Bright blue and lavender-colored leaves from the twisted trees of the Enosian western highlands littered the gravel roadway, their hues muted under the relentless downpour. A hulking, double-decker wagon caravan—linked by heavy steel couplings, drawn by a team of restless horses and armored dragon raptors—rumbled to a halt.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfYWZh6TkIB
Rain hissed off the steel plates of the wagons and the beast’s armored hides as the convoy faced a blockade: a large formation of imperial soldiers, their torches flickering against the sheets of rain. Shadows stretched like claw marks across the path and into the thick tree line of the sea of magicwood bordering the west of the Enos Mountains.
Four soldiers stood out among the rest, their forms massive in gleaming, gold-inlaid plated armor. Two bore exquisitely forged two-handed swords etched with gold trim, while the others wielded enormous double-headed axes, their edges chipped and stained from frequent use. Flanking them were rows of soldiers in black dragonhide-padded armor, crimson capes trimmed in gold bearing the sigil of the empire: a crowned Ichneumon, claws outstretched as if ready to strangle a dragon against a backdrop of checkered blue and white. These soldiers carried crossbows and an array of flintlock weaponry, each barrel glinting menacingly in the torchlight.
One of the soldiers at the front stepped forward, raising his torch high, its blue-white flame illuminating the rain-soaked path.
“You there,” he barked, his voice cutting through the storm. “This is an Imperial checkpoint. Step down from your…” He hesitated, eyes narrowing as he scanned the monstrous, unfamiliar construct of wood, steel, and canvas. It was unlike any carriage he’d seen. “…your rather peculiar wagon. Have all passengers disembark and present their documentation for verification.”
The man he addressed, sitting high in the driver’s cockpit, wore a dark brown cloak and a wide-brimmed, rain-drenched hat that sagged over his brow. He grunted, flicking the reins before climbing down a rain-slick ladder on the side of the front carriage.
Theo landed with a squelch in the wet mud, then turned and rapped sharply on a nearby wooden door, one hand shielding his pipe from the rain. He knocked twice more and called out, “Vyncent, Isaac—Imperial checkpoint. Gonna need everyone out here, paperwork in hand.”
Then, turning back toward the soldier with a casual air that brushed against insolence, he said, “Hey there! Name’s Theo. Pleasure to meet you.” His boots crunched against the gravel as he stepped forward, unfazed by the sea of torches and steel that bristled before him. “Looks like you boys brought out the elites tonight. What’s the occasion?”
From the line, a broad-chested soldier bearing a Zweihander stepped forward, his face hidden beneath the shadows of his ornate helm. His voice was ice, sharpened by decades of war. “Watch your tongue, peasant. You stand in the presence of General Lazarus, nephew to the throne of Valmosa. You will not speak so casually to royalty.”
As if summoned by that title, the figure at the center stepped forward. He was a tall man clad in imperial regalia so pristine it looked untouched by the rain. His expression was calm, his features severe—every motion deliberate. With a faint click, he lowered his free hand toward his belt where the gauntlet of his left arm snapped into a metal bracer and locked into place. He slowly pulled his hand free, extending it with practiced poise.
“Don’t mind Lieutenant Argram,” said General Lazarus, his voice smooth, aristocratic, and tinged with command. “He’s loyal to a fault—strict, certainly—but he means well. Formalities are just... the armor of men who fear chaos.” His words oozed diplomatic charm, but his eyes never smiled.
Argram grunted in displeasure as the man with the pointed hat stepped forward, his robes soaked in rain, hand snapping out to clasp Lazarus’s gauntlet in a firm grip. His voice, though aged by study and sleepless nights, carried a familiar mirth.
“Well, well, well... if it isn’t the little runt. Though now you’ve grown up and traded your toy sword for a real one.”
Lazarus, still surprised, gave the man’s hand a brisk shake before quickly lifting the visor of his great helm. Raindrops clung to his face, but as he got a clearer look, recognition lit up in his eyes.
