Chapter 26: Night Ambush

  The group divided themselves among the ruins of the house. The two young apprentices, Mary and Zoe, took the former study—a small room, but more than enough for the two of them. Vivian, Emma, and the female members of the Library’s retinue occupied the larger bedroom. Though bedframes remained, the bedding had long since rotted into dust, so they laid out their own furs, huddling together for warmth against the creeping chill.

  The men settled in the main hall, spreading their bedrolls near the dying embers of the hearth. Outside, the snow-hounds and the snow-wolf were not brought indoors; instead, Ronen and Vivian had cleared a corner of the dilapidated workshop, turning it into a makeshift stable. The animals huddled together, their rhythmic breathing a steady, low hum that blended with the night.

  As the hours deepened, a fine, needle-like rain began to tap against the roof tiles, weaving with the crackle of the hearth into a somber nocturnal melody. The camp carriage’s heating module hummed softly, and Ethan had placed a simple magical ward over the room. It wasn't a barrier meant to stop a determined foe, but it was enough to repel the dampness leaking through the roof’s fissures, preserving a pocket of dry, safe sleep.

  One by one, the group drifted into the heavy slumber of the exhausted.

  Ronen took the first watch. He sat leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. The light orbs Mary had summoned had long since faded, leaving the hearth as the sole source of warmth and vision in the room.

  He wasn't the only one awake. The elegant mage, Ethan, sat against the opposite wall, legs crossed, quietly reading a book by the firelight. He looked so focused, so out of place, that he might as well have been in a quiet academy library rather than a rotting shack in the frozen north.

  Ronen watched him for a moment, then pulled a leather waterskin from his tunic. He took a long pull, then tossed it across the room.

  "Master Ethan, have a taste. It’s a plum wine special to our troupe."

  The sudden gesture caught the refined mage off guard. Ethan fumbled, nearly dropping the skin before catching it against his chest. He didn't open it immediately to take a swig—such a crude act clearly went against his upbringing. He looked conflicted, caught between his manners and the desire not to offend the mercenary’s goodwill.

  Closing his book and setting it carefully aside, Ethan whispered a short incantation. A goblet of crystalline ice manifested in his palm, perfectly clear and cold. Only then did he unstop the skin, pouring a small measure into the glass. With a flick of his fingers, he used a thread of mana to float the waterskin back to Ronen’s hand.

  He took a small sip, then nodded appreciatively. "A deep body, with a crisp fruitiness... fine wine indeed. My thanks."

  Ronen couldn't help but smirk at the display. "Master Ethan, I’ve been curious—why would someone of your standing take a job in a godforsaken place like this? No offense, but you don't exactly strike me as the 'mercenary' type."

  Perhaps it was the strength of the wine or the proximity to the fire, but a faint flush crept onto Ethan’s cheeks. He gave a self-deprecating smile. "You aren't wrong. If I had the choice, I would be in my tower, buried in research. Taking this commission was... a matter of necessity."

  Ronen moved to sit beside him. "If you don't mind, I’d like to hear about it. I’ve always been fascinated by mages."

  Ethan swirled the amber liquid in his ice glass. "There’s no great secret to it," he said, his voice dropping. "It’s almost laughable. I took this job because it seemed simple and the pay was high. To be honest... I’ve run into some significant financial difficulties lately."

  "A mage? Short on gold?" Ronen was genuinely surprised. In his world, mages were the elite, living in towers and spending gems like they were pebbles. "You’re an orthodox academy professor. Don't you have noble sponsors?"

  "Daily expenses are fine," Ethan said, tapping the rim of his glass. "It’s the research. My field is the material substitution for mana-storage crystals. The consumption is... astronomical." Seeing Ronen’s confusion, he tried a different analogy. "Think of it like forging a legendary sword. You have to test dozens of prototypes, melting down high-grade steel every time. But mana crystals aren't like steel; they can't be easily recycled. My research is dedicated to finding a way to make them reusable."

  He sighed, the firelight reflecting in his monocle. "The academy’s budget barely covers the basics. To get more, I need results. To get results, I need to burn through crystals for experiments. I was managing, until an accident a few weeks ago destroyed several pieces of precision equipment."

  Ethan stared into his glass. "If I can't submit my foundational report soon, I’ll lose my current funding. At worst, the entire project will be shut down. This commission... the pay is enough to replace the equipment and restock the crystals. If Mary hadn't mentioned it, I don't know what I would have done."

  "Speaking of Mary..." Ronen lowered his voice. "Aren't you a bit hard on her? She seems... terrified of you."

