CHAPTER 15 - The hunt begins.
The interior of the Adventurer's Guild greeted Chris with unfamiliar quiet.
Gone was the usual morning chaos—the clatter of armor, the arguments over quest assignments, the smell of spilled ale mixing with weapon oil and unwashed adventurers. Instead, the common room held only a handful of early risers nursing cups of coffee or tea, their conversations muted and their movements slow with the lethargy of those who hadn't quite shaken off sleep.
The change was disorienting. Chris had grown accustomed to the guild's controlled chaos, the constant background noise of violence practiced and planned. This hushed, almost reverent atmosphere felt wrong, like walking into a tavern and finding it empty during the dinner rush.
The tired receptionist sat at her usual post behind the main counter, and she looked up as Chris approached. For once, she didn't look exhausted—or rather, she looked no more exhausted than usual, which for her might count as well-rested. There was something else in her expression today, though. Something that might have been approval, or possibly just acknowledgment that he'd shown up when expected.
"You're here," she said, which wasn't quite the same as saying he was on time.
"Investigation briefing," Chris confirmed. "Guild Master Aldric said to report at dawn."
She nodded, already reaching for something beneath her counter. "Second floor. Conference room at the end of the hall." A slip of paper appeared in her hand, the room number written in neat script. "The others are already waiting. Don't keep them longer than necessary—Aldric hates tardiness, and your team lead isn't much better about it."
Chris took the paper, noting the slight emphasis she'd placed on 'your team lead.' Word traveled fast in a guild this size. Everyone probably knew about the investigation team by now, and most of them had likely formed opinions about the rookie E-rank who'd somehow gotten assigned to it.
"Thanks," he said.
"Don't thank me yet. Just come back alive." She returned her attention to the ledger in front of her, the conversation clearly over.
Chris headed for the stairs, his boots echoing on wooden floors that seemed louder in the unusual quiet. The staircase to the second floor was wider than he'd expected, built to accommodate armored knights and their equipment. Each step took him higher into the administrative levels where the real decisions were made, where guild masters and senior adventurers planned operations that determined who lived and who became another name on the memorial wall.
The second floor corridor was a different world entirely. Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps. Paintings of past guild masters lined the walls, stern faces captured in oil and canvas, their painted eyes seeming to follow his progress with expressions that ranged from judgment to pity. Nameplates beneath each portrait listed their tenures and notable achievements—monster subjugations, crisis resolutions, heroic last stands.
Too many of those last stands, Chris noted. The life expectancy of guild masters apparently wasn't great.
The conference room door waited at the end of the hall, heavy oak with brass fittings that had been polished so many times the metal showed wear patterns. Chris could hear voices beyond it—muted by the thick wood but present. His team was already inside.
He paused with his hand on the door handle, taking a breath to steady the nervous energy that had been building since he woke. Behind that door waited people who would become his teammates. People who would trust him to watch their backs while they watched his.
People who had no idea he wielded forbidden magic that would get him executed if discovered.
His hand tightened on the handle.
No going back now.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The conference room was larger than Chris had expected, and the first thing that struck him was the light.
Tall windows dominated the far wall, overlooking Rendercity's western districts, and morning sun streamed through them with an almost aggressive brightness that made Chris squint as his eyes adjusted. The light illuminated a heavy wooden table that commanded the center of the room, its surface scarred by decades of use—knife marks from pointing at maps, ink stains from hastily written reports, ring marks from countless mugs of coffee consumed during long planning sessions.
Maps covered the wall to his left, pinned and layered over each other in a chaotic archive of past missions and ongoing threats. Colored pins dotted the largest map like a disease spreading across parchment, each one presumably marking something that needed the guild's attention.
But it was the people that demanded Chris's focus.
Five figures occupied the room, and he felt the weight of their attention the moment he crossed the threshold.
Guild Master Aldric stood at the head of the table, backlit by the morning sun in a way that made his iron-gray hair and beard seem almost luminous. He wore the same simple clothes Chris had seen during their last meeting, but there was nothing simple about the presence the man projected. Chris's Shadow Sense, operating at its usual background level, detected power radiating from Aldric like heat from a forge—controlled, banked, but undeniably present.
The old man's sharp eyes tracked Chris's entrance with an intensity that suggested he saw more than most, and something in that gaze made Chris instinctively straighten his posture.
To Aldric's right sat Iris, and the sight of her familiar silver hair and green robes sent a wave of relief through Chris that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in check. She'd changed from the casual training clothes he'd seen her in yesterday into full adventuring gear—robes belted at the waist, staff leaning against her chair, bronze D-rank badge prominently displayed. When she saw him, her face lit up with a smile and she gave a small wave that somehow managed to be both enthusiastic and subtle.
Having at least one ally in the room made everything feel slightly less daunting.
The other three were strangers, and Chris found himself being assessed by each of them with varying degrees of scrutiny.
The first was impossible to miss even if Chris had wanted to—a mountain compressed into the rough approximation of human form.
The man sat directly across from Iris, and even seated he dominated the space around him with sheer physical presence. Chris estimated he stood at least six and a half feet tall, with shoulders so broad they had to turn sideways to fit through most doorways. Plate armor encased his frame, polished steel that caught the morning light and threw it back in harsh reflections. The armor alone probably weighed more than Chris did, and that wasn't accounting for the massive greatsword strapped across the man's back—a weapon that looked like it had been forged to fight giants rather than men.
The face above all that steel was a study in hard angles. Square jaw shadowed with stubble that suggested he'd been awake longer than the morning sun. Short brown hair cropped military-short. Eyes the color of storm clouds that assessed Chris with the cold, methodical efficiency of a veteran sizing up a potential liability.
A bronze badge on his chest marked him as C-rank. Two full tiers above Chris's newly acquired E-rank status.
Those storm-gray eyes tracked Chris as he moved further into the room, and though the man's expression remained neutral—professional detachment that revealed nothing—Chris felt the weight of judgment in that unwavering stare.
The second stranger sat in the corner where shadows gathered thickest, and Chris suspected that positioning was entirely deliberate.
She was harder to pin down than the knight. Late twenties, perhaps, with dark hair pulled into a practical braid that kept it away from her face and neck. Her skin was olive-toned, suggesting origins farther south than Rendercity, and her features carried a sharpness that spoke of hardship survived rather than merely endured.
