Escape from Alamut

Twenty young boys and girls were herded by fifty or sixty bandits, urged forward by fast horses, and returned to the camp that very night.

The Iron Mountain Bandits' encampment was not hidden deep within the mountains, as one might expect, but rather, it was situated just outside a large city. The camp was alive with the clamor of over a thousand people, weapons standing like a forest, and banners fluttering in the wind. From a distance, it looked more like an army preparing to assault a city than a band of criminals.

"We must be near Lambsar City," the boy with the sharp face speculated as he dismounted, trembling. One hand still clung to Aryan's cloak, unwilling to let go.

He was right. Within the Iron Mountain Bandits, there was a mix of languages and dialects, but the name "Lambsar City" seemed to come up more than any other. Each mention of the city was met with cheer, mutual backslaps, and unspoken understanding.

Aryan felt puzzled. He recalled the legendary "The Iron-headed Demon" as a figure who roamed the vast desert wastelands, not one to venture near cities. Yet now, he was here, outside Lambsar City. It didn't appear that he had come to pillage, however.

The young slaves were prodded forward. The camp was full of men, who regarded the children with curiosity. As they passed by, crude laughter and taunting comments rang out, heightening the children's fear.

The tents in the camp were tightly packed, with the tallest one standing in the center—clearly the headquarters of the so-called "The Iron-headed Demon."

Inside, the space was vast enough to hold over a hundred people. Thick woolen blankets covered the floor, and the newly acquired slaves stood anxiously near the entrance, trembling with fear as they awaited their uncertain fate.

Several bandit leaders followed their chief into the main tent. Before sitting, "The Iron-headed Demon" waved his hand and ordered in a booming voice:

"Bring the meat."

The young slaves flinched in alarm, two girls fainted, and two boys burst into tears. The boy with the sharp face sagged, leaning against Aryan's back, muttering in a trembling voice, "I was just joking... surely, he doesn't eat people, right?"

He had spoken lightly, but "The Iron-headed Demon" was not. However, he did not consume human flesh. A line of underlings filed in, bringing platters of rich meat and wine, even handing food to the cornered children.

The food was heaped carelessly on the blankets, and the men sat on the floor without any pretense of etiquette, tearing into their meal with abandon. The pieces of meat were large—some weighing five or six pounds—and cooked only half through, the blood still running with each bite.

"What... what kind of meat is this?" the boy with the sharp face whispered. The other children who had initially reached for the meat pulled back in confusion.

Aryan, starving after several days without food, didn't mind the question. He grabbed a chunk of meat and took a large bite. Though it was tough and reeked, it was filling, and certainly not human flesh.

The others followed suit, though they ate with lingering doubt. "The Iron-headed Demon" had purchased twenty children, but surely it wasn't just to feast on them?

Looking around the tent, the atmosphere grew more troubling. "The Iron-headed Demon" and his underlings were all fierce-looking men, with many wearing only a single sleeve or, in some cases, none at all. Some, in their drunken exuberance, stripped entirely.

This group of men, full of energy from the drink and meat, showed no sign of slowing down. The feast quickly descended into chaos. Within minutes, four or five brawls had broken out, and instead of trying to stop them, the spectators cheered them on, throwing their cups into the air.

After eating half a piece of meat, Aryan felt full. He surveyed the bandits, particularly the imposing "The Iron-headed Demon," and an idea suddenly formed in his mind: If only he could somehow gain the help of the Iron Mountain Bandits...

But "The King of Assassins" and "The Iron-headed Demon" were allies, and Aryan could only entertain the thought in passing.

The drunken revelry didn't slow down. In fact, it only grew more intense. One by one, the men took turns to offer "The Iron-headed Demon" a drink. He accepted each one without hesitation, though what they offered him was nothing more than a tiny sip compared to what they drank.

One of the minor leaders, perhaps truly intoxicated, stood unsteadily and loudly proclaimed, "In a few days, it will be our Iron Mountain Princess's wedding day. We've brought these ten pairs of children as her dowry, so I wish the princess a swift pregnancy and 'The Iron-headed Demon' grandchildren!"

