Triumph surged through Teclos like fire in his veins.
He had done it.
Two ghouls lay dead in the snow behind him, their bodies already beginning to stiffen as the darkness mana seeped away. His heart pounded violently, breath coming fast—not from fear, but exhilaration. For the first time in this world, he had killed something on his own.
I did it…
I actually did it.
For a fleeting moment, he felt unstoppable. Like nothing in this world could touch him.
And that was when the last ghoul noticed.
It froze at the edge of the firelight, hunched low among the trees. Its head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring as it took in the scene. Something was wrong. Two of its pack were gone—dead without warning, without sound.
The ghoul retreated several steps, claws scraping softly against bark as it slipped deeper into the shadows.
Teclos saw it and misunderstood.
'It's afraid,' he thought, a dangerous confidence blooming in his chest.
'It's backing off because I'm stronger.'
That belief—brief and intoxicating—settled in his chest. Everything had gone according to plan, he thought.
He let go of the shadows.
The darkness mana that had wrapped him like a second skin unraveled and faded, releasing him fully into the firelight. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he straightened and stepped forward, raising a hand.
"Hail! It's me!" Teclos called out, his voice cracking slightly. "I came to help!"
The villagers flinched.
And the ghoul snarled as it saw him.
Its face twisted with fury, lips pulling back to reveal rows of jagged teeth. Yellow eyes locked onto Teclos with murderous intent, burning his shape into memory. Whatever concealment had hidden him before was gone—and the ghoul would not lose him again.
Behind him, the villagers reacted in waves.
At first, relief.
Someone laughed weakly. Another sagged to their knees.
Then they got a really good look at him—
A boy. Small and familiar. Cloaked in shadow-stained clothing. Standing among dead monsters.
—The relief curdled into wariness.
Several adults stepped forward instinctively, pulling children behind them. Hands tightened on weapons. A few muttered prayers under their breath.
One old man spat into the snow.
"You started this whole mess. I saw it with my own eyes!"
Another cursed loudly.
"Monster-whisperer!"
The words stabbed his heart harder than Teclos expected.
The high drained from him instantly, replaced by something cold and hollow. His heart slowed down. His hands trembled—not with fear, but shame.
'I should have expected it.' He thought bitterly.
He swallowed and forced himself to speak again, trying to be gentler in his tone. "There's still one ghoul left. We need to stay alert."
As he spoke, he extended his senses into the darkness, spreading them outward like invisible tendrils. He strained to feel for the creature—but it was too far now, lurking beyond his reach.
Another round of complaints and blame was hurled at him.
Before the murmurs could grow too loud, a sharp voice cut through the crowd.
"Enough!"
A broad-shouldered man stepped forward, his face lined with exhaustion and anger. His clothes marked him as a trader—fine once, now torn and bloodstained.
"Kartall," someone murmured.
He pointed at Teclos. "What is wrong with you people? This boy just saved our lives, and you're ready to drive him off?"
The old man scoffed. "He's cursed—"
"I don't care!" Kartall snapped. "Being "cursed" doesn't matter when you're alive because of it. There's still a beast out there, and if you chase him away, you'll answer for it when it comes back!"
Heavy silence fell over the riverbank.
Then another voice spoke—quiet, but firm.
"He's right."
The wounded defender who would have been killed stepped forward, clutching her bandaged arm. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady. "That ghoul would have killed me. I could almost feel its claws. If not for him… I'd be dead."
She looked at Teclos and bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."
Something like a knot loosened in his chest.
He hadn't been ready for the hatred—but he hadn't been ready for this either.
Gratitude.
His throat clogged painfully, just like it had back in Kolma—but this time, it was different.
Wordlessly, Teclos shrugged off his rucksack and set it down in the snow. With shaking hands, he pulled out several small pouches.
"I—I brought medicine," he said softly. "Herbs. For wounds....i thought it might help."
The sincerity in his voice cut those people deeper than any argument.
A few villagers looked away, shame flickering across their faces. Others relaxed, shoulders sagging as the tension drained from them. Not everyone trusted him—but most stopped glaring, stopped blaming him.
Then a raspy voice hissed from the back of the group.
"You're all forgetting something!"
An old man jabbed a finger toward the treeline. "The ghoul is still out there!"