Leather armor dyed so deep a black it seemed to drink the light covered her frame from throat to boots. Twin daggers rode her hips with the hilts positioned for quick draw, and Chris's experience—limited though it was—suggested there were more weapons hidden in places he couldn't see. Probably several more.
Her eyes were dark, almost black, and they never stopped moving. Tracking Chris. The door behind him. The windows. Back to Chris. The others at the table. The door again. A constant cycle of threat assessment and escape route calculation that spoke of paranoia refined into professional survival instinct.
When those dark eyes met his, Chris saw recognition there. Not of him specifically, but of type. She knew a fellow survivor when she saw one.
Her badge was bronze—C-rank, same as the knight.
The third stranger provided such a stark contrast to the other two that Chris almost did a double-take.
The man sat between the knight and the rogue, looking for all the world like he'd wandered into the wrong room and was too polite to mention it. He was perhaps in his early forties, with thinning brown hair going gray at the temples and a soft, gentle face that belonged in a library or temple rather than a combat briefing. Simple robes in muted earth tones—browns and greens that reminded Chris of forest floors and growing things—draped his frame loosely. A wooden holy symbol hung from a leather cord around his neck, carved in the shape of a circle with radiating lines.
The symbol of the God of Light, if Chris remembered correctly from overheard guild conversations about the various churches and their iconography.
A cleric, then. A healer.
Unlike the cold assessment from the knight or the paranoid observation from the rogue, this man's regard felt genuinely welcoming. His eyes—a warm brown that matched his robes—found Chris and something flickered in their depths. Curiosity, perhaps, or the kind of interest that suggested he'd already heard interesting things and wanted to know more.
His badge was bronze, but marked D-rank. One tier above Chris, one below the knight and rogue.
"Chris," Aldric said, his voice cutting through the moment of mutual assessment with the kind of authority that commanded attention without raising volume. "You're here. Good. We can begin."
The simple words carried weight—acknowledgment that Chris's presence mattered, that the briefing had been waiting for him specifically. It was a small thing, but in a room full of people who outranked him, it felt significant.
Chris moved to an empty chair that someone had positioned with clear sight lines to both the door and the windows—an instinctive choice that the rogue's eyes tracked with what might have been approval. He sat, back straight, hands visible on the table, projecting a confidence he didn't entirely feel.
"Before we discuss the mission details," Aldric continued, his gaze sweeping across each person at the table, "introductions are in order. Most of you haven't worked together before, and I've found that teams function better when they know who they're trusting their lives to."
He gestured to the mountain of a man first.
"This is Marcus Steelbrand. C-rank knight, specializing in heavy combat and defensive tactics. He's been with the guild for twenty years, served as a knight for fifteen of those, and has held C-rank for the last five. He'll be leading this investigation team."
Marcus didn't stand—didn't need to, given that even seated he commanded the space like a general at a war table. When he spoke, his voice carried the rough gravel of someone who'd spent years shouting orders over the clash of battle, each word clipped with military precision that suggested wasted breath was a mortal sin.
"Steelbrand," he said, as if his full name required too much effort for casual use. Those storm-cloud eyes fixed on Chris with uncomfortable intensity. "You're the F-rank who got promoted to E after a week."
Not a question. A statement that somehow managed to carry accusation, skepticism, and challenge in equal measure.
Chris touched the bronze badge on his chest—still new enough that the gesture felt strange, like he was playing dress-up in someone else's rank. "E-rank now, yes."
"So I see." Marcus's expression didn't change, remaining locked in that neutral professional mask that revealed nothing and judged everything. A pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken assessment. "Question is whether you earned it or got lucky."
The words hung in the air like a thrown gauntlet, and Chris felt every eye in the room turn toward him. Waiting to see how he'd respond. Whether he'd crack under pressure or hold his ground.
Iris started to speak—"Marcus, Chris has proven—"
"I'm not questioning your judgment, Thornweave," Marcus interrupted, his tone making it abundantly clear he was questioning something, even if not Iris specifically. "I'm questioning his experience. I've seen a dozen rookies like him over the years. Fast progression, big ambitions, convinced they're special because they survived a few tough fights and collected some impressive-looking badges."
He leaned forward slightly, armor creaking with the movement, and the sound somehow emphasized his next words.
"Most of them are dead now. Killed by overconfidence and situations they weren't prepared for because they thought luck was the same thing as skill, and survival was the same thing as competence."
Chris met those storm-gray eyes and held them, refusing to look away first. Something his old corporate life had taught him—never show weakness in front of someone looking for reasons to doubt you.
"Then I'll try not to be most of them," he said, keeping his voice level and calm.
Something flickered across Marcus's face—too quick to identify fully, but it might have been approval. Or at least acknowledgment that Chris wasn't going to fold at the first challenge.
"We'll see," Marcus said, and turned his attention back to Aldric.
The guild master's lips twitched with what might have been amusement before he continued the introductions, gesturing to the woman sitting in the gathered shadows.
"Lyra Nightwhisper. C-rank rogue, specializing in reconnaissance, infiltration, and information gathering. If there's something to find in Thornhaven, Lyra will find it. She's the best scout in Rendercity."
Lyra nodded once—a minimal movement that somehow conveyed acknowledgment without committing to anything resembling enthusiasm or agreement with the praise. Her dark eyes continued their constant scanning pattern, and when they passed over Chris again, he noticed she was reading his body language the same way he was trying to read hers.
Professional assessment. Survivor to survivor.
She didn't speak, and the silence stretched just long enough to become noticeable before Marcus filled it.
"Nightwhisper doesn't talk much," he said, and there was something in his gravel voice that might have been amusement or might have been respect. "But she doesn't need to. Her work speaks for itself, and it speaks volumes."
Lyra's lips twitched into what might have been a smile, there and gone so fast that Chris almost missed it. But he saw the acknowledgment in her eyes—she appreciated Marcus's understanding that her silence wasn't weakness or disinterest, but choice.
Aldric turned to the cleric last, and his tone softened slightly—not enough to be obvious, but enough that Chris caught the shift.
"And this is Brother Aldwin, D-rank cleric of the Church of Light. Specializing in healing, purification magic, and support. He's volunteered his services for this investigation."
