The morning sunlight was choked by the dense canopy of leaves above, leaving behind a state of eternal gloom and a creeping gray fog that covered tree roots winding like giant snakes. The stench of wet earth and rotting moss dominated the air.
Ahead of us, four members of the Blood Sword Faction walked with overflowing arrogance. Vane, their leader, roughly hacked at the undergrowth blocking their path with his sword, creating a racket that echoed among the trees.
They chatted, laughed condescendingly, and stepped on dry twigs without a shred of tactical awareness. They assumed their armor and Middle Class status formed an absolute shield.
"A bunch of idiots looking to die," snorted Ragnar softly. The massive fighter walked to my left, a greatsword with a blade as wide as a grown man's palm resting casually on his right shoulder.
A few meters behind Vane's group, the three of us formed our own line. In stark contrast to the commotion ahead, Ragnar and I moved without a sound. Our boots avoided branches, and our breathing was regulated in a constant rhythm.
I turned slightly toward the girl walking lightly on my right side. Selena Lune stepped across the muddy ground as if she were dancing on a palace ballroom floor. Her uniform remained entirely pristine.
"In a place like this, an unknown variable is a liability," I whispered to her, my eyes keeping watch over the shadows of the trees. "What is your combat class, Miss Lune? If we are ambushed, I need to know whether I should throw you to the back or let you fight."
Selena turned her head, her unsettlingly sweet smile never fading. "I am a healer, Cadet Draven. But do not worry, I also possess some environmental manipulation magic to hold off enemies."
Ragnar's steps slowed slightly. He narrowed his eyes at Selena. "Healing magic and crowd control? Do not tell me you are a Priestess?"
Selena let out a small laugh, a sound resembling the chime of glass bells, then gave a wink. "A very clever guess, Cadet Holt."
Ragnar's guess might have sounded ordinary, but inside my head, that fact triggered a high-level warning alarm.
In the Aethelgard Empire, a Priestess was incredibly rare. Their holy magic was so valuable that they were usually locked away in the main temple or escorted by a full platoon of Templars in the central military. No Priestess was allowed to roam freely as a mere errand girl for the Student Senate.
Worse yet, during the ten years I spent trampling over corpses on the battlefields of my past life, I had never once seen the face or heard the name of Selena Lune.
Her existence was not just an anomaly. She was a complete blind spot in my nearly perfect knowledge.
Suddenly, Vane's rough laughter ahead was cut off by a low, bone-vibrating growl.
From the branch of an old oak tree stretching over Vane's group, a giant shadowy figure leaped down. A Mutant Wolf the size of a pony, with dirty gray fur and fangs dripping acidic saliva, pounced directly at Vane's face.
"Watch out!" screamed the female mage in Vane's group, firing a small fire projectile that missed widely.
Vane staggered backward, raising his arms in panic. The wolf's claws tore his shoulder guard, sending the young man crashing to the muddy ground.
A long howl shattered the silence, answered by a dozen other howls from all directions. The gray fog around us was suddenly filled with dozens of floating, blazing red eyes. We had entered the heart of a Mutant Wolf pack's hunting territory.
The Blood Sword Faction's formation crumbled instantly. Panic took over. The swordsmanship they frequently showed off in the academy arena turned into blind, frantic swinging when faced with the pure terror of starving wild monsters.
In stark contrast to them, my commander instincts hijacked my nervous system. My brain turned as cold as ice.
"Ragnar, front! Open a path!" I shouted, drawing the black Blood-Iron sword from my back. "Selena, hold the center. I am the executioner!"
Ragnar grinned savagely, baring his teeth. "Finally, a little entertainment!"
The street fighter dashed forward. A golden Aura ignited, coating the blade of his giant greatsword. With a single, powerful horizontal swing, the heavy steel blade smashed into the side of the first Mutant Wolf lunging at us.
CRACK!
The sound of ribs shattering into pieces rang out. The monster was thrown against a tree, its body broken in two.
However, three other wolves immediately slipped through Ragnar's blind spots.
Before I could step forward, the forest floor around us glowed with a bluish hue. Tree roots that were previously dead suddenly shot out from the ground, radiating light, and entangled the legs of the three wolves, locking them in place.
Manipulation magic courtesy of Selena.
I did not waste that opportunity. I darted forward, lowering my posture beneath the monsters' line of sight, and swung the Blood-Iron sword straight into the entangled wolf's neck.
SLASH!
The dull black blade tore through the monster's skin and veins with ease. Yet, instead of splattering onto the ground, the hot blood spurting from the wolf's neck immediately clung to and soaked into the pores of my sword.
The wild mana from the monster's blood flowed through the sword hilt, seeped into my palm, and directly pumped the Sanguine Core in my chest.
Instantly, the stinging pain from my muscles being forced to regenerate overnight evaporated. It was replaced by a terrifying explosion of pure physical power. A thin, reddish blood vapor began to billow from my body, giving the illusion as if I were shrouded by an Aura.
