Chapter 54 — Lines Drawn in the Dirt
The man smiling at me had the wrong kind of confidence.
Not bravado. Not fearlessness.
Calculation.
Six mercenaries spread in a loose arc ahead, boots planted like they already knew where the fight would end. Weapons were drawn but relaxed—too relaxed. Professionals. Not monsters. Worse.
My fingers tightened around my sword.
No magic.
Not here.
Not like this.
"You picked a bad night," I said, letting my voice flatten beneath the mask.
The smiling man chuckled. "On the contrary. We picked the right one."
Lysara shifted beside me, subtle but ready. I felt her attention brush the air, not casting—just listening. Her presence steadied me more than I expected.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
"Someone curious," the man replied. "Someone who wanted to see how far your reputation stretches without… tricks."
I almost laughed.
Instead, I took a step forward.
The mercenaries tensed.
"Last chance," I said. "Walk away."
The man tilted his head. "See? That's what I like. Still pretending you're just another blade for hire."
That did it.
I moved.
Not fast.
Precise.
Volrag's voice snapped into focus.
"Speed is borrowed. Control is owned."
I closed the distance in three steps.
The first mercenary lunged—overextended. I sidestepped, hooked his ankle with my boot, and let his momentum do the rest. He hit the ground hard.
Second swung wide.
I ducked, shoulder brushing his ribs, blade snapping up into his wrist. Bone cracked. Weapon dropped.
Pain screams erupted.
Lysara moved then—not casting, just disrupting. She kicked loose dirt into a mercenary's eyes, staff snapping into his knee with a clean, brutal strike.
The smiling man frowned.
That felt good.
Steel rang behind me.
Selia.
She came out of nowhere, blades flashing, laughter sharp and dangerous. "Miss me, boys?"
One mercenary barely raised his weapon before Bran crashed into him like a battering ram, hammer swinging low and vicious.
"STOP. STANDING. STILL."
Korran flowed into the fray like a shadow slipping between thoughts. No wasted motion. No flair. He disarmed, disabled, and repositioned with terrifying calm.
The clearing dissolved into chaos.
But something was wrong.
Too easy.
I felt it again—that pressure. That waiting.
"Back!" I shouted. "They're stalling!"
The smiling man stepped away, hands raised slightly. "Smart."
The ground behind him shifted.
The forest answered.
A low, vibrating growl rolled through the clearing—not sound, but force. The mercenaries scattered instantly, discipline cracking as something massive pushed through the trees.
Bran swore. Loudly. "WHY IS IT ALWAYS BIGGER?"
The creature emerged slowly.
Four legs. Horned skull. Eyes glowing a dull, hungry red.
A Ravenspawn Behemoth.
Tier-3. Late.
My jaw tightened.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was orchestration.
"Fall back!" Korran ordered.
"No," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"I'll hold it."
Selia stared. "Skeleton, that thing eats people like snacks."
"I know."
Lysara grabbed my arm. "You can't—"
"I can," I cut in. "And I will."
I stepped forward before they could argue.
The Behemoth charged.
The ground shook.
I didn't meet it head-on.
I angled.
Slid.
Rolled beneath its horned swing, blade carving along its leg—not deep, but enough to draw attention. It roared, pivoting.
Good.
"Bran!" I shouted. "Left flank!"
"WITH PLEASURE."
Bran slammed into its side, hammer crashing against its ribs. The Behemoth staggered.
Selia darted in, blades flashing, cutting shallow lines—harassment, not damage.
Korran circled, waiting.
I breathed.
Centered.
This wasn't Volrag's style.
This was becoming mine.
I let the Behemoth come again, timed my step, and planted my foot just as it lunged.
Pain shot up my leg.
I ignored it.
My blade drove upward, not aiming to kill—aiming to control.
It screamed.
Lysara's voice cut through the chaos. "Now!"
I twisted free as Korran struck—precise, lethal—severing the tendons I'd exposed. The Behemoth collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Final.
The mercenaries were gone.
Cowards.
I stood there, chest heaving, sword dripping dark blood.
My leg screamed now.
Selia was suddenly in front of me. "You're bleeding."
"Later."
She smacked my shoulder. "Idiot."
Bran laughed breathlessly. "Worth it."
Korran studied the treeline. "They learned something tonight."
"So did we," I replied.
Lysara approached quietly. "They weren't trying to kill you."
"I know."
"They were testing reactions," she said. "Limits. Bonds."
I nodded.
Someone out there wanted to know how we broke.
They'd gotten an answer.
We regrouped slowly.
No celebration.
No jokes—except Bran, who tried.
"On the bright side," he said, "we're still alive."
Selia glanced at the Behemoth corpse. "Barely."
I wiped my blade clean and sheathed it.
My leg throbbed. My arms ached.
But something inside me felt… steadier.
Not stronger.
Sharper.
"Move camp," I said. "Now."
No one argued.
As we disappeared into the forest, I glanced once at the blood-soaked clearing.
Lines had been drawn.
Not in ink.
In dirt, steel, and intent.
And whoever was watching?
They now knew one thing for certain.
Breaking us wouldn't be easy.
And I wouldn't trip next time.
Probably.