The gentle-faced man smiled warmly, and when he spoke, his voice carried a quality that immediately made the room feel less tense—genuine kindness without the artificial quality that often accompanied religious figures trying to convert or convince.
"A pleasure to meet you properly, young swordsman," Aldwin said, inclining his head in a gesture that was respectful without being subservient or condescending. "I've heard interesting things about your recent accomplishments. Quite impressive for someone so new to the adventuring life."
Unlike Marcus's pointed skepticism, Aldwin's words carried no hidden barbs or challenges. Just honest curiosity and what seemed like genuine welcome.
"Nothing too interesting, I hope," Chris said, uncertain how much the cleric actually knew.
"On the contrary—taking down a corrupted dire wolf pack with only a D-rank partner? Saving farming families from further attacks? Quite interesting indeed." Aldwin's smile widened slightly, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "The Light favors those who protect the innocent, regardless of their rank or experience. That speaks well of your character."
Chris found himself relaxing slightly under that warm regard, though a small voice in the back of his mind—the one that had kept him alive through dangerous situations—warned against trusting too easily. Kindness could be as much a weapon as a sword if wielded by someone who knew how to use it.
"You've already met Iris," Aldric said, gesturing to where she sat. "She'll be providing magical support and serving as backup healer to Brother Aldwin. Between her wind and nature magic and Aldwin's light magic, you should have sufficient support for most situations you're likely to encounter."
Iris gave Chris a small smile and a subtle thumbs-up gesture that the others couldn't see from their angles—her way of saying she had his back, that she believed in him even if Marcus didn't.
That small gesture of support meant more than Chris wanted to admit.
Aldric moved to the map-covered wall, and Chris realized for the first time that the colored pins weren't random. They formed a pattern, and as his brain processed what he was seeing, something cold settled in his stomach.
Red pins clustered throughout the western territories, scattered across what looked like hundreds of miles of wilderness and settled land. But they weren't random. Lines drawn between them in faded ink revealed the truth.
They formed a circle.
A rough, imperfect circle, but undeniably deliberate in its geometry.
And Rendercity sat at the center.
"Two weeks ago," Aldric began, his voice taking on the formal tone of an official briefing delivered to people whose lives might depend on the information being conveyed, "we received the first reports of unusual corruption manifestations. Dire wolves appearing in areas they had no business being, showing signs of deliberate enhancement rather than natural mutation. We classified them as isolated incidents, unusual but not unprecedented."
He tapped one of the red pins with a finger that had clearly seen its share of sword hilts and spell components over the years.
"We were wrong."
The simple admission carried weight. Guild masters didn't admit mistakes lightly, and the fact that Aldric was being this direct suggested the situation was worse than Chris had anticipated.
"The pattern became clear approximately one week ago," Aldric continued, tracing the circle with his finger. "Corruption sites appearing in a deliberate configuration. Two dozen confirmed locations, all within a week's travel of Rendercity, all showing signs of intentional placement rather than natural spread."
Chris studied the map more carefully. The pattern wasn't perfect—some pins sat slightly outside the ideal circle, others clustered more tightly in certain areas—but the overall geometry was unmistakable. Someone had planned this.
"Someone," Marcus said, and the word came out flat and hard as steel, "is creating these corrupted creatures. This isn't natural corruption spread. This is warfare."
"We believe so, yes." Aldric pulled out a separate document from the stack on the table—Chris recognized Captain Thera's precise handwriting and official seal. The report from the dire wolf investigation. "Physical evidence supports demonic involvement. Corruption shards of a type not seen since before the great sealing. Enhanced creatures showing modifications that require intelligence and intention to create."
He paused, and the weight of what came next seemed to press down on the room like a physical force.
"And multiple survivor accounts reference a specific entity. An entity they call 'The Pale Man.'"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Lyra shifted in her seat for the first time since Chris had entered, the movement small but conveying clear unease. Even Marcus's perpetual professional mask cracked slightly, his jaw tightening with what might have been concern or recognition.
"You know something, Nightwhisper?" Marcus asked, and despite being phrased as a question, his tone made it clear this was a command. Share what you know.
Lyra was silent for a moment, those dark eyes distant as if reviewing memories she'd rather not revisit. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper—hence the surname, Chris realized—but despite the soft volume, every word carried clearly in the sudden silence.
"Heard stories," she said, each word chosen carefully. "Southern territories, near the Velrath border, about eight months ago. Travelers reported seeing a pale figure in the deep forests. Tall—maybe seven feet. Wrong proportions, like someone had stretched a human body on a rack. Moves like smoke rather than flesh, there one moment and gone the next."
She paused, and her dark eyes held something Chris recognized with uncomfortable familiarity—the shadow of genuine fear, the kind that came from believing you'd narrowly escaped something that shouldn't exist.
"Everyone who saw it up close disappeared," she continued, her whisper-soft voice somehow making the words more ominous. "No bodies found. No signs of struggle. Just... gone. Like they'd never existed at all."
"Demon?" Iris asked, her usual cheerfulness completely absent, replaced by the kind of tension that came from understanding exactly what that word meant in practical terms.
"Almost certainly," Aldric confirmed, his tone carrying the weight of someone delivering news he wished he didn't have to share. "The descriptions match historical accounts of Darklands demons from before the great sealing. Specifically, accounts of infiltrator-class demons—creatures designed to move among populations undetected, spreading corruption and chaos before the main invasion forces arrive."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Chris's mind raced through the implications, piecing together fragments of information he'd gathered over the past two weeks. The Darklands were supposedly sealed away by ancient magic, contained in their cursed continent to prevent demons from spreading across the world. If one had escaped—or worse, been released—it represented a threat far beyond a few corrupted wolves.
It represented the prelude to war.
"Which brings us to your mission," Aldric said, and something in his tone suggested he was about to ask them to walk into hell and pretend it was a routine investigation. "The most recent corruption site is an abandoned village called Thornhaven, located approximately two days' travel west of here, near the border with less-settled territories."
He pulled out a more detailed map, this one showing the village layout with surprising precision. Someone had scouted it recently, Chris realized. Someone who'd gotten close enough to map the streets but apparently not close enough to discover what had happened to the inhabitants.
Or they had discovered it, and the news was bad enough that Aldric wasn't sharing everything.
