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Chapter 54: A Place of Shadows and Fire
The winds of the vampire continent carried a strange scent—not death, not rot or sulfur, but stillness. The kind of silence that made the hairs on your skin rise. A silence filled with waiting.
As the carriage wheels screeched to a halt, Asher stepped out first, his cloak fluttering slightly with the breeze. The seven moons above were all blood-red, permanently full, as though frozen in some ancient curse. He didn't need anyone to tell him—this land watched.
Selena followed behind him, clutching her satchel, eyes sharp. Fin stepped down last, blinking slowly at the landscape—black trees like claws, pale mist coiling through the grass, and a distant howl that didn't sound quite… animal he looked around him with his huge backpack of Asher's belonging.
Then she arrived.
Gwen.
A noblewoman dressed in pitch-black formal attire that shimmered faintly like moonlight on obsidian. Her face was expressionless, almost like a porcelain mask—beautiful, but unreadable. Her golden eyes didn't blink as they studied them one by one.
"I am Gwen," she said, her voice like silk pulled over steel. "I'll be your guide for this mission."
She didn't bow, didn't nod—just turned on her heel and began walking. The group followed instinctively.
Gwen spoke without glancing back. "Our target is the Power Stone, hidden deep beneath the earth in a former vampire shrine. You will be staying in a hideout camp not far from its ruins. The area is still under vampire control, so stealth is priority. Any mistake will trigger a full-scale assault."
Selena whispered to Asher, "why is she acting...weird. She's too serious and creepy."
Asher smirked. "I tink that is the reason why they made her the guide for nobles."
Fin remained quiet, watching Gwen's back. There was something… unnatural about her. Not magically, but emotionally. Like she had once chosen to feel nothing—and now could never get it back.
They arrived at the main camp, where other nobles were already settled. Unlike the poor conditions of the commoners nearby, the nobles had circled their encampment with magical lanterns that glowed in multiple hues. Large decorative tents with family sigils stood like miniature castles.
In the center, a massive bonfire burned. Some nobles were gathered there—drinking, wrestling, and laughing—their polished armor discarded for comfort. Others simply observed, cold and analytical, too used to politics to relax.
Further out, the commoners' camp was plain, bordering on desolate. Small, cloth tents with no protection. A few sat by weak fires, speaking in hushed tones. Their eyes were wary—not just of the vampires, but of the nobles they had to fight beside.
Gwen raised a hand. "This is where you'll be based. You've been granted tents adjacent to the noble quarters, by Lord Rafe's decree. You may rest, or observe. We move at dawn."
She turned to leave but paused. "Stay out of trouble. Especially with the noble houses. They don't forget slights."
And like a ghost, she vanished into the darkness.
Fin raised an eyebrow. "Friendly, isn't she?"
"She's hiding something," Asher murmured. "That mask of hers isn't flawless." he said with a smirk.
As they walked deeper into the noble zone, the scent of roasted meat and fine wine filled the air. There were long tables with food for the aristocrats.
One noble caught sight of them—a large man with an axe strapped to his back, shirtless, scars decorating his chest like badges. He was wrestling someone to the ground, then laughing thunderously. "HA! Another win! Bring me wine! And who're the new bloods?!"
Asher didn't answer. He simply walked past, eyes forward.
Selena chuckled softly. "You don't like to play."
"They're not my kind of people," Asher replied.
Moments later, Selena nudged him gently. "I'm taking Fin to our tent. You should relax a bit. Watch them.I know you will love to learn who's dangerous and who's stupid."
Asher tilted his head. "I already know. But go ahead."
Selena waved her fingers as she turned, and Fin gave a small, awkward wave. "Try not to glare at everyone like you're planning to assassinate them."
"No promises," Asher said dryly.
Gwen reappeared from the mist as if she'd been waiting. "Follow me. I'll show them to their tents." which made Selena and fin freak out but not Asher.
She led Fin and Selena toward a quieter corner of the noble camp, beside a glowing blue crystal barrier that pulsed gently—set up to ward off vampire scouts. Gwen opened the flap to a mid-sized tent.
"It's protected by two layers of sigils. Once sealed, no one can eavesdrop from the outside. It's the safest place here."
Selena nodded. "Thanks."
Fin stepped inside. The tent was surprisingly comfortable—soft blankets, enchanted lighting, even a small table with scrolls already laid out.
Selena waited for Gwen to vanish before whispering, "She scares me a bit."
"She scares everyone," Fin muttered. "Even the ground tries not to creak when she walks."
