The flames painted the streets of Veridian in shades of angry orange, buildings reduced to silhouettes blurred by smoke and shadow. My boots struck the cobblestones, a hard, rhythmic beat against the chaos.

  There they are. I was right.

  The carpenter's workshop was an inferno, a pyre where generations of craft and history turned to ash. The smoke carried the scent of burning cedar and pine. Woods that had once been shaped by careful hands into tables, chairs, and cradles. Lives.

  A bucket line was a useless, sentimental gesture against this kind of hate. At the center of it all stood Captain Yasafina, a point of order in a world of chaos, her voice a sharp crackle over the roar of the fire.

  I nudged Ragna. "There."

  "The angry lion-woman?" she muttered. "You’re joking."

  "I’m not. She's our only chance." I was adamant about this, and I hoped I was right. Finn’s grandfather’s life is measured in minutes, not hours. Marius would form a committee before he formed a rescue party.

  I pushed through the crowd, and Ragna followed me with an uncertain look on her face. The heat was intense, shoving us back. A guardsman moved to block us. I flashed my adventurer's badge. He stepped aside.

  Yasafina turned only for a moment and then her golden eyes returned to the fire. "This is no place for sightseeing, barbarians," she said, her voice clipped. "Are you here to gloat over a disaster?"

  "Let’s not be too early to judge. We're here because this is no accident," I said.

  Now she turned fully. Her leonin features were sharp in the firelight, her expression a mask of confusion. Anyone else and they’d have doubted us longer, but perhaps she found a reflection of herself in us, she listened. "What do you mean?"

  I don’t have time for niceties and politics. I hoped she’d believe us. I stepped closer, and as a guard tried to stop me, she raised her hand to allow me. I whispered to her ear, "This fire is a diversion. The Black Concord is behind it. We have three of their agents bound in a cellar two streets over, although two of them are dead." My voice was so low that only she could hear. "But that's not the worst of it. They're performing a blood ritual in the Ironwood Grove right now. The carpenter, Halden. They're going to sacrifice him."

  Her ears flattened against her skull. "Those are serious accusations. I'll need to report this to the Marquis immediately."

  "By then it will be too late." My voice hardened. "This isn't a diplomatic incident. This is an attack on your city from within. A tactical situation that requires immediate response."

  "With what force? The few of us against an unknown number of cultists?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's suicide."

  "So is waiting for permission while they bleed your city dry." I gestured to the burning workshop. "This is just the beginning. They're taking what they want, and they're not bothering to hide anymore."

  Ragna stepped forward, her club a casual weight on her shoulder. "I've killed worse odds than whatever's waiting in those woods. Don’t tell me you’re scared, old hag?”

  The two large, barbaric women locked gazes. Scarred and brutish, they looked somewhat similar. Yasafina's tail lashed. "You have no authority here, barbarian."

  "And you have no time." I met her gaze. "Are you a Lioness who leads from the front, or a bureaucratic old lady who waits for permission while her people die?"

  The words hung in the air, a challenge she couldn't deflect. Her claws extended, then retracted. Her jaw worked silently.

  She was born a warrior before she became a knight. The graying hair and human uniform can't hide what she truly is. A predator, caged by politics and propriety.

  Finally, she turned. "Brenna! Kane!" Two knights broke from the line, their movements crisp. "You're with me. The rest of you, contain this fire and secure the scene." Her voice dropped to a growl. "No one, and I mean no one, disturbs the Marquis. We handle this."

  They nodded without question.

  Captain Yasafina, the Lion, turned to us. "Where is this grove?"

  ****

  The journey to the Ironwood Grove was a blur of darkness and urgency. Our frantic, five-person unit moved through the forest in silence.

  Something's wrong.

  I slowed as we reached the hidden entrance. According to the map, it should have been concealed. According to what Ragna and I’d seen earlier during our search, this wasn’t here. Instead, a gaping wound stood in the earth, a passage torn open by force.

  "The entrance should be hidden," I murmured. "If it's visible..."

  Yasafina's ears swiveled. "Then the protection is gone. Which means the sacrifice..."

  If they've broken the seals, they've already killed him. I’d already explained the situation to Yasafina and her subordinates, so they reached the same conclusions I did. Ragna was visibly shaking now. There’s some hope still. If the old man willingly opened the grove in the end, thinking about Finn, he might still be alive. I hope…

  "This changes nothing," Yasafina said, her voice a low growl. "If they've completed their ritual, they're still here. We stop them before they leave with whatever they came for."

  Ragna hefted her club. "Only one way to find out."

