The mist thickened as we advanced.
Not a word. Just our boots in the mud, the rustling of armor, the damp wind slipping between the stones. The stench of death clung to everything. Rotting wood. Rusted iron. Dried blood. Even the trees looked like they were rotting in place.
I moved ahead of the group, eyes alert.
To my right, Sergen was gritting his teeth. Kal walked with his head down, shield raised halfway. The two archers behind were no longer acting tough. And Irla… Irla was shaking. Not from fear. From cold. She didn't have enough magic to warm herself. Her teeth chattered silently.
I placed a hand on her shoulder without slowing down.
— Breathe through your nose. Think about your warmth. It comes from inside. Your mana follows it.
She nodded, not answering.
About ten meters ahead, I crouched down and raised my hand. Full stop. Everyone halted. Except one.
Roud. The bandaged archer.
He almost bumped into me.
I shot him a glare without a word. He lowered his eyes, embarrassed.
I pointed to the ground. Tracks. Deep. Fresh. Clawed paws. Running in circles.
— Howlers, I whispered. Two, maybe three. Still circling.
Sergen frowned.
— You hear them?
— No. I feel them.
He said nothing. But his face paled.
I led us around a boulder, slowly. Ahead, two collapsed walls framed a sort of natural corridor, an old forgotten path. I peeked in.
And I saw it.
A creature, perched on a column. Its skin was dark, glossy. It sniffed the air, paws dug into the stone like fangs into a throat.
I made a sharp gesture.
Kal handed me an arrow. I drew. Took aim.
Breath held, I focused. Just me, my string, and that thing. The world could crumble around me—I wouldn't move.
I released.
Impact. The back of the skull burst open. The Howler dropped, stiff, without a sound.
The others flinched.
— One left, I murmured. Maybe two. Move. Single file. Quiet breathing.
The column was empty now. But I could feel the fangs in the dark. The held-back howls. The pack instinct. It crawled in the mist. Watched us.
But they wouldn't move. Not yet. Not without testing. Not without noise.
So I did what I knew how to do: I led.
The sanctuary appeared through a breach in crumbled stone.
An ancient place of worship, carved into the cliffside. You could still make out faded frescoes, cracked arches, and that forgotten symbol etched on the lintel—a sort of crescent moon between two claws. The place's residual magic floated in the air, nearly extinguished but still palpable. Like a final breath.
I raised my fist. The squad froze.
I moved ahead alone.
No ambush. No sound. But too quiet. I frowned. A howl in the distance. Then another, closer.
They were coming.
— Sergen, Kal. Flank positions. Archers on those heights. Irla, behind this pillar—watch the angles. If one of us falls, you lift them. Fast.
They moved without a word. Not a single hesitation. Even Roud obeyed with near military precision. They understood. This wasn't a fight. It was a performance. And I was the conductor.
I set up the crossbow I'd recovered earlier at the top of the steps, braced. Sergen planted his sword in front of him, shield raised. Kal locked his stance just to his right.
I didn't need to explain. I showed them.
— First contact in fifteen seconds. Three—no, four Howlers. Maybe more behind.
Sergen swallowed. Sweat poured from him. But he didn't move. Not one step back.
I drew my bow.
The first burst from the mist like a beast unleashed from hell. It leapt, claws out. I took it midair, arrow in the eye. It dropped stiffly, sliding across the stone.
— Hold the line! I shouted.
The next ones came together. Three, this time. Synchronized speed. A piercing attack.
— Blade crossing, now!
Sergen and Kal pivoted, their weapons overlapping to block the charge. The impact was brutal. A shower of sparks. The Howlers shrieked, claws against steel.
— Archers, left flank!
Two arrows sliced the air. One struck a creature in the throat. The other missed, but forced it back.
I saw the opening.
I slipped to the side, saber ready. Cut clean through a Howler's back tendon. It screamed, collapsed, and I drove my blade into its skull without slowing.
A claw slashed toward my neck.
Kal blocked it just in time, his shield vibrating from the impact.
— Thanks, I breathed.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
A noise behind us. Another creature sneaking through a blind spot.
— Irla! Yours!
The girl jumped. Her hand trembled. But light flared—a mana circle formed around her feet, and a repelling wave smashed the beast into the wall. Roud finished it with an arrow between the shoulder blades.
I smiled.
She was learning fast.
— Rotation! I yelled. Sergen, cover Kal! Kal, take the center. Archers—low aim, limit the breakthroughs!
A new group emerged from the mist.
Larger. Heavier.
And this time, some bore marks. Longer fangs. Chitinous plates on the shoulders. Elite mutants.
