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Chapter 33 - The Corruption Returns

The forest was quiet that morning — too quiet.

Mist hung low over the ground, rolling between the roots like a living thing. The air had that strange chill again, the kind that made Alaric's skin prickle even though the sun had already risen.

He stood at the edge of the clearing with his staff in hand, snow-white hair brushing against his cheek in the faint wind. His golden eyes scanned the trees, sharp and alert despite the lazy droop in his shoulders.

Ashen stood beside him, tall and composed as always, his black coat catching the morning light. He looked calm, but Alaric could feel the tension behind that stillness.

The birds weren't singing. No animals rustled in the brush. Even the insects seemed to have gone silent.

That alone said enough.

Something was wrong.

The past week had been peaceful. The hunters returned from their routes with normal prey, and the villagers had started laughing again after the last attack. Even Kael had relaxed a little, though his eyes still lingered on the treeline whenever the wind shifted.

But today… it felt like the forest was holding its breath.

Alaric crouched, touching the damp soil. It was cold — too cold. The mana beneath it hummed faintly, like something was rotting underneath.

He frowned.

Not again.

"Trace of decay," he murmured, glancing up at Ashen.

Ashen nodded slightly, pale eyes focused on the shadows between the trees. "Yes. The same pattern as before. But stronger."

That didn't sound good.

Alaric gripped his staff tighter, letting mana flow through him. He felt the life threads pulse against his skin — warm and gentle, like the heartbeat of the earth — and the chill of death lurking just beneath it. Two forces always waiting, always pulling in opposite directions.

He used to struggle to balance them. Now, they moved through him like breath.

But that didn't make the danger any less real.

"Let's check the perimeter," Alaric said. "Before Kael starts shouting again."

Ashen's lips twitched. It was barely there — not a smile, not really. "You enjoy provoking him."

"I call it stress testing authority," Alaric said dryly, starting forward.

They moved through the forest quietly. Dew clung to every leaf, and the ground gave a soft squelch beneath their boots. Alaric kept his mana sense open, feeling for any disturbance.

At first, there was only the faint hum of life — the gentle rhythm of trees breathing, the pulse of roots drawing water, the drifting energy of insects hidden in bark.

Then he felt it.

A tremor beneath his feet, slow and pulsing. A distorted rhythm. Wrong.

He froze, raising a hand.

Ashen stopped instantly.

The two stood in silence as the air shifted again — a faint hiss, like breath through cracked stone.

A small clearing opened ahead, its grass withered to ash. Black veins spread across the soil, twisting up the trees like spiderwebs.

At the center lay a deer — or what used to be one.

Its body was swollen and warped, half-absorbed by a black crust spreading from the ground. One of its antlers had turned gray, brittle like bone turned to ash. Its eyes glowed faintly green, even in death.

Alaric swallowed hard.

The corruption hadn't just returned. It had grown stronger.

He took a cautious step forward, pressing his staff into the ground. Life mana flowed out, washing over the corrupted patch. The ground hissed in response — dark smoke curling upward where light touched it.

The rot resisted. It fought back.

Alaric's jaw tightened.

He focused harder, pushing warmth through his veins, forcing the green light to spread wider.

Ashen moved closer, standing behind him, his presence steady like a wall of stone. "Careful. It's feeding on mana again."

"I know," Alaric muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. "But if I don't purify this spot now, it'll reach the village by tomorrow."

The light pulsed stronger, flickering as the two forces collided. The smell of burnt moss filled the air. The ground trembled.

For a brief moment, it looked like the light would win — then a crack split through the earth, and something black surged up from below.

A tendril.

Thick as a rope, slick and glistening with rot.

It lashed out, cutting through the air straight toward him.

"Alaric!"

Ashen's voice broke the silence. He grabbed the boy by the collar, pulling him back just in time as the tendril slammed into the ground, splattering mud and dark fluid everywhere.

The impact shook the trees. Birds scattered in panic — finally breaking the silence.

Alaric coughed, wiping grime off his cheek. "I hate this forest sometimes."

Ashen's tone was quiet, but there was something sharp beneath it. "Stay behind me."

"Yeah, yeah," Alaric said, already raising his staff again. "I know the drill."

Ashen stepped forward, hand brushing the hilt of his blade. His aura flared — a pale gray mist that seemed to swallow the air itself. The corruption hissed in response, almost alive, and the tendril retracted into the earth.

But the ground was still moving.

More cracks formed, circling the clearing like something was crawling beneath the soil.

Alaric's stomach dropped.

This isn't just residue. It's a nest.

"Ashen," he said quickly, eyes scanning the trees. "We need to—"

Before he could finish, the ground erupted.

Something massive burst from below — a black, worm-like creature with a jaw lined with bone spikes, dripping with rot.

The air filled with its stench.

The corrupted deer wasn't the problem. It was bait.

Ashen drew his sword. The sound cut through the air like glass.

"Get ready," he said quietly.

