Chapter 563

Four figures emerged from the darkness, stepping into the campfire's light. Nick remained seated, having long known they were there.

They were a balanced unit, the kind of textbook formation expected of any decent adventuring team. At the front stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man in an enchanted steel breastplate, his left arm bearing a kite shield and his right resting on the pommel of a hand-and-a-half sword.

To his right, a lean man in boiled leather held twin daggers, his posture loose and ready to spring. A woman in dark blue robes stood behind them, clutching a staff capped with a red crystal. Bringing up the rear was a second woman wearing reinforced chainmail and a silver amulet, a steel mace at her belt.

Their gear was well-maintained and practical, and though they were relatively young, they were quite strong, hovering in the upper sixties. Reaching that level at their age required genuine talent and a long stint in the field, given that none of them bore the marks of nobility or even affiliation with a larger organization.

The warrior stopped ten paces from the fire, his eyes flicking from Nick to the roasted carcass of the Bronze-Plate Carp propped over the coals, then back to Nick. His stance shifted subtly, and aggression bled out, replaced by cautious respect.

A creature of that caliber required a team of veterans to bring down. Seeing it casually skewered over a solo traveler’s fire communicated a very clear message about the power Nick held.

“Sorry for approaching so late,” the young man said quietly. "These lands can be treacherous at night. We were checking for bandits.”

Bandits? Hm, I would have thought that being in the innerland would make even places like this safe, but I guess human greed won't be stopped by anything.

“Well, you found dinner if you’d like to join me,” Nick replied, offering an easy smile as he gestured to the open space around the fire. “There’s more than enough food here for five. Take a seat.”

The young man exchanged a silent look with the robed woman. She offered a slight nod.

"I am Lance," he said, stepping forward as he lowered his shield and gestured to his companions. "Jax, Lira, and Materia. We appreciate the hospitality. Our rations were growing stale, and we’ve had no chance to hunt while following leads for our quest.”

They gingerly settled around the fire, though they kept a polite distance. Nick drew his hunting knife and sliced thick, steaming slabs of white fish, then passed them over oak leaves. The adventurers accepted the food with murmured thanks, digging in with hunger, and once the taste registered, with more than a little gusto.

"Nicholas," Nick offered, taking a bite of his portion. The skin was perfectly crisp, the meat rich and flaky, even without any particular skill on his part. "You travel well-armed for the central provinces. I was under the impression the King's roads were swept clear of trouble.”

"The main roads, perhaps," Jax, the rogue, muttered between bites. "But the wilderness always pushes back. The patrols have been thin lately. Half the local garrisons have been reassigned.”

Nick paused, turning his gaze toward the rogue. "Reassigned? Where?”

Lance wiped grease from his chin with the back of his gauntlet. “South and east, mostly, though that might just be because most army bases are there. The Crown recruiters have set up desks in every major guild hall from here to Siderea. They are offering signing bonuses and instant commissions to anyone above level fifty. Whole mercenary companies are breaking their local contracts to take the King's coin.”

"It is driving the markets mad," Lira added. "My master in the city sent me to buy basic restorative drafts last week, and the price has risen by a silver per vial. Merchant consortia are buying out the alchemists before the shipments even reach the public squares. Enchanted steel is just as scarce.”

Nick chewed his food, digesting the information. It certainly matched what he had observed in Trelan. The war machine was hungry, stripping the provinces of manpower and resources and apparently funneling them elsewhere.

“I thought it was just reprovisioning after the war in the north ended, but it looks to be more than that,” he muttered, earning a nod from the witch.

That wasn’t the whole truth, but he wasn’t about to share what he’d learned in Trelan. He’d taken pains to keep his presence there secret, after all.

Lance looked up at that, mulling over his words for a moment before deciding to just ask, since he’d been open so far. “We thought that too. Dark dwarves have a reputation for ruthlessness, so when we heard the war was over, we didn’t really believe it.”

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Nick shook his head and took a slow drink from his water flask. "The dark dwarves are broken. They wasted too much manpower pushing out of their tunnels, lost the First City, and have a much bigger problem brewing in the Underworld's depths. The treaties will hold. It will be a generation before they look south with any real ambition.”

At least, as long as they aren’t overrun by demons. But that’s a whole different can of worms.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the group. Materia, the cleric, touched her silver amulet and murmured a brief prayer.

“Then something else must be going on," Jax noted, his eyes narrowing. "A campaign across the sea, perhaps. There are certainly enough pirate kings making a nuisance of themselves. But that is above our pay grade. We are still only a C-rank team.”

That surprised Nick. Given their individual strengths and how at ease they seemed with each other, he would have expected them to reach B-rank as a group. But then again, Guilds were just as rife with politics as every other institution, and they might have been stonewalled. Or perhaps they hadn’t been together as long as he thought.

“So, what kind of quest brings you here?” Nick asked. It was a clear shift in the conversation, but no one complained. Discussing the movement of royal troops was not a crime, but among strangers, it was best not to risk it.