— Hold formation, I said calmly. They won't pass.
They charged. A wall of beasts. A living nightmare.
I didn't hesitate.
— Change! Kal, strike left! Break the line! Irla, prep a light! As soon as Kal hits, blind them!
He obeyed. Kal lunged forward, his shield smashing a Howler mid-run. Irla cast her spell. A white flash. Bright enough to make everyone wince.
The Howlers screamed, blinded.
— KILL THEM!
And we did.
It was precise. Surgical. One by one. No panic. Like patching a leaking boat. I placed them. Corrected them. Pushed them. And they… they killed.
Blood flowed freely. Severed limbs. Distorted howls. Eyes pierced by arrows. Throats slashed by saber.
And not one of mine fell.
Not one.
I saw Sergen step back.
— Hold the line, dammit!
He straightened. Struck. Gutted an enemy with a savage backhand.
— There, I growled. That's what we want.
Kal cleaved a skull. Irla healed a wound before it bled. The archers hit their marks. I floated in the chaos. Blade in one hand, bow in the other. I moved like I'd danced this scene a hundred times. Because I had. Just not with them.
And then, I felt it.
A silence. Not calm. No. The absence of sound. Like a hole in the noise.
The last Howler was fleeing.
I drew. Aimed.
Arrow to the nape.
It collapsed.
Nothing more.
The wind blew between the ruins. One soldier dropped, sitting. Another began to cry. Irla slumped against a pillar, arms around her knees.
I kept watching. Breathing slow. Blade bloody. My right arm numb.
But no one had died.
And that was all that mattered.
I turned to them. Slowly.
— Well executed.
They said nothing. But their eyes shone differently. Heavier. More… alive.
I hadn't saved their lives.
I'd shown them how to survive.
My heartbeat had slowed. The ground was red. The Howlers lay in heaps, slashed, pierced, some still steaming.
The last one had been taken out by a bolt to the eye, just before it reached Irla. A perfect shot. Kal had raised his shield to protect her a second later. They were starting to understand.
I approached the sanctuary. The façade was cracked, ancient, covered in glyphs worn away by moss. And the door—an iron arch sealed with magic. No signs of battle. The Howlers hadn't entered.
I placed my palm on the lock. A familiar rune pulsed faintly: Sealed by the Pact of Silence.
I remembered this magic. A relic of an old cult, sometimes used for forbidden archives. The priests had a phrase. A vocal key. I'd heard the ritual long ago, in a southern crypt.
I wet my lips and whispered:
— Mortis interius. Vox non fallit.
A click echoed. The lock turned on its own, slowly. A warmer breath brushed my cheek.
Behind me, the soldiers watched. No words. Just that thick silence, a mix of awe and disbelief. Even Kal had stopped breathing.
The door opened.
A golden light spilled from within. Torches floated above the ground, fed by soft, almost domestic magic. And at the back, on a stone slab covered in furs… she was there.
Lady Althéa of Velnara.
Lying down. One knee bent, the other leg extended. One hand on her belly. The other holding a small dagger to her chest. Her gaze slowly rose to us, tired but still clear. Her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose beneath the wet fabric of her white shirt, soaked with sweat.
Her corset had been hastily undone. Golden clasps dangled, unfastened. Her breasts were partially exposed, half-covered, half-offered by the soaked fabric.
A droplet of sweat, beaded on her collarbone, slid slowly down the curve of her left breast… then vanished into the dark depths of her parted cleavage.
Her hips were wide, perfect, molded in officer trousers likely borrowed from one of her guards. A button had popped. And between her slightly open thighs, one could see the dampness of heat held too long.
She looked at me. Not the others. Me. And her lips parted in a whisper.
— You're finally here...
I stepped closer, slowly. The scent of dried herbs and noble sweat enveloped me. She had held out. She was alive. And she was magnificent.
I extended my hand.
— Lady Althéa. Your escort has arrived. You're safe.
She hesitated, then sat up using me for support. Her hand slid along my forearm, slowly, as if gauging its strength. Her body brushed against mine for a second—a brief, burning contact.
[DING — System Awakened: Sensory Target Detected.]Name: Althéa of Velnara.Status: High Noble. Susceptibility: High.Mission Available: Have your first intercourse.Reward: +1,000 Points
She then turned to the soldiers while I was still reading the floating text.
— Who… is your commander?
They stayed silent. All eyes turned to me.
I said nothing. I just held her gaze. And she understood.
A barely perceptible smile formed at the corner of her lips.
Fuck. Fate really knew how to hand me my future prey.