He tripped his way through knee-high grass that hissed against his leathers with every step. His boots sank into mud, sucking him into the wet ground at each step like the lowlands wanted to keep him. The air sat heavy on his chest. Thick enough to chew. His ears kept popping like he was descending into a mine shaft instead of walking across flat ground.
Kellen's calves were burning. They'd been walking for an hour and every step was a negotiation with terrain that seemed personally offended by his presence.
Torian moved ahead. Shield raised. Testing the ground before committing his weight. His ears swiveled constantly. Tracking sounds Kellen couldn't yet hear. The leonid moved like someone who'd learned the hard way that lowlands killed the careless.
Malik walked between them.
The equine-kin moved like he owned the terrain. No testing. No hesitation. Just long measured strides that ate up distance while Kellen fought mud for every step.
"Movement," Torian rumbled freezing mid-step.
Three shapes exploded from the muck. Mire Hounds. Each one the size of a small horse. Kellen's breath caught. Too fast. Too close. Matted fur hung in clumps from distended frames, revealing skin that was a patchwork of mange and exposed, weeping muscle. Ribs pressed against their flanks like prison bars, vibrating with low, guttural growls. Their jaws were elongated, snapping with the sound of bear traps to reveal rows of serrated, yellowed teeth. Above those terrible mouths, their eyes were milk-white and wrong, like cataracts on a corpse.
His hands moved before thought could catch up.
"[SUMMON: VINE CREEPER]"
The mana drained from him like a pulled plug. Sharp and immediate. The thorny mass erupted from the mud at his feet lashing out at the lead hound. Kellen stumbled back. Mud nearly taking his balance as the vines wrapped around the creature's forelegs and yanked it face-first into the sludge.
MANA: 130 → 115
He felt the cost in his temples. A dull throb starting behind his eyes.
Torian was already moving. Shield braced. Body angled to intercept the second hound. The collision shook the air and rattled Kellen's teeth. Steel met bone with a wet crack that sounded like someone snapping a broom handle wrapped in raw meat. The hound's momentum died against Kelidorian plate in a spray of brackish saliva and worse things.
The third hound leapt at Malik.
The equine-kin didn't shift his stance. He simply raised his left hand. Fingers splayed.
The air hummed.
Invisible wires caught the hound mid-leap. It stopped dead in the air. Momentum arrested instantly. Suspended three feet from Malik's face. The creature thrashed. Claws raking empty space but it was pinned as surely as a bug on a board.
"Fascinating," Malik murmured tilting his head as he floated the thrashing beast casually to the left like he was examining produce at a market. He studied its underbelly with the detached interest of a surgeon mid-autopsy. "Enhanced muscle density. Atrophied optical nerves. Olfactory receptors compensating for the visual deficit." He glanced at Kellen. "A perfect pursuit predator. Elegant really."
"It tried to eat your face," Kellen pointed out.
"And it was remarkably well-designed to do so," Malik agreed pleasantly. He clenched his fingers slightly. The floating hound let out a wheezing gasp as invisible pressure tightened around its ribs. It stopped thrashing. Went limp. It was afraid.
"It is submitting," Malik said. A helpful smile touched his lips. "Would you like to add it to your collection?"
Kellen stared at the suspended hound. It was whining now, a high, pitiful sound that scraped against the inside of his skull. Its claws scrabbled uselessly against the invisible vice, eyes rolling in terror.
It wasn't a monster anymore. It was just an animal that didn't want to die.
"It's... scared," Kellen said, his voice quiet.
"Fear is a survival mechanism," Malik noted, unbothered. "It means the creature wants to live. Do you want it or not?"
Kellen swallowed. The logic was sound. They needed the strength. But looking at the thing, pinned, helpless, terrified, made his stomach turn. This wasn't combat. This was harvest.
He stepped forward, boots sucking in the mud. He had to force his hand to move. When his palm touched the hound's flank, the creature flinched violently, a tremor of pure panic vibrating through its muscles. The fur was coarse, matted with swamp-filth and sweat. It felt sickeningly alive.