Alaric exhaled slowly, planting his staff into the ground. The life and death mana inside him surged together — steady, balanced, ready.

He grinned faintly despite the danger.

"Guess nap time's canceled."

The monster roared. The ground cracked. The air trembled.

And the fight began.

The roar echoed through the trees like thunder. Birds scattered in flocks, their cries vanishing into the fog above.

The monster towered above them, its body made of rotting flesh and hardened black scales. Parts of its form still looked like that of a deer, others like an insect, and some were nothing but raw, crawling decay. Green light leaked from open wounds as if something alive squirmed beneath its skin.

Alaric's nose wrinkled. "Ugh… that smell. I swear the forest keeps finding new ways to be disgusting."

Ashen stepped forward, blade drawn, the silver edge faintly glowing with cold mana. His coat swayed behind him as he moved with that same eerie grace — like he was gliding instead of stepping.

The corrupted beast lunged first.

Ashen met it head-on. His sword flashed once — a clean, quiet motion — slicing through the air. The creature twisted, bones snapping, but it kept moving, slamming its massive body against the ground with enough force to make the trees shake.

Mud splashed across Alaric's boots.

"Alright," he muttered, gripping his staff, "so we're doing this the hard way again."

He pointed the staff forward, life mana gathering at the tip in a bright green light. The glow spread into the soil, forming a ring that pulsed outward. Vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around the beast's legs.

For a second, it worked.

Then the vines turned black.

The corruption spread through them like fire, twisting the plants into brittle ash.

Alaric's eyes widened. "Oh, come on!"

Ashen didn't falter. His sword flashed again, slicing through another incoming tendril. The strike sent dark ichor splattering against the stone, where it hissed like acid.

"Adapt," Ashen said, his tone calm even as the creature lunged again. "Its decay reacts to life mana directly."

Alaric gritted his teeth. "So I can't heal or restrain it?"

"Not with raw life. You'll need balance."

"Balance, huh…"

He inhaled, lowering his stance. The staff pulsed faintly, twin streams of green and gray light swirling around it — life and death coiling together like smoke. His heartbeat slowed. The hum of mana filled his ears.

The monster turned toward him, sensing the shift. Its roar tore through the forest, scattering leaves like a storm.

"Alright, ugly," Alaric muttered, "let's see if this works."

He slammed the staff into the ground.

A wave of mixed mana surged outward — part warmth, part chill — striking the corrupted soil. The blackness sizzled and peeled back, parts of it turning to dust while others solidified into gray stone. The creature's advance slowed as the corruption beneath it froze in place.

Ashen took the opening instantly. His sword flashed three times — a blur of silver light — and a section of the monster's carapace split open.

But instead of dying, it screamed again, the sound sharper, angrier.

The corruption inside its body pulsed like a heart, green veins spreading wider. The ground trembled beneath them.

Alaric stumbled, catching himself with his staff. "That thing's tougher than the last one!"

"Yes," Ashen replied, stepping back beside him. "It's evolving."

"Evolving?" Alaric shot him a look. "Please don't tell me these things can learn."

Ashen didn't answer. His pale eyes narrowed, focused on the beast's core — that glowing green heart throbbing in its chest.

"Target the core," he said simply.

"Right. Aim for the glowing death ball. Easy."

The monster charged again, its claws digging into the ground. Alaric swung his staff in a quick arc, releasing a burst of death mana. Black mist exploded from the impact, corroding the creature's front legs. The smell of decay grew stronger.

But it wasn't enough.

The monster barreled through the mist, breaking free, slamming its shoulder into Ashen.

The undead butler slid backward, boots grinding against the soil, blade crossed to block the blow. The force was massive — enough to crush bone if he'd been human. His coat tore at the shoulder, a streak of gray blood staining the fabric.

Alaric's breath hitched. "Ashen!"

"I'm fine," came the calm reply. But his tone was heavier now.

Alaric's fingers trembled slightly as he raised his staff again. "Fine or not, I'm ending this."

The mana inside him pulsed wildly, the two forces clashing and merging in his veins. He forced them together, steadying the rhythm the way Ashen had taught him years ago. Life to control, death to strike.

A swirl of green and gray light formed at the staff's tip.

The creature reared back, ready to charge again — but Alaric was faster.

"Try rotting on my time!" he shouted, swinging his staff downward.

A spiraling beam of mana shot out, striking the ground in front of the beast. The explosion tore through the soil, sending debris flying. The creature howled, half of its body burning in pale light, the other half freezing in dark rot.

When the light cleared, its movements had slowed. Its glowing veins flickered weakly.

Ashen appeared behind it in a blur, blade raised high.

"Rest," he whispered.

The sword came down — one clean motion.

The creature froze mid-roar. The green light in its eyes dimmed. Then, slowly, its body crumbled into ash.

Silence returned to the forest.

Alaric exhaled hard, leaning on his staff. His chest heaved, and sweat trickled down his temple. "...You know," he said between breaths, "I was really hoping we were done with giant flesh worms this season."

