The sun had barely crested the hills when Gareth and his party trudged along the dirt road back toward Bastrelheim. They hadn't spoken much since leaving the eerie border of Etheria. Even now, a day later, the memory of that terrifyingly blurry "lich" haunted their thoughts, especially Celestine, who had barely spoken above a whisper since.
Akira walked ahead, eyes sharp and bow ready. Sir Aldric remained at the rear, shield resting on his back, helmet tucked under one arm. Gareth stayed in the middle, silently replaying the events at the elf forest and dreading the report he'd have to give.
Then Akira raised her hand, a silent signal. The group halted.
"Caravan ahead," she said, voice low. "Under attack."
Gareth stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the distant chaos. "Then we help. We're not the kind to ignore people in danger."
He turned to his team. "Weapons out. Standard formation. Aldric, you're on the troll. Celestine, keep eyes on everyone. Akira, suppress the wolves from range."
Then he broke into a run.
They rushed forward. A caravan of two wooden carriages was stalled on the roadside, horses panicking against their harnesses. Around it, a storm of snarls and roars, ten Moonfang wolves with thick silver coats and glowing red eyes were lunging from the woods, their claws raking at the air. Behind them, two towering creatures, Lagarda trolls, each as tall as a house, with sagging flesh and crude wooden clubs, bellowed as they swung at the panicked mercenaries protecting the caravan.
Three swordsmen were already fighting, but the battle was tipping fast. One was down, clutching a bleeding leg. The other two struggled to keep the beasts at bay.
"Go!" Gareth shouted.
He surged forward, sword drawn. With swift precision, he sliced through the flank of a lunging Moonfang, spinning just as another snapped at his leg. Aldric dashed toward one of the trolls, shield raised. He intercepted a club swing that would've flattened the carriage, grunting under the sheer force of the blow.
Celestine ducked behind a wheel, golden staff already glowing with radiant runes. "Blessing of Vines!" she cast. Green tendrils sprouted from the ground, wrapping around the ankles of two wolves trying to flank Gareth.
From the trees, Akira loosed an arrow. It pierced a wolf's skull cleanly. She was already nocking another.
The trolls roared in rage, one swinging its club in a wide arc. Aldric crouched behind his shield and took the full brunt. He slid back three meters but didn't fall.
Gareth climbed onto a carriage bench and leapt onto the troll's arm as it raised its club again. "Piercing Slash!" he cried, his blade glowing as it sank into the beast's bicep. The troll howled and dropped its weapon, staggering.
The remaining wolves, now fewer and frenzied, charged Celestine. One nearly reached her, only to be blasted back by a burst of divine light. Another arrow from Akira pinned it mid-air.
The tide was turning.
The second troll raised both arms for a crushing blow, then Aldric charged, shield glowing with silver runes. "Iron Bulwark!" He slammed the beast's shin. The troll shrieked and collapsed onto one knee. Gareth capitalized, driving his sword into the back of its neck.
The final Moonfang whined, its flank torn and eyes wild with fear. It turned to flee, limping toward the shadow of the trees. Akira exhaled slowly, adjusting her stance atop the small slope. Her fingers released one last arrow, guided by wind magic, silent and swift.
The shaft struck true, piercing the creature's spine. It crumpled mid-stride with a strangled yelp, body twitching once before going still.
For a long moment, nothing moved. The wind stilled. Even the birds held their breath.
Then, slowly, silence reclaimed the forest road. The stench of blood, iron, and raw mana saturated the air, thick and clinging.
One of the mercenaries dropped to his knees, gasping. Another slumped against the side of a carriage, dragging off his dented helmet. Their swords hung limply in their hands. Sweat and grime streaked their faces.
"We're alive…" one whispered, as if still uncertain.
Gareth lowered his blade, eyes scanning for any movement. There was none. Only the wounded groaning of the forest itself, disturbed by battle.
From the second carriage, a white-haired man in merchant robes stepped out, brushing dust from his sleeves. "I owe you my life, brave adventurers," he said, bowing deeply.
Gareth nodded. "We couldn't just watch and do nothing."
The man extended his hand. "Silvester. Merchant of the central guild. These were supposed to be safe roads."
"The world rarely plays fair," Aldric muttered, leaning on his shield.
Celestine sat on a carriage step, panting. "Is everyone alright?"
"One injured mercenary," Silvester said. "But he'll live." He watched as the swordsmen began dismantling the monster corpses. From the troll's stomach, they retrieved shimmering mana stones, large and pulsating.