The bandits, notorious for their lack of decorum, didn't hesitate to address their leader by his title rather than his name. "The Iron-headed Demon" smiled broadly, raised a large bowl of liquor, and drank it all down in one go, clearly pleased by the toast.

The young slaves breathed a collective sigh of relief. It appeared that the children were to be used as bridal attendants, not for some darker purpose. Perhaps they would no longer have to remain by "The Iron-headed Demon's" side.

The boy with the sharp face relaxed and sighed, then nervously muttered, "But the princess's in-laws... they aren't bandits, are they?"

No one answered him, nor did they pay him much attention. But the minor leader, full of pride, added another comment that stilled the room.

"The Iron-headed Demon, our princess is renowned far and wide. Now that she's leaving to be married, shouldn't we, her uncles and brothers, be allowed to take a look at her first?"

His suggestion was met with murmurs of approval, but as the voices rose, they quickly fell silent, for everyone could see the change in "The Iron-headed Demon's" expression.

"You want to see my daughter?"

The minor leader immediately realized his mistake. His face turned ashen, and the bowl slipped from his hand. "N-no, I didn't mean it, The Iron-headed Demon. I... I—"

"The Iron-headed Demon" stood, picking up an iron spear from beside him. It was thick and long, and compared to it, the spear of the old servant Sabir from the Gu family looked like a child's toy.

The minor leader knew he had made a grave error. Panic-stricken, he stumbled backward, desperately forcing a smile that only twisted into something more grotesque.

"The Iron-headed Demon" shouted, a thunderous roar that seemed to split the air, and then leapt with an agility that belied his size. In a single bound, he soared over the heads of a dozen men and, landing, drove the spear through the minor leader's chest.

"The Iron-headed Demon" held the dying leader aloft with the spear, the man's hands gripping the shaft as he gazed up in horror at his leader, using his final breath to whisper, "Please… forgive me."

"The daughter of 'The Iron-headed Demon'—apart from my obedient son-in-law, no man in this world shall ever lay eyes upon her. My son-in-law is the son of the 'King of Assassins,' not some worthless wretch like you."

Aryan's heart sank. It seemed that seeking revenge with the help of 'The Iron-headed Demon' was utterly impossible.

But then, a flicker of hope surged within him. He was about to follow the daughter of 'The Iron-headed Demon' into Alamut Castle, as the divine will, which had abandoned him for days, had now reappeared.

Ever since he learned that he was to serve as a bridal attendant for 'The Iron-headed Demon's' daughter, and that the groom was none other than the son of the 'King of Assassins,' Aryan's mind had settled. Before him, a clear path unfolded: infiltrate Alamut Castle, search for his sister, and exact vengeance—at the very least, kill one of his enemies.

The killing did not disturb the revelry at the feast. The body was quickly hauled away, and the festivities continued unabated.

After the banquet, the ten girls were sent to the lady's tent to await her orders, while the boys were treated as "other men," assigned to small tents nearby. Their daily tasks were endless, scrubbing dishes and preparing the bride's dowry.

When his sister, Hafsa, was preparing for her wedding, Aryan was still a carefree young master, more accustomed to speaking than to doing. But now, he was forced to labor for the daughter of a bandit he had never met, a sharp pang of sorrow slicing through his heart.

The emaciated woman who selected slaves for 'The Iron-headed Demon' was the lady's personal servant, and naturally, these young slaves were under her control.

She demanded they address her as "Firouzeh" ,It means beautiful gem. the first words the young Khitan boys learned to speak in Western Kingdom dialect.

Firouzeh's appearance bore no resemblance to her name—pale and sallow, with sunken cheeks and a body as thin as a reed. Knowing that most of the boys did not speak Western Kingdom dialect, she rarely spoke, often conveying orders with a mere gesture.