Ashen turned slightly, gray eyes softening just a little. "You performed well."

"Yeah, yeah," Alaric muttered, waving a hand tiredly. "I'll take the compliment before I pass out."

Ashen glanced at the clearing. The blackened soil where the monster had stood was still pulsing faintly, the corruption refusing to vanish completely.

He crouched, touching it with gloved fingers. "It's spreading faster now."

Alaric frowned, his fatigue fading just enough for worry to take over. "So even killing them doesn't stop it anymore…"

"No," Ashen said quietly. "Something deeper is feeding it."

Alaric looked toward the dark line of trees, where the mist seemed thicker than before. The forest was quiet again — but not in peace.

It was the kind of silence that came before something worse.

By the time Alaric and Ashen made it back to the village, the fog had rolled in thicker, swallowing the treetops and dulling every sound. The world felt muffled, like the forest itself was holding its breath again.

The moment they stepped into the clearing, Kael spotted them. He was standing near the training field, arms crossed, his expression as grim as ever. Ryn was nearby too, mid-swing with his wooden sword, but the look on his face brightened the instant he saw Alaric.

That changed when he noticed the black stains on Alaric's clothes.

"Another one?" Kael asked, voice low.

Alaric nodded, brushing dirt off his sleeve. "Bigger this time. Stronger, too."

Ashen remained silent beside him, though the faint tear at his shoulder made it clear how fierce the fight had been. His coat was still dusted with ash, the faint gray smudges standing out against the dark fabric.

Kael's eyes flicked between them — first to Alaric's weary stance, then to Ashen's calm, cold stillness. His brow furrowed. "And the corruption?"

Alaric hesitated. "Still there. Even after we killed it."

That answer made the air heavy. The hunters nearby stopped what they were doing. A few exchanged looks; one muttered a prayer under his breath.

Kael sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "So it's spreading again."

"Yeah," Alaric said quietly. "And this time… it's not just monsters. It's the ground itself."

Kael's jaw tightened. He looked toward the forest, as if expecting the darkness to crawl out of it any second. "We'll double the watches tonight. No one goes beyond the east line."

Alaric opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Ashen lightly touched his shoulder.

It wasn't harsh — just a quiet reminder to rest.

The boy sighed. "Fine, fine. No wandering off. I get it."

"Good," Kael said. "You're no use to anyone half-dead."

That night, the village was quieter than usual. The torches burned lower, and even the laughter from the children's huts had faded early. Everyone could feel it — the weight of something unseen pressing down on them.

Alaric sat on a wooden crate near the edge of the camp, watching the mist drift between the trees. His white hair caught the faint orange light from the fire, glowing faintly gold at the tips. His golden eyes looked tired but sharp, like he was still fighting battles in his head.

Ashen stood nearby, cleaning his sword with slow, precise motions. His movements were practiced, calm — almost comforting to watch.

"You should rest," he said quietly, not looking up.

"I can't," Alaric murmured. "It's getting worse, Ashen. Every time we fight, it spreads faster. It's like… it's learning from us."

Ashen paused for a moment, his reflection faint in the polished blade. "That is possible. Mana can remember. And corruption is nothing but twisted mana."

Alaric frowned. "Then it's remembering me."

His words hung in the air like a bad omen.

The flames crackled. Somewhere deeper in the forest, a wolf howled — low and long.

Ashen finally set the sword aside and turned toward him. "You are not its cause, Alaric."

The boy met his gaze. "But it reacts to me. It changes around me."

Ashen said nothing, but his expression softened — a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his stillness. He stepped closer and adjusted Alaric's collar, brushing off a smear of dirt.

His gloved fingers were cold, but gentle.

"You carry power that mirrors both sides," he said quietly. "Life and death. That balance draws things to you — not because you create them, but because you remind them what they've lost."

Alaric stared at him, confused and thoughtful at the same time. "That's the poetic way of saying I'm a monster magnet, huh."

A faint sound — almost a chuckle — escaped Ashen before fading into the mist.

"Sleep, Alaric."

Later that night, Alaric lay in his small hut, staring at the ceiling. The candle beside him flickered, shadows dancing over the walls. He could hear the guards outside moving in slow, careful steps, their voices hushed.

He turned his hand over, staring at the faint glow of mana beneath his skin. The life thread pulsed warm and steady, but the death thread coiled darker, heavier than usual.

Something deep inside the forest was calling to it.

He felt it — faint but real — like a heartbeat echoing from far below the ground.

"Something's awake…" he whispered to himself.

His eyelids grew heavy. He tried to stay alert, but the rhythm of that distant pulse lulled him toward sleep.

Outside, the fog thickened, spreading between the huts like crawling smoke.

The torches flickered once… then went out.

At the forest's edge, where the last bits of moonlight touched the soil, something stirred.

The black veins Alaric had burned away that morning began to move again — slowly at first, then faster.

The ground cracked, and from beneath the surface, a faint green light flickered.

Not the light of life.

The pulse of corruption.

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