But he was grinning.
Not wildly. Not cruelly.
Just… knowingly.
As if everything was moving exactly as he intended.
As they pushed deeper into the forest, branches clawed at their robes, and ash still hung in the air like the ghost of the battlefield.
Kael could hear it.
The distant, haunting howls of Valroks echoed behind them—deep, guttural, and wrong.
Not echoes.
Not one beast.
But several.
Each cry tearing through the forest like a war horn from hell, answered by others in turn.
But none of them were chasing.
Not directly.
Just as he'd planned.
The scent clung to the carriages like a curse, pulling the monsters away—toward the survivors.
Still, it wasn't quiet.
Minor beasts—feral, mindless things barely at Rank 2—burst from the undergrowth.
Kael didn't even pause.
He flicked his hand.
Arcanum Vortex—a swirling ball of compressed mana—ripped through them in one clean burst, leaving behind only smoldering ash and twitching limbs.
