The moment they heard the terrifying howl, the convoy came to a halt. The men scanned their surroundings, cold sweat dripping down their brows. The only sounds were the frantic whinnies of the panicked horses that refused to move.
The group didn't have any other choice but to dismount.
"Was that a wolf?" one man asked, voice trembling.
"No way," another replied. "Since when does a wolf howl like that?"
Nothing appeared. Thirty seconds passed. A minute. The silence only made things worse for their mental state.
Humans fear what they don't know. And while the Black Scimitar group was full of skilled fighters, they were still human. The unknown enemy lurking in the woods was enough to rattle even the bravest among them.
Jenkins, gripping his curved sword—the one he only drew in the most serious of moments—scanned the trees relentlessly. He kept glancing at Ethan, who stood completely frozen, paralyzed by fear. It didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was Olmo, the old veteran, staring ahead, pale as a ghost.
"Olmo," Jenkins called, "Do you know what we are dealing with?"
The older man didn't respond. His eyes were glassy, his body stiff.
Jenkins rushed over and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "Old man! Snap out of it! What the hell is it?!"
Olmo looked at him, mouth trembling. "R-run."
That one word hit harder than a blow. Never—not in all his years—had Jenkins heard Olmo say something like that. Panic gripped his chest.
He turned to Ethan, knelt beside him, and shook him gently. "Kid, listen to me. We need to get out of here. Just follow me. Run as fast as you can. Don't look back. Got it?"
Ethan nodded calmly. But deep inside, something shifted. He knew exactly why this was happening. The thing that had stalked him in the woods—it wasn't just watching him as a prey. It had been guarding him. And now, because he'd run... it had come to retrieve him.
His fear turned to fury. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists. No. I came this far. I won't go back. I'd rather die than return to that hellhole.
Jenkins rose to his feet, yelling orders. "Everyone, get it together! We don't know when or where this thing will strike. Keep your weapons drawn. Eyes open!"
He did his best to rally his men, knowing that fear was a fighter's deadliest enemy. If they lost their will to fight, the battle would be over before it even began.
Hearing Jenkins's voice booming around him, Olmo finally found his own. Though it trembled, he managed to speak.
"Jenkins… we have to run. That thing—it's not something we can kill. That's a Doomblade."
Even though the group were ignorant about the creature, but the name felt like a curse to them.
"They used to call him the Beast King's bodyguard. Their existence is a mystery to this day. Only advanced aura users could stand a chance against it," Olmo went on. "We're dead if we stay here. Our only shot is to scatter. Maybe some of us will make it."
Jenkins clenched his jaw. He'd never heard of Doomblades, but he knew what an advanced aura user was. Their organization's leader was one. And now they were being hunted by something that required someone of that caliber?
If we're up against something equivalent to an advanced aura user... then we're screwed
He glanced at Ethan again, guilt tightening in his chest. The kid was finally free, happy to leave that nightmare village. And now... this.
For ten long minutes, they waited, tension mounting like a noose tightening around their necks. From time to time, the Doomblade howled again—just to remind them it was still out there. Just to toy with them.
Then they heard it—a thud. It came from up ahead.
They turned.
It stepped into view.
Nearly three meters tall, with short legs and impossibly long arms. A face like a rottweiler, twisted in contempt. Each hand had seven long fingers, and from each one protruded a gleaming blade. Fourteen in total.
It looked at them like they were insects.
Something was wrong. Doomblades weren't supposed to feel. Weren't supposed to smirk. But this one looked at them like a predator toying with its prey—eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Olmo's gut twisted. That thing wasn't just a Doomblade... it was worse.
Jenkins felt his knees go weak. His calmness, his confidence—gone. He'd never seen anything like this.
The Doomblade stepped forward, slowly. Each swing of its arms, each sway of its grotesque body, sent a chill through the group. And with every step it took, the Scimitar fighters took one back.
Then one man couldn't take the pressure and broke.
He turned and fled, screaming in terror.
Jenkins watched him run—didn't even blame him. But the man didn't make it ten meters before his head was carved into four pieces. Blood sprayed like a fountain. His body dropped to the ground, twitching.
Dead. Gone. Just like that.
Ethan stared in horror. "T-there were two?"
He turned back toward the original figure, but it had vanished.
No... not two. Just one. One that moved fast enough to kill without anyone noticing.
That was when Jenkins truly knew. We're not making it out of this.
He turned to Ethan. The kid stood defiant, jaw set, fire in his eyes.
Jenkins couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. Look at that. Even a kid hasn't given up. And here I am, shaking in my boots.
"Hey, kid," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. Looks like this is the end of the road for us."
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Speak for yourself. I'm not dying here. Not yet."
Jenkins smiled. "Is that courage of ignorance?."
"Think whatever you want of it"
Jenkins snickered then shouted, rallying his men one last time in a desperate attempt. "BOYS! This might be it! At my signal—run! Split up!"
He turned to Olmo, Piter, and Ethan. "You three follow me closely."