“Master Theo? Is that really you?”
Theo grinned beneath his sagging, rain-slick hat. “I sure hope so. Unless I’ve been possessed by the void and became a demonic meat puppet while poring over too many cursed grimoires.”
Lazarus laughed, his voice briefly warm. “Still chasing the mysteries of the miasma, I see. You know, the Crimson Knights never appointed a new leader after your departure. They answer directly to the Senate now—and rarely leave the castle walls.”
Adjusting the brim of his wide-brimmed hat, Theo nodded as rain slid down the waxed fabric. “I thought Ari would step up when I left. She had the will and the talent. What happened to her?”
Lazarus’s expression darkened. His lips thinned. “She gave her life defending my uncle... ambushed by Gloomshade Goblins while returning from a ceremony in Winwyrloch. The emperor survived but she never made it back.”
Theo’s voice lowered, his tone heavy with something near regret. “Damn... I’m sorry. She was a fine mage. One of the best scholars I ever trained.”
Lazarus gave a quiet nod, then cleared his throat. “Hard to believe she fell to goblins, honestly. But my uncle said it himself. Said there was something off about them—said they were unusually well-geared, more organized than they should’ve been. Said they dragged her off... her and a few other soldiers, while the rest tried to escape.”
Theo’s expression darkened, his brow creasing. There was a sharp edge of disbelief in his voice now.
“And no one was tasked with hunting them down? To slay the beasts and retrieve their bodies?”
Lazarus shook his head, bitterness leaking into his voice. “His Majesty proclaimed that, with a civil war on the verge of erupting—one sparked by one of his son’s tantrums—he couldn’t waste time dragging back bodies already defiled by goblins.”
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the storm.
Then the door behind Theo creaked open.
Vyncent and Isaac stepped out into the downpour, drawing the hoods of their cloaks against the gusting rain. Wind carried the scent of blood and burned wood through the air. The flame of a nearby lantern danced violently in the wind, casting fractured shadows across their faces—ghostlike, worn, silent.
Before Theo could speak further, Lazarus quickly cut in. “I’d love to catch up more, Master Theo, truly—but we have matters of grim urgency.” He lowered his visor with a metallic clack, his voice turning cold. “The town to the north, past the forest, was overrun last night. Nearly razed to the ground. The emperor has stationed several battalions around the outskirts to investigate, but the damage was extensive.”
Vyncent folded his arms. “Sounds like some serious shit.”
Argram suddenly barked, “You will speak only when—”
But Lazarus raised a hand, silencing him with a simple gesture.
“Don’t mind him,” Lazarus muttered, annoyed. “He was hoping to see blood tonight. Anyway, yes—it’s serious. More than half the town’s population is dead. The only reason we have survivors is because a squad of imperial soldiers and a mercenary band happened to be passing through when the attack hit. If they hadn’t been there...”
Theo exchanged a quick glance with Isaac before replying, “We’re actually heading in that direction. One of our teams is out there finishing a contract. Could be the mercenary group you mentioned.”
Lazarus shrugged beneath his rain-slick armor. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been stationed here the whole time and haven’t seen any formal debriefings.”
Isaac stepped forward, producing a rain-streaked folder and handing it over. “Here’s our identification. You’re welcome to look around, but fair warning—there are multiple sleeping elven women inside. Wake them at your own risk.”
Lazarus smirked as he flipped through the parchment, droplets of rain speckling the ink. A glint of recognition sparked in his eyes.
“No need,” he said casually. “Friends of Master Theo are friends of the Empire. Even if they’re cutthroats. I trust his judgment.”
Isaac raised a brow. “Didn’t realize Theo still held such reverence in high places.”
Without looking up, Lazarus replied, voice flat as slate. “Of course you wouldn’t. A barbarian like you wouldn’t know the first thing about state affairs, Sir Leolar.”
Isaac’s expression stiffened—just for a moment. His eyes narrowed.
