The Nightspawn hadn't left behind corpses, or even a single drop of blood.
When one was wounded, it would leak a strange, inky liquid, but the liquid would evaporate in the exact same way as the rest of the body.
It was as though the creatures were simply becoming darkness, returning to the night they were birthed from.
Mathew glanced at Ophelia, who was breathing hard over to the side, then walked over to Argus. The large warrior had killed close to four times as many Nightspawn as the lady he served.
"Wow, it seemed like those monsters were pretty tough," Mathew said, loud enough so Ophelia could hear, "I wasn't sure if our mistress was capable enough to handle them. Looks like we pulled through, though."
Argus gave him a disapproving look, and Mathew noticed Ophelia glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. He didn't really know what had possessed him, but he continued speaking, trying his best to poke and prod at his captor:
"I had expected her to be more prepared for a fight like that, with how confident she acts. Didn't realize she was such a delicate maiden after all." Ophelia's face went red, and she angrily blew air out of her nose like a bull. She opened her mouth as if to say something to him, but then slammed it shut quickly and turned away.
Argus placed a hand on Mathew's shoulder and said sternly, "Refrain from insulting your master, or our journey will not be comfortable for you." Comfortable? He spoke as if the journey was comfortable already. Mathew wanted to laugh out of bitterness, but didn't.
Instead, he responded in an even tone: "I am sorry. I was just anxious for the outcome of the battle."
Argus narrowed his eyes. "I see," He said with a short nod.
Mathew felt a little strange antagonizing them, but deep inside, he had discovered a sharp emotion that was completely new to him: It was the feeling of spite.
He didn't think he had ever felt this feeling toward a person before, at least not to this degree. Not even toward his father… perhaps because he would have to have actually interacted with the person enough to feel something for them.
That would have required his father to have actually stayed around.
It was a strange feeling, bitter and cold, but it wasn't quite hatred. He didn't quite hate Ophelia… not exactly.
Sure, she had killed his follower, and that hurt him greatly, but he had not known them for very long, and felt himself blaming himself more than he blamed her. When he thought about his fallen followers, the emotion he felt the strongest was guilt.
But he was still disgusted with her actions in particular: She had killed them when she didn't need to, she had stolen from them, and she had imprisoned Mathew with some sort of magical power.
In short, he strongly disliked her and everything he knew about her so far. Perhaps it was because of her power over him, but something itched deep within him, compelling him to find any way he could to push against his chains.
Even if that meant pushing her buttons.
Argus was different, though. He didn't know why he was different, seeing as how he had done most of the actual dirty work… maybe it was because it was done under Ophelia's orders, so Mathew blamed her more?
Or maybe it was simply because Argus actually talked to him and answered his questions.
Regardless, Mathew felt way better about being amicable with Argus than with the mistress they both served.
"Hey, Argus, those monsters looked nothing like the one I killed last week. The one I fought was more spider-like and had lots of eyes and a strange body. Why is that?"
Argus stoked the flames, which were much weaker now than during the fight, and responded without looking up.
"Nightspawn come in many forms and are rarely ever repeated. Each has unique abilities and attributes and behaves in a slightly different way. This is the first time I have seen such a large number of Nightspawn of the same type."
He grabbed some loose sticks that hadn't made it into the fire and added them in, before continuing:
"They seemed to be Annum tier, or perhaps the pack shares one mind, and we really fought a single creature with many vessels. If that was the case, it would probably be equivalent to a Decennium Tier Magical Creature."
"Wait… so you categorize Nightspawn into the same tiers as blessings?" Mathew asked.
"Yes. The tiers measure how much energy something can contain. Call it divine energy or magical energy; it doesn't really matter, as it all comes from the same place: The gods. Much like my lady and I inherited power from our ancestor, the goddess Valor, the Nightspawn inherited power from the evil god they were born from, darkness itself."
"Wait… You and Ophelia descended from a goddess?" It sounded crazy, but Mathew no longer had a limit to what he could believe.
"We come from the lineage of the goddess Valor, and our house is one of the few descended from her. This makes us 'enhanced' humans, our powers equivalent to a Decennium Tier magical Creature. These abilities granted by bloodline are called 'Inheritance', and Inheritance is rated with the very same 5 tiers as Blessings and Boons."
"I see. It is pretty convenient that all these things can be measured using the same system. So most humans with powers are using boons, inheritance, or both?" Mathew guessed.
Argus nodded. "And that is the nature of demigods as well. Usually, they are the direct children of gods, granting them Inheritance of the 4th Tier, Century." That made sense to Mathew, and he let Argus continue: "I would assume that your healing factor is either a Boon or a gift of Inheritance from a god… perhaps Protection, or Purity?"
Mathew shrugged. He didn't know where his powers came from. He looked over at Ophelia and noticed she had lain down on her bedroll, her back to them. He kept her in his peripheral vision, and said, "I am surprised our mistress is in the Decennium Tier. That seems pretty powerful… I never would have guessed."
Argus remained stone-faced on the other side of the flames, not revealing if he understood Mathew's jabs or not. Ophelia didn't move a muscle, so Mathew decided to leave it alone. He sighed, and then watched the flames in silence.
If he had been close enough to her, however, he would have noticed her clenching her fists tightly until her arms shook.
…..
They had been walking for a few days.
Ophelia was silent.
They were tired and exhausted, and were running low on provisions.
Mathew did not know what their end goal was, but Argus had told him that the nearest town was another two weeks away on foot. They didn't have enough food to last them that long.
Lucky for them, their third member didn't have to eat.
It was pretty early on after arriving in this world that Mathew realized that not only was it impossible for him to consume food due to his mouth being permanently closed, but he could go completely without food.
He still felt hungry, of course, but he couldn't starve to death. Perhaps his stomach was just magically regenerating itself as it tried to eat itself… It was a bit of a stretch, but it was the only explanation Mathew could come up with.
As long as he ignored the hunger pangs, which were dull but persistent, he would be fine.
It seemed that he had the capacity to eat, but he couldn't figure out how to. He could drink just fine by sticking water into the gaps in his metal teeth… But the only way he could think of opening his mouth was by reactivating the Iron Mind.
He feared that if he ever did that, he would release the Catastrophe on the world once again and cause more deaths.
Even without him taking part in the rations, his captors were in hot water. They would have to go a few days without food in order to make it to civilization.
Then their saviors arrived… or so Mathew thought.
Mathew and his companions had finally reached what resembled a well-traveled dirt road.
Coming from the direction they were headed was a wagon pulled by a pair of oxen. As they grew closer, Mathew saw that it was a family of four: a mother, father, and two children. Ophelia, Argus, and Mathew stood in their path, but moved over to the side to let them pass.
As the wagon passed them, the father tipped his straw hat to them in a polite greeting.
Ophelia responded by summoning her golden vambraces and moving swiftly to catch up to the wagon. As soon as she reached it, she grabbed the back of the wagon with both hands and dug her heels into the dirt of the road.
The oxen pulling the wagon struggled against her as the wagon first jolted and then came to a screeching halt.
It was an impressive show of strength from her, but Mathew was feeling the same emotions that the family in the wagon probably felt as a lone women single handedly stopped their wagon by force:
Fear, anxiety, and dread.