Night. The Whisperwood's edge.
Malrik moved through the darkness.
He was practicing Veil Step.
It was no longer a clumsy struggle. Not like that first day.
The technique was becoming a second skin. A subtle shift in his mana. A feeling of blending.
He walked among the tall pines. Tangled undergrowth brushed against his legs. His steps were silent on the damp earth.
His mana signature was pulled in tight. It blended with the ambient energy of the forest.
He was not invisible. But he was… unremarkable.
Easily overlooked by senses attuned to prominence. To presence.
His mana senses extended outwards. A silent radar. Sweeping the immediate vicinity.
He felt the slow, rhythmic life of the trees. The scurrying of small creatures. The flow of stagnant water in hidden pools.
And he felt the corrupted ones.
Not the overwhelming taint of the ogre. But the smaller. Localized pockets of dark energy. Clinging to the edges of the forest.
He sought a new challenge tonight. A creature that would test his burgeoning mastery. Of the Veil Step. In a dynamic environment.
He moved deeper than Elara usually restricted him. But still well within the familiar territory. Near the cabin.
His steps were deliberate. Mindful of every twig. Every rustling leaf.
He allowed the Veil Step to absorb any stray sound. Any visual disturbance he might create.
The Whisperwood was a harsh. Unforgiving teacher. But tonight. It felt less like a cage. And more like a hunting ground. Where he was becoming the ghost.
His senses brushed against a concentration of energy ahead.
It was different. From the usual corrupted beasts. More… focused. More… structured.
Not the mindless hunger of the Gnashers. Or the territorial aggression of the mutated boars.
This felt… unnatural. Like something designed to blend. To evade. A predator of a different kind.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: A new type. The corruption breeds variety. Interesting. Its energy signature is… subtle. Not overtly powerful. But difficult to pin down. It moves with deliberate stillness. It is adapting to the forest's nature. A worthy target.)
He shifted his mana. Deepening the Veil Step. Becoming even more background noise.
He used the wind direction. The shadows. The natural cover of the terrain. To approach.
He became part of the forest's night breath. He moved with the silence of a falling leaf. His presence a mere suggestion. Easily dismissed.
He reached the edge of a small. Overgrown dell. His mana sense pinpointed the source. Of the unusual energy.
Huddled near the base of a moss-covered rock. Was a creature. It looked like a fusion of shadow and sinew.
It was roughly humanoid in shape. But thin. Almost skeletal. Its skin the colour of damp earth. Its eyes were pinpricks of cold light. Scanning the darkness with unnerving speed.
It moved with an unnatural stillness. Its limbs shifting with fluid. Silent motions. That seemed to defy the rustle of leaves.
It wasn't large. Certainly not an ogre. But its movements. Its presence. Spoke of a dangerous. Elusive threat.
He identified it. From a fragment of lore. He had devoured. In the Lodge library. A Stalker.
Corrupted fey. Twisted into silent hunters. Known for their ability. To blend seamlessly. With their surroundings.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: A Stalker. Excellent. A test of the Veil Step. Against a creature specifically designed for detection. It hunts by scent. By movement. Perhaps by sensing mana fluctuations. Can my suppression fool it? Can I become unseen to this kind of perception? A perfect test.)
He began to circle. Using the Veil Step. Drawing his sword.
The feel of the cold steel. In his hand. Was a comfort. A familiar weight. That anchored him. To the physical reality. Of the hunt.
He needed to test its detection capabilities. To see if his new second skin. Was sufficient.
He moved closer. Deliberately making faint sounds. A soft crunch of leaves. A brush against a low branch.
Sounds that the Veil Step should. In theory. Mute. Absorb. Make seem like the natural noise. Of the forest.
The Stalker's head snapped up. Its pinprick eyes sweeping the area. But it remained still. Its energy signature pulsing with heightened awareness. But not pinpointing him.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: It heard something. But it didn't pinpoint the source. The Veil Step is working. It knows something is here. But it cannot identify what. Good. This gives me the advantage. It searches for a prominent threat. I am... not prominent.)
He pressed the attack. Using the Veil Step to approach. He moved with impossible quietness. Darting from shadow to shadow.
The Stalker was fast. Incredibly fast. Its movements like the flicker of candlelight.
It sprang from its crouch. A silent blur. Reacting to the faint sounds Malrik had deliberately created. But not to Malrik himself.
He dodged its initial lunge. The corrupted air around it a chilling wave.
The Stalker's claws. Long and sharp. Sliced through the empty air. Where he had been. A moment before.
He countered. His sword moving with a speed. Amplified by his internal mana flow. Aimed at its flank.
The steel bit. Into the Stalker's tough. Earthy hide. It shrieked. A dry. Rustling sound. And spun away. Surprisingly agile. Even when wounded.
It retreated into the deeper shadows. Its energy signature fading slightly. As it attempted to blend.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Tougher hide than expected. And it can use the Shadow Weave instinctively. It's trying to disappear. Let's see if my hunting senses are better than its escape instincts. My control... versus its instinct.)
He pursued. Relying on his mana sense. And the lingering scent. Of its corrupted blood. To track its movement. Through the dense undergrowth.
The Veil Step allowed him. To move with the same silent efficiency. Becoming a shadow hunting a shadow.