“Didn’t expect you to recognize me,” he said. “Or remember my name.”
Lazarus closed the folder with a wet snap, the sound sharp in the quiet.
“Your brother made quite the impression during our years at the mage academy,” he said. “Before I advanced to the Crimson Mages. He enjoyed tormenting the younger students. Now he stirs unrest in the Senate halls. Some legacies are hard to forget.”
He looked Isaac dead in the eye.
“And I remember you, too. Leaving the knighthood. Some called it treason. Said you abandoned the kingdom. But I understand. Serving under my uncle isn’t for the faint of heart. His hatred for demi-humans makes loyalty... an expensive commodity.”
A pause. His voice dropped lower.
“But giving former knights of Eno who bent the knee a place in his army—retaining their titles, even—was more generous than most would have allowed.”
Rain pattered steadily against steel and stone, the silence between them tightening like a noose.
Beside Lazarus, Argram stood still but taut, his hand twitching near his blade, eyes locked on the group like a predator awaiting permission to strike.
Theo stepped forward, his voice quieter now, more tired than soft.
“Sounds like things haven’t changed much.”
Lazarus didn’t take his eyes off Isaac. “No,” he said. “Only monsters wear different faces.”
Isaac gave a cold smile, brittle as frozen glass.
“You put it so elegantly,” he said, voice thin with barely restrained venom. “My liege.”
Lazarus grinned and turned to Theo and said, “I didn’t expect to see you again, Master—and certainly not in the company of such ruffians.”
Theo scratched the back of his head with one hand and leaned back slightly as he laughed. “Oh, come on. I was going to check in on you eventually. I knew you’d end up in good company and could handle yourself after graduating. And these guys?” He gestured toward Isaac and Vyncent. “They’re not so bad. Sure, they don’t always listen to a wise old man like myself when trouble’s brewing—but they’re good company.”
Lazarus burst out laughing, his voice loud and genuine. “Old? Not only were you one of the youngest generals in the Empire and the leader of the Crimson Mages, you also retired not too long after the war ended! My father was so enraged after you left, he nearly had you dragged back in chains to be tried for dabbling in the dark arts.”
A look of utter horror crossed Theo’s face. “Why?! I only started studying dark magic because he requested it! I was doing it for him!”
Lazarus gave a knowing smirk. “He planned to use that as leverage—he wanted to sentence you to another ten years of service. He intended to keep you as a general and make you lead the Crimson Mages.”
Theo groaned. “Of course he did…”
“But Ari talked him out of it,” Lazarus added with a shrug.” He then said grimly, “You’d owe her for that one if she were still here.”
Before the conversation could go any further, the sound of galloping hooves echoed down the road. A soldier on horseback rode toward them at full speed, pulling his reins sharply before calling out, “General Lazarus! You’re needed at the outpost—immediately! Urgent matters require your attention.”
Without hesitation, Lazarus slipped his gauntlet back over his hand, snapping it into place from where it had dangled on his belt. “I would love to catch up more, Master Theo. There’s much we still need to discuss.” He turned to his men. “Argram, you’re in command until I return. Let them pass—they’re the mercenary band that’s been taking on all the jobs my uncle’s too stubborn to send troops for.”
He gave Theo a respectful bow. “Until we meet again, Master. Please, stay in good health.” With that, he mounted a nearby horse and rode off down the road, several soldiers thundering behind him.
Argram stepped forward, his voice deep and authoritative. “As much as General Lazarus clearly respects you, there is still a matter that must be addressed.” He gestured to the caravan. “We’ve received intel suggesting that an adolescent black dragon is being smuggled across the country. Given the size of your caravan—and the fact it could conceal such a creature—I will need to inspect the interior.”
Vyncent stepped forward with an easy smile and said cheerfully, “No problem at all, sir. We’ve got nothing to hide. Just try not to disturb the girls—if you do, it won’t just be monsters you’ll have to worry about.”