"Thornhaven was a farming community," Aldric continued, using a wooden pointer to indicate various locations on the map. "Population of approximately fifty souls. Three days ago, a merchant caravan passing through the area reported the entire village appeared abandoned. They didn't enter—wisely, as it turned out—but sent word back to the guild immediately."
"No survivors?" Brother Aldwin asked, and there was genuine pain in his voice. A man of faith confronting the reality of innocents lost.
"None found. We sent a preliminary scout team to assess the situation." Aldric's expression darkened. "They confirmed complete abandonment. No bodies, no signs of struggle, no indication where the villagers went. Just empty buildings and corruption spreading through the structures like a disease."
"And the scout team?" Marcus asked.
"Returned safely, but reported... movement. Activity in the village despite its emptiness. Something is using Thornhaven as a base or staging area." Aldric tapped the map's center, where a larger building sat—probably the village hall or church. "They detected corruption emanating from this location but didn't investigate further. That's where you come in."
He turned to face the team directly, his gaze sweeping across each member.
"Your objectives are threefold," he said, holding up fingers to count them off. "One: Confirm the corruption source and gather physical evidence for our mages to analyze. Two: Determine if The Pale Man is directly responsible for Thornhaven's fate. Three: Assess whether this is an isolated incident or part of the larger pattern we're observing."
"Rules of engagement?" Marcus asked, already thinking tactically.
"Information gathering is your primary objective. Avoid combat when possible. If you encounter corrupted creatures, elimination is authorized, but retreat takes priority over total elimination." Aldric's tone hardened. "And if you encounter The Pale Man himself..."
He let the pause stretch, ensuring everyone understood the gravity of what came next.
"You retreat. Immediately. No engagement, no heroics, no attempts to gather more information. The moment you confirm demonic presence, you withdraw and report. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Marcus said.
"Why?" Chris heard himself ask, and immediately regretted it as every eye turned toward him. But he pushed forward. "I mean, why can't we engage? If he's there, wouldn't that be the perfect opportunity to—"
"To die uselessly," Marcus interrupted, his tone blunt but not unkind. "Demons from the Darklands are A-rank threats at minimum, potentially S-rank or higher depending on age and power accumulated. This team—" he gestured around the table, "—averages C-rank equivalent. Maybe B-rank if we're lucky and coordinate perfectly."
"The math is simple," Aldric added. "An A-rank entity could kill your entire team in minutes, possibly seconds. You are not equipped for that fight. No one in this guild is, save perhaps myself and a handful of veterans, and we cannot abandon the city's defense on the chance of engaging a demon that might not even be there."
The blunt assessment stung, but Chris understood the logic. This wasn't false modesty or pessimism—it was tactical reality. They were being sent to gather information precisely because they were expendable enough to risk but skilled enough to potentially succeed.
A cheerful thought.
"Our long-term strategy," Aldric continued, "is to gather enough intelligence to understand The Pale Man's capabilities and objectives. Then, we assemble a proper strike team—multiple A-rank adventurers, possibly with kingdom military support. But that takes time, resources, and most importantly, information. Information you will provide."
"How long do we have?" Lyra asked, her whisper cutting through the room.
Aldric's expression grew even grimmer, which Chris hadn't thought possible.
"Best estimates based on corruption spread rates and historical demon invasion patterns? Two weeks. Maybe three before the situation becomes critical." He gestured to the circle of red pins. "If this pattern completes and activates whatever ritual or invasion preparation The Pale Man is planning, Rendercity could fall. And if Rendercity falls, the kingdom's western territories are defenseless."
The weight of that statement settled over the room like a burial shroud.
"Two weeks," Marcus repeated, his gravel voice carrying a note of dark humor. "No pressure then."
"None whatsoever," Aldric agreed with equally dark amusement. Then his expression shifted back to pure professionalism. "You have one hour to finalize preparations and assemble at the western gate. Travel light but prepared for extended operation—assume three to four days minimum, possibly up to a week if complications arise. Questions?"
Silence greeted the offer. Either everyone understood their role, or they were too overwhelmed to formulate questions. Probably both.
"Then you're dismissed. Marcus, a word before you go."
The team rose, chairs scraping against wooden floor. Chris followed the others toward the door, but caught Aldric's eyes on him for just a moment—assessing, calculating, seeing something Chris couldn't identify.
Then the moment passed, and Chris stepped into the corridor with the others.
---
The hallway felt different now that Chris knew what waited beyond the city walls. The painted eyes of dead guild masters seemed to carry new weight—a reminder that leadership often ended in heroic last stands that were really just elaborate ways of dying.
Iris fell into step beside him as they walked toward the stairs, while Marcus remained behind for whatever private conversation Aldric wanted. Lyra had already vanished—literally vanished, disappearing into shadows or side corridors with the kind of skill that justified her C-rank. Brother Aldwin walked ahead, humming a soft hymn under his breath that somehow managed to be both comforting and melancholic.
"Well," Iris said quietly, her voice pitched for Chris's ears only. "That was cheerful."
"Two weeks until possible demon invasion," Chris agreed. "Very uplifting."
"And we get to walk into the demon's lair with a team that includes a knight who thinks you're incompetent, a rogue who doesn't talk, and a cleric who's probably too nice to survive what's coming."
"You forgot yourself. Wind mage with a tendency to partner with rookies who get her into life-threatening situations."
Iris bumped his shoulder with hers. "Someone has to keep you alive long enough to become interesting."
They reached the stairs, and Brother Aldwin paused at the top, turning to address them both with that gentle smile that seemed permanently affixed to his face.
"I couldn't help but overhear," he said, and there was no accusation in the words, just simple statement of fact. "And I wanted to offer some reassurance, if I may."
"Please do," Iris said. "We could use it."
"The Light teaches us that darkness exists not as the opposite of light, but as its complement. One cannot exist without the other, and both serve purpose in the grand design." Aldwin's warm eyes found Chris specifically. "You fear this mission, and that fear is wisdom. But I sense in you both a strength that goes beyond rank or experience. A determination to protect others, even at cost to yourselves."
He placed a hand on each of their shoulders—the gesture paternal rather than condescending.
"That strength will see you through what's coming. Have faith in yourselves, in your team, and in the Light that watches over all who walk in service of others." His smile widened slightly. "Besides, I have no intention of dying in some demon-infested village. I've far too much work left to do in this world."
