The left wagon wheel shattered over a buried rock two miles outside the town gates.
Splintered oak dug into the deep mud. The cart tilted violently. The massive, headless carcass of the Blood-Feathered Griffin slid off the flatbed, hitting the dirt with a wet, meaty thud.
Renn didn't stop walking. He didn't even look back at the ruined cart.
He held a thick, blood-soaked hemp rope in his right hand. The other end of the rope was tied securely around the griffin's severed head. The black iron beak gouged a deep trench in the muddy road as Renn dragged it behind him.
It weighed at least four hundred pounds. To a normal man, impossible. To Renn, with his iron-dense bones and the pulsing Abyssal core in his chest, it was just heavy resistance training.
His boots squelched. The heavy Obsidian-Weave Mantle scraped against the coarse hemp rope over his shoulder.
Illia walked ten paces behind him. She used her wooden staff to navigate the worst of the puddles. She kept her brown hood pulled low. The smell of coagulated beast blood and rotting feathers was suffocating.
"You're making a mess of the road," Illia said. Her voice barely carried over the howling mountain wind.
"The rain will wash it," Renn replied. He didn't break his stride.
They reached the border town just past noon. The wooden gates were wide open. Two militiamen in rusted chainmail stood leaning against the wooden palisade, chewing on dried tobacco.
One of the guards looked up. His jaw went slack. The tobacco wad fell out of his mouth, landing in a puddle.
He stared at the man in the iron mask. Then he stared at the massive eagle head with sick crimson feathers dragging through the mud behind him. The dead, milky-white eyes of the griffin stared blankly at the sky.
The second guard choked, turned away, and violently vomited into the ditch. The sheer density of the lingering Rank 3 beast aura was enough to trigger a panic response in ordinary humans.
Renn walked right past them.
The main street parted like a shallow sea. Miners, cheap whores, traveling merchants, and stray dogs scrambled out of the way. People pressed themselves flat against the damp wooden walls of the buildings. Absolute silence fell over the slums.
Only the heavy *scrape, scrape, scrape* of the iron beak on the cobblestones echoed through the air.
Renn didn't head for the tavern. He walked straight up the gentle incline toward the center of town. The only building made entirely of quarried stone. The local lord's manor.
Four private guards stood at the iron wrought gates. They wore actual steel breastplates. They raised their halberds as Renn approached. Their hands were shaking.
"Halt," the captain managed to say. His voice cracked. "State your business with Baron Hosten."
Renn stopped. He loosened his grip on the rope. The griffin head settled onto the stone path.
"Bounty," Renn said. The metallic distortion of his mask made the word sound like a threat. "Black-Ridge Watchtower. Open the gate."
The captain looked at the severed head. He swallowed hard. He nodded to his men. They rushed to pull the heavy iron gates open. The hinges screamed in protest.
Renn grabbed the rope again. He dragged the prize right into the pristine, manicured courtyard of the manor.
Baron Hosten was already standing on his elevated porch. He was a fat man squeezed into a velvet coat that was three years out of fashion. His face was pale, completely drained of blood. He held a silk handkerchief over his nose.
Renn stopped at the base of the marble steps. He lifted the hemp rope and gave it a violent yank.
The heavy griffin head tumbled forward. It slammed into the bottom step. The impact cracked the white marble. Dark, thick blood pooled rapidly on the pristine stone.
"The eastern trade route is clear," Renn announced.
The Baron stared at the dead eyes of the beast that had slaughtered two of his best cavalry squads. His fat fingers trembled against the wooden railing.
"You... you killed it," the Baron stammered. "Just you?"
Renn didn't confirm or deny it. "The bounty was posted at two hundred gold pieces. And official recognition of a mercenary charter within your territory."
"Yes. Yes, of course." The Baron practically tripped over his own boots turning around. He yelled at a terrified servant hiding in the doorway. "The vault! Bring the lockboxes! Now!"
The Baron scurried back to the railing. He looked at Renn, then at Illia standing quietly near the iron gates.
"Who do I make the charter out to?" the Baron asked, his voice shaking. "I need a name for the capital's registry."
"The Ash Claws," Renn said.
"Ash Claws. Right. Consider it done."
Ten minutes later, Renn walked out of the courtyard. Two heavy leather sacks hung from his belt. The gold jingled with every step. Official parchment paper, stamped with the local lord's wax seal, was tucked safely into the inner pocket of his obsidian coat.
They walked back down to the slums.
The abandoned warehouse felt colder than outside. Renn tossed the bags of gold onto the broken wooden table.
Illia walked past him. She went straight to the far corner. She unhooked the leather pouch from her belt. She pulled out the glowing orange Sun-Shatter Root. It pulsed with a faint, warm heat.
She sat cross-legged on the hay. She pulled a small stone mortar and pestle from her pack. She started grinding the root immediately.
