He stepped forward again, blade rising.
"They're not bandits," Draven said quietly.
His eyes didn't leave the monsters.
"They're worse."
My heartbeat was too loud in my ears.
I didn't know why. I'd seen dangerous people before. I'd been dangerous people before.
But this… this was different.
Monica's arm moved slightly in front of me, her dagger gripped tight in her hand. Her eyes never left Draven, reading the distance between him and those things.
Then she spoke, voice steady.
"Cain, don't worry. Just stay close to me."
I wanted to believe her.
But there was something pressing in on my chest, something I couldn't name.
It made my stomach tighten. My fingers curled without me noticing.
Draven's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp.
"Protect Cain. No matter what!"
And then—he charged.
The ground kicked up under his boots as he closed the gap. The first monster—the one with bark-like skin—swiped its claws. Draven ducked under, his sword biting deep into its arm.
The others moved instantly.
The thin, twitching one blurred sideways, flanking him. The winged one dropped low, trying to rake at him from above.
Steel rang. Dirt scattered.
Draven's sword moved in tight, perfect arcs, cutting back anything that came close. But they weren't like the bandits. They didn't hesitate, didn't scream, didn't even flinch when wounded. They pressed him from all angles, forcing him to give ground one step at a time.
I could see it—Draven wasn't losing, but he wasn't winning either.
Beside me, Monica's dagger shifted in her grip.
And then—I saw it.
White mana surged from her palm into the blade.
The dagger glowed, edges blurring with light, and then—like liquid metal—its form stretched. The hilt elongated, the blade twisted, reshaping into a polished black staff capped with a faintly glowing crystal.
I stared.
She'd been carrying that dagger all this time…
Her free hand swept forward, and a pale shimmer flowed from the staff, wrapping around Draven like a faint halo.
A buff spell—I didn't know how I knew, but I felt the difference in the air.
"Go," she murmured under her breath, as if sending strength through the magic itself.
Draven's next strike hit harder. The bark-skinned monster's leg bent wrong under the force.
But it still wasn't enough.
The thin one lunged, forcing Draven to block low, and the winged creature raked down his back before he could recover. He rolled, coming up with his sword between them, but the circle was tightening.
Monica's eyes flicked toward him, and I saw the decision there—she was about to move.
Something hot twisted in my chest. My voice came out before I could think.
"Father!"
Draven's head turned just enough for his voice to cut through the chaos.
"Stay back!" he barked, blocking another claw swipe from the bark-skinned beast.
Monica locked her stance against the monster in front of us.
I could see her jaw tighten.
The thin monster screeched. The winged one circled high. The one in front of us lunged again.
And then—
Something died.
Not one of us. One of them.
The bark-skinned creature collapsed mid-step, a sword buried deep in its skull from behind. The thin one's head split open in the same heartbeat, its body jerking before going limp.
Draven froze, sword still ready.
Monica lowered her staff a fraction.
Through the settling dust, figures emerged.
Four of them.
Three men, one girl.
The men looked between twenty and thirty-five, each armed—two with swords, one with a heavy shield strapped to his arm. The girl was younger, maybe barely into her teens, a staff of her own in her hands, still faintly glowing from a cast spell.
They moved like they'd done this before—tight formation, eyes scanning every shadow.
I glanced at Draven. His expression didn't ease. If anything, his grip on his sword tightened.
Monica's lips pressed into a thin line.
They knew these people.
And not in a friendly way.
But the fight wasn't over.
The winged monster was still alive, circling higher now, its crooked smile widening.
From the shadows beyond, I could hear more movement.
Not running away.
Coming closer.
The air grew heavier.
It wasn't done.
Not even close.