The simple, matter-of-fact delivery of that last statement somehow made it more believable than any grand declaration.
"Thank you, Brother Aldwin," Chris said, and meant it.
"No thanks necessary. We're a team now. We look after one another." He released their shoulders and started down the stairs. "Now, I must prepare my healing supplies. I have a feeling I'll be quite busy over the next few days. I'll see you both at the western gate."
He descended with surprising grace, his humming resuming as he went.
"I like him," Iris said once he was out of earshot.
"Me too. Which probably means he's going to die horribly."
"Chris!"
"What? You know how these things go. The nice, faithful cleric is always the first to get dramatically sacrificed."
"That's fiction. This is real life."
"Is it though? Because I'm starting to lose track of the difference."
Iris studied him for a moment, her expression shifting from amusement to concern. "Are you okay? Really okay?"
Chris considered the question. Was he okay? He was about to march into a demon-corrupted village with a team that barely knew him, hunting an entity that disappeared entire populations, while trying to hide the fact that he wielded the exact kind of forbidden magic that would get him executed if discovered.
"I'm terrified," he admitted quietly. "But I'm doing it anyway. Isn't that what courage is supposed to be?"
"According to every inspirational quote ever written, yes." Iris's smile returned, gentler this time. "For what it's worth, I'm terrified too. But we've survived everything else this world has thrown at us. We'll survive this."
"Together?"
"Together," she confirmed. "Now come on. One hour isn't much time, and knowing you, you'll want to check your equipment for the ninth time."
"Tenth, actually. I checked once more before coming here."
"Of course you did."
They descended the stairs together, and Chris felt some of the tension ease. Whatever waited in Thornhaven, at least he wouldn't face it alone.
---
The common room had filled slightly during the briefing, morning adventurers trickling in for early quests or late breakfasts. Chris and Iris navigated through them toward the exit, and Chris caught fragments of conversation as they passed.
"—heard they're sending a team west—"
"—corruption investigation, I heard—"
"—that rookie who got promoted too fast—"
"—probably won't come back—"
Cheerful bunch.
Chris pushed through the guild doors and stepped back into morning light. Rendercity sprawled before him, citizens going about their daily lives, completely unaware that a demon was systematically surrounding their city with corruption sites that might trigger an invasion within weeks.
Ignorance was bliss, apparently.
"I need to grab some extra supplies," Iris said. "Medical herbs, purification components, things the guild quartermaster doesn't stock. Meet you at the western gate?"
"Yeah. I'll..." Chris trailed off. What would he do? His equipment was already prepared. His supplies were already purchased. His training was as complete as it could be in the time available.
"You'll obsess and overthink until it's time to leave," Iris finished for him. "It's fine. Just try not to spiral into existential crisis before we even depart."
"No promises."
She smiled, squeezed his arm once, then headed off into the morning crowd, silver hair catching sunlight as she went.
Chris stood alone outside the guild, watching the city wake around him. An hour until departure. An hour until he walked willingly into danger that might kill him, might expose his secrets, might trigger the final milestone and grant him power he desperately needed.
An hour until everything changed again.
He thought about Scout, dormant in his shadow. Tonight, he'd send the shadow goblin ahead to reconnaissance Thornhaven under cover of darkness. Learn what waited for them before they walked into it blind.
But that was tonight. Right now, he had an hour to kill and nervous energy that wouldn't let him stand still.
The training yard, he decided. One more session to burn off the anxiety, to remind his body what it needed to do when the time came.
Chris started walking.
---
The guild's training yard was empty at this hour, most adventurers either already departed on quests or still sleeping off the previous night's drinking. Chris found the familiar space comforting—practice dummies standing silent sentinel, weapon racks organized with military precision, the packed earth bearing the scars of countless training sessions.
He drew his sword and fell into the opening stance of the basic forms the System had drilled into him. Not the flashy techniques like Rapid Strike or Piercing Thrust, but the fundamentals. The building blocks that everything else was constructed upon.
His body moved through the patterns with increasing confidence, muscle memory taking over as his mind drifted.
Two weeks in this world. Two weeks since dying on a random Tuesday and being reborn in a place where magic was real, monsters existed, and gods watched mortals struggle for entertainment.
Two weeks since becoming someone who mattered.
The sword cut through air that couldn't bleed, but Chris imagined each strike landing true. Imagined the fights to come. The creatures he'd face. The final milestone waiting somewhere in the shadows ahead.
Fight without magic.
The test that would grant him Blade Adept and whatever power came with it.
He was ready. Or as ready as he could be.
The hour passed in a blur of steel and sweat and preparation that was half practical and half ritual.
When the city bells chimed, marking the hour, Chris sheathed his sword and turned toward the western gate.
It was time.
The western gate stood open when Chris arrived, its massive wooden doors pulled back to admit the morning's traffic—merchants with carts heading for outlying farms, guards changing shifts, travelers departing for destinations that hopefully didn't involve demon-corrupted villages.
His team was already assembled.
Marcus stood like a monument in full plate armor, greatsword strapped across his back, his storm-cloud eyes scanning the area with professional vigilance. He'd added a travel pack to his equipment—surprisingly compact given his size, suggesting he knew how to pack efficiently for extended operations.
Lyra was present but somehow also not, her black leather armor blending with shadows in ways that defied the morning sunlight. She'd positioned herself near the gate's edge, eyes tracking movement patterns of everyone nearby. Guard rotations, merchant routes, potential threats. Always calculating.
Brother Aldwin looked completely out of place among the martial figures, his earth-tone robes and wooden holy symbol marking him as a man of peace thrust into preparations for violence. But the pack at his feet was organized with military precision, and Chris noticed what looked like combat-ready medical supplies rather than ceremonial religious items.
Appearances were deceiving, Chris reminded himself. The kind cleric had survived long enough to reach D-rank, which meant he'd seen his share of death and learned how to prevent it.
Iris arrived from a different direction, silver hair braided for travel, her pack bulging with the additional supplies she'd mentioned. She caught Chris's eye and gave him a small nod—ready.
"Good," Marcus said, his gravel voice carrying despite not being raised. "Everyone's on time. We depart immediately."