  We descended. The air grew colder with each step, and it wasn’t a good feeling. The tunnel opened into a vast clearing ringed by ancient trees. The Ironwood Grove. But something was horribly wrong.

  The trees were weeping. Black sap oozed from ritual cuts, dripping down like tears. The natural magic of the grove felt twisted, corrupted, the air heavy with the stench of death.

  And at the center of it all...

  "No."

  The word escaped me as a breath.

  I didn’t know the man, but I recognized him. Even with the beard, some of Finn’s facial features overlapped with his. Old man Halden's body was slumped against the largest tree, his arms bound with thorny vines that were just beginning to wither. His skin was gray, drained of life. His eyes stared sightlessly at nothing.

  No Ascension Rank flew over his head. My Dragon’s Eye detected no life from him. We were looking at a dead body. My muscles began to twitch.

  I promised the boy…

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The weight of that broken vow settled on me like a slab of granite. All the running, all the urgency, all the plans to come and stop the cultists. None of it had mattered. The rage that flooded through me was cold. My sweat froze on my skin.

  I have to go back and tell him I failed. That I have nothing to offer him but revenge.

  I decided I should at least get him the Branch Leader’s head. The Domain Lord. Beside me, Ragna let out a low, guttural growl. It wasn’t a shout nor a battle cry. Something deeper and more primal.

  “Old Halden…” Yasafina drew her sword, the sound of steel unnaturally loud in the dead quiet. She seemed to know this man. As the wielder of a sword, it wouldn’t be unusual if she visited him often. "They will pay for this violation." Her knights flanked her, weapons ready.

  A slow, condescending clap echoed from the shadows.

  "Ah, here I thought we could loot the trees and leave Veridian. What a pity." A figure emerged from the darkness. Tall, wide, and robed, his face obscured. "Witnesses are so... inconvenient."

  [6th Ascension]

  More figures appeared behind him. Easily a dozen. Among them, two stepped forward to flank their leader, a woman with a scroll case and a man with lightning dancing between his fingers.

  [4th Ascension]

  [4th Ascension]

  The leader's gaze lingered on me. "Interesting. A pair of barbarians... You two remind me of someone. That old bastard." He chuckled. "No matter. The weak have been culled. Dispose of these witnesses."

  “What audacity you have to willingly show your face to us,” Yasafina stepped forward. "I am Captain Yasafina of the Veridian Guard. In the name of Marquis Marius Thalasson, I place you under arrest for murder and treason."

  The robed figure laughed. "And my name is Vorlag, what does that change? Names are meaningless. Titles are too. Your laws mean nothing to the Concord."

  "Then my blade will have to suffice," Yasafina snarled. "Brenna, Kane! I'll deal with the leader. Engage the others! Barbarians, do what you do best!"

  Her knights charged the mass of cultists. Yasafina lunged for the leader. The grove erupted into chaos.

  The woman with the scrolls flicked her wrist, a ribbon of flame lashing toward Ragna. "Burn, savage!"

  Ragna didn't dodge. She stepped into the flame, her skin erupting with scales. "Is that all you've got, scroll-bitch?"

  The man with lightning darted toward me, daggers crackling with electricity. "How funny it is to realize savages even below these Thalassarian fools exist in this world. Your kind lacks the sophistication to comprehend our work."

  Your kind? He wishes I were just another barbarian to be dismissed. I sidestepped the first strike. The lightning user moved with unnatural speed, his form blurring as he attacked from multiple angles.

  He's fast, but not unpredictable. A pattern in the chaos. All flash and textbook moves. I poured more mana into [Dragon's Eye]. The world slowed fractionally. Enough to see the patterns. Left feint, right strike. Retreat, circle, attack from behind.

  I dodged and dodged again. "Stand still and die with dignity!" he hissed.

  "Sorry," I ducked under a slash. "I left my dignity in my other pants."

  He lunged again, both daggers aimed at my chest. I slammed my feet against the ground. "[Storm Call]!" At times like this, shouting the name helped me call it faster. And I could use a precious second against an opponent so fast.

  The ground beneath us frosted over. The Black Concord bastard’s momentum carried him forward, his feet sliding out from under him. His perfect grace vanished.

  Speed meant nothing without control, that was the catch. I surged forward, infusing my fist with crackling energy. "[Tempest Strike]!"

  The blow connected with his sternum. Fire and strength combined, like a Fire Fist. The heat melted through flesh, and the air smelled of burnt meat. He was thrown backward with a kick next, hit a tree, and slid to the ground, a smoking hole in his robes.