[BIND] He thought with a note of apology.
Blue light exploded from his palm, wrapping the hound in digital fractals. but it didn't feel like magic. It felt like a violation. He could feel the creature's will snapping under the weight of the Codex's command, a sharp, psychic crack as its instinct for self-preservation was overwritten by forced loyalty. The creature dissolved into streams of energy, its final howl cut short.
Then it was gone.
The Codex flared hot against his leg.
[NEW SUMMON ACQUIRED: MIRE HOUND]
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Trait: Ravage (+50% DMG vs Controlled Targets)
Mana Cost: 45
Kellen stared at the notification. Forty-five mana. That was more than the Toad and Creeper combined. But that trait, fifty percent bonus damage against controlled targets. He looked at his Vine Creeper skill still active and wrapping tighter around the first hound's legs.
Controlled targets. Too bad I can only have one summon out at a time.
The first hound, the one still tangled in the vines, shrieked, tearing through the vegetation with frantic claws.
"Why don't you try it out." Malik asked, gesturing to the hound.
"I can't maintain two summons," Kellen said, his hand hovering over the Codex.
Malik clicked his tongue and flicked a finger. The thrashing hound froze mid-snarl, caught in an invisible vice. "Then I will hold it. But do be quick."
Kellen exhaled. He dismissed the [Vine Creeper]. Green light faded from the mud as the vines withered and dissolved into motes of energy.
[SUMMON: MIRE HOUND]
The mana hit him harder this time. Forty-five points draining in a rush that made his vision swim. The air rippled and his new acquisition materialized—a carbon-copy of the enemy but stitched from blue light and digital wireframe. It hit the mud running.
[MANA: 122 → 77]
But the connection...
Kellen's breath caught. The connection to the Hound felt different. Heavier. Like trying to hold a rope attached to a runaway cart. The Sol-Wisp had been a gentle pull. The Stone Toad, a bored paper weight. This thing was fighting him. Not consciously, but instinctively. A predator that didn't want to be leashed.
His temples throbbed. Sharp. Immediate.
Just hold it. Fifteen seconds. That's all you need.
The feral hound roared, twisting against Malik's hold, but it was already too late.
Kellen's hound didn't bite. It shredded. Jaws locked on the feral's throat and ripped. Tearing through necrotic flesh like wet paper. Blood, black and reeking of rot, sprayed across the mud in a wide arc. The feral thrashed. Claws scrabbling. But the summon didn't let go. It just kept tearing. Mechanical and merciless. Until the feral's movements went from frantic to twitching to still.
[COMBAT UPDATE]
Trait Triggered: Ravage
Critical Bonus: Applied
Result: Enemy Defeated
The notification flashed across Kellen's vision complete with a little victory jingle that felt obscene next to the corpse leaking black ichor into the swamp.
Kellen dismissed the summon immediately. The relief was instant, like dropping a weight he'd been holding overhead. The pressure in his skull eased.
Fifteen seconds. That's all I could manage. Any longer and I'd have a migraine for hours.
He pivoted to the hound Torian had crushed and reached for the Umbral energy still clinging to the corpse like morning dew.
"[BANISH]."
The corpse shattered into white mist flowing into him. The relief was immediate. Mana flooding back. The headache receding.
[MANA RECOVERED: +40]
MANA: 130/220
He turned to the final heap of gore and repeated the process.
[MANA RECOVERED: +40]
[MANA: 170/220]
Malik smiled. A real smile. Sharp and charismatic. "Shall we continue? The mud is doing terrible things to my boots."
Two hours of mud-slogging later Kellen's calves were screaming and his mana had recovered to full. He'd spent the walk cycling the Sol-Wisp, summon, let it float beside him for a few minutes, dismiss, repeat. The gentle mana drain and recovery kept his reserves topped off without the headache of maintaining something aggressive like the Hound. The lowlands finally started to climb. The soft ground giving way to rocky soil that didn't try to eat his boots with every step.