He turned to the guards manning the gate, presenting his guild credentials—a bronze card that marked him as both C-rank and team leader for an official investigation. The guards waved them through without question. Guild business trumped most other concerns.
Chris fell into formation as they passed through the gate—Marcus leading, Lyra ranging ahead and to the sides in a pattern that suggested extensive scouting experience, Brother Aldwin in the protected center, and Chris and Iris bringing up the rear.
The road west stretched before them, cutting through farmland that gradually surrendered to wilderness. Behind them, Rendercity's walls shrank with each step, the city becoming smaller and smaller until it was just another feature on the horizon.
Chris didn't look back.
Ahead lay Thornhaven, corruption, demons, and the final test of the Path of the Blade.
Behind lay safety, secrets, and a life that felt increasingly distant with each passing day.
"First time on an extended investigation?" Marcus asked without turning around, his question clearly directed at Chris based on context.
"Yes," Chris admitted. No point lying about something that obvious.
"Advice: conserve your energy. Two days of travel means pacing yourself. Don't sprint when you should be jogging, don't jog when you should be walking." Marcus adjusted his pack slightly. "We'll break every two hours for water and rest, make camp at dusk, resume at first light. Questions?"
"No, sir."
"Don't call me sir. I work for a living." Something in Marcus's tone suggested that was a joke, or at least his version of one. "Steelbrand or Marcus is fine."
"Understood."
They walked in silence for a while, the city disappearing completely behind them as farmland gave way to rolling hills covered in autumn grass. The road was well-maintained this close to Rendercity—packed earth and gravel, wide enough for carts to pass, with drainage ditches on either side to prevent washouts.
But Chris knew from his map studies that the road quality would deteriorate as they moved farther from civilization. By tomorrow, they'd be traveling on little more than a dirt track used by occasional hunters and traders too stubborn or desperate to take safer routes.
"Your technique," Marcus said after another mile of walking, and this time his tone carried genuine curiosity rather than challenge. "The way you handle your blade. Who taught you?"
Chris had been expecting this question eventually. The truth—that a magical system had drilled combat fundamentals into him through midnight training sessions—wasn't an option.
"I'm self-taught, mostly," he said, sticking to the story that was at least partially true. "But I had guidance. Someone who understood combat principles better than I ever could. They showed me the fundamentals and let me build from there."
"This mysterious teacher," Marcus continued. "Military background? Adventurer? Knight?"
"I honestly don't know. They didn't share much about themselves."
Marcus grunted, a sound that might have been acceptance or skepticism. "Well, whoever they were, they taught you decent foundations. Your stance is solid, your weight distribution is generally correct, and you don't over-commit to strikes like most rookie swordsmen."
Coming from someone who'd spent twenty years in the guild, that might have been the highest praise Chris would ever receive.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I also noticed you favor your right side, your recovery time after thrusts is slow, and you telegraph overhead strikes by dropping your shoulder half a second early." Marcus glanced back, storm-gray eyes assessing. "Any competent opponent will exploit those weaknesses. Fix them."
And there was the critique Chris had been waiting for.
"I'll work on it," he said.
"See that you do. Dead swordsmen don't get second chances to improve their form."
Marcus returned his attention to the road ahead, apparently considering the conversation complete.
Iris moved up beside Chris, close enough to whisper without being overheard by the others.
"He likes you," she murmured.
"He just listed three ways I'm going to get killed."
"Exactly. He wouldn't bother if he'd written you off completely. That's Marcus showing concern in the only way he knows how—tactical criticism."
Chris supposed that made sense in a strange, militaristic way.
They walked for another hour before taking their first break, gathering at a small stream that crossed beneath the road through a stone culvert. Chris drank deeply from his waterskin—the water was fresh and cold, probably fed from mountain springs farther west.
Lyra materialized from wherever she'd been ranging, appearing so suddenly that Chris nearly reached for his sword before recognizing her. She gave him a look that might have been amusement at his reaction, then reported to Marcus in her whisper-soft voice.
"Road ahead clear. No signs of corruption yet. Encountered a merchant heading east—warned him about Thornhaven. He's detouring north."
"Good work." Marcus checked the sun's position. "We'll make another ten miles before lunch, then push to twenty before making camp for the night. That puts us at Thornhaven's outskirts by mid-morning tomorrow."
The team nodded agreement and prepared to move out.
As Chris stood, Brother Aldwin approached with that ever-present gentle smile.
"How are you holding up, young Chris? I noticed you favoring your left leg slightly. Old injury?"
Chris blinked. He hadn't realized he was limping. "From a recent fight. Mostly healed, just a bit stiff still."
"May I?" Aldwin gestured toward Chris's leg.
"I don't want to waste your magic on something minor—"
"Nonsense. That's what I'm here for." Aldwin's hand glowed with soft golden light—the warm, comforting radiance of light magic. He pressed it gently against Chris's thigh, and warmth spread through the muscle, easing tension Chris hadn't realized he was carrying.
The stiffness vanished, leaving behind only healthy muscle ready for the miles ahead.
"There," Aldwin said, satisfied. "Much better. Don't hesitate to ask for healing, Chris. Minor problems become major ones if left untreated, and major problems become fatal ones. I'd rather spend a bit of magic now than exhaust myself trying to save your life later."
"Thank you, Brother Aldwin."
"Aldwin is fine. We're teammates now." He patted Chris's shoulder. "And teammates look after one another."
They resumed walking, and Chris found himself increasingly appreciating the team he'd been assigned. Marcus was harsh but fair, Lyra was professional and skilled, Aldwin was kind without being weak, and Iris was... Iris. Familiar ground in unfamiliar territory.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Then he remembered they were walking toward a demon-corrupted village where fifty people had vanished without a trace, and the optimism faded somewhat.
The afternoon passed in steady travel. The road deteriorated as predicted, becoming rougher and less maintained. They passed fewer travelers—just a handful of hardy souls who gave the armed group respectful distance and hurried greetings before continuing on their way.
By the time dusk approached, they'd covered the promised twenty miles and stood at the edge of true wilderness. The road was barely visible now, more suggestion than actual path. Trees pressed close on either side, their branches beginning to show the purple veins that marked early-stage corruption.