The firelight flickered.
Somewhere beyong the light, the monster waited.
Teclos felt that he could defeat it.
He had won this first fight against two of them, after all.
Although the ghoul still alive somewhere was worrying, there was a more pressing matter right now.
He knelt in the snow and opened the pouches one by one.
"These are simple herbs," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "But they'll help."
He held up the first pouch, pale blue threads glinting faintly in the firelight.
"Frostveil Moss. Grind it between your fingers and smear it on exposed skin—arms, neck, face. It'll help ward off the cold."
He passed it around. The villagers followed his instructions hesitantly at first, then with growing urgency. Almost immediately, stiff shoulders eased and shivering slowed.
Next came a darker pouch.
"Sunroot shavings. Bitter, but eat a little. It restores stamina."
Faces twisted as they chewed, but relief followed quickly. People straightened. Backs uncurled. Breathing steadied.
"Mindleaf petals," Teclos continued, holding up silvery leaves. "Crush them and inhale. Don't eat these."
Those who did found the fog lifting from their thoughts, fear retreating just enough to think clearly again.
A child near the edge struggled with one of the herbs, tiny hands failing to break it apart. Frustration welled in her eyes.
Teclos moved without thinking, crouching beside her. He gently crushed the herb between his fingers and rubbed it onto her arms and legs.
"There," he said softly. "That should help."
The girl blinked, then smiled—it was small, but genuine.
"Thank you," she whispered.
A warm feeling bloomed in his chest.
Around them, the villagers looked better. Still exhausted, still wounded—but no longer on the brink of collapse. Color returned to cheeks. Hands stopped shaking.
And that was when the ghoul grew nervous.
From the treeline, it watched as its prey recovered. As fear faded and strength returned. A low, irritated hiss slipped from its throat.
Its gaze locked onto Teclos, it had to stop him now!
Slowly, carefully, it began to circle.
Teclos was helping an older man wrap a bandage when voices nearby rose in cautious conversation—talk of returning, of routes, of survival.
Then—
His shadow sense screamed.
"Get back—!" Teclos shouted, spinning mid air, as he threw himself backward.
The ghoul burst from the darkness, claws flashing. Teclos hit the snow hard, narrowly avoiding its strike. In the same motion, he slashed upward with his dagger.
The blade bit into the ghoul's side.
It wasn't deep enough.
He hadn't had time to coat it in darkness mana.
The ghoul shrieked, stumbling as it landed among the villagers. Its face twisted—not just in rage, but shock.
That ambush should have worked.
Panic erupted. People screamed and scattered, but the ghoul didn't pursue them. Its eyes stayed locked on Teclos.
With a snarl, it leapt backward, retreating once more into the trees.
Teclos lunged to follow, but the creature was already gone, swallowed by the night.
Silence fell—broken only by ragged breathing.
"How… how did you do that?" the little girl from before gasped, eyes wide.
Teclos blinked. "Do what?"
The wounded woman stepped closer. "She means—how did you dodge it? It attacked from behind."
Teclos frowned. "You didn't sense it?"
Confusion rippled through the group.
"You have earth mages," he continued slowly. "They can feel vibrations. And water mages can sense disturbances if they spread mist or moisture…"
Kartall laughed, a rough, disbelieving laugh.
"Boy," he said, shaking his head, "not everyone trains to hunt monsters."
He studied Teclos more closely. "That aside—you're abnormal. I've traveled far and wide, and I've never seen someone your age move like that."
Teclos stiffened. "Really? I thought… I thought everyone trained like this."
Kartall snorted. "Most people are lucky to reach three or five mana circles in their lifetime."
That statement froze him in place.
Images flashed through his mind—Kolma's hunters, his father's strength, the way training had felt… normal. Hell, even Ralph and Gillard were the same.
Kolma is abnormal, he realized.
'And my father a maniac too…'
A small, incredulous smile tugged at his lips.
It's really like I'm the protagonist in a story, isn't it?
Then a heavier thought crushed his merry mood as he remembered...Talmir, where was Talmir?
He looked up sharply. "My father—Talmir. Is he safe? He came to the village with me."
Kartall's expression softened, pity flickering in his eyes.