He could feel its presence. Faint. Elusive. Trying to melt into the forest's background. But it wasn't as refined as Elara's technique.
He was learning to see the threads. Of the weave. To follow the subtle disruption. Even a practiced user created.
The chase was a silent dance. Of hunter and hunted. A brutal application. Of Elara's lessons.
He used the terrain. Anticipated its movements. Cutting off its escape routes. He landed another strike. Deeper this time. Drawing a choked. Rattling cry.
The Stalker. Cornered and wounded. Turned to fight. It moved with desperate speed. A blur of claws and teeth.
Malrik met its charge. His sword a dark arc. In the moonlit gloom. The fight was a whirlwind of motion.
His Veil Step allowing him. To evade its attacks. By becoming just slightly not there. At the crucial moment.
While his sword found its mark. With increasing regularity. He was learning to read its patterns. To anticipate its attempts at evasion.
He parried a desperate claw swipe. The force jarring his arm.
And with a swift. Decisive thrust. Drove his sword through. The Stalker's chest.
It shuddered. A faint. Unnatural light flickering. In its eyes.
And then collapsed. Melting back into the shadows. As its form dissolved. Into dust. And decaying leaves.
He stood over the remains. Chest heaving slightly. The scent of corrupted dust. Thick in the air.
The hunt was successful. The Stalker was dead.
And his mastery of the Veil Step. Had been tested. And proven. Against a creature. Specifically designed for stealth.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: It works. Against their instincts. Against their own attempts at blending. A valuable lesson. My second skin is growing stronger. This hunt… it has yielded data. Data on a new creature. Data on the effectiveness of the technique. Progress. Each challenge makes the weave tighter.)
He took a moment. To catch his breath. Surveying the silent dell. The Whisperwood was quiet again. The immediate threat neutralized.
He began to sheathe his sword. His mana sense still scanning the area. Out of habit.
Then. His senses flared.
Not with the dull thrum. Of corrupted beasts. Or the familiar pulse. Of the Meadowlight cabin nearby.
This was different.
Human. Multiple signatures. Moving with discipline. With purpose. And masked.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Human signatures. Masked. Disciplined. Not Kaelen's men. Not Duchy Guard. Not… Holy Knights. They are approaching. With a specific intent. Stealthy. But not using Shadow Weave. Different training. Assassins.)
His internal alarms screamed. Assassins. Here? Now?
Away from the Lodge. Away from any potential protection.
And they were moving. With a focused trajectory… towards him.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Me. They are here for me. But why? Elian's network was dismantled. Did he have another cell? More skilled? Did the buyer send them? After Kaelen reported my purchase of the sword? Did they somehow track me here. Into the Whisperwood. Despite my precautions? Impossible… unless… unless my Veil Step isn't as perfect as I thought. Unless they have a way to detect my specific energy signature. This is a direct counter to my operations. They know I'm here. Tonight.)
His heart hammered against his ribs. A primal drum. Against the cold analysis. Of his mind.
He had been the hunter. Moments ago. Now. The roles were reversed.
He was exposed. Vulnerable. In the heart of the Whisperwood. Facing a threat. He hadn't anticipated. From this direction.
He dropped into a defensive crouch. His sword snapping back up. Mana surging instinctively. Preparing for a different kind of fight.
Not against a beast. But against trained killers.
The figures emerged from the shadows. Of the trees. Three of them. Moving with silent. Coordinated steps.
They were clad in dark. Non-reflective armor. Their faces hidden by masks. Their weapons were short. Curved blades. Designed for close-quarters combat. For silencing targets. Swiftly. And efficiently.
Their energy signatures were cold. Focused. Radiating lethal intent.
They fanned out. Surrounding the dell. Their gazes fixed. On Malrik.
Their movements were precise. Professional. Leaving no opening. No path of retreat. They had clearly studied their target. Assessed the terrain. Planned their approach. Meticulously.
One of them. The one in the center. Raised a hand. A silent signal.
The others tensed. Ready to spring.
Malrik stood alone. In the clearing. Sword raised. The scent of corrupted dust. And pine needles. In the air.
He was the villain. Embracing the shadows. Seeking power. And now. The shadows had sent. Their own hunters. After him.
He believed. With a chilling certainty. That this was a consequence. Of his growing power. Of the threats he had eliminated. Of the games he was playing. With Elian. And the others.
They had sent assassins. To silence the 'problematic'. Exiled prince.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: They think they can eliminate me? Here? After what I've faced? After what I've become? They underestimated me then. And they underestimate me now. Elian. If this is your doing… you play a dangerous game. But you are facing a player. You cannot comprehend. These assassins… they are skilled. Yes. But they are just another obstacle. Another test. Another opportunity. To learn. To grow stronger. I will face them. I will defeat them. And I will find out who sent them. And they will regret this night.)
The assassins moved as one. Launching their attack. With unnerving speed. And coordination.
The blades flashed. In the dim moonlight. Malrik met their charge. His sword singing. As it clashed against steel.
The brutal lessons. Of the Whisperwood. And the intricate control. Of the Shadow Weave. Converging.
In a desperate fight for survival.
Against a threat. He was certain. Had come to end him.