"We're entering the affected zone," Marcus observed, studying the diseased foliage. "From here on, assume everything is potentially hostile. Lyra, establish a perimeter. Aldwin, blessing on the camp site. Chris, Iris, gather firewood—but only from trees that show no corruption. We don't burn infected wood."
The team dispersed to their assigned tasks.
Chris and Iris moved into the treeline, searching for deadfall that hadn't been touched by corruption's spread. It was harder than expected—the disease seemed to spread through root systems, meaning even dead wood could carry traces of the purple veining.
"This is bad," Iris said quietly, examining a fallen branch before discarding it as too corrupted. "If it's spreading this fast, this far from the source..."
"Then Aldric's two-week estimate might be optimistic," Chris finished.
They gathered what clean wood they could find and returned to find Marcus had selected a defensible campsite—a small clearing with good sight lines and a rocky outcropping at the back that prevented approach from that direction. Aldwin walked the perimeter, chanting softly, his holy symbol glowing with golden light.
"Blessing of Sanctuary," Iris explained, seeing Chris's curious look. "Creates a protective ward that makes it harder for corrupted creatures and malevolent spirits to approach. Won't stop a determined attack, but it'll give us warning and make weak creatures avoid the area entirely."
The blessing settled over the camp like an invisible dome, and Chris felt it—a subtle warmth that pushed back against the creeping cold of corruption.
They made camp as the sun set, building a small fire from the clean wood and preparing a simple meal of trail rations and jerky. Not the most appetizing dinner, but functional.
As darkness fell, Chris felt the familiar shift of Night Phase activating. His Shadow Sense expanded, reaching out into the surrounding wilderness. Immediately, he detected things he hadn't felt during the day—more creatures, moving in patterns that suggested predator and prey. And something else...
Wrongness. Corruption. Sources of it scattered through the forest, concentrated toward the west where Thornhaven waited.
"Chris?"
He blinked, realizing Iris was looking at him with concern.
"You okay? You zoned out there for a second."
"Fine. Just tired from the walk."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He was tired. But more than that, he was feeling the pull of his shadow powers, the strength that came with Night Phase, and the knowledge that tonight, he'd send Scout to reconnaissance what waited in Thornhaven.
But that would come later, when the others slept.
For now, he forced himself to focus on the present—the warm fire, the taste of jerky that was probably older than his time in this world, and the quiet conversation of his teammates settling in for the night.
Marcus took first watch, sitting at the camp's edge with his greatsword across his knees. Lyra vanished into the shadows—whether sleeping or conducting her own patrol, Chris couldn't tell. Aldwin prayed quietly before settling into his bedroll, and Iris claimed the spot closest to the fire.
Chris lay down, staring up at stars that weren't quite the same as Earth's constellations, and waited for his moment to come.
...
Chris waited until Marcus's watch ended and Iris took over, approximately three hours after full darkness. He'd lain still, controlling his breathing, pretending to sleep while his mind raced with plans and contingencies.
Finally, the moment came.
Marcus settled into his bedroll with the quiet efficiency of a soldier who'd learned to sleep anywhere, anytime. His breathing deepened and steadied within minutes—the sign of someone who'd trained their body to rest when rest was available, because opportunities might be rare.
Iris sat by the fire, staff across her knees, her attention focused outward on the dark forest beyond their camp. Her back was to Chris, which was perfect.
Chris opened his eyes slowly, checking each team member's position. Marcus asleep. Aldwin deep in whatever dreams men of faith experienced. Lyra nowhere visible, which meant she was either ranging the perimeter or had found some hiding spot Chris couldn't detect.
Time to move.
He reached into his shadow—not the metaphorical shadow of his past or his secrets, but the literal darkness cast by his body in the firelight.
Scout.
The shadow goblin emerged silently, its purple eyes glowing faintly as it materialized from darkness made solid. Chris felt their mental connection snap into place, ready to receive commands and relay information.
The creature tilted its head in acknowledgment, waiting.
Chris formed the command carefully, projecting intent and image rather than words. The mental communication was still strange, like thinking in pictures rather than language.
Scout the village ahead. Find threats, corruption sources, The Pale Man if present. Map everything. Return before dawn.
The shadow goblin's eyes flared slightly—understanding received. Then it dissolved, becoming pure shadow once more, and flowed away from camp like water running downhill in reverse.
Chris tracked its progress through their connection, feeling Scout race through the darkness with speed no living thing could match. Kilometers passed in minutes as the shadow servant traversed the corrupted forest, moving through pools of darkness between trees, sliding beneath roots, existing in the spaces where light couldn't reach.
The corruption grew thicker as Scout approached Thornhaven. Chris felt it through their link—a wrongness in the shadows themselves, a disease that tainted even darkness. But Scout was shadow given form, immune to the physical effects of corruption even if it could sense the wrongness.
The village came into view through Scout's senses.
Thornhaven was small, as Aldric had said. Perhaps twenty buildings clustered around a central square, with a larger structure—the village hall or church—dominating one end. Fields surrounded the settlement, now overgrown and wild with neglect.
But it was the corruption that drew Chris's attention through Scout's eyes.
Purple veins crawled across every surface like diseased arteries. The buildings themselves seemed to pulse with wrongness, their wood and stone warped into angles that hurt to look at even through Scout's filtered perception. The corruption was thickest around the central building, emanating from it in waves that suggested the source lay within.
Scout moved closer, slipping through shadows between buildings.
Movement.
Chris's breath caught as Scout detected them—creatures patrolling the village. Not human. Not quite animal either. Corrupted things that had once been wolves or deer or livestock, now transformed into twisted mockeries that barely resembled their original forms.
Scout counted them. Mapped their patrol patterns. Noted their strength relative to what it had encountered before.
Ten creatures total. Most were F-rank equivalent, similar to the corrupted wolves Chris had fought. But two were larger, stronger. E-rank, possibly approaching D-rank in power.
Dangerous, but manageable for a full team.
Scout approached the central building, sliding through shadows cast by moonlight. The door stood open—not welcoming, but like a mouth waiting to swallow the unwary.
Inside, corruption was absolute.
The interior had been transformed into something between ritual site and nest. Corruption shards were arranged in geometric patterns across the floor, pulsing with synchronized light. The walls crawled with purple veins so thick they obscured the original structure. And at the center...
An altar.