Her fingers were long and bony, as hard as iron rods. Anyone who failed to understand her quickly would feel the sharp sting of her finger, leaving bruises that lasted for days.

All the boys had endured the cruel pokes, even the sharp-faced boy who prided himself on his ability to please his masters. Every time Firouzeh entered, he would hastily take over whatever task had been assigned to him, working with enthusiasm.

Aryan had been pricked by her iron fingers several times. His meager skills in internal energy provided no protection, and he felt certain Firouzeh must possess exceptional agility.

'The Iron-headed Demon' frequently led his men out of camp. Sometimes he returned empty-handed, other times with an array of goods, making it hard to tell exactly what kind of "business" he was involved in.

Aryan passed the days in the camp as if they were years. The precise date for 'The Iron-headed Demon's' daughter's wedding was still uncertain, but rumors began to swirl that perhaps the wedding might not happen after all.

This rumor was brought back by the sharp-faced boy, who, after sharing it, reminded everyone with a grim warning:

"If the lady doesn't get married, we'll all be in trouble. This is a bandit camp, and today we're here, but tomorrow—who knows? 'The Iron-headed Demon' won't keep us around if we're useless. He'll kill us all in a line, just like this."

The sharp-faced boy mimicked the way 'The Iron-headed Demon' wielded his spear, making three of the children drop their copper utensils in fright.

On the fifth day in the camp, 'The Iron-headed Demon' led his men out again and did not return by nightfall.

Exhausted from a day of toil, Aryan lay on the grass mat, unable to sleep. He was accustomed to soft beds, and the grass mat felt like lying on bare ground. Sharing a tent with nine others was unbearable; he had only ever shared a room with his young servant, Halim, who never snored or tossed and turned.

Aryan had accepted the harsh reality of his family's destruction. His desire for revenge grew stronger with each passing day, yet he found himself unable to adjust to the discomforts of his new life.

Someone moved in the tent, and through a gap in the canvas, a beam of moonlight shone in. Aryan saw two boys stealthily making their way toward the door.

It was the two boys who had been pursued by the Snowy Mountain Swordsman.

Aryan had once impulsively spoken up for them, but they seemed ungrateful, never once expressing thanks, though they couldn't speak Western Kingdom language.

Aryan didn't mind. His thoughts were occupied with too many other matters.

The two boys looked strikingly similar, obviously brothers. As they walked, they glanced around cautiously. Soon, the older brother's gaze met Aryan's.

At that moment, Aryan realized the brothers were planning to escape.

The older brother paused for a moment, then gestured toward the outside with several swift motions. His eyes, dark as the night itself, glimmered faintly, like a watchful cat.

All the other children were fast asleep. Aryan propped himself up and stared into those eyes, understanding their meaning: the brothers were inviting him to escape with them.

This was indeed an excellent opportunity. 'The Iron-headed Demon' had taken many of his men, leaving behind mostly non-combatants. The ten boys had never been closely guarded, and only a few miles away was Lambsar City—a perfect hiding place.

Aryan slowly shook his head but waved his hand gently, wishing them good luck.

He couldn't squander the rare chance to enter Alamut Castle. Unless he follow the young bridegroom who married into the family

a boy with little martial ability like him would find it impossible to get close to Alamut Castle.

The brothers looked surprised but did not press him further. With a final glance, they turned and, holding hands, carefully made their way toward the exit of the tent.

Aryan lay back down. The brothers surely had extraordinary experiences, just like him, but they were unable to communicate.

"Someone's trying to escape! Come quickly!"

Just as the brothers lifted the edge of the tent, the sharp-faced boy's voice suddenly rang out. No one knew when he had woken up.

The brothers froze, hesitated for a moment, then turned and sprinted toward the sharp-faced boy who lay deepest within the tent.

However, before they could take another step, a hand grabbed each of them by the collar, lifting them effortlessly. It was Firouzeh, dressed in the same clothes she had worn during the day, moving with incredible speed—as though she had been waiting just outside the tent the whole time.