The road to Xyrus City was longer than Cael remembered.
Not in distance—he knew the maps, knew the routes merchants favored and the ones adventurers avoided—but in weight. Each mile carried a quiet pressure, the kind that came from moving forward alone with no one to turn back to.
The hills thinned into open woodland, trees spaced wide enough for sunlight to reach the forest floor. Mana flowed here more freely than near the cottage, faint but persistent, brushing against Cael's senses like a distant current.
He kept his pace steady.
Not fast enough to draw attention.
Not slow enough to invite it.
The spear rested easily in his grip, its worn shaft familiar against his palm. Orien's lessons echoed in his mind—not as words, but as habits.
Distance. Timing. Control.
The first beast found him near dusk.
A low growl rippled through the underbrush to Cael's left, followed by the unmistakable crunch of something heavy shifting its weight. He stopped immediately, breath slowing, posture relaxing rather than tensing.
A mana beast.
Not a strong one—but not harmless either.
The creature emerged cautiously: a gray-furred tusked boar, its body larger than any mundane animal should have been, faint veins of mana pulsing beneath its hide. Its eyes locked onto Cael, intelligence dulled by instinct but sharpened by hunger.
Cael exhaled.
Good. Simple.
He shifted his footing, spear angled low. The boar snorted, pawing at the dirt as mana gathered unevenly around its shoulders.
It charged.
Cael moved sideways at the last second, spear thrusting not at the head—but at the joint beneath the creature's shoulder. The tip sank in cleanly, guided by precise timing rather than brute force.
The boar screamed, momentum carrying it past him before collapsing in a violent tumble.
Cael didn't linger.
He stepped back immediately, spear ready, watching as the beast thrashed once more before going still.
Clean. Efficient.
But the faint ache in his arms reminded him this was no sparring match.
He encountered more as night fell.
A pack of mana-infused wolves tested his perimeter while he camped, probing cautiously until he drove them off with a controlled burst of intent—not mana, just presence.
The following day, a scaled lizard burst from beneath the road itself, forcing him into a drawn-out fight that taxed both stamina and focus. The beast's hide deflected shallow strikes, forcing Cael to adapt mid-fight, adjusting angles until he found the softer seam beneath its jaw.
By the time the sun dipped low again, his breathing was heavier than he liked.
His core remained steady—but his body was beginning to feel the strain.
Too many fights, he thought. Or I'm being careless.
He adjusted his route slightly, favoring open terrain over dense woodland. It meant fewer ambush points—but also fewer places to hide.
That decision cost him.
The beast was waiting.
Not lurking. Not stalking.
Waiting.
Cael sensed it just moments before impact—a pressure shift in the mana flow that screamed movement. He spun, spear rising instinctively as a shadow crashed through the brush.
A horned bear.
Its size alone made Cael's breath hitch.
Mana rolled off the creature in dense waves, far more refined than anything he had faced so far. This wasn't a wandering lesser beast—it had territory, experience.
And it was already charging.
Cael did not hesitate.
He planted his foot, thrusting with everything he had—not recklessly, but decisively. The spear struck true, piercing deep into the beast's chest.
It barely slowed.
The bear roared, claws swiping wide as Cael tore the spear free and dove aside. Pain flared along his ribs as the wind of the strike clipped him, sending him skidding across dirt and stone.
He rolled to his feet, heart pounding.
Bad matchup.
The bear lunged again, mana condensing around its forelimbs. Cael forced himself calm, narrowing his focus. He didn't need power.
He needed precision.
He baited the next charge, retreating just enough to draw the beast forward—then slid beneath its swing, driving the spear upward with perfect timing into the softer tissue beneath its jaw.
The impact reverberated through his arms.
The bear staggered, roaring in agony, mana surging wildly as it tried to stabilize itself.
Cael didn't let it.
He struck again. And again.
The beast collapsed with a final shudder, the ground trembling beneath its weight.
Cael stood there for several seconds, chest heaving, vision narrowing at the edges.
That fight had taken more than he wanted to admit.
He withdrew the spear slowly, wiping it clean against the grass before forcing himself to move.
I stayed too long.
He found the road again just as the light began to fade.
That was when the voices reached him.
Laughter. Rough. Unrestrained.
Cael froze.
Not beasts.
People.
He lowered his presence instinctively, moving toward the treeline—then stopped.
Too late.
"Well I'll be damned," a voice drawled from ahead. "You see that?"
Three figures stepped into view.
Bandits.
Not desperate farmers or starving refugees—but armed, confident, and relaxed. Leather armor patched together from various sources. Weapons worn but well-maintained.
Experienced.
Cael counted quickly.
Three visible.
Likely more nearby.
His grip tightened on the spear.
"Well?" another one said, grinning as his eyes flicked to the spear, then the bloodstains on Cael's cloak. "Kid looks like he's had a rough day."
The leader—tall, scarred, eyes sharp—tilted his head.
"Or a profitable one," he corrected.
Their gazes lingered on Cael's pack.
On the spear.
On him.
Cael measured his breathing.
He was tired.
Not exhausted—but far from fresh.
Running was possible.
Fighting was risky.
Revealing too much was unacceptable.
The leader took a step forward.
"Drop the pack," he said casually. "And the weapon. No need to make this messy."
Cael met his eyes calmly.
The road did not care who you were.
Only whether you survived it.
And tonight—
It had decided to test him again.