Rough stone stacked in a deliberate configuration, stained with something dark that might have been blood or might have been corruption made liquid. Symbols were carved into the stone—geometric patterns that hurt Scout's senses to observe, suggesting magic or power beyond simple corruption.
But no Pale Man. No demon presence that Scout could detect.
Either he wasn't here, or he was hidden even from shadow-sense.
Scout completed its reconnaissance, mapping the entire village, noting every patrol pattern, every corruption source, every potential threat and route of approach.
Then it began the journey back, racing through shadows toward camp.
Chris felt the return through their connection, and carefully withdrew his consciousness from the link. When Scout arrived, he'd need to process all that information, integrate the intelligence into plans for tomorrow's approach.
But for now, he had to maintain his pretense of sleep.
He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing, and waited.
Scout arrived perhaps an hour before dawn, slipping back into Chris's shadow like it had never left. Information flooded the mental link—images, sensations, impressions of everything the shadow goblin had witnessed.
Chris absorbed it all, his mind cataloging and categorizing with a clarity that surprised him. He knew Thornhaven now. Knew its layout, its defenders, its corruption sources. Knew that the central building held the ritual site, and that site was still active.
He also knew The Pale Man wasn't currently present, which was both a relief and a concern. Where was the demon? Out creating more corruption sites? Watching from a distance? Or simply operating on a timescale that meant he didn't need to personally oversee every location?
Questions for later.
For now, Chris had actionable intelligence that would help keep his team alive.
The question was how to share it without revealing how he'd obtained it.
---
Dawn came with cold efficiency, the sun rising over a forest that seemed slightly less diseased in direct light—though Chris knew that was illusion rather than reality.
Marcus woke first, as expected for a veteran who'd spent two decades surviving by staying alert. He assessed the camp with a glance, confirmed everyone was accounted for, then began the morning routine of breaking camp.
Chris rose, stretching muscles that were genuinely stiff from sleeping on the ground, and began packing his bedroll.
"Sleep well?" Iris asked, appearing beside him with her usual morning energy.
"Well enough. You?"
"Second watch is always the hardest. Just long enough to get tired but not long enough to really rest before it's someone else's turn." She yawned, proving her point. "But Aldwin's already offered to share his tea, so I'll survive."
They gathered around the rekindled fire for a quick breakfast—more trail rations, more jerky, plus the promised tea that Brother Aldwin had brewed from his personal supplies. The beverage was bitter but warming, with herbal notes that suggested medicinal properties beyond simple caffeine.
"We should reach Thornhaven's outskirts by mid-morning," Marcus said, reviewing a worn map. "Current plan is to observe from distance first, assess the situation, then decide on approach. Lyra will scout the perimeter, report back on what she finds."
Chris saw his opening.
"About that," he said carefully. "Last night during second watch, I thought I heard movement from the west. Couldn't see anything, but the sound pattern suggested patrol routes—organized, deliberate."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He had detected movement, just not through hearing.
Marcus's eyes sharpened. "You're certain?"
"Certain about the sound, yes. Not certain about the interpretation, but it seemed too regular to be random wildlife."
"Interesting." Marcus looked at Lyra. "Priority on confirming patrol patterns when you scout. If they're organized enough to maintain watches, we're dealing with something intelligent."
Lyra nodded, her dark eyes regarding Chris with what might have been new assessment.
"Anything else you noticed?" Marcus asked.
Chris hesitated. How much could he share without raising suspicion?
"The corruption seems thicker toward the village center. I could... feel it, almost. Like pressure in the air."
That was true enough—Scout had sensed the concentration of wrongness, and Chris's own Shadow Sense had detected it at range.
"Corruption does that," Aldwin confirmed, saving Chris from needing to explain further. "Concentrated sources create an oppressive atmosphere that sensitive individuals can detect. I've felt it myself approaching particularly tainted sites."
Marcus accepted this with a nod. "Good instincts. We'll proceed with extra caution."
Crisis averted. Chris had shared useful intelligence without revealing its true source.
They finished breakfast and set out, the morning sun doing little to warm the increasingly corrupted forest. The trees here were almost entirely diseased, their bark pulsing with purple veins, their leaves twisted into shapes that defied natural growth patterns.
And the smell...
Chris hadn't noticed it yesterday, but with Scout's reconnaissance fresh in his mind, he recognized the scent now. Sweet but wrong, like fruit left to rot and ferment. The smell of corruption concentrated enough to taint the air itself.
"Masks," Marcus ordered, pulling cloth from his pack.
They wrapped fabric around their faces, filtering the worst of the smell. It helped, but Chris could still taste wrongness on the back of his tongue.
Another mile, and the forest opened into cleared land.
Thornhaven.
Even from a distance, the village looked wrong. The buildings stood but seemed to lean at impossible angles. Shadows fell in directions that defied the sun's position. And everywhere, purple veins crawled across surfaces like living things.
"Gods," Iris breathed.
"Stay sharp," Marcus commanded. "Lyra, preliminary scout. Stay back, observe only. Report in twenty minutes."
Lyra vanished into the corrupted landscape.
The team waited, weapons ready, every sense alert.
Twenty minutes felt like hours.
Then Lyra reappeared, her expression—usually so carefully neutral—showing clear unease.
"Ten hostiles confirmed. Corrupted animals, former livestock. Patrol patterns suggest basic intelligence. Central building shows active corruption source." She paused. "And something else. Movement inside the main structure. Couldn't confirm what, but it's bigger than the patrol creatures."
Marcus nodded grimly. "Alright. Standard approach—Lyra leads, spots threats. I engage anything that attacks. Aldwin and Iris provide support. Chris, you're with me on frontline—your job is to watch my flanks and cover blind spots."
"Understood."
"Questions?"
Silence.
"Then let's move. Stay tight, stay alert, and remember—information gathering is the priority. We don't take unnecessary risks."
They advanced on Thornhaven, and Chris felt his heart hammering against his ribs.
Somewhere ahead, the final milestone waited.
Somewhere ahead, everything would change.
The village grew closer with each step.
And in his shadow, Scout stirred slightly—ready to emerge if needed, waiting for the command.
Chris's hand found his sword hilt.
Today, he would walk the final steps of the Path of the Blade.
Today, he would earn the title of Adept.
Or die trying.
[ End of Chapter 15]