The road narrowed forcing them into a dry hollow where boulders crowded close on both sides.
Kellen slowed scanning the rocks. Something felt off. The hollow was too perfect. Too narrow.
A natural choke point.
Or a deliberate one.
Five men stepped out from behind the boulders. Not starving refugees. These were professionals, with the kind of confident swagger that came from easy victories.
"Toll road," the leader announced. He was a big man with a broken nose and a serrated falchion resting on his shoulder. "Ten silver a head. The horse-man pays double."
"Unbelievable," Kellen muttered loud enough to carry. "That's the third shakedown this week. Is there a newsletter? A monthly meeting?" He looked at Torian. "I'm starting to think 'lawless wasteland' is less of a description and more of an understatement."
Torian stepped forward, his warhammer already in his hand. "There is no toll. Highway robbery is a hanging offense. Has been for decades."
"Only if we get caught," the leader grinned revealing a gap in his teeth. "Pay the coin. Or we take it from your corpses. Your choice."
"Such arrogance," Malik murmured. He didn't look worried. He looked bored.
The leader's grin vanished. "Right. Kill the cat. Keep the horse. We can sell him to the..."
He stopped.
Hate engulfed Malik's eyes, "I will not sold. I will not be owned. Never again."
The leader's arm jerked sideways, his falchion clattered to the dirt.
"What the..."
His other hand shot up. Not to strike. To his face.
The index finger extended and with terrifying precision drove itself into his left nostril. Hard.
"Gah!" The leader stumbled grabbing his own wrist with his free hand trying to pry the finger loose. He couldn't. The digit was locked in place hooked deep.
"Now," Malik said pleasantly making a small twisting motion with his left hand. "I suggest you stop struggling."
The leader squealed as his own hand twisted torquing his nose painfully. His eyes watered.
"Get... off... me!"
"You'll find that resisting is not possible," Malik said. The leader's hand began to descend. The index finger extended again hovering ominously near the waistband of the man's breeches. "If you continue to move I will be forced to relocate your finger to a location significantly less comfortable than your nose."
The leader froze. His eyes bulged. "Okay! Okay! Stop!"
The other four bandits stared. Weapons sagging. They looked at their boss, standing on tiptoes, finger knuckle-deep in his own nose, terrified of his own hand, and then at the massive armored figure controlling him.
"We surrender!" one of them yelled dropping his club. "Just let us go!"
Malik tilted his head. "The toll?"
"What?"
"The toll," Malik repeated. "You were quite insistent on a transaction."
The bandits looked at each other. Then frantic they started digging into their pockets.
"Here!" The club-wielder threw a pouch of coins on the ground. "Take it! Just go!"
Another threw a handful of silver. The leader still pinned by his own digit kicked a coin purse toward them.
"Irony," Malik mused. "The toll-takers paying the toll."
He flicked his wrist.
The leader's hand released. The man stumbled back gasping checking his nose for damage.
"Run," Malik suggested.
They ran.
Torian looked down at the scattered coins. He sneered. "Ill-gotten gains. Stolen from refugees no doubt."
"Likely," Malik agreed. "But they have no use for it now."
Kellen looked at the silver. Then he looked at his own inventory.
[LOOT ACQUIRED]
Gold Marks: 18
Currency Update: 25 → 70 Silver
"Right," Kellen said kneeling to scoop up the pouches. "Ethical dilemma. No way to return it." He stood up pocketing the heavier pouch. "It's going to a good cause at least."
Malik watched him with amusement. "Pragmatic as ever."
"Thanks," Kellen said. He grinned despite himself. "That finger thing? That was hilarious."
"It was amusing." Malik agreed.
Torian watched the exchange. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, but his eyes didn't soften. He adjusted his shield, his gaze lingering on Malik's hands.
The equine-kin had humiliated five armed men without drawing a weapon. Made them pay for the privilege of running away. And he'd done it all with the casual precision of someone adjusting a dinner setting.