Argram gave a terse nod. At his signal, the remaining soldiers split up, entering the various cabin sections of the double-decker caravan wagons.
Meanwhile, Theo leaned in and whispered, “What about Nox and Lizyra?”
Isaac leaned closer as well and replied calmly, “I had them initiate Code Zero. Everything will be fine.”
As Theo and Isaac quietly continued their hushed exchange, Vyncent strolled up to the cluster of soldiers and asked casually, “Good evening, everyone. If I may—have any of you seen or heard anything about a group of harpies living in the forest just down the road?”
One of the soldiers glanced over his shoulder, then turned and answered gruffly, “Aside from them picking livestock clean in the neighboring towns? Not much else. We don’t deal with the dark races unless we're dispatched to dispose of them.”
His words hung heavy in the air, filled with the cold certainty of policy rather than justice.
Vyncent gave a curt nod. “Thank you. Just had to be sure.”
He made his way back to where Isaac and Theo stood beneath the dim lantern light of the caravan path. Lowering his voice, he said, “We should rendezvous with Vlad and the others before pursuing that harpy contract. Other than the drunks who posted it in the tavern, no one seems to know a thing about where they actually are. I’d rather not get caught in a forest choke point, surrounded by gods-know-what, without Avery and Vlad to help spot an ambush.”
Before either man could reply, a sharp crash shattered the quiet from somewhere inside one of the caravan wagons.
A heartbeat later, Osira’s voice erupted, shrill and furious, shaking the walls with every word.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡys9QnpO0NO
“What the hell are you doing in my room, you ghoulish faced fuck?!”
A soldier’s panicked voice followed, the sound of heavy boots scrambling over wooden floors.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhpdfZYCFFn
Inside the cabin, chaos reigned. The imperial soldier had clearly wandered somewhere he shouldn’t have. He turned to flee, only to trip over something heavy sprawled across the floor.
He hit the ground hard—and found himself face-to-snout with a massive black-and-white dire wolf. The beast bared its teeth and growled low, its eyes glowing like coals in the dim lantern light.
The soldier’s skin turned pale as snow. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t know anyone was sleeping in there! I didn’t even see the wolf!” he babbled, trying to scramble upright, his limbs flailing.
Osira leapt down from her bunk like a demon unshackled. Naked as the day she was born, she brandished a dagger in one hand—gleaming steel, wickedly curved. Her braids, green and tied tight, flailed behind her like a war banner as she pointed the blade straight at his throat.
“You have until the count of three to get the fuck out of my room before I carve you a second asshole,” she hissed.
“O-One!”
The man scrambled to his feet, practically leaping through the door. He bolted down the narrow hallway, boots thundering against the wooden floor, then exploded through the outer cabin door—face-first into the gravel.
Wheezing and wild-eyed, he shouted, “Let them through! Gods help us, there's a short naked foul-mouthed elf woman in there, and she’s about to unleash her demon dog on me!”
He didn’t wait for permission. He bolted behind the handful of scattered soldiers still blocking the road, shivering like a wet pup.
From the front wagon, Argram emerged, looking irritated. “Everything checks out. Let them pass,” he said, his voice flat. He passed by Isaac, Vyncent, and Theo with a casual nod. “Safe travels tonight.”
He had barely taken three steps when the air shattered.
A single crack—tore through across the plains.
Argram’s head detonated like an overripe melon. Bone, brain, and fragments of his ornate steel helm exploded across the road. His body collapsed with a wet thud, lifeless.
A chorus of shouting erupted.
The remaining soldiers ducked for cover, weapons drawn, firing blindly toward the darkened tree line. Muzzle flashes bloomed like fireflies in the rain.
Theo, Isaac, and Vyncent ducked low and made for the front wagon. Theo raised his hand mid-sprint, chanting a swift arcane phrase. The moment he uttered the final syllable, orbs of vibrant blue light materialized around each horse and dragon raptor in the convoy, their bodies pulsing with protective magic.
A visible shimmer surrounded the beasts—warding them from any further projectiles.