  [You have slain a Black Concord Cultist – Level 47!]

  [You have gained experience points!]

  [You’ve leveled up.]

  [Level 43]

  "That's for Halden," I muttered.

  Across the grove, Ragna was a whirlwind of destruction. Scales protected her as she charged through the inferno, club raised high. "Your fire is nothing compared to a dragon's breath!" she roared.

  The pyromancer's eyes widened just before Ragna's club connected with her skull. A sound like a melon bursting. She dropped without another sound.

  That's two down.

  “Good job.”

  “Thanks.”

  We both turned toward the main battle. Yasafina faced the leader alone, her knights still entangled with the lesser cultists. Ragna was about to rush to Yasafina’s aid, but I raised a hand.

  Something was… wrong here. I didn’t know what. The two 4th Ascensions had been fairly easy to deal with, but the leader felt different.

  I focused on Captain Yasafina first. What I saw was a textbook of swordsmanship made flesh, much better than the cultist I faced. She was a dance of lethal geometry with each of her parries a mathematical certainty, and every thrust like a lesson in efficiency.

  Her blade was a silver blur against the gloom of the corrupted grove, a final bastion of perfect, disciplined order against the encroaching chaos. She was magnificent.

  But despite all that show…

  The robed figure, in contrast, seemed barely troubled. He moved with the lazy economy of a predator toying with its meal, deflecting her flawless strikes with casual flicks of his wrist. It was not a duel. It was a dismissal. He was not fighting her; he was allowing her to exhaust herself against the simple fact of his superiority.

  He caught her blade between two fingers, the screech of metal grinding to a halt inches from his face. His laugh echoed through the grove. "Is this the famous discipline of the Veridian Guard? Pathetic. You might fare better fighting like the beast you are."

  “Grrgh…!”

  His eyes flickered to the corpses of his lieutenants, then to Ragna and me. He clicked his tongue. Even though he saw his followers dead, he only made a sound of annoyance, as if a pleasant game had just been interrupted by unruly children. As if he had been playing all this time.

  He tore off his robe with a single, contemptuous motion.

  The creature beneath was barely human. Muscles, swollen and grotesque, rippled across a frame that was too large, too broad for any mortal man. Dark tattoos writhed across his skin like captured serpents, pulsing with a malevolent inner light. He somehow grew even larger as we watched. The very air warmed around him, his body expanding with a power that felt fundamentally wrong.

  "Behold the gift of the Great Grey Sentinel," the monster rumbled, his voice a gravelly tremor that vibrated in my bones. “A Divine Blessing of Strength. [Juggernaut]!”

  A pressure descended upon the grove, heavy and absolute, like the weight of a dead god. It was a suffocating presence that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a simple, cosmic truth. A greater being had entered the field.

  Yasafina did not retreat. Her training, her discipline, her entire existence screamed for her to engage. She shifted her stance and adjusted to the new threat, her golden eyes burning with the cold fire of a cornered lioness. She aimed at the monster's heart and lunged again.

  The giant didn't bother dodging. Yasafina's sword struck true.

  The sound was wrong. Utterly, fundamentally wrong. There was no ring of steel on flesh, no satisfying schism of a landed blow. There was only a dull, dead thud. The sound of a masterfully forged weapon striking something harder, more absolute than itself. Like a blacksmith's hammer striking the anvil, not the steel.

  The blade, a pinnacle of Thalassarian craft, bounced off his skin, leaving not even a scratch.

  He smiled. "My turn."

  It was not a warrior's strike, filled with technique or fury. It was a dismissal. A gesture of contempt given physical form. His massive fist shot out with a speed that defied his bulk, moving not through the air but erasing the space between them.

  The impact was a sickening crack. The sound of a masterpiece of armor, a lifetime of training, and the very concept of defense being rendered utterly irrelevant.

  Yasafina was thrown backward. Unlike a warrior repelled, and more like a ragdoll tossed by a cruel child. Her perfect form shattered, her limbs flailing in a trajectory of broken physics. She hit the ground hard and her body skipped across the corrupted earth like a stone on water before coming to a final, brutal stop against the trunk of an ironwood tree.

  The Lionheart Sentinel, the unbreakable shield of Veridian, was broken.

  The equation of this battle had just been rewritten. The variables of skill, courage, and discipline had been cancelled out by the horrifying constant of raw, overwhelming power.

  That’s not good. My grip tightened around my axe, but somehow my rage only increased. My eyes met Ragna's across the battlefield. We both understood the danger.

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