Chapter 48 — The Night That Didn't Want Them
Selia's POV
Forests had personalities.
Selia had learned that the hard way.
Some forests whispered. Some watched. Some waited patiently for you to bleed.
This one?
This one felt annoyed.
Branches twisted overhead like knotted fingers, blotting out the moon in uneven patches. The air was damp, heavy with moss and something older—an almost metallic scent that clung to the back of her throat. Even the insects were quieter than usual, as if they'd agreed to mind their business tonight.
Selia crouched on a low branch, boots barely rustling the leaves, eyes scanning the darkness below.
"Just saying," she murmured, voice barely louder than breath, "if this forest decides to eat us, I'd like it on record that I complained first."
Below her, Bran snorted softly. "If a forest eats me, I'm haunting it. Loudly."
Korran didn't respond. He never did when things mattered.
He stood still, hand resting near his blade, posture relaxed in the way only truly dangerous people managed. His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, cataloging terrain, shadows, angles. He looked like a man already halfway through a fight no one else had noticed yet.
And then there was Shadeblade.
He walked at the center of the formation, mask gleaming faintly whenever moonlight slipped through the canopy. The boney white surface looked almost unreal against the dark forest, the crack running from left eye to cheek giving him a perpetually grim expression—even when Selia knew, from experience, that he was probably annoyed more than angry.
No tripping tonight.
Good.
Too quiet, though.
Selia hopped down silently, landing beside him. "You feel it too, right?"
Shadeblade nodded once. "The forest isn't neutral."
Bran blinked. "That's… comforting?"
Lysara walked a step behind, staff in hand, eyes glowing faintly as she let mana brush the edges of her perception. She didn't speak much—rarely did—but when her brow furrowed, Selia trusted it.
"Something passed through here recently," Lysara said softly. "Not animals."
Korran finally spoke. "Monsters don't clean their tracks."
Shadeblade stopped.
Everyone froze instantly.
That alone told Selia something was wrong. Shadeblade didn't halt unless he was sure.
He crouched, fingers brushing the soil. Leaves were disturbed—not trampled, but… displaced. Like something heavy had moved with intent, not hunger.
"Mercenaries don't either," Bran muttered.
Shadeblade straightened slowly. "Or someone wanted it to look empty."
A pause.
Then—
The forest screamed.
Not in sound.
In motion.
Roots burst from the ground like serpents, snapping upward. Bran barely jumped back in time as one shattered the spot where his foot had been. Selia leapt sideways, blades flashing as she severed a vine mid-air.
"Contact!" she yelled, unnecessarily.
From between the trees, they emerged.
Not beasts.
Wrong shape. Wrong posture.
Hollow-eyed things stitched together from bark, bone, and old sinew. Forest constructs—but crude, unstable. Black mana bled from the joints like rot.
"Summoned," Lysara said, sharper now.
Shadeblade moved.
No spell. No aura flare. Just steel.
He stepped forward, weight shifting smoothly, blade drawing a clean arc that severed a construct's arm before it could fully register him. The thing staggered, screeching, and Shadeblade followed through—not with brute force, but timing.
The second strike shattered its core knot.
It collapsed into dead wood.
Selia grinned despite herself. "Ohhh, he's getting better."
Bran charged another, axe roaring through the air. "I miss normal monsters! Ones that don't fall apart like cheap furniture!"
Roots lashed again—this time coordinated.
Korran intercepted, blade flickering. His movements were precise, almost cold. He didn't waste energy. Each strike cut tendons, joints, control points. Constructs fell not dramatically, but efficiently.
Lysara raised her staff, mana forming a thin barrier as a mass of thorns slammed into it. She grimaced, pushing back. "There's a caster nearby."
Shadeblade turned his head slightly. "How far?"
"Close enough to watch."
That tightened something in Selia's chest.
Watching meant planning.
They fought fast. Hard. Together.
Shadeblade didn't lead with commands—but somehow, everyone moved where they needed to be. He adjusted without thinking, stepping into gaps, intercepting attacks meant for others, his sword style rough but evolving. There was rhythm now. Improvisation built on Volrag's fundamentals—balance, timing, control.
He wasn't flashy.
He was dangerous.
The last construct fell, splitting apart with a wet crack of corrupted mana.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't relief.
Selia wiped sap-blood from her blade. "Tell me that was the last of it."
Korran shook his head once. "No."
A slow clap echoed through the trees.
Once. Twice.
A figure stepped into the moonlight.
Hooded. Lean. Calm.
"Well done," the man said pleasantly. "Most groups don't last that long."
Shadeblade's sword came up instantly.
"Who are you?" Bran demanded.
The hooded man smiled faintly. "A disappointed employer."
Selia stiffened. "Employer?"
"Yes." He tilted his head. "You were supposed to die earlier. Cleaner that way."
The words hung heavy.
Betrayal always sounded simple when spoken aloud.
Lysara's grip tightened. "You sent the constructs."
"Of course. Why risk my own hands?"
Shadeblade stepped forward. "Why us?"
The man studied him. Really studied him. "Because you were convenient. And because some of you"—his gaze lingered on Shadeblade's mask—"are more interesting than you should be."
That did it.
Selia moved first.
Steel met shadow as the hooded man blurred backward, faster than expected. Not Tier-2. Higher—but restrained.
"Late Tier-3," Korran said calmly, adjusting stance.
The fight was brief—but brutal.
The hooded man fought like someone who didn't need to win. Just delay.
Roots surged again—but weaker this time.
Shadeblade pressed him hard, blade flashing, forcing him back step by step. The man laughed softly even as steel grazed his arm.
"Ah," he said. "You're growing already."
Then he slammed a sigil into the ground.
Smoke erupted.
When it cleared—
He was gone.
The forest exhaled.
Bran swore. "I hate mysterious employers."
Selia looked at Shadeblade. "You alright, Skeleton?"
He nodded slowly. "This wasn't random."
Korran sheathed his blade. "No. This was a test."
Lysara stared into the trees. "And we passed."
Later That Night
The campfire crackled softly, warmth pushing back the forest's chill.
Food sizzled. Meat, bread, whatever they could salvage.
Bran ate like he'd personally defeated starvation. "I vote we never work for unseen employers again."
Selia raised a mug. "Seconded."
Shadeblade sat slightly apart, mask tilted toward the flames. His sword lay across his knees. He ran a cloth along the blade slowly, thoughtfully.
Selia watched him.
Not clumsy tonight.
Focused.
Changing.
Korran sat beside him. "Your footwork improved."
Shadeblade paused. "I stopped fighting the ground."
A beat.
Selia laughed. "Progress!"
Even Lysara smiled faintly.
But beneath the warmth, beneath the jokes—
Something had cracked.
Trust, once bent, never returned whole.
They didn't know it yet.
But this night—
this forest—
this betrayal—
It was the beginning of the end of their journey together.
And none of them slept easily.