The first spider monkey died mid-scream.

  Klaus’s rifle cracked once, the sound sharp and oddly flat against the canyon’s vastness. The leading creature’s head snapped back, its body carried forward even as life left it. It tumbled straight down, hit the road, and vanished beneath the wagon wheels with a wet, bone-jarring crunch.

  The wagon lurched violently.

  Wood groaned. Metal rattled. Shalotte and Petra yelped inside.

  Shane tightened the reins by instinct, posture unchanged, gaze still forward.

  “Careful,” he said mildly. “My wagon just got furnished up lately.”

  Klaus didn’t acknowledge him. He simply adjusted his stance on the roof, boots planted wide to counter the sway, and fired again.

  Another screech cut off midair.

  A second monkey fell, slamming into the canyon wall before sliding down in a limp heap. A third followed, then a fourth. Klaus’s movements were minimal—no wasted motion, no flourish. He fired, chambered, fired again, expression unmoved as if he were swatting insects rather than killing monsters.

  Beside him, Kiel was vibrating with energy.

  “I got one!” he shouted, already drawing another arrow.

  His bowstring snapped. The arrow punched cleanly through a monkey’s chest and pinned it briefly to the rock face. Kiel laughed when it slid down, limp, and nearly lost his footing as the wagon bounced again.

  Inside the wagon, the chaos felt louder.

  The canyon amplified everything—the shrieks, the gunfire, the thuds of bodies hitting stone. Shadows flickered across the walls as shapes leapt and fell from above.

  Maddy braced herself against the wagon’s side and glanced at Shalotte.

  He stood rigid near the center, staff clenched in both hands. The glow at its tip wavered, pulsing unevenly. His breathing was shallow; his shoulders tight.

  “Shalotte,” Maddy said, steady but urgent. “Cover us.”

  He blinked, swallowed, then nodded.

  “R-right.”

  ‘Gravity Fall’.

  Purple light bloomed outward from his staff, washing over the wagon and its occupants. The sensation hit instantly—an odd lightness, like the world had loosened its grip.

  Maddy tested it with a small hop. Her boots barely dipped.

  “Good.”

  She kicked open the wagon’s back door. Wind and dust rushed in.

  “Let’s go.”

  She jumped.

  For half a heartbeat, she skidded through open air, boots scraping nothing. Then gravity bent around her. With a sharp twist, she launched upward—ten meters at least—straight toward the descending swarm.

  “Aetherblade”

  Her daggers ignited with mana. The blades elongated into translucent arcs that hummed softly as she moved.

  A monkey lunged at her, claws spread wide.

  Maddy slipped past it, expression focused, almost calm. She planted a foot against its shoulder and used the creature as a springboard, launching herself forward. Her dagger flashed once.

  The monkey split apart before it could even scream.

  She didn’t stop.

  She landed briefly on another creature’s back, kicked off, spun midair, and sliced through a third. Each motion flowed into the next—jump, cut, pivot—her body moving like it had rehearsed this exact chaos a thousand times.

  In less than a second, nearly a dozen spider monkeys were reduced to shredded pieces raining down behind her.

  Petra followed.

  She jumped higher.

  Her scythe carved a wide, brutal arc through the air, cleaving through three monkeys in a single swing. The momentum carried her forward, boots barely touching stone as she twisted and brought the blade around again.

  Blood sprayed. Petra grimaced—not from disgust, but tension. Her jaw was tight beneath her helm, grip firm as she forced herself to keep moving.

  On the wagon roof, Shalotte landed awkwardly beside Kiel and Klaus, knees bending too far before he caught himself.

  He glanced at Klaus, attempting a nervous smile.

  “Care to have me here?”

  Klaus didn’t turn his head.

  “Do you want me to kick you out?”

  Shalotte stiffened.

  “No.”

  “Then stay.”

  Shalotte nodded quickly, relief flashing across his face.

  “Stone Pillar.”

  The canyon answered him.

  A jagged column of stone erupted from the cliffside, tearing free with a thunderous crack. It slammed into a cluster of monkeys and hurled them through the air like broken dolls—straight toward Petra.

  She flinched, boots skidding half a step back at the cliff wall as instinct took over.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Moon Blade.”

