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….
I quickly glance around the chaotic room to see how Farkas and Vilkas are handling the ambush. To my absolute lack of surprise, the brothers are completely dominating. Each of them has already carved through three men, their greatswords moving with terrifying, practiced efficiency.
But I don't have the luxury of admiring their work.
A shadow falls over me. Omnuroor. He brings his massive steel battleaxe down in a brutal, two-handed overhead cleave, aiming directly for my shoulder. I snap my left arm up, angling the banded iron shield to intercept the blow.
CRANG.
The kinetic force is utterly absurd. The heavy iron rim bucks under the axe's weight, the metal denting violently inward. A sharp, blinding pain shoots up my arm. I find my footing, pushing him back, and glance down at my ruined shield. The dented metal has completely crushed my ring and pinky fingers against the leather handgrip.
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. [Gamer's Body] dulls the shock, preventing me from passing out, but the hot, throbbing agony is still intensely real.
Omnuroor wrenches his axe back, winding up for a sweeping strike at my legs to finish me off. I don't give him the chance. As he exposes his flank, I thrust my free right hand forward.
[Lightning Bolt]
A vicious arc of blue electricity slams directly into Omnuroor's right gauntlet. The spell fries the metal, singing his fingers. He roars in pain, his hand seizing as he completely loses his grip on the haft of the axe.
Weaponless in one hand and completely off-balance, Omnuroor desperately tries to swing the heavy axe with just his left arm. I casually sidestep the clumsy attack. I grab the edges of my ruined shield with both hands, ignoring the pain in my crushed fingers, and drive it forward with every ounce of my strength.
The iron rim smashes flush into his face. Omnuroor is thrown off his feet, flying backward until he hits a stone column.
Crack.
The sickening sound of his neck snapping echoes in the chamber. He slumps to the floor, dead. I lower my shield, turning to find my next target, but the room is quiet. Farkas and Vilkas are already standing over the rest of the bodies.
Suddenly, the harsh grinding of stone draws my attention.
I whip around to see a hidden portcullis rising on the far side of the chamber. Fifteen more Silver Hand bandits pour into the room, their silver swords drawn. They look incredibly threatening as a unified group, but the moment they spot their leader's broken body at my feet, they freeze in stunned silence.
I pull mana into my chest, preparing to unleash Unrelenting Force. But before I can utter the first syllable, a terrifying, guttural roar shakes the very foundation of the crypt.
...
I look past the Silver Hand toward the dark tunnel they just emerged from.
A werewolf bursts into the light.
It is absolutely massive, easily twice my size, covered in dark, matted fur. Its lips are peeled back, exposing rows of razor-sharp fangs dripping with saliva. I am completely mesmerized by the sheer scale of it. But before I can even process the sight, the beast lunges.
The werewolf slams into the Silver Hand formation like a freight train. It swings a massive, clawed arm, and the only thing I can see is a spray of crimson as the front line is literally shredded. Steel armor is torn apart like wet paper. Men scream, but the sounds are quickly cut short by the wet tearing of flesh and bone.
In less than twenty seconds, all fifteen Silver Hand members are dead.
My mouth hangs slightly open as I stare at the sheer, unadulterated raw power of the beast. I know my stats are high enough that I could probably replicate that kind of destruction, but actually seeing it... If that is what fighting with pure bloodlust looks like, I suddenly understand why regular people freak out when I fight barehanded.
The werewolf turns toward us, letting out a heavy, ragged breath. It takes a slow, wobbly step forward, swaying dangerously side to side.
Vilkas drops his sword and sprints across the room. He slides to his knees just as the monster collapses. Mid-fall, the thick fur begins to recede, the bones cracking and shifting as the beast transforms back into its original form.
To my complete shock, it's a woman.
Vilkas catches her gently, cradling her head. He brushes the matted red hair out of her face, his expression filled with a profound, tender relief.
"Oh, Aela," Vilkas whispers, cupping his hand against her dirt-stained cheek. "We told you to wait for us... Why did you take this mission all alone, my dear?"
...
I jog over, dropping to my knees beside them. When I see the state she's in, my stomach twists.
Blood is pouring freely from her body. Deep, jagged puncture wounds go straight through both of her palms, the Silver Hand had literally nailed her to a wall. Her ankles are raw and bleeding, the skin torn to the bone from heavy iron shackles. Vilkas holds her like a fragile newborn, rocking her slightly as her eyes flutter open.