The cabin door slammed shut behind them.
Inside, the air buzzed with tension.
Theo didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword from his belt and raised its hilt near his facetwo fingers to his face and after a brief incantation, cast his thoughts outward through the wards across the caravan. His voice echoed inside the minds of every caravan member:192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2yl3qOPD4J
“Everyone up! Arm yourselves! We’re under attack—this is an ambush!”
The howl of both dire wolves erupted from inside the caravan like a battle horn, fierce and unrelenting. The sound rattled the very boards of the floor.
In the corridor, bunk doors flew open. Boots hit the ground. Armor clinked. The shuffle of weapons being drawn filled the air. But before anyone could ask questions or even gather themselves, a sudden silence descended.
The gunfire… had stopped.
No shouting. No commands.
Only the patter of rain. Heavy. Relentless. Hammering against the wood and steel of the cabin walls. Vyncent moved quickly to the series of levers affixed to the wall beside the window. Without hesitation, he pulled the one closest to him. A heavy metallic rumble answered his action—steel-shuttered armor uncoiling down the walls of every caravan car, locking into place with sharp, echoing thuds. The windows vanished behind blackened plates, sealing the cabins in a coffin of iron.
Isaac leaned in toward the nearest slit the shutter left exposed and peered through the narrow gap. Outside, under the pale moonlight, lay the slaughtered remains of imperial soldiers, their bodies strewn across the road like discarded bloodied dolls. Figures moved among them—masked men, faceless and silent, picking through corpses like carrion birds. Nothing about them suggested order or mercy.
From beyond the armored walls, a voice rang out—sharp, mocking, and cruel.
“We only need one of you to come out and negotiate. If no one emerges, or is someone as much as whispers an incantation, or if anyone tries anything clever, we’ll rig your wagons with explosives and send your bones screaming into the afterlife.”
Isaac let out a humorless laugh, then raised his voice with deliberate scorn.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQrLMr9GiPn
“Why should we trust the word of someone who just butchered imperial soldiers in cold blood?”
A figure stepped into view. Isaac watched through the slit as a man emerged from behind the wreckage—tall, cloaked, dragging something. No—someone. He yanked the figure forward and cast them down into the gravel and blood-soaked mud like they were nothing.
“Because I’ll kill your little fucking whore.”
The words sliced through the night like a blade. Lizyra hit the ground hard, her body limp with exhaustion. Blood streaked her face, her hands bound behind her back. She groaned, trying to lift herself on trembling arms.
“Sorry, guys,” she whispered, wincing. “They ambushed me… in the woods…”
With a hiss of pressure and a groan of metal, the steel shutters began to retract, pulling upward on the wagons one by one. The main cabin door creaked open, and Isaac stepped out into the chill night air. His boots struck the earth with purpose.
“You’ve made a grave mistake,” he said, voice taut with restrained fury.
The man before him peeled away his mask. A narrow face was revealed, gaunt and ghost-pale, framed by a pointed beard and curled mustache. His smile was wicked, almost amused. Slowly, he drew a flintlock pistol from his belt and leveled it at Lizyra’s head.
“No,” the man said, voice laced with venom. “You are mistaken. I know who you are. I saw you on the road—the quiet one standing off to the side while your little witch here stepped forward and unleashed hell on us.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe if you didn't steal from others,” he said coldly, “you wouldn't find yourself hunted down and left for dead.”
The man let out a bitter laugh.
“I’m not a patient man,” he snapped. “So I’ll make this simple. This little brat destroyed wagons full of gold and valuables— property of my Lord. Then she froze half our crew like statues. When I came to, goblins were already picking over the bones.”
Lizyra laughed weakly, defiance flickering behind the blood smeared on her lips.
“Liar, liar…” she rasped playfully. “I only froze you, stupid. Your men ran away screaming like babies.”
The man’s expression twisted. With a sharp snap, he cocked the hammer of his flintlock and spat directly on her cheek.