"What does it do?" Renn asked. He stood by the table, watching her.
Illia didn't look up. The stone ground against stone. "It burns."
"Helpful."
She stopped for a second. She brushed a stray blonde hair out of her eyes. "My bloodline is... complicated. The Church demands absolute purity in their Holy magic. I have a secondary affinity. Something old. Something they consider heretical. If I don't suppress it, the Inquisitors can track the resonance from a hundred miles away."
She went back to grinding. "The Sun-Shatter Root is highly toxic to ordinary mana. I ingest it. It burns the secondary affinity out of my bloodstream for about a month. Leaves only the pure Light."
Poisoning herself to hide.
Renn understood that completely. He turned away from her.
He unhooked the Void-Fang Cleaver from his back. He laid the heavy, jagged weapon on the wooden table. The purple groove down the center of the black steel pulsed sluggishly.
Next, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the fist-sized crystal he ripped from the griffin's chest. The Rank 3 beast core. It glowed with a violent, swirling green light. A concentrated storm trapped in glass.
He needed range. Arthur had the paladins. He had heavily armored knights. Close combat meant getting surrounded by Holy light. He needed to cut them down before they formed a shield wall.
"System."
The mechanical hum vibrated behind his eyes.
[System active. Awaiting synthesis commands.]
[Target 1: Void-Fang Cleaver (Uncommon Weapon - Abyssal Corrupted)]
[Target 2: Blood-Feathered Griffin Core (Rank 3 Material - Violent Wind)]
[Warning: Synthesizing a Rank 3 elemental core into a lower-tier weapon has a 60% chance of shattering the base material. The Abyssal properties of Target 1 will attempt to devour the elemental core. Instability extremely high. Proceed?]
Sixty percent failure rate. If the sword shattered, he was left with just his claws.
Renn looked at the glowing green core. The wolf inside his chest snarled at the hesitation. Risk was the only currency that bought real power.
"Proceed."
The blue grid fired from his eyes. It completely encased the table.
The reaction was immediate and violent.
The griffin core didn't melt. It exploded. A localized hurricane detonated inside the blue hard-light cube. Vicious, razor-sharp blades of green wind tore through the air, slashing into the wooden table, turning the thick oak planks into sawdust instantly.
The Void-Fang Cleaver reacted to the threat. The Abyssal rot inside the metal flared to life. Thick, oily purple smoke poured out of the jagged blade. The smoke acted like living tentacles. It lashed out, grabbing the violently swirling green wind.
The two energies fought.
The wind tried to shred the dark smoke. The smoke tried to corrode and suffocate the wind.
The black steel of the cleaver began to glow cherry red from the sheer friction of the mana clash. Hairline fractures appeared along the flat of the blade. The metal groaned. It was hitting its breaking point.
Renn slammed his right hand directly onto the hilt of the burning sword.
He didn't use the System. He used brute force. He channeled his own mutated, dense earth mana down his arm and injected it directly into the steel. He forced the metal to harden, to hold its shape, acting as an anchor for the warring energies.
His iron-clad bones creaked. The heat blistered the palm of his leather glove.
Slowly, the Abyssal energy won. It always won. The purple smoke dragged the green wind down into the fractured steel. The green light twisted, darkened, and turned into a sickly, venomous emerald color. The fractures in the metal sealed themselves shut, leaving jagged, green-glowing veins across the black blade.
The blue grid shattered.
The warehouse plunged into silence again. The smell of ozone and burnt wood was suffocating.
Renn lifted his hand. The glove was scorched black.
He looked down at the table. Or what was left of it. The center was completely carved out.
Lying in the sawdust was the new weapon.
[Synthesis complete. Mutation successful.]
[Result: Storm-Rot Cleaver (Rare Tier).]
[Effect 1: Abyssal Edge. Wounds inflicted by the physical blade cannot be healed by ordinary or low-tier Holy magic. Causes rapid cellular necrosis.]
[Effect 2: Corrupted Gale. By swinging the blade with intent, the Host can launch compressed, crescent-shaped wind blades. These wind blades carry the Abyssal rot effect. Range and power scale with mana input.]
[Effect 3: Wind-Shear Weight. The blade is unnaturally light when swung offensively, but retains its massive physical impact upon striking a target.]
Renn picked it up.
It looked vicious. The blade was still pitch black, but the jagged edges now glowed with a faint, toxic green light. It felt weightless in his grip. Like holding a thin wooden reed.
He gave it a casual, horizontal flick of his wrist, aiming at the far stone wall.
*Shhhk.*
No loud explosion. Just a sharp hiss of displaced air.
A crescent of dark green wind shot from the blade. It crossed the thirty feet of the warehouse in a blink. It hit the solid stone wall.
It didn't shatter the stone. It cut right through it.
A perfectly clean, horizontal slit appeared in the heavy granite blocks. The edges of the cut hissed, black smoke rising as the Abyssal rot literally dissolved the stone on a microscopic level.