She looks up into his eyes, a weak, exhausted smile touching her lips.
"It's okay," Vilkas murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You'll be fine... I promise we'll get you some help!"
"Of course," Aela rasps, lifting a trembling, blood-soaked hand to rest against his face. "I've got you holding me."
Vilkas manages a small, relieved grin.
Farkas jogs over, his greatsword still tightly gripped in his hands. Seeing Aela in such a brutalized state puts a dangerous, protective edge on the giant Nord as he scans the room, hoping to find another Silver Hand still breathing to take his anger out on.
I don't waste time. I place my hands directly over Aela's worst wounds. [Healing Hands]. Warm golden light washes over her flesh. I watch her ragged breathing slowly even out as the torn muscle and skin begin to knit back together. The puncture wounds shrink the longer I channel the spell, but my mana is draining fast. Healing Hands is only a Novice spell; it isn't advanced enough to fully repair deep structural tissue damage like this.
I push the spell until my mana taps out entirely, successfully stopping the bleeding and stabilizing her.
Aela stirs in Vilkas's arms, groaning as feeling fully returns to her limbs. She gently pushes against his chest, asking him to release her. Vilkas reluctantly lets her go, and she stumbles to her feet. She takes a single, shaky step before her knees buckle, hitting the stone floor with a dull thud.
Vilkas and Farkas immediately reach down to help her, but she aggressively slaps their hands away.
"I am Aela the Huntress!" she snaps, her fierce pride overriding her pain. "I can get up. Just give me a second."
With a strained grunt, she forces herself to stand, leaning heavily on the wall until she catches her breath. I take the opportunity to walk over to the dead archer and wrench my golden sword free from his chest, grabbing whatever loose gold I can find on the bodies.
When I look over my shoulder, Aela is pressing a hidden stone mechanism on the far wall. A heavy door grinds open, revealing the Silver Hand's secret vault.
To my surprise, the werewolf hunters are filthy rich. Farkas and I spend the next few minutes emptying their chests. The vault is packed with gold coins and high-quality equipment. I even spot a pristine Dwarven Shield sitting on a weapon rack, which I happily equip, tossing my crushed, useless iron shield into the corner.
At the back of the room, Aela finds a heavy, iron-banded chest hidden behind a wooden partition. She kicks the lock in frustration, but it doesn't budge. I step up, offering to give it a shot.
It's an Expert-level lock, so the tumblers are incredibly stiff, taking me a solid minute of careful maneuvering before the mechanism finally yields with a satisfying click.
I throw the lid open. Inside sits five thousand gold pieces, a stack of heavily coded documents, and resting gently on top of it all... a beautifully crafted Elven bow.
I lift the weapon out, admiring the elegant curve of the metal. Before I can even inspect it, Aela snatches it right out of my hands. I blink, slightly annoyed, ready to ask what her problem is. But as she clutches the bow tightly to her chest, I notice a small carving etched into the grip. It bears the crest of the Companions, alongside a name I don't recognize.
Farkas steps up beside me, leaning down to whisper quietly into my ear.
"Aela lost her mother to the Silver Hand about three summers ago," Farkas murmurs, his voice thick with a simmering anger. "She has been looking for her mother's bow ever since her death. A Silver Hand leader took her life, and left her body out in the plains for the vultures to eat."
I look at Aela, my annoyance instantly vanishing, replaced by a quiet respect.
"Her mother was called The Huntress as well," Farkas continues softly. "It's a title passed down from mother to daughter. Among the Companions, and the ancient tribes of Nords, it's a title only granted when you are considered a noble warrior. It can only be bestowed by the head of the clan."
It suddenly clicks. Aela's mother wasn't just a Companion. She was the clan leader.
Before the heavy silence can stretch too long, Vilkas calls out from the far side of the vault. He's found a narrow, winding tunnel leading straight up to the surface. A secret exit.
Farkas and Aela walk out ahead, Aela holding the bow tightly, a profound sense of closure finally washing over her tired features. I just stand there for a moment, looking back at the absolute destruction we left in the main chamber.
Vilkas walks back over and taps me firmly on the shoulder. I turn to face him.
"It's time to leave," Vilkas says quietly.
He turns and heads up the tunnel. I look behind me one last time, taking in the blood and broken steel of the Silver Hand, before turning my back and following them out of the dungeon.
….
Hey guys if u like the fanfic and want to read ahead by 10+ Chapters or just want to support take a visit on my patreon.
(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)
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