The midday sun cast brilliant rays upon Crest Valley, bathing the landscape in a vibrant, almost aggressive vitality. The valley and its surrounding mountains teemed with all manner of magic beasts.
Those who traveled this pass usually clung to the safest route, one scouted and maintained by the Archons. To venture through this valley alone was to court death.
Of course, for a Magus of sufficient power, such concerns were trivial.
The caravan had just rumbled into the mouth of Crest Valley. From here, the journey to Argentis would take roughly three weeks.
More importantly, the threat of magic beasts would intensify. They possessed a primal hostility, fiercely territorial and intolerant of outsiders.
Alaric stared out the carriage window, a sense of wonder warring with his unease. He had spent his entire life in a small town in the Kingdom of Corvania; the past two months had been a deluge of new and astonishing sights.
In the distance, a skulk of six-tailed foxes watched the caravan with wary eyes, while their cubs tumbled playfully in the grass. On another slope, a herd of horses with manes like flickering flames thundered across the plains, their hooves shaking the very air.
The scene was spectacular, but Alaric knew it was a fragile illusion. His conversations with the mercenaries had taught him the valley's true, bloody nature. Worse, Crest Valley bordered the Murky Mountains, a place so dangerous that even Archons hesitated to enter.
His hand tightened reflexively on the hilt of his sword. Rick said they always lose people in Crest Valley, he thought, recalling the mercenary's grim words.
He’d learned this was not the first time Rick and his men had escorted a group of children to Argentis. On every past journey, this treacherous pass had claimed its share of lives.
Even with Archons watching over them, not everyone could be saved.
“E-excuse me.” A meek voice startled him. Alaric turned to see a young girl with twin ponytails looking at him, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
She hesitated, then spoke again. “You talk to the mercenaries a lot… Did they say how much longer it is to Argentis? I… I can’t take much more of this.”
Alaric saw the raw exhaustion and fear in her eyes and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
These noble children aren’t built for this kind of hardship. It was easy to see why they found the journey so unbearable.
Just because Alaric found a thrill in it didn't mean the others did. Most of the children were sick of the endless travel, of being cooped up in rattling wooden carriages for weeks on end. The constant threat of attack had frayed their nerves to the breaking point.
“The mercenaries said we should reach the border of the Aethelgard Kingdom in about two weeks,” Alaric told her gently. “It’ll be safe once we’re across. From there, it’s another week to Argentis.”
“Oh, I see… thanks,” the girl whispered, turning away. Hearing this, a few of the other children in the carriage seemed to relax. They had already endured more than two months on the road; what were a few more weeks?
Just before sunset, the caravan found a defensible rise to make camp for the night. The mercenaries moved with practiced efficiency, setting up tents and starting a large campfire as part of their duties.
In one of the carriages, a man in an olive cloak looked up from his book. His sharp blue eyes focused on something far beyond the camp, his gaze seeming to pierce the deepening twilight.
His lips parted. “I suppose it’s time to make our move.”
Two others in the carriage, a man and a woman in matching olive cloaks, followed his gaze.
“Let the mercenaries handle it,” the other man said dismissively. “We can step in if it gets too difficult for them. Besides, these entitled brats need some tempering. Veridian Academy is no place for the weak-willed.”
“If you say so.” The blue-eyed man shrugged and returned to his book. For a few moments, peace settled over the camp.
Then a lone wolf’s howl shattered the evening’s calm. The wild, desolate cry echoed through the valley, and an instant later, answering calls rose from all sides.
“Damn it, it’s a wolf pack!”
“And a large one, by the sounds of it.” The mercenaries’ faces grew grim.
A single wolf, even a magic beast, was manageable. A pack, however, was another matter entirely.
They were known to coordinate their attacks with the chilling efficiency of a military troop, making them incredibly difficult to fight.
“Hurry up! Circle the carriages into a blockade! Get into formation!” the mercenary captain, a bald man whose leather armor creaked with every movement, bellowed his orders.
In the encroaching darkness, hundreds of pairs of ominous green eyes ignited in the distance. They were closing in at a terrifying speed. A low rumble vibrated through the ground, the thunder of countless paws.
“Shit! They’re night wolves!”
“Formation! Get in formation now!”
Curses broke out among the mercenaries. Night wolves were at their strongest after dark, their movements unnaturally swift, their attacks relentlessly vicious.
Rick looked at the dozens of panicking children, his expression solemn. “Prepare for battle.”
A few of the younger boys and girls burst into tears, crying for their parents. Others, however, set their jaws and brandished their small weapons with grim determination.
Alaric felt the gravity of the situation settle over him. He drew the steel sword he had recently extorted from another child, its familiar weight a cold comfort. His grip on the hilt whitened as he watched the tide of glowing eyes surge toward them.
A few meters away, Joric gulped, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a crossbow. But when he glanced over at Alaric, a cruel glint lit his eyes.