  Silver light traced the curve of her scythe as she spun, planting one foot and pivoting hard. The blade sang once, clean and cold. The airborne bodies were cut apart mid-flight, pieces scattering before they ever reached her. Petra exhaled shakily, tightened her grip, and reset her stance—eyes already searching for the next threat.

  On the roof, Klaus’s rifle clicked.

  Empty.

  “Tch. I already spent all of them.”

  He glanced at it, unimpressed, and dismissed it back into his mindforger. Two revolvers materialized in his hands, their dull metal catching the dim canyon light.

  “Three reloads each,” he muttered. “Then I’m done. I’m not wasting my silvers on pests.”

  He fired.

  The revolvers barked louder than the rifle, recoil snapping against his wrists. Klaus barely reacted. Each shot dropped a monkey mid-leap, bodies folding and falling like cut marionettes.

  Kiel paused mid-draw, eyes glued to the guns.

  “That’s cool,” he said breathlessly. “Can I have one of those, Klaus?”

  “Sure,” Klaus replied flatly, firing again. “One reload costs a gold.”

  Kiel blinked.

  “That’s expensive.”

  “Making it costs coins,” Klaus said. “Especially the ammunition. If you don’t want to buy it, don’t. I’m not forcing you.”

  Kiel hesitated, then leaned closer.

  “…Can I get a discount?”

  “Nine silver per reload,” Klaus said. “If you want, I can let you test it.”

  Kiel’s face lit up. It’s not a big discount, just a silver coin off, but he is still thrilled to test it.

  “Really?”

  Klaus tossed one revolver into the air—and in the same motion, materialized another. He flicked the fresh one toward Kiel, then caught the first as it fell.

  At that exact moment, a monkey lunged.

  Kiel reacted on instinct. He loosed his arrow—which sailed wide—and caught the revolver with his free hand.

  The arrow missed.

  Kiel didn’t care.

  He stared at the gun, feeling its weight, the balance settling naturally into his grip. It felt… right.

  Without looking, Klaus said,

  “Just aim. Press the trigger.”

  Kiel aimed.

  Bang.

  The monkey dropped instantly.

  The recoil slammed into Kiel’s arm, nearly knocking the gun from his grip. He yelped, then laughed, eyes wide and bright.

  “That was amazing.”

  “I’ll buy it,” he said immediately.

  Klaus glanced at him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll ask a blacksmith to make you something better.” He couldn’t give Kiel a mindforged gun. He needed to build him a real one.

  Kiel nodded furiously and fired again.

  On the road, Molly lowered her horn and charged through another wave of incoming monkeys. Bodies bounced off her golden armor, claws scraping uselessly against reinforced plating. She never slowed, hooves pounding steadily forward as if this were a casual stroll.

  Ulon leaned forward on the driver’s bench, fingers twitching.

  Shane noticed without looking.

  “Do you wish to join the fun?”

  Ulon grinned, teeth showing.

  “Am I allowed to?”

  “It’s your choice,” Shane replied calmly. “But these are nothing compared to our target. I’d rather you save your mana.”

  Ulon watched the battlefield—Maddy carving through the air, Petra cutting relentlessly, Klaus shooting lazily, Kiel laughing with every recoil. And Shalotte.

  “…Yeah,” he admitted. “No need for me to intervene. I don’t want to stain my robe.”

  Shane nodded once.

  After his third reload, Klaus flicked the cylinder shut and finally lost interest, “I’m done. Take care of the rest.”

  He stored both revolvers back into his mindforger with a faint shimmer of displaced air, the weapons dissolving as if they had never existed. His shoulders loosened slightly, tension draining out of him now that he’d decided he was done contributing.

  He glanced sideways.

  Kiel was still firing.

  The boy had braced one knee against the wagon roof, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as he lined up another shot. The revolver bucked in his hand; he yelped, laughed, and immediately fired again.

  “You owe me twenty-seven silver already,” Klaus said flatly.

  Kiel didn’t even look back.

  “I’ll pay later!”

  “That’s not how debt works,” Klaus retorted.

  He rolled his head toward Klaus.

  “Mr. Klaus.”

  Klaus didn’t move.

