Chapter 130: Eyes in the Dark

Chapter 130: Eyes in the Dark

Eyes in the Dark

The weather changed rapidly from gently cloudy skies to dark clouds that gathered at the foot of the mountain. As if heralding the onset of foul weather, a chill wind blew strongly, carrying the scent of pine. The men working on construction hurried their efforts as thunder began to crack in the distance.

Meanwhile, in the command tent, Lansius was pondering his decision, and the booming thunder outside pressured him to decide. "The issue of morale is a sensitive one," he began, drawing Sir Harold and Servius' attention. "We can prevent fear with a gag order, but once a leak happens, it would be much harder to control."

"A leak can be prevented," Servius suggested.

Lansius shook his head. "It's too risky. While there are things I must keep secret, this is not one of them. I need the men's trust."

"There will be fear, My Lord," Sir Harold warned.

"I know, that's why I'm aiming to soften the blow," Lansius muttered, recalling how modern media managed such situations.

Servius was attempting to formulate an idea when Sir Harold suddenly blurted out, "Bury them with honors."

Lansius nodded. It was a more straightforward approach than his idea of selling their sacrifice story as a heroic deed. "Have the men make stretchers from wood and spare clothes. Then form a team of brave men with strong stomachs who will not be deterred by the sight," he instructed.

"At once," Servius responded, then, as if feeling the pressure of the looming bad weather, asked, "What are your orders for them?"

"To evacuate the victims. All of them," Lansius clarified. "Arrange their limbs so it doesn’t look gruesome and cover their bodies with clean cloth. Have the camp physicians assist. Stitch their limbs," he paused, adding carefully, "Do everything we can to make them presentable to their nearest of kin."

"We can do that. But, My Lord, what about the escort?" Servius inquired.

"Bring enough to kill the fell beast. We'll recon in force. Take five hundred of your best," Lansius instructed. Then, turning to Sir Harold, he added, "Can I entrust you to command two hundred Dragoons as a reserve?"

"May I have Dietrich as my second in command?"

"Granted." Lansius knew if the chance presented itself, the knight wanted free rein to fight the monster. Not even a fell beast deterred him.

The knight then turned to Servius. "You manage the stretchers; I'll arrange for the spare clothes for burial."

"And gambesons," Lansius interjected, capturing his two officers' attention. Looking back at them, he explained, "I'd rather bury a few gambesons than gamble with the men's morale."

"Their brethren would indeed feel honored," Servius agreed. It need not be said that a gambeson would also make it easier to conceal the grotesque wounds on the body.

Lansius nodded solemnly. "Then let's bring our boys home."

***

Thunder and lightning roared in the darkened skies, but it didn't stop five hundred brave Nicopolans, a specialized group led by Servius, elite scouts, and local guides on a mission. It would be a four-day return trip, and there were high risks, but they were confident that their numbers could deal with the threat.

Sir Harold, Dietrich, and their Dragoons would serve as reserves in case the marauding Nicopolans somehow appeared in their vicinity.

Lord Lansius himself would hold the fort along with the rest of the troops. The camp was in shock from the revelation of the attack. Rumors of fell beasts spread like wildfire. However, the fact that the Lord reacted strongly by sending five hundred vanguards to address the issue was seen as a decisive solution.

Fell beast or not, the image of a five-hundred-strong hunting party marching in full gear was a powerful response to the threat at hand. Many cheered as the vanguards and other elements attached to them marched out from the encampment, equipped with waxed leather coats, hats, or cloaks to weather the impending storm.

While they faced grain issues, Lowlandia was a notable producer of leather and fur. Taking advantage of this, Lord Lansius had equipped his veterans with such attire, one that he hoped would also benefit them in the upcoming winter.

After the vanguard had left, bright banners and horsemen were spotted from the direction of the foothills. The camp buzzed with activity as riders from both sides confirmed them as Lord Jorge's column, along with the rest of the supply carts.

The arrival of reinforcements soon put smiles back on everyone's faces. Lord Lansius readily sent more men to assist, as the hill terrain could prove difficult to traverse, especially after last night's drizzle. He himself prepared his remaining staff to greet Lord Jorge and his men, wanting to demonstrate that even in the face of threats, normalcy and order prevailed in the camp.

...

Lansius greeted Lord Jorge and his Black Knights. As they conversed over drinks and snacks, their staff went to inspect and store the remaining supplies. Noticing Lord Jorge looked exhausted and eager to reunite with his family, Lansius concluded the meetings shortly.

Returning to his tent, Lansius quickly shed his fur cloak. The sound of loud thunder prompted him to glance at the entrance.

"It could be a thunderstorm tonight," Audrey said, approaching from inside, dressed in black.

A sigh escaped him. "I'm worried about the men."

Audrey poured him a drink and brought it over.

Lansius took the goblet and confided in her, "I preached to Lord Jorge that the best kind of leader stays with his men, rain or snow. Yet, here I am."

In the realm of magic, the gift typically blooms in childhood, making it easier for the guild to identify gifted youngsters. Without training, the gift of magic usually fades before reaching adulthood.

Yet, even among those trained, magic tended to diminish with age. Proper instruction was essential not only for wielding it but also for preserving the gift. While some mages managed to maintain their magic into retirement as if still in their prime, most saw their abilities wane to the point of being forced into retirement.

Hence, the guild insists on requiring their employers to grant knight status to their members. This way, the guild can ensure its members' pensions and avoid worrying about funding their lavish retirements. The only condition under which the guild accepts a member back is if they choose to return as mentors or monks.