“Tell us where the dragon is,” he growled. “Or I’ll paint this road with her fucking brains.”
A voice echoed inside Isaac’s mind—calm, composed, unmistakably Theo.
We’re surrounded, Isaac. Completely. Trolls in the trees, raiders at every angle. If we’re going to strike, it has to be now. Just say the word—and I’ll teleport everyone outside the caravan.
Isaac’s jaw clenched, knuckles white at his sides. His eyes never left the gunman.
“What are you talking about?” he said flatly. “She was with the dragon.”
Lizyra stirred, lifting her face from the mud. Blood clung to her chin like melted wax.
“I ordered him to fly away,” she muttered, her voice hollow and fading.
Isaac’s gaze sharpened. “Why didn’t you order him to attack?!”
“Because...” She coughed hard, crimson spattering across the gravel. “Code Zero says we lay low until danger passes. Ordering Nox to attack wouldn’t exactly be laying low.”
She groaned and let her head drop against the ground. “I’m not feeling too good. They made me drink something… something gross.”
Isaac took a step forward.
Crack.
A shot exploded into the dirt just inches from Lizyra’s skull, gravel leaping into the air.
“One more step,” the gunman warned, “and the next one paints her brains across the ground.”
Isaac froze mid-step, fists trembling at his sides.
“It was a mistake not killing you when I had the chance,” he said, his voice a low snarl.
The man chuckled, licking his teeth as if savoring the moment.
“A mistake I’m grateful for.” He raised his voice like a stage actor. “If you hadn’t sent a child to do a man’s job, I, Roberto Alveraz, wouldn’t have the pleasure of revenge.”
He thumbed back the second hammer on his pistol. The weapon gleamed wet with rain.
“Call the dragon back,” he barked. “Surrender it to us. Do that, and we’ll let your friends live. Hell, we’ll even give you the antidote to whatever anti-magic shit she drank.”
“You fucking bastard,” Isaac hissed.
Lizyra laughed again, though the effort made her wince. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“I’d rather shit in the woods and wipe my ass with my hand,” she said through ragged breath, “than hand over my best friend to you.”
Roberto’s grin withered into a snarl.
“Oh well.”
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the rain.
Isaac launched forward, feet pounding against the soaked ground. But Roberto was surprisingly gone. A blinding flash of light exploded behind Isaac as the rest of the caravan's defenders teleported into the fray, weapons drawn, scattering among the masked raiders like a sudden storm of blades and spells.
As Isaac sprinted past Lizyra’s body, Kitsune appeared beside her in a blink and dropped to one knee, chanting a healing incantation as glowing sigils lit the rain around her.
Two masked men stepped forward, swords raised, bodies tensed as Isaac charged. Before they could react, he hurled both of his short swords with practiced precision. Steel spun through the air—bait, not a kill.
The men deflected the blades with instinctive sweeps, their guards open.
Two gunshots rang out in the same breath.
The bullets tore through their chests, punching through armor and muscle with brutal finality. They dropped before they could scream, the thunder of the shots echoing off the blood-slick ground.
Isaac landed in a roll, already drawing the pistols he’d fired from beneath his coat. He holstered them in one clean motion, snagged his fallen swords from the mud, and rose just in time to meet another attacker—a spearman lunging with a roar.
The blade came fast, silver flashing through the rain.
Isaac spun, narrowly dodging the thrust. Every motion was a rhythm, every breath a beat in the song of battle. The world slowed around him.
He locked his arms around the shaft of the spear as it passed behind his back, twisted, and tore the weapon from the attacker’s grip. Using its momentum, he pivoted again—this time with lethal purpose—and drove the tip into the man’s throat.
A geyser of blood erupted, warm and pulsing, coating Isaac’s arms as the man collapsed, gurgling.
Across the field, from the shadowed edge of the treeline, two trolls burst into the clearing—massive, snarling, their muscles straining beneath gray, rain-soaked skin.