  "Hard on her?" Ethan sat up straight, a spark of firelight catching his lens. He opened his mouth to argue, but then slumped back against the wall. "She is the most talented apprentice in her year... far better than I was at her age." He rubbed the rim of his glass. "She must be excellent. I need her to grow quickly, to be able to stand on her own."

  "A few harsh words now are better than a fatal mistake later," he muttered, sounding more like a worried father than a haughty professor. "But she has this incredible talent and yet makes the most baffling errors. And worse, she surrounds herself with... questionable influences." He glanced toward the room where Mary and Zoe were sleeping, then shot a look at the snoring Mark. "I cannot watch her waste her potential. That is why I am strict."

  Ronen watched the mage’s trembling fingers. "Do you think... maybe you expect too much? Or that you take out your frustrations from the lab on her without meaning to?" He held out the wine skin. "Another round?"

  A log in the hearth popped, sending a spray of sparks into the air. Ethan didn't hesitate this time. He held out his ice glass and let Ronen fill it to the brim. He drained it in one go, his shoulders finally dropping.

  "I know," he whispered, his voice raspy. "Every time I scold her, I regret it. I know she’s doing better than anyone else her age. I wasn't half the mage she is when I was a student." He gave a bitter laugh. "But that’s exactly why! I want her to shine, not hide in the shadows or get distracted by people who will only hold her back."

  The night rain finally ceased, leaving only the steady crackle of the fire. Ethan looked toward the window, his face softened by the warmth. After a moment, he took one last sip, yawned, and stood up, the wine or the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

  "Forgive me, young man," he said softly. "I intended to keep you company longer, but the hour is late." He straightened his robes, picked up his bedroll, and lay down, closing his eyes.

  The silence of the night returned, so deep that every breath felt amplified. Ronen leaned against the wall, a rough blanket over his shoulders. His armor was off, but his short sword lay within reach. He closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. He funneled his senses into his ears, catching every vibration in the dark.

  Drip... drip...

  A faint splashing sound came from outside, like something stepping through a puddle. Ronen didn't move. He kept his breathing steady, mapping the sound in his mind.

  Drip... drip...

  It was closer now, circling the outer wall, searching for an opening. Ronen opened his eyes, the amber depths reflecting the dying embers.

  Something was out there.

  Was it a beast drawn by the scent of life, or the light of the fire? He didn't want to wake the others for a stray dog or a rabbit. He rose silently, gripped his sword, and slipped out the door.

  The cold wind hit him instantly. Outside was a wall of absolute black. But years of mercenary training had given him a hunter’s instinct. Slowly, shapes emerged: the leaning walls, the snow-filled hollows, the ink-black forest.

  Ronen frowned. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it—something was prowling around the house, pressing against the cracks, trying to find a way in. He tightened his grip on his sword.

  The footsteps told a story: heavy, erratic, driven by a desperate, frantic hunger.

  Suddenly, the prowler’s pace quickened, finally alerting the dogs in the stable. A sharp bark pierced the silence like a needle.

  Ronen and the thing in the dark moved at the same time.

  A shadow lunged from the side, heading straight for the stable. Its target wasn't Ronen; it was the living noise. But Ronen’s target was the shadow.

  The creature had a roughly human shape, but it was terrifyingly gaunt—a husk of bone and skin sucked dry by the wilderness. Its skin clung to its frame, gleaming with a sickly grey pallor in the faint starlight.

  Is it... a person?

  Ronen hesitated. He didn't want to kill a human. His sword hung in the air, frozen.

  In that split second, the monster lunged. It raised a clawed hand, fingers aimed straight for Ronen’s eyes. The attack was mindless, driven by pure, animalistic aggression.

  Ronen jerked his head back, the wind of the strike whistling past his ear. The sheer brutality of the move dissolved his hesitation. He twisted his wrist, and his short sword slashed down.

  The blade bit into the creature’s arm with a dull thud, like striking a dry branch. Dark, thick blood sprayed across the snow. The monster didn't scream; it only let out a wet, garbled hiss.

  "Annihilate..."

  It lunged again with its remaining arm. Ronen’s eyes went cold. He ducked under the claws and swept his blade across the creature’s knee. It collapsed, crashing into the dirt.

  But it didn't stop. Using its one arm and one leg, it crawled forward, snapping its teeth at Ronen’s ankle, its jaw dripping with a foul, viscous saliva.

  "Definitely... not human," Ronen muttered.

  He stepped back, his movement a blur as he circled behind the creature. His sword flashed in a cold arc.

  A thin line of red appeared on the monster’s neck. Its head rolled into the snow, and the body gave one final, violent twitch before going still.

  The wind carried the scent of iron and rot. Ronen stood over the corpse, sword lowered, listening. Aside from his own steady heartbeat, there was only the distant, uneasy whimpering of the hounds.