"He put me in charge of the retreat," he said quietly. "Once we were able to move, he turned back."
Teclos's chest tightened.
"He went back to fight the monsters in Ragla."
Worry surged like ice through his veins again.
But seeing the scared people around him, he knew now was not the time.
The march toward the main road resumed shortly after.
They formed a tight circle once more, weapons outward, torches held high. This time, Teclos stood at the center—as their warning bell.
"If I call a direction," he said firmly, "defend that side immediately. Left. Right. Front. Back. Don't hesitate."
They nodded, grim but focused.
As they moved, Teclos expanded his senses into the darkness.
It's easier at night.
The shadows felt thicker, more responsive—like cold water he could sink into. His range stretched farther than ever before. Ten meters. Then more.
He clenched his jaw.
Dad… hold on.
He wanted this over quickly. The faster they killed the ghoul, the sooner he could move toward Ragla—not back to Kolma.
As if answering that wish, something shifted up ahead.
The ghoul was moving with them.
As the wide road came into view through the trees, the creature grew agitated.
Fewer shadows. Fewer trees.
Beyond that road, the humans' freedom was all but certain.
So it climbed high into the canopy of a tall tree, clinging upside down as it watched the villagers approach. Its thoughts were simple—either return to its supreme master through death, its soul dragged back along the chain that bound it…
Or succeed, and bring more sacrifices for the ritual.
So the ghoul waited.
And when the first villagers passed beneath it—
It struck.
"Front!" Teclos shouted.
The ghoul launched itself straight at him.
What shocked Teclos wasn't the attack—it was the intent.
It ignored everyone else and wanted only him.
But Teclos was ready.
He had his bow drawn already, feet planted, breathing steady. He loosed the arrow at the ghoul's chest the instant it entered range.
It should have hit.
But the ghoul twisted midair with inhuman instinct, spinning just enough for the darkness-coated arrow to miss entirely.
It landed in front of Teclos with a heavy thud, snow spraying outward. Its eyes gleamed with malice—and something close to delight.
Teclos drew his dagger.
Fear was still there—but beneath it was something new.
Confidence.
"I can do this," he muttered.
He was wrong.
Very wrong.
He'd made two fatal mistakes.
The first—there were no fighters near him. Only the injured, the elderly, and children stood around him.
The second—he'd forgotten that the only reason he'd killed the other two ghouls was stealth.
And this was no ambush.
The ghoul charged.
It crossed the distance in a blink.
Teclos barely raised his dagger in time, bracing it vertically against the creature's claws. The impact was brutal—far heavier than he'd expected.
He was sent flying.
Crashing into the people behind him, pain exploding through his body as tendons screamed in protest. Dizziness washed over him.
The ghoul didn't wait and lunged again.
Teclos rolled desperately, avoiding a downward slash by inches—but the follow-up came instantly. An upward strike caught him square in the chest.
Feeling something crack.
He was thrown and slammed into a tree, ribs breaking as blood sprayed from his mouth. His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges.
'I'm going to die.'
The ghoul was already there.
Its maw opened wide, breath hot and foul as it snaped for his head.
Instinct took over.
With the last of his strength, Teclos raised his arms, dagger still clutched tightly between his fingers. Of course, it was to no avail—the teeth tore into his flesh, pain beyond anything he'd known. Only the blade stopped it from biting through completely.
The villagers screamed all around him, scrambling to safety—all but one.
Kartall ran as fast as he could.
The ghoul pressed harder, jaws inching closer to Teclos's face. Just a few centimeters more—
Then shadows snapped tight.
Darkness coiled around the ghoul's neck, limbs, and head, halting it mid-motion. The pain from the bite kept Teclos conscious.
He commanded the darkness in the last possible moment.
The shadows strained as the ghoul fought back. It began inching forward again.
But he bought himself a few precious seconds, enough for Kartall to finally arrive.
With a roar, he brought his axe down. The blow was shallow—but he struck again. And again.
An arrow slammed into the ghoul's eye.
Another villager rushed in, stabbing its back with a pitchfork.
More arrows followed.
The beast shrieked, staggering under the assault.
Kartall raised his axe one last time and hacked between spine and neck. Bone cracked. Flesh tore.
The ghoul collapsed.
Dead.