"One," I mumbled coldly.
I rotated my body, letting my sword's momentum carry over to the second wolf. A vertical slash cleaved the monster's skull down to the jaw. Blood was absorbed again. My Sanguine Core throbbed joyfully, pumping more adrenaline into my blood vessels.
I danced in the fog, slaughtering every monster that tried to approach our formation. And in the midst of this dance of death, I realized one thing that made my hair stand on end.
Selena Lune.
My fighting style was not the elegant style of the academy. Ten years in the defense trenches made my movements brutal, full of feints, dirty, and highly unpredictable.
Yet, every time I deliberately opened a gap in my defense to lure a wolf closer, a glowing root or a small wall of wind always appeared at the exact, precise moment to halt the monster's movement a split second before I slashed it.
Selena's support magic did not just keep up with my movements; it adapted to my combat veteran rhythm as if she had stood guarding my back for a hundred years.
Our choreography was far too perfect for two people fighting together for the first time.
Who are you really? I thought to myself, glancing at her briefly as my sword decapitated the fifth wolf. Selena only returned my gaze with a bright smile, as if we were dancing at a garden party.
Seeing their pack brutally torn apart, the remaining Mutant Wolves finally howled in fear. They turned around and fled back into the gray fog, leaving behind a dozen carcasses of their kin.
The fight was over.
Ragnar panted heavily, the tip of his greatsword dripping ordinary blood. Meanwhile, I stood with a regular breath, my body brimming with energy, and the Blood-Iron sword in my hand returning to a dull black color after being satiated from "drinking" blood.
Selena walked closer. She touched Ragnar's arm where a small scratch had marked his skin. A bluish light flowed.
"It feels cold," grumbled Ragnar, watching his wound close instantly. "Usually a priest's healing magic feels warm like the sun."
Selena only smiled gently without explaining. She shifted to me, touching my shoulder even though I was unhurt. The moment her ice-cold fingers touched my skin, the Sanguine Core's blood vapor around me immediately subsided, as if forcibly suppressed back into my body.
Our eyes met for a moment, a silent conversation filled with suspicion from me and mystery from her.
The girl then turned away, approaching the Blood Sword Faction.
Their condition was pathetic. Their armor uniforms were torn in various places. Their female mage trembled in fear, while Vane clutched his left arm, which had a gaping tear from the first wolf's claws.
"Let me heal your wound, Cadet Vane," offered Selena in a friendly tone that sounded highly contrasting to the monster corpses surrounding them.
Vane's face turned beet red. His pride was utterly shattered. He had just been indirectly saved by the outcast group he had insulted mere minutes ago. Seeing Ragnar and me standing without a single scratch was a devastating blow to his ego.
Vane slapped Selena's hand away roughly.
"Do not touch me with your cheap magic, whore!" snapped Vane, spit flying from his mouth. He tore the edge of his cloak and forcefully bound his own wound. "This is just a small scratch! Do not think you guys are great just because you happened to kill the leftover monsters we had already weakened!"
Ragnar growled, preparing to lift his greatsword again, but I raised a hand, stopping him. I looked at Vane with the same gaze I gave to corpses.
"Suit yourself, Cadet Vane," I said flatly. "But your blood is dripping quite heavily. This forest possesses a sharp sense of smell."
Vane snorted loudly, signaling his group to take the lead once more. "Shut your mouth and just follow the path. We must reach the rally point before nightfall."
We resumed walking deeper into the heart of the Forbidden Forest.
About twenty minutes passed. The fog in this area turned from gray to a very dense milky white. Visibility dropped drastically. Trees in the distance appeared only as blurry shadows. The sound of our boots stepping on the wet ground sounded muffled, as if this forest swallowed all noise.
I chewed the remaining Jager root in my mouth. My senses, still sharpened by the residual effects of absorbing the Mutant Wolf blood, recorded every micro-change around me.
The rhythm of the footsteps ahead of us had changed.
There was no more sound of careless sword hacking from Vane. No more condescending chatter. There was only deliberate silence.
Through a thin gap in the thick fog, my sharp eyes caught a hand movement. Up ahead, the shadowy figure of Vane raised his left hand, giving a standard military tactical signal. Two fingers to the left. Two fingers to the right.
Slowly, the rhythmic sound of footsteps from his three comrades faded from the front. The sound now spread thinly, forming an invisible arc within the fog. One set of steps from the left side. Two sets of steps sneaking to the rear right side.
They split their formation, utilizing this blinding fog to surround my, Ragnar's, and Selena's position from three different directions.
My hand slowly crept up, gripping the cold hilt of the Blood-Iron tightly on my back. The corners of my lips slowly pulled upward, forming a terrifying killer's smile within the darkness of my uniform hood.
Orvelis Nightbane had indeed given clear orders to his dogs. And the betrayal amidst this fog had finally begun. Unfortunately for them, what they were currently surrounding was not a blind pig, but a tracking hound craving the scent of human blood.