Illia stopped grinding her root. She stared at the cut in the wall. The wind pressure from the swing had blown her hood completely off her head.
"That," Illia said slowly, her pale blue eyes fixed on the glowing blade, "is not a normal mercenary trick."
"It's an Ash Claw trick," Renn said. He slid the new Storm-Rot Cleaver into the heavy leather sheath on his back. The toxic green glow vanished, hidden by the thick hide.
He turned around. He looked at the heavy wooden doors of the warehouse.
He heard them before Illia did. The wolf hearing picking up the distinct, rhythmic sound of highly disciplined cavalry.
Not the sloppy trot of the local militia. These were warhorses. Heavy hooves hitting the mud with military precision. The sharp clinking of overlapping steel plate armor.
Lots of them.
Illia quickly swept the crushed orange powder from her mortar into a small glass vial. She corked it tightly and shoved it deep into her robes. She grabbed her staff and stood up, moving away from the light.
The sound of the horses stopped right outside their doors.
A loud, booming voice echoed in the muddy street.
"By the decree of the Silver Citadel and the Holy Purge Vanguard! Step outside!"
Renn adjusted the iron mask over his face. He pulled the collar of his obsidian coat up slightly.
He walked to the double doors. He didn't hesitate. He kicked them open.
The dull afternoon light flooded the warehouse.
Twenty heavily armored knights sat atop massive, gray warhorses in a half-circle, completely blocking the street. Their armor was polished silver. White cloaks draped over their shoulders. The insignia of the Pure Blood Church—a golden sun pierced by a silver sword—was painted boldly on their heavy kite shields. 二十名重甲骑士骑在巨大的灰色战马上,围成半圆,将街道完全封锁.他们的盔甲是抛光的银色.白色斗篷披在肩上.纯血教会的徽章——银剑刺穿的金色太阳——被大胆地画在他们厚重的风筝盾牌上.
Paladins. Arthur's dogs. 圣骑士.亚瑟的狗.
At the front of the formation sat a man with no helmet. He had sharp cheekbones and short, meticulously cut blond hair. His silver armor was etched with intricate golden runes. An Inquisitor Commander. 队伍最前头坐着一名没有戴头盔的男子.他有着尖锐的颧骨和修剪得一丝不苟的金色短发.他的银色铠甲上刻满了错综复杂的金色符文.审判官指挥官.
The Commander looked down at Renn from his horse. His eyes swept over the terrifying iron mask and the heavy, black-scaled coat. 指挥官在马背上俯视着雷恩.他的目光扫过那张恐怖的铁面具和厚重的黑鳞外套.
"You are the one who claimed the griffin bounty," the Commander stated. It wasn't a question. "The leader of the Ash Claws." "你是领取狮鹫赏金的人,"指挥官说道.这不是一个问题. "灰烬之爪的首领."
"I am," Renn said. He kept his hands away from his weapon. For now. "我是,"雷恩说.他的手远离他的武器.目前.
The Commander pulled a rolled-up parchment from his belt. He pointed it at Renn. 指挥官从腰带上抽出一张卷起来的羊皮纸.他把它指向雷恩.
"The Silver Citadel has commandeered this town as a forward operating base. We are marching north to cleanse the Howling Woods," the Commander said loudly, his voice carrying down the street for all the hiding townsfolk to hear. "银色城堡已经征用了这个城镇作为前沿作战基地.我们正在向北进军,清理嚎风森林,"指挥官大声说道,他的声音传遍了街道,让所有躲藏的城镇居民都能听到.
He tossed the parchment. It fluttered down and landed in the mud at Renn's boots. 他扔掉了羊皮纸.它飘落下来,落在雷恩脚下的泥里.
"We need scouts who know the local terrain and can handle high-tier beasts. You're drafted, mercenary. Pack your gear. We march for the wolf territory at dawn." "我们需要了解当地地形,能够对付高级野兽的斥候.你被征召入伍了,雇佣兵.收拾好你的装备.我们在黎明时分向狼群领地进发."
Renn looked down at the muddy conscription order. 雷恩低头看着浑浊的征兵令.
He looked back up at the silver-clad knights. They wanted him to help them hunt down his own family. To lead them straight to the hidden dens of the Silver Moon Wolves. 他回头看了一眼银衣骑士.他们希望他帮助他们追捕他自己的家人.带领他们直奔银月狼的隐藏巢穴.
Beneath the cold iron mask, Renn's silver eyes burned. 冰冷的铁面具下,雷恩银色的双眸燃烧着火焰.
Perfect. They were opening the front door for him. 完美的.他们正在为他打开前门.
"We march at dawn," Renn agreed. He crushed the parchment under his heavy boot."我们在黎明时分出发,"雷恩同意道.他用沉重的靴子踩碎了羊皮纸.