  “Another… pellet… please?”

  Klaus sighed and materialized six rounds into his palm. The bullets glowed faintly, runes etched so finely they were almost invisible. He flicked them toward Kiel one by one.

  “These are bullets,” he said. “And they’re trapped.”

  Kiel caught each one effortlessly, fingers closing around them with practiced ease.

  “Pellets, bullets,” he said cheerfully. “Same thing.”

  Klaus stared at him for half a second.

  Then, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

  Another monkey dropped, spinning end over end into the canyon wall.

  Time passed more quickly than expected, and the battle reached an hour.

  The swarm thinned—not all at once, but gradually, like rain tapering into drizzle. The shrieks grew more spaced out, echoing farther apart as fewer bodies fell. The canyon itself began to change. The oppressive walls pulled back, widening just enough to let more light spill in.

  Sunlight crept along the stone, revealing streaks of dried blood and claw marks etched deep into the rock.

  Molly snorted as she charged through the last cluster without breaking stride, golden armor smeared and dented but intact. Her hooves struck a steadier rhythm now, less frantic, more purposeful.

  On the driver’s bench, Shane never slowed the wagon.

  His posture remained composed, reins steady in his hands. He watched the road ahead with the same calm focus he’d had since the first scream echoed through the canyon, as if the ambush had merely confirmed something he already knew.

  Klaus closed his eyes briefly and activated his echolocation.

  The world sharpened—not visually, but spatially. Stone, movement, distance. Two presences lingered behind them, skirting the edges of the chaos with controlled efficiency.

  They hadn’t struggled.

  “They’re professionals,” Klaus murmured.

  The words barely carried over the wagon’s rumble.

  Shalotte flinched anyway.

  “What did you say, Mr. Klaus?”

  “Nothing.”

  Klaus opened his eyes and let the skill fade. He scooted forward and sat at the edge of the wagon roof, legs dangling over the side. Dust puffed beneath his boots as they swung lightly with the wagon’s motion.

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  Ulon, still perched beside Shane, let out a short, incredulous snort.

  “Tired? You’ve done nothing after the first minutes of the fight.”

  “Yeah, it was tiring to watch them,” Klaus replied. “I’d like to lie down, but these two keep moving.”

  He glanced toward Kiel and Shalotte.

  Kiel fired again, missed, then laughed like it was part of the fun.

  Just as Klaus started to doze off, the road sloped slightly upward.

  With it came fresh air—warmer, cleaner, less thick with the metallic tang of blood. The canyon walls fell away, sunlight finally touching the road in full, warm beams.

  By the time they cleared the mouth of Al’Qatl Canyon, the last screech had faded into nothing more than memory.

  Inside the wagon, Maddy finally exhaled.

  She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until her shoulders sagged slightly. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove, eyes flicking upward every few seconds anyway—habit refusing to let go.

  Petra adjusted her grip on the scythe, flexing her fingers. The blade hummed faintly, then quieted. She didn’t relax, exactly, but the tight line of her shoulders eased by a fraction.

  Shalotte leaned against the wagon’s frame, staff resting against his shoulder. The purple glow around its tip dimmed to a faint ember. His legs trembled—not enough to collapse, but enough that he shifted his weight and pretended it was intentional.

  Kiel collapsed backward onto the roof with a dramatic groan, limbs splayed, chest heaving. He stared at the sky, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, a grin still carved into his face.

  “That was…” he panted. “Amazing.”

  “…Wait.”

  He counted on his fingers. A realization hit him harder than the gun’s recoil.

  “…Oh.”

  Klaus opened one eye.

  “One hundred and eighty silver.”

  Kiel groaned.

  “That’s robbery.”

  “You agreed to the price.”

  “I didn’t think I’d enjoy it that much!”

  He complained loudly, dramatically, while still pulling out a pouch from his storage ring. After a moment of exaggerated reluctance, he tossed the pouch to Klaus anyway.

  He then lay back fully this time, staring at the sky.

  “Worth it,” he muttered.

  Klaus ignored him, stored the pouch in his storage and lay back beside Kiel.

  He immediately shut his eyes and activated Echolocation.

  For him, danger spare no time—he needs to keep his guard up.