Ingrid contemplated her own wish to retire in a villa with a good vineyard. Unlike other members of the Mage Guild, she chose not to serve a master but to work within the halls of the guild. While she often participated in errands as a fighter, she was primarily a researcher and, because of her vast knowledge, served as a guest mentor for VIPs.

This time, the VIP was giving her much to ponder.

Initially, Ingrid had only expected Lady Audrey to learn about gemstones and how to maintain them. If she was talented, perhaps even to manipulate air to cool her surroundings. Nobody anticipated her becoming a full-fledged mage. Yet, during training, Ingrid sensed how the Lady, albeit crudely, channeled innate magic into her limbs with ease.

Without her source opened, the Lady wouldn't feel any changes, yet she had definitely learned the art. This meant there was no doubt she could master strengthening magic, the bread and butter of the Mage Knight. It was the skill that defined and distinguished them from the Hunter Guild.

This raised a question: how was this possible?

Ingrid suspected that much of this could be attributed to the Baroness's old master, the mysterious Knight Hunter who was also an unofficial mage, known as Isolte. Given that the Baroness still retained her magic, it was evident that Isolte had prepared her to become a mage. However, Ingrid couldn't be certain of Isolte's methods. Lady Audrey informed Ingrid that all she had learned was new to her, suggesting Isolte had introduced her to something radically different.

Ingrid exhaled, feeling the cold wind blowing inward, and rose to tie a knot on her tent. People in her station usually brought a servant, but the secretive nature of her work made it risky, as a youngster's mouth couldn't be trusted. With her tent secured, she snuffed out the lantern before cleaning herself for the night in pitch darkness, using a basin of clean water and a bucket.

Afterward, she took the herbal drink and sipped it while resting on her fur bedroll spread across two layers of thick carpets.

The air warmed by the metallic pan filled with hot stones provided some comfort.

She was about to sleep, but her mind returned to her charge once again. "I wonder what her sources were," she muttered as she pulled up her blanket, keeping her dagger nearby.

What differentiated mages from non-mages was not talent, but whether they were born with a connection to a source. That was what they referred to as the gift. Despite superstitions linking magic to elven blood, magic appeared randomly, like the throw of dice. It wasn't inherited, nor was it commonly found in any specific group.

Magic was all about connection to a source. Thus, it became a great equalizer, beyond anyone's ability to manipulate. This allowed Ingrid, a lowborn from Centuria, to gain status, secure a high-paying job, and earn respect.

She breathed deeply, then emptied her cup and put it to the side.

Barking outside the tent was heard again, along with the sounds of patrols making their rounds. However, this time the sound was much different.

***

Fog enveloped the encampment on a cold but serene night. The intermittent drizzle made the men, weary from a day's hard labor, fall asleep easily. Even the guards struggled to stay awake, thus, nobody noticed when two shadowy figures, one by one, leaped over the unfinished gate and jumped over the cheval de frise barricade.

Even with puddles of water and soft soil, the beasts moved soundlessly, their feet and claws padded, their fur muffling their movements. With sharp, murderous eyes and the calm breath of predators, the pair advanced silently across the camp.

Despite being larger than humans, they remained concealed by the fog. The darkness posed no challenge, as their night vision rivaled that of their daytime sight. The fog also posed little challenge, as their keen sense of smell provided a clear picture of their surroundings—tents, humans, and animals all emitted distinct scents.

As they had sensed them from afar, so too had the dog sensed them and started barking. Despite traveling upwind, as was their nature, they had ventured too close to remain undetected.

Ignoring the noise and guided by their instinct, the pair located the command tent. They sensed six guards outside. Rather than launching an attack, they opted to wait. Suddenly, the barking ceased. The noisy mutt had been silenced.

Another pair of beastly figures emerged from the fog, confident in their stride, with bloodied claws. The largest bared his fangs, dripping with fresh blood.

Without needing further instruction, the monstrous beasts charged and leaped.

The guards noticed nothing but a disturbance in the fog before a monstrous shape leaped out, claws drawn. Before the men could react, their bodies crashed to the ground—some killed instantly, others rendered unconscious. The last two, in shock, drew their weapons, shouting "Intrud-"

Two furry hands smashed one into the ground. The second man thrust his halberd, found it blocked, and desperately launched a quick horizontal swipe that wounded the beast's forearms. Unfortunately, another beast flanked him and slammed him down. As one of the survivors tried to limp away and shout, a crushing stomp to the head silenced him.

The other beasts burst into the tent, encountering three fighters with their weapons drawn. But the beast moved too fast for the inexperienced humans to react properly. The fighters were clearly surprised by the monstrous assailant, and their delayed reaction sealed their fate.

One fighter parried the right swipe before being stabbed by a left claw, and his head was pushed into the carpet to silence any noise. There was another thump as the female fighter was brought down, but her swift sword thrust and slash found its mark. The second beast recoiled, held back from roaring as its waist gushing blackened blood.

The largest beast paid no heed and rushed inside as the last fighter fought with his large sword against two who just entered. His cry of "Werewolves! Werewolv—" was silenced as he was tackled to the ground and his neck was pulverized by a lethal bite.

The lone intruder paused, his furry chest heaving heavily as he ripped the canvas door cover open with his claw, sliding it along the gap. The beast found two silhouettes sleeping and charged ahead when metallic strings and chimes of bells startled him. This moment of recklessness and incompetence angered him, who bared his large fangs in the dark as he ripped the metallic wires apart. However, something stopped the beast dead in its tracks.

From inside, a pair of golden eyes shone.

***