Osira stood alone in their path, bow drawn and unmoving.
She loosed a single arrow.
One of the beasts shrieked as the shaft drove into its eye, burying deep until it vanished. Roaring in fury, the troll lifted its war hammer—twice Osira’s size—and hurled it straight toward her, the weapon spinning like a comet.
Before it reached her, the sky cracked.
Lightning fell in a blinding arc and struck the hammer mid-flight, shattering it into molten shards with a deafening boom.
Osira blinked, startled by the sudden burst of white-hot light, and turned.
Behind her, Theo stood amidst the chaos, his sword crackling with raw electric energy. The rain hissed off the glowing magic circle beneath his feet, and the runes pulsed like a heartbeat. Electricity danced along the blade, crawling up his arm like living threads of power.
He didn’t stop chanting.
Another spell ignited. A web of lightning surged from his sword and arced sideways across the battlefield, engulfing several more assailants in searing light. They dropped as one—smoking, twitching, lifeless.
To the left, Gwen carved her way through the enemy ranks, a sickle in each hand, her face lit with bloodlust.
“I was trying to sleep,” she roared, “until you assholes showed up!”
Close behind her, Ifera danced between two swordsmen, her double-bladed glaive a blur of dark steel. She moved like liquid shadow—graceful, calm, merciless. Each swing connected with a meaty crunch or a spraying arc of blood.
Above the chaos, atop the lead caravan cabin, Onyx and Osirus lay prone beneath the canvas canopy. They sniped with ruthless precision, each shot dropping a ranged attacker before they could fire or reload. Rather than waste time reloading, they tossed aside spent rifles and pulled fresh ones from the crate strapped to the second-floor platform.
“So much for being outnumbered,” Osirus shouted with a grin. “These guys had no clue the hellstorm they were walking into.”
Below, blood pooled thick and dark in front of Isaac’s boots as he struck down the last man in his way. His chest heaved with exhaustion, eyes scanning the field.
In the distance, Riley, Sakura, and Vyncent were locked in combat with the trolls—coordinated, brutal, fearless.
From the corner of his eye, Isaac caught a flicker of blue.
A glowing orb had formed around Lizyra’s motionless body. Kitsune knelt at her side, hands glowing with golden magic as she whispered a healing chant, her face etched with strain.
Isaac’s stomach twisted.
Everyone was accounted for—except Roberto.
And Nox.
Roberto remembered pulling the trigger.
And then—
Something seized him.
There was no sound. Not at first. Just pressure. Crushing, all-consuming, violent in its suddenness. One moment he stood on solid ground, vengeance on his lips, the flintlock still warm in his grip—and the next, the world tilted sideways.
The pain was instant—white-hot, stabbing down from both shoulders, webs of agony threading through his chest like molten wire. The ground fell away beneath him. Not literally. It felt that way—like gravity had betrayed him. His legs kicked once, uselessly, as the wind screamed past.
His mind scrambled to catch up. Rain battered his face, cold needles on raw skin. The air was thinner now, harsher. Harder to breathe. His ears filled with sound—thunder cracking overhead, a rhythmic pulse like the beating of colossal wings, and something deeper… a growl that rolled through the clouds like the groan of a god.
He tried to scream, but the wind snatched it from his mouth.
His arms wouldn’t respond. His muscles spasmed. He was being pulled upward—lifted—his joints screaming, nerves ablaze. He fought to lift his head, to see, to understand.
For a split second, the clouds parted—and he saw it.
Not clearly. Just a silhouette. Immense. Scaled. Eyes like smoldering stars. The shape above him was living shadow, coiling power, and impossible size. It roared—not as a challenge, but as a declaration. A sound that didn’t echo, because it didn’t need to. It owned the sky.
Then the pressure vanished.
Weightlessness.
The world tilted, flipped.
His stomach lurched as the sky became the ground and the clouds rushed upward. He felt himself falling—truly falling—limbs thrashing, no resistance, no control. A single beat of silence passed before the wind began to scream again, louder now, like it wanted to peel the skin from his bones.