Selena smiled. "Get some rest. We'll need you tomorrow."
Back at the main fire, Asher leaned against a tree, watching the nobles from a distance. He wasn't interested in wrestling, drinking, or their fake stories of conquest.
His mind was too focused.
Stee'zz.
Lysar.
Selena.
Fin.
The relics.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out the communication stone, whispering: "Sterling, update?"
A moment passed.
Then Sterling's voice came through, clear and calm. "All's stable, sir. Darian's organizing defenses. Tony's been… oddly motivated since you left. Maybe guilt."
"Good," Asher muttered. "Watch Lysar. Don't underestimate him."
"I never do."
Asher closed the channel and looked up at the stars. Even here, they were different. Sharper. Hungrier.
Suddenly, a voice spoke beside him.
"You're Asher, aren't you?"
He turned slightly. A young noble—no older than eighteen—stood there. Blonde, wiry, clearly trained in swordplay, but not war.
"What do you want?" Asher asked.
"I wanted to see what kind of man walks past Korr Vale's bonfire without saying a word."
Asher raised an eyebrow. "A quiet one."
The young noble smirked, but there was a hint of respect in his tone. "They say you control gravity. That you stopped a siege with one hand."
Asher didn't reply.
The noble shrugged. "Well, I hope you're on our side."
Asher tilted his head. "That depends. Are you on mine?"
The noble hesitated.
"Thought so," Asher murmured.
The boy left in silence.
The fire cracked louder. Nobles cheered. But Asher wasn't interested in having fun.
Asher sat on a heavy stone bench beside the roaring campfire. The carved seat groaned faintly under his weight, worn smooth by generations of warriors long past. Around him, laughter and shouts echoed through the night as nobles gathered to watch the fight in the center of the ring—two men, both shirtless, coated in sweat and dirt, throwing brutal, unrelenting punches.
Asher took a sip from the drink handed to him earlier—bitter, burning, likely some kind of spirit brewed by fire mages. He didn't care for the taste, but he didn't mind the warmth.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke.
In the center, one man ducked under a wild hook and drove his fist into the other's ribs. The crack was audible over the fire.
Then the other surged forward, grabbing his opponent and slamming him to the ground. They grappled, grunted, and reversed positions again and again. No magic. No enchantments. Just raw, terrifying technique.
Asher's eyes narrowed. This wasn't barbaric. It was deliberate.
Then a voice crawled up through his consciousness—deep, sharp, and hissing like burning coal.
"LOOK CLOSELY, BOY."
It was Stee'zz.
"THEY DO NOT RELY ON MAGIC BECAUSE THEY HAVE MASTERED THE BODY. THIS IS PURE TECHNIQUE. THIS IS DISCIPLINE. THIS IS THE ART OF DOMINATING WITHOUT SPELLS."
One of the fighters pivoted on his heel and spun his body low, sweeping the other man's legs. The moment his opponent fell, he jumped on top and rained down punches—precise, punishing, rhythmic.
Asher blinked.
"SEE THAT?" the demon sneered. "A MODIFIED STRIKE COMBINATION BASED ON THE FANG-STYLE. HE'S ALTERED IT TO BE MORE COMPACT, FASTER. HE'S NOT JUST STRONG—HE'S A FIGHTING GENIUS."
The fallen fighter slumped to the dirt, unconscious. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. The victor stood above him, breathing heavily, his fists bruised but proud. A moment passed.
Then the nobles roared.
"VALTOR! VALTOR! VALTOR!"
The name echoed into the trees. Nobles lifted their mugs, slammed them together, and laughed. Even some of the commoners nearby peeked over from their tents, watching the spectacle with something close to admiration.
Valtor raised both arms, cracked his neck, then bellowed across the ring: "WHO'S NEXT?! COME ON! WHO ELSE HAS THE GUTS TO FIGHT WITHOUT HIDING BEHIND THEIR DAMN ELEMENTS?!"
No one moved.
He pointed at a group of seated nobles. "YOU ALL TALK LIKE ROYALS BUT HIT LIKE KITCHEN MAIDS."
Some laughed. Most looked away, embarrassed or pretending not to hear.
Valtor scoffed. "Magic has made you weak. You have it easy now. But what will you do when you're caught in a cave where your spells don't work? When a silence curse drains your mana dry?"
Silence. Embarrassed nobles took careful sips of their drinks.
Then Valtor's eyes locked onto Asher.
The camp grew quiet again.
"You," he said, walking toward him. "You've been staring the whole time. What about you, huh?"