Silvester offered them to Gareth. "As thanks."
Gareth shook his head. "Keep them. We're heading back to Bastrelheim anyway."
Silvester tilted his head. "Then travel with us. It's a long road, and we're headed the same way."
Gareth glanced at his team. Akira nodded. Celestine smiled faintly, grateful for the extra protection. Aldric shrugged, already climbing into the back of a cart.
"Alright," Gareth said. "Let's go."
---
The gates of Bastrelheim stood tall as ever, a blend of stone majesty and imposing discipline. The city bustled beyond, guards, merchants, nobles, and adventurers all weaving through its arteries of commerce.
At the gate, two armored figures stopped the caravan.
"Halt," said one, a veteran guard with a raspy voice. His full armor bore age marks. "Papers."
Silvester held up a medallion. "Silvester, Merchant Guild."
The younger guard leaned forward. "Looks genuine, Senior."
"Of course it is," Silvester scoffed.
The guards nodded. "Proceed."
Inside, the city opened wide. Bright awnings shaded stalls selling spices, tools, and trinkets. Smells of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted through the air. The group disembarked near the central plaza.
"Thank you again," Silvester said. "May your coinpurses grow heavy."
"You too," Gareth said with a small smile.
As Silvester's caravan rolled off, Gareth turned to his team.
"I'll go report in," he said. "You three get some rest."
Celestine looked pale. "Can I… share a room with you, Akira? I don't want to… see that thing again."
Akira patted her shoulder. "Of course. Let's find an inn."
Gareth gave them a nod and headed alone toward the palace.
---
Bastrelheim's palace was less grand than it was efficient. The rear gate was quiet, guarded by a single armored knight. Gareth showed his adventurer's medallion, B-rank, silver-edged.
"Go ahead," the guard said.
Inside, a butler in a crisp black suit greeted him. "This way."
The corridor was clean, with soft carpets muffling footsteps and walls lined with portraits of kings and generals. Gareth was led to an office with tall windows and polished wood furniture.
Inside, Malzahar sat behind a grand desk, sipping tea. His long fingers rested against a closed folder.
"Ah, welcome back," the Black King's advisor said smoothly. His voice held warmth, but his eyes were sharp. "I trust your journey was productive?"
The butler replaced Malzahar's teacup with a fresh one and quietly left.
Gareth remained standing. "We ventured to the southern edge of Etheria. I've brought samples."
He reached into his bag and produced a few flowers, vivid blues and purples, alien yet beautiful. He laid them gently on the table.
"There's a massive tree near a river, surrounded by these flowers. We spotted a few rare animals. I have written notes, but, " He hesitated. "Something… strange happened."
Malzahar's brow rose slightly. "Strange?"
Gareth's hands clenched. "We were… apprehended. Not harmed. But they thought we were spies."
"Did you fight?"
"No. We were detained briefly. Then released unharmed."
Malzahar sipped his tea. "And what else?"
Gareth took a breath. "We saw something. A figure. It wasn't fully visible… like a blur, almost translucent. We couldn't see its face, just this vague… horrifying outline. It said things we barely understood. We thought it was a lich."
Malzahar's cup paused mid-air. "A blurry lich, you say?"
"Yes. Even Sir Aldric was frozen. Celestine is still shaken."
Malzahar placed the cup down. "Interesting. Most liches are skeletal, visible. Blurry ones… that's the stuff of legend."
Gareth blinked. "So… it might have been real?"
"Possibly," Malzahar said. "Or a powerful illusion. Either way… your report is more valuable than you realize."
"I also have notes on Moonfang wolf behavior. And Lagarda troll movement patterns."
"Classic monster encounters," Malzahar said with a faint smile. "A good bonus for the record. I'll have my secretary handle your reward."
Gareth nodded. "Understood."
As he turned to leave, Malzahar called out, "You did well, Gareth. It's rare to have adventurers who bring back useful data… and live to tell it."
At the rear gate, the same butler handed Gareth a small pouch. It jingled with silver coins.
He exited the palace and inhaled deeply. The city noise comforted him now, the cries of merchants, the clang of blacksmith hammers, the ordinary chaos of daily life.
He walked back toward the inn, where his party waited. As the sun dipped behind the city walls, casting Bastrelheim in orange light, Gareth couldn't help but wonder:
Had they truly seen a lich?
Or had they glimpsed something even darker?
---