There was no time to comprehend what came next.
The impact tore through him like a divine sentence.
A sickening crack, wet and final, exploded through the air as Roberto’s body collided with the earth. Bone, blood, and viscera burst outward in a steaming haze of red mist and shattered meat.
Isaac barely had time to dive aside. Chunks of flesh splattered across his coat, warm and stinking.
He stood, grimaced, and dragged a hand across his face.
“Gods, Nox,” he muttered. “Next time you drop someone, maybe don’t aim for me.”
Nox descended in silence, wings folding in as he landed beside Isaac. The massive dragon let out a low, guttural moan—less a sound of pain, more a tremor that rolled across the blood-soaked field like distant thunder.
His snout pressed gently against Lizyra’s body, nudging her with a slow, mournful persistence.
“Stop it, Nox,” Kitsune said, voice tight and quick. “I’m trying to heal her.”
The dragon rumbled but obeyed. With a grunt, he lowered himself beside her, his scaled body curling around the girl like a living wall. Rain hissed against his back, steam rising from where the heat of battle still clung to his skin.
Lizyra stirred beneath the glow of Kitsune’s spell. Her lips moved, voice barely more than a whisper.
“Why did you kill him, Nox?” she asked, eyes fluttering. “That… wasn’t right.”
Isaac stepped forward and slid his swords back into their sheaths. His jaw was set, his tone like steel drawn across bone.
“Because that bastard poisoned you. And shot you in the back.” He paused, a tremor of bitterness in his throat. “He deserved worse.”
Lizyra’s eyes closed again as she drew in a shuddering breath. “Nobody… deserves to die.”
Kitsune’s hands hovered above the wound, flickering with golden light that pulsed in time with Lizyra’s heartbeat. “Lizyra, please,” she said, her voice edged with panic. “You need to stay still. This is serious, and I’m struggling to hold the spell together.”
Lizyra reached up, her movements slow and shaky. She brushed her fingers through Kitsune’s hair, tracing the delicate line of her ears with childlike trust.
“Don’t worry, foxy,” she murmured. “I trust you.”
And then she passed out, her hand falling limp in the wet grass.
A moment later, the sound of boots splashing through mud reached them as Vyncent and the others sprinted around the side of the caravan. Osira arrived first, panting, bow still in hand.
“Alright,” she said between breaths. “So… good news and bad news.”
Vyncent didn’t wait. “Bad news is, after all that noise, we’ve got something worse coming. Looks like a monster army is converging on us from the east.”
He glanced down at Lizyra, then toward the treeline. “We need to move. Now. North, through the forest. She’s not in shape for another fight.”
Isaac didn’t hesitate. “The trolls?”
“They’re gone,” Riley said, stalking past with her longsword over one shoulder. She swung it once through the air, flinging a sheet of blood from the blade. “They didn’t stand a chance.”
Kitsune rose, still trembling, her hands coated in crimson.
“She’s stable enough to move,” she said. “But the bullet’s still in her back. I’ll need to operate as soon as we’re out of danger.”
Isaac nodded once, then knelt. With care, he lifted Lizyra into his arms. Her body felt too light—too still. He held her close, shielding her from the wind as he carried her toward the lead caravan car.
Behind him, the rest of the crew began falling back into formation.
The blue orbs of light surrounding the caravan’s beasts flickered, then faded, dissolving like soap bubbles into the night. The tension in the air never left—it only changed shape, from violence to urgency.
Theo climbed onto the coach driver’s seat, soaked and silent. He raised one hand, and the reins glowed with arcane light.
“Move,” he ordered.
With a groan of wood and a whisper of steel, the massive, multi-car, double-decker caravan creaked forward, wheels grinding over gravel and blood.
They disappeared slowly into the forest—lanterns dimmed, shadows thickening around them—until the storm swallowed the last of their light.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU8sd8NUO7l