"The Marrow Caves, two valleys over," Lance answered, pointing a finger north. "A goblin nest took root in the upper chambers and raided a merchant caravan three days ago, stealing a wagonload of iron tools. The guild posted a bounty for the chieftain's ears.”

A standard extermination quest. Upper-sixties adventurers would carve through a standard goblin nest without breaking a sweat. It was an easy payday for a skilled team, though perhaps not the kind of quest they should have taken if they wanted to push themselves.

The meal wound down. Warmed by the fire and the rich food, the adventurers relaxed their guard, especially after he gave them leave to train and go about their routines as if he weren’t there. Lira took him up on it and walked to the edge of the firelight. She raised her staff and focused her intent.

A whip of crackling fire erupted from the red crystal at the tip of the wood. She lashed out, the fiery cord snapping against the trunk of a dead pine with a sharp crack, scorching the bark. She drew it back, her brow furrowed in concentration, then lashed out again. The flame sputtered as she pulled it back, the heat warring with the cold night air.

Nick watched the display with mild interest. Her control was decent, but she was fighting her own spellform, trying to keep it together through sheer will instead of focusing on its flow.

After she cast it a third time and it failed, he decided to intervene.

“There’s no need to direct your mana so rigidly; [Fire Whip] isn’t a [Fireball],” he called out.

The young woman looked up at him, her brow furrowed. He could tell she wanted to dismiss him, but her eyes flicked to the remains of the carp, and she swallowed her pride.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Most fire spells are quite simple, merely requiring you to supply the mana and craft the construct. They just need direction after that. But [Fire Whip] is a continuous spell, and applying the same principles will only hamstring you. Let the fire flow through the spellform on its own, and focus more on the anchoring point than on maintaining it all.”

Lira frowned, looking down at her staff. “But that would limit its flexibility.”

“It would,” Nick admitted. “But you need to learn to walk before you can run. Perfect control over the spell will come once you reach [Expert] rank. For now, a firm grip on the base will let you direct it well enough.”

She mulled it over for a moment, then nodded to herself and raised the staff. Closing her eyes, she whispered an incantation, and a spark of red light hovered just beyond the tip of the crystal. It caught the air and expanded into a thick cord of fire.

With a grunt, she snapped her wrist, and the whip lashed forward, moving twice as fast and striking the dead pine with a boom that sent glowing embers raining down through the branches, just moments before the whole thing came crashing down. The heat radiating from the spell was enough to warm Nick's face across the clearing.

Lira stared at the staff, her mouth slightly agape, and Nick chuckled quietly. He’d never become a full-time teacher, but he could admit that helping others develop was satisfying.

"Much better," he said, settling back against the tree trunk and ignoring the meaningful look Lance and Jax exchanged. "You have excellent output; you just need to let the elements breathe.”

"Thank you," Lira said, bowing her head.

Nick waved her off and returned to his silent contemplation of the stars.

The group established a watch rotation shortly after. Lance took the first shift, sitting on a log with his sword resting across his knees, while the others rolled up in woolen blankets near the coals' warmth.

Nick slept little. He required very little rest and had grown curious about his fellow travelers’ quest.

Before he could focus on the goblins, however, he had a few things to take care of. The land around them was not empty, after all. The scent of the roasted carp had drifted beyond the clearing, drawing the attention of several nocturnal predators.

Three creatures crept through the underbrush, slowly making their way toward them. They felt hungry to his senses, in the mid-fifties. Carvehunters. Lean felines with bone-plated skulls and scythe-like claws, they were notorious for their pack tactics and silence.

Lance kept his eyes peeled, but he lacked the sensory skills to notice their approach.

Nick formed a [Spatial Sever] in his mind, refining the edge into a microscopic wire.

Projecting his intent, he folded the space between himself and the approaching predators, manifesting the construct directly across the neck of the first Carvehunter.

The beast’s head slid from its shoulders, its bone plating sheared through without a sound. It collapsed into the ferns, its blood soaking silently into the soil.

The remaining two froze, their instincts flaring in sudden panic.

Nick cast a rapid [Spatial Relocation], swapping a large stone from the lakeshore with the space above the second fiend's head. It materialized and fell, crushing the Carvehunter’s torso.

The third one turned to flee, but Nick unleashed a pinpoint spike of spiritual pressure, driving it into the creature's mind. Its nervous system overloaded, its brain hemorrhaging before it could let out a sound. It fell limp, sliding against the trunk of an oak.

Lance was looking at him, having heard something in the distance, but Nick merely shook his head with a slight smile.

That seemed to reassure the man, though he couldn’t quite suppress the shiver that ran down his spine.

Internally shrugging, Nick cast his perception northward, toward the hills where the adventurers intended to hunt their goblin bounty, bypassing the surface caves and probing the subterranean depths.

As expected, numerous small presences could be felt, ranging from barely noticeable to strong enough to put up a fight against a watchman, but none should have been a cause for concern for the adventurers.

None save one.