The descent from the floating plateau was a grueling reminder of Elian's physical limitations. While his 4-Star warriors moved with rhythmic, tireless precision, Elian found himself gasping for air. The "Tireless" state meant his body wouldn't fail from exhaustion, but it didn't numb the burning in his lungs or the ache in his unconditioned muscles.
As they reached the lip of the ravine, the air grew thick with a musky, metallic scent. Below them, the Shadow-Stalker's "court" was in full view. It wasn't just one monster; it was a sea of them. Roughly a hundred Tier-2 Shadow Hounds prowled the jagged rocks. They were lean, eyeless creatures with fur that seemed to drink the light, their claws clicking against the stone like knitting needles.
"Hold," Elian hissed, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He had expected a boss fight; he hadn't fully grasped the scale of a Lord's army. Even Tier-2 beasts, which should have been fodder for his 4-Star warriors, posed a lethal threat in those numbers. If they were swarmed, the warriors would be buried under a mountain of teeth and claws, and Elian would be torn apart in seconds.
"We don't charge," Elian whispered to his lead warrior. "We lure. Pick off the stragglers on the perimeter. We thin the herd before the Shepherd notices."
The battle began with a brutal, quiet efficiency. One of the warriors tossed a loose stone into a cluster of bushes. When three Hounds broke off to investigate, the warriors descended. Halberds swung in blurring arcs, cleaving the beasts before they could let out a yelp.
But the Realm was never that easy.
The scent of blood traveled fast. Within minutes, a pack of twelve Hounds caught their trail. They didn't growl; they hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe, and launched themselves from the shadows.
"Formation!" Elian yelled.
The four warriors stepped into a diamond shape, keeping Elian in the center. A Hound leaped, its jaws snapping inches from Elian's face. He instinctively drew the Phase-Shard. The blade hummed, its liquid light flaring as it sliced through the beast's midsection. The Hound didn't just die; it dissolved into ash where the blade touched it.
However, the effort sent a jolt of recoil up Elian's arm that nearly dislocated his shoulder.
I'm too weak, he realized, his teeth gritted in pain. The weapon is 5-Star, the trait is 13-Star, but the body is still just a kid from the suburbs.
Another Hound bypassed the warriors, sensing the weak link. Elian tried to activate Sovereign Manipulation to freeze it, but the mental strain was like trying to hold back a landslide with his bare hands. He managed to slow the beast for a fraction of a second—just enough to sidestep—but the creature's shoulder slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
He scrambled up, coughing, his compression shirt torn. He felt the hot sting of a shallow claw mark across his ribs. The warriors were a whirlwind of steel, having already cut down twenty of the beasts, but the sheer volume was starting to tell. The ground was slick with black ichor, making every step a gamble.
For two hours, they fought a desperate war of attrition. Elian had to learn, through blood and sweat, how to time his strikes. He managed to kill three more Hounds himself, but each kill left him shivering from the mental drain of using his traits. He wasn't the god-king of his daydreams; he was a terrified survivor clinging to a glowing sword.
By the time the fiftieth Hound fell, the ravine went unnaturally silent.
The remaining beasts backed away into the crevices of the rocks, their hissing replaced by a whimpering whine. The temperature in the ravine plummeted, and the shadows against the rock walls began to stretch and thicken, flowing together like spilled ink.
From the deepest part of the gorge, a massive shape detached itself from the darkness. It stood twice as tall as the warriors, its body covered in jagged bone-plate and its six eyes glowing with a hateful, intelligent violet light.
The Beast Lord had finally decided that the intruders were worth its personal attention.
Elian stood his ground, his legs shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked at his warriors, whose armor was dented and stained, and then at the monster approaching them.
"Get ready," Elian rasped, the silver sleeve on his arm beginning to pulse with a desperate, defiant light. "The real fight starts now."