The Treant Guard died screaming.
Its death wasn't quick or clean. The two Fighters had learned its patterns, timing their strikes between its massive swings. When the construct brought both fists down to crush them, they rolled apart—and struck.
"Sunder Strike!" The first Fighter's blade glowed dull red with channeled force, his Tier 1 ability designed to break armor and shields. Against the Treant's root-joints, it carved through like an axe through old wood.
"Piercing Thrust!" His partner lunged high, the technique concentrating all his strength into a single point. Where crude steel should have merely scratched, the enhanced blade punched deep into the amber eye.
The construct's left arm fell away in a cascade of dirt and splintered wood. It tried to compensate, swinging its remaining fist in a desperate arc, but the Fighters pressed their advantage.
"Now! Before it regenerates!" The first Fighter activated Crippling Blow, targeting the wooden leg's joint. Tendons of root and vine severed with wet snaps.
The Treant toppled backward with the sound of a mountain avalanche. Earth and stone crashed down, the impact shaking the ground. Its remaining eye flickered once—a last glimpse of consciousness—before going dark forever.
Hemlock felt its death like a blade through his own chest. The connection severed with brutal finality, taking with it a massive chunk of his remaining mana. Blood burst from his nose as magical backlash hammered through his system.
"Teacher!" Elara's cry cut through the chaos, but she couldn't help.
"Shadow Step!" The first Thief vanished from her peripheral vision, reappearing behind her in a blur of darkness. His poisoned blade whistled past her ear as she desperately threw herself sideways.
Iska lunged for the attacker's throat, but the second Thief was already moving. "Backstab!" The Tier 1 assassination technique found flesh despite the wolf's supernatural agility. The blade punched through fur and muscle, