “Listen up! Tiradentes is the heart of this rebellion, and we’re not letting him die on a gallows in Rio da Sangria!” She pointed to the horizon, where the road to Ouro Preto vanished into the dark. “We’re making a plan, now. We get him back before they reach the coast. But nobody, nobody, breathes a word of this outside the camp!”

The mercenaries roared in approval, but Tetanus saw doubt on some faces. Without Tiradentes, the Last Comradeship felt like a headless army. He approached Zara, voice low. “How do we get him out? Rio da Sangria’s far as hell, and the prince must’ve beefed up the escort.”

Zara looked at him, raising her monocle, the firelight glinting off it. “Don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “And you, Tetanus, especially you—keep your mouth shut. If the prince is after Tiradentes, he’ll want anything to dismantle us. Especially you.”

Tetanus nodded, the weight of responsibility crushing him. Gume and Lâmina approached, the former gripping his halberd tightly, the latter with a calculating glint in her eyes. “If we’re going after the boss, we need a plan fast,” Lâmina said. “Ouro Preto’s crawling with guards, and the road to Rio da Sangria’s a snake pit.”

“I’m going with you,” Farpa declared, raising his bow, though his voice trembled. “Tiradentes believed in me. I won’t let him down.”

Zara placed a firm hand on Farpa’s shoulder. “You stay here, kid. We need someone to hold the camp.” She looked at Tetanus, Gume, and Lâmina. “You three, with me. We’ll gather the best men and plan the route. The scout will tell us everything he saw in Ouro Preto.” She turned to the scout, still catching his breath. “And you, I hope you’ve got more details, because your life depends on it.”

As the camp mobilized, Tetanus’s mind grew heavier, remembering Tiradentes calling him son, trusting him. He couldn’t fail now.

Zara slapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Stop daydreaming, Tetanus. Grab that beam you call a sword and come on. We’ve got a commander to save.” She strode off, shouting orders, while Tetanus adjusted his armor, the sword’s weight on his back making him sigh.

“How long till the execution?” Gume asked, chewing a piece of dried meat.

“Three days,” Zara replied. “If we ride straight and cut through, we can make it in time.”

“And then?” Tetanus crossed his arms. “How do we get Tiradentes out of a whole city?”

Zara grinned, a humorless gesture. “By making a bigger mess.”

“You’re kidding.”

She pointed to Rio da Sangria’s port on the map. “There’s a ship loaded with gunpowder docked there. If we reach it, the explosion will distract the guards enough for us to act.”

Gume clapped his hands. “You’re talking about blowing up half the port?”

“I’m talking about putting on a show,” Zara corrected. “Besides, the prince loves a spectacle. Let’s give him one he’ll never forget.”

Tetanus studied the map, his mind racing. Something didn’t add up. “Who gave Tiradentes up?”

The group fell silent.

“It was Rastro,” Tetanus said, crossing his arms. “He’s always been a traitor. And after I beat his ass that day, he probably went straight to the prince.”

Lâmina shook her head. “Rastro’s been gone for days. No one knows where he is.”

“Which means,” Gume added, “the scum could be anywhere. Even in Rio da Sangria, laughing in our faces.”

Zara folded the map with a sharp motion. “Doesn’t matter who it was. What matters is Tiradentes is running out of time, and we’re his only shot.” She looked at each of them. “Ready?”

Gume chuckled. “Never.”

Lâmina drew her scimitar, checking its edge. “Ready.”

Tetanus took a deep breath, feeling the mark on his chest pulse. “Let’s go.”

Zara nodded. “Then it’s now. Grab what you need. We leave before dawn.”

As they dispersed, Tetanus glanced back at the camp one last time. Farpa sat by the fire, shoulders slumped.

He turned and followed the others, preparing for the journey.

That night, under a starry sky, four figures, plus eight other mercenaries, rode out from the camp toward Rio da Sangria.

Empire of Brazil — Road to Rio da Sangria — 1662

The night swallowed the trail as the twelve mercenaries rode toward Rio da Sangria, the sound of hooves echoing like muffled thunder in the dark.

Tetanus led the group, mounted on a muscular horse, its black coat gleaming faintly under the moonlight. His two-handed sword swayed on his back, its familiar weight a comfort against the urgency consuming him.

Zara rode to his right, face set, eyes alert, scanning the horizon. Gume, with his halberd strapped to his horse’s flank, grumbled about the cold, while Lâmina, to Tetanus’s left, kept her scimitar sheathed but her hand never far from the hilt. The other eight mercenaries, handpicked by Zara, rode in tight formation, the silence between them broken only by the creak of saddles and the snorting of horses.

They rode relentlessly, the pace unforgiving. Every hour lost was a step closer to the gallows for Tiradentes. The main road to Rio da Sangria was guarded, so Zara had chosen to cut through lesser-known trails, plunging into a wild region where the forest grew denser and more hostile.

The plan was simple: reach the port before the ship carrying Tiradentes sailed, blow up the gunpowder shipment, and use the chaos to rescue him. But the forest now surrounding them inspired little confidence.

Forest of the Dry Corpses

The trees began to change, living trunks giving way to a landscape of dry, twisted branches, like exposed bones under the gathering mist on the ground. The Forest of the Dry Corpses, as some called it, was a place avoided even by the bravest. The air was heavy, a fetid stench of decay mixing with the dampness. Tetanus felt the mark on his chest pulse, a warning he tried to ignore, gripping the reins tighter.

“This is giving me the creeps,” Gume muttered, voice low, as if afraid to wake something. “These trees look like they’re watching us.”

“Shut up, blockhead, not now,” Lâmina snapped, but her voice carried tension. “It’s just a forest. Focus on the mission.”

Zara raised a hand, signaling to slow down. “Stay sharp,” she said, adjusting her monocle to see through the mist. “Something’s off here.”

Before anyone could respond, a sharp crack came from the treetops, like branches snapping under an invisible weight. Tetanus pulled his reins, his horse whinnying in protest. He looked up, his yellow eye narrowing in the dark. Then chaos erupted.

Dry corpses fell from the trees like rotten fruit, their twisted forms hitting the ground with sickening cracks. Others emerged straight from the trunks, as if the wood were vomiting them. Skeletal creatures with desiccated skin stretched over bones, empty eye sockets glowing faintly. Their mouths opened in silent agony, and their movements were swift, inhuman, like drunken spiders. An army of undead, born from the cursed forest, surged toward the mercenaries.

“SHIT!” Gume shouted, halberd in hand as a dry corpse leapt onto his horse. His blade sliced through the air, decapitating the creature, but more came, climbing the horses and clawing with nails sharp as knives.

Tetanus swung his two-handed sword, the wide arc felling two dry corpses trying to reach him. His horse reared, nearly throwing him, but he held fast, slicing another creature crawling up the animal’s flank. “Stay together!” he shouted, but chaos had already taken hold.

Zara fought like a storm, her short sword cleaving through dried limbs with deadly precision. “Don’t stop! Cut and move!” she ordered, but the less experienced mercenaries didn’t stand a chance. One was dragged from his horse, screaming as three dry corpses tore him apart with claws and teeth. Another tried to flee, only to be swallowed by the mist, his scream cut short.

Lâmina spun her scimitar in lethal arcs, staying close to Tetanus, but even she seemed overwhelmed. “Where did these things come from?!” she growled, slicing a dry corpse in half, only to see another emerge from a nearby trunk.

Gume, now on foot after his horse was brought down, swung his halberd, but brute force wasn’t enough against their sheer numbers. “Tetanus, do something!” he roared as a dry corpse sank its claws into his arm.

Tetanus felt the mark pulse, hot, almost burning. He didn’t know what was happening, but the forest seemed to react to him, as if the dry corpses were drawn to the spiral on his chest. He cut down another monster, the impact reverberating through his arms, and shouted to Zara, “We’ve got to get out of here! They keep coming!”

Zara, covered in dust and blood, nodded. “To the trail! Now!” She carved a path, felling dry corpses with swift strikes, and the four—Tetanus, Zara, Gume, and Lâmina—rushed to their horses. Of the other eight mercenaries, some had been torn apart in the mist, while others, driven mad, fled screaming into the forest, vanishing into the darkness.

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None of them had signed up to face supernatural monsters.

Tetanus mounted his horse, miraculously still standing, and pulled Gume onto the saddle behind him, the horse protesting under the weight. Lâmina and Zara galloped ahead, cutting down any dry corpse blocking the path. The mist seemed alive, trying to swallow them, but they forced their way through, hooves crushing bones and rotten wood. The dry corpses’ screams echoed behind, a chorus of agony and suffering that made Tetanus’s hair stand on end.

When they finally emerged from the dead forest, the open trail revealed itself under the starry sky, the clean air a relief after the stench of decay. The four stopped, panting, their horses trembling with exhaustion. Tetanus looked back, the mist still swirling at the forest’s edge, but the dry corpses didn’t follow.

“What the hell was that?” Gume asked, his arm bleeding, his halberd stained with viscous black liquid. “Those things… they looked dead but moved!”

Lâmina, wiping her scimitar on her thigh, said, “Dry corpses. Heard stories. Souls trapped in cursed trees, brought back by who-knows-what.” She glanced at Tetanus, eyes narrowed. “And they seemed real interested in you.”

Tetanus felt the mark pulse again and looked away. “Don’t know why,” he lied, voice tense. “Just know we lost half our men. More than half, honestly.”

Zara, still mounted, her face a mask of contained fury, said, “Eight men dead or driven mad. That wasn’t in the plan.”

Gume, clutching his wounded arm, tried to lighten the mood. “Relax, man. We’re still alive, right? We’ll get the boss and give those bastards payback.”

Lâmina sheathed her scimitar, expression hard. “We’d better not hit another forest like that. Zara’s plan better work.”

Zara spurred her horse, signaling to move. “Let’s go. Two days left. No stopping till the port.” She gave Tetanus a final look, as if challenging him to prove he was worth her trust.

The group rode under a moonless sky, the darkness swallowing the trail as exhaustion weighed on their shoulders. The escape from the forest had drained them, the horses even more, the four marked by cuts, bruises, and the loss of the other eight mercenaries.

The urgency to reach Rio da Sangria before Tiradentes’s execution kept them moving, but even Zara, with her iron determination, knew they needed rest.

“Enough,” she announced, pulling her horse’s reins in a clearing surrounded by rocks and sparse bushes. “If we keep going like this, we’ll drop dead before the port. We camp here. One night, no more.”

Gume dismounted with a groan, rubbing his wounded arm. “Finally, a sensible idea, captain. My ass is numb as hell.”

Lâmina leapt off her horse lightly, scimitar swinging at her hip. “Keep your eyes open. This place isn’t the Forest of the Dead, but it doesn’t smell right either,” she said, scanning the darkness beyond the clearing.

Tetanus tied his horse to a tree, his body already numb from nearly a day and a half of riding. He helped set up camp in silence, raising a makeshift tarp and lighting a small fire with dry twigs. Zara assigned watch shifts, but no one protested when she told Tetanus to rest first. “You look like shit, kid. Sleep. We need you whole tomorrow.”

Exhausted, Tetanus lay under the tarp, his two-handed sword a few steps away, out of immediate reach. The cold ground seemed to sap his body heat, but exhaustion won, and he fell into a heavy sleep, darkness swallowing his thoughts.

In his dream, the world was warm, hazy, the edges blurred as if he lay under a paradisiacal veil. Lâmina was above him, her loose hair falling like a curtain, her dark eyes gleaming with an intensity he’d never seen. She was naked, her skin glistening under an impossible light, moving over him with an urgency that made his body respond without hesitation. He felt her heat, the pressure of her hips, the brush of her skin against his. The mark on his chest burned, not with pain but as if fueling desire, intensifying every touch. He tried to reach her, but his hands wouldn’t obey, bound by an invisible force. The pleasure grew, but something was wrong. The weight on him was too real, oppressive, crushing him to the ground.

Tetanus opened his eye, heart racing, but his body wouldn’t move. He was trapped, paralyzed, the clearing around him indistinct in the dark. The fire had dwindled to embers, Gume, Lâmina, and Zara sleeping soundly, their soft snores breaking the silence. But something was on him. It wasn’t Lâmina. It was something else.

A hunched creature, with gray skin and hair like steel wool, crouched on his chest.

The Pisadeira.

Her eyes were black with white pupils, glowing with a malevolent moonlight, and her thick, twisted nails hovered over him, scratching his chest. She laughed, a hoarse, guttural sound, as her deformed feet stomped deliberately on his stomach, each impact stealing his breath.

The mark on Tetanus’s chest burned, as if recognizing the creature.

Tetanus tried to scream, but his voice wouldn’t come. Sleep paralysis held him, his body heavy as lead, as the Pisadeira leaned closer, her grotesque face inches from his. “Bearer…” she hissed, her voice like wind over dry bones. “You’re done for, kid… Kueh Ke Ke Ke Ke!”

Rage surged within him, mixed with panic. He couldn’t lie there, helpless, as the creature crushed him. With an effort that felt like tearing his muscles, Tetanus focused on the mark, on its hot, living pulse.

He didn’t know how, but something snapped, like an overstretched rope. His right hand moved, slowly at first, then gaining strength. With a muffled roar, he grabbed the Pisadeira’s wrist, her nails scratching his skin as he shoved her aside.

His body responded, the paralysis dissolving like mist. Tetanus rolled out from under the tarp, falling to his knees, air rushing back in gasps. The Pisadeira rose, dragging herself with clumsy movements, her twisted feet thumping the ground with dry cracks. “You don’t escape, kid!” she snarled, lunging with outstretched nails, ready to tear.

His sword was out of reach, propped against a nearby rock. No time. Clenching his fists, Tetanus stood, adrenaline burning away fatigue. “Come on, you wretched hag!” he shouted, dodging a swipe of her nails, which sliced the air with a sharp sound.

The Pisadeira was fast but clumsy, her movements erratic. Tetanus took advantage, landing a hard punch to her face. The impact was like hitting rotten wood, but she staggered back, still grinning grotesquely. He pressed forward, throwing another punch to her chest, feeling something crack under his knuckles. The creature screamed, lunging again, but he sidestepped, landing a third punch to the side of her head.

No matter the chaos, no one else woke.

The Pisadeira clawed his arm, leaving gashes like deep knife wounds. Tetanus ignored the pain, his rage only fueled.

With a yell, he grabbed her straw-like hair, yanking her down and driving his knee into her face. The impact made her collapse, and before she could rise, Tetanus kicked her chest with all his strength, sending her crashing against a rock.

The Pisadeira let out a final moan, her body trembling as if falling apart. Then, like smoke in the wind, she dissolved into the air, leaving only an echo of her scream.

Tetanus stood panting, his arm bleeding from scattered cuts. He looked at the others, still sleeping soundly, oblivious to what had happened.

He grabbed his sword, ensuring it was within reach this time, and sat against a rock, body trembling with adrenaline. He decided he’d never again sleep with his sword out of reach.

The morning sun bathed the clearing in golden light, dispelling the last traces of the night’s chill. Tetanus, who’d barely slept after the Pisadeira encounter, rose with a heavy body, muscles still sore from the forest battle and the blows he’d landed on the creature.

Zara was already up, giving light kicks to Gume’s body. “Wake up, idiot. And you there, Tetanus, leaning against that rock like a hungover drunk,” she remarked without looking up. “Sleep well?”

Tetanus rubbed his face, feeling deep bags under his eyes. “More or less.”

He didn’t mention the nocturnal encounter. No one seemed to have noticed anything, and he didn’t want to sound like a myth-slaying lunatic. Again.

Gume stretched with a groan, his wounded arm now wrapped in a dirty cloth. “What kind of shitty camp is this? Not even coffee to start the day?”

Lâmina, already up and packing, shrugged. “We lost our supplies with the other idiots in the forest. Want to eat? Hunt.”

Zara sheathed her dagger and looked at the group. “We split up. Tetanus and I will look for fruit or anything quick to grab. Lâmina, Gume, you go after game. If you find a stream, bring water.”

Tetanus, re-equipping his sword, spoke up, “I think I’d rather go with Lâmina. You two seem more experienced together, you know? I’m worried she might get hurt…” He glanced to ensure Lâmina wasn’t listening.

Gume grumbled something about “woman’s work,” but a look from Zara silenced him.

“Got it,” she said, grabbing an empty sack and motioning for Gume to follow. “Come on, big guy!”

As the two vanished into the woods, Tetanus and Lâmina exchanged a look.

“Let’s go,” she said, adjusting her weapon.

Tetanus straightened his armor and followed, his steps silent on the damp foliage. The forest here was livelier than the dry corpses’ domain, but it still carried a whiff of decay and morning mist.

They walked in silence for a while until Lâmina broke the ice.

“You okay?”

Tetanus raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Since this morning. You’re too quiet, friend.”

He hesitated. More or less, he thought.

“Had a weird dream last night,” he admitted, avoiding her gaze.

Lâmina stopped and turned to him, her dark eyes curious. “What kind of dream?”

Tetanus felt his face heat up. Shit, he thought, turning to face her.

“Dunno… just a dream.”

She crossed her arms. “Spit it out, Tetanus. We’re in the middle of nowhere, away from everyone. If not now, when?”

He took a deep breath. “You were in it.”

Lâmina didn’t seem surprised. “Oh yeah? What was I doing?”

Tetanus swallowed hard. “You were… on top of me.”

This time, Lâmina was speechless. She stared at him for a long second, lips slightly parted. Then, to his surprise, she laughed.

“Damn, Tetanus. At least dream of me naked, not clothed.”

He nearly choked. “You were naked.”

She stopped laughing, eyes narrowing. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Lâmina studied his face, searching for lies. Then, without warning, she turned and kept walking. “Interesting…”

Tetanus stood still for a second, unsure whether to follow or keep talking. He decided to catch up, but the tension between them was palpable now.

“You… dream like that about everyone?” she asked after a while, her voice lower.

“No,” he replied too quickly.

She smiled but didn’t look back. “Good to know.”

The silence returned, but it was different now. Less awkward, more… charged with some tension, almost sexual.

Lâmina broke the ice again. “My dad was Asian.”

Tetanus looked at her, surprised by the shift. “That why your eyes are slanted?”

She nodded. “Came on a merchant ship, ended up staying. My mom was a washerwoman in Ouro Preto. He taught me ronin fighting skills before he died.”

“And your mom?”

“Died of rat fever when I was little.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal, but Tetanus saw the shadow cross her face.

“So you’re alone.”

“Was. Until I found the Last Comradeship.” She looked at him. “You? Got family?”

Tetanus thought of the witch, a complicated relationship, but didn’t answer. “Got no one.”

Lâmina didn’t press. They kept walking until she stopped near a shallow stream. “Water. At least we’ve got that.”

As they filled their canteens, Lâmina looked at him again. “You think my tits are small?”

Tetanus nearly dropped his canteen. “What?”

“Simple question.” She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone thinks so. Want your opinion.”

“I… don’t know. What kind of question is that?”

“You know. You dreamed about them, didn’t you?”

Tetanus felt the blood rush to his face. “They weren’t small in the dream.”

Lâmina laughed. “In dreams, everyone’s perfect. I want to know in real life.”

He looked at her, at a loss for words.

“Look, Tetanus, we’ve been friends for a while. You can give them a look for me, you know? Just as a friend.”

“…”

“…”

She held his gaze, then, deliberately, lifted her shirt.

Her breasts were firm, not large, but perfect in their simplicity. The dark nipples contrasted with her pale skin, and she displayed them shamelessly, her eyes defiant.

“Go on, touch,” she said, voice steady.

Tetanus hesitated, but seeing she wouldn’t back down, he reached out, touching lightly. They were soft, warm. She didn’t flinch, just watched as he carefully felt them, as if measuring.

“Well?” she asked.

“They’re… good,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

Lâmina smiled, satisfied, and lowered her shirt. “Good to know at least you don’t complain.”

She turned and resumed filling her canteen, as if nothing had happened.

Tetanus stood there, his hand still tingling with her feel. He didn’t know what to say.

Lâmina glanced over her shoulder. “So, friend. We still need to hunt something before Zara thinks we’re up to something else.” Wink.

He followed her, head spinning.

The trip to Rio da Sangria had just gotten a lot more interesting.

Tetanus and Lâmina continued along the stream, the earlier tension lingering but now mixed with a strangely comfortable camaraderie.

“Look there,” Lâmina whispered, pointing to fresh tracks in the wet earth near the stream. Large paw prints with deep claw marks. “Jaguar. Recent.”

Tetanus nodded, his yellow eye narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. “Dangerous, but it’s food.” He gripped his sword, ready to draw, but Lâmina raised a hand, signaling to move carefully.

“Let me take it first,” she said, drawing her scimitar with a fluid motion. “You step in if it comes at me.”

They followed the tracks, moving silently, senses sharp. The forest seemed quiet, birdsong muffled by a low hum of insects. Then a deep growl cut the air, and Tetanus saw amber eyes glinting among the bushes. The jaguar emerged, a majestic beast, its spotted coat gleaming in the filtered light, muscles taut. It was huge, nearly man-sized, its teeth flashing as it opened its mouth, growling in challenge.

Lâmina didn’t hesitate. She charged, her scimitar arcing precisely toward the jaguar’s flank. The beast dodged with terrifying agility, its claws raking the ground as it leapt aside. Tetanus drew his sword, positioning to flank it. “Watch out!” he shouted as the jaguar lunged at Lâmina, its paws slicing the air.

Lâmina rolled aside, her scimitar grazing the jaguar’s face, drawing a roar of fury. Tetanus seized the opening, swinging his sword in a downward arc, but the beast was too fast, retreating into the bushes with a bound. “It’s toying with us!” Lâmina growled, wiping sweat from her brow.

Before Tetanus could reply, a shout echoed from the woods, followed by the sound of snapping branches. Gume burst through, halberd raised, with Zara close behind, sword in hand. “Found you!” Gume bellowed, panting. “And that big cat too!”

The jaguar, now surrounded, hesitated, its amber eyes flicking between the mercenaries. Zara gave it no chance. She charged with a yell, her short sword aiming for the beast’s neck. The jaguar dodged, but Gume was ready, driving his halberd into its flank. The impact made it stagger, and Tetanus capitalized, swinging his sword in a wide arc that cut deep into its chest. Lâmina finished it, plunging her scimitar into the beast’s heart, and it collapsed with a final roar, convulsing before going still.

The four stood panting, the jaguar’s blood staining the earth. Gume wiped his halberd on the grass, laughing. “Hell of a hunt! This’ll make a fine barbecue.”

Lâmina sheathed her scimitar, glancing at Tetanus. “Not bad, friend.”

Zara, ever practical, was already tying the jaguar’s legs with rope. “Good work, but no time to admire it. We take this back to camp and eat fast. Still got ground to cover to Rio da Sangria. Gume, Tetanus! You carry it!”

Tetanus helped Gume haul the jaguar, its weight demanding effort even for two. He exchanged a look with Lâmina, who just shrugged, as if saying, “It’s just a jaguar, relax.”

Back at the clearing, the camp was quiet except for the fire’s crackle, which Gume had revived with more twigs. Zara and Lâmina prepared the jaguar efficiently, cutting the meat into chunks roasted on makeshift spits. The smell of grilling meat filled the air, a relief after days of scarce rations. They ate quickly around the fire, conversation limited to a few words. The weight of their mission—rescuing Tiradentes before his execution—still loomed over them.

Gume devoured his portion, juice dripping down his chin. “But how do we find the boss in all that chaos?”

Zara wiped her hands on her pants. “The scout said he’s on a prison ship docked at the port. The gunpowder will distract the guards, but we need to be quick. Get in, grab Tiradentes, get out before the prince notices.”

Lâmina poked the fire with a stick, her gaze distant. “And if Rastro’s there? If he’s the one who sold out the boss, he might be waiting for us too. Could be in cahoots with the prince.”

“If he’s there, I’ll handle him,” Tetanus said, voice cold.

Zara eyed him, narrowing her eyes. “No personal vendettas, Tetanus. Focus on Tiradentes.” She stood, tossing dirt on the fire to douse it. “We’re done here. Saddle up and move. A day and a half to the port, and we can’t waste more time.”

As they broke camp, Tetanus helped tie up the remaining jaguar meat to carry. Lâmina approached, assisting with the ropes, her fingers brushing his for a moment. “Don’t dream about me again, huh,” she whispered with a half-smile. “At least not without sharing the details.”

Tetanus hid a smile, the tension easing for a second. “No promises.”

With the horses ready, the four mounted, leaving the clearing behind as they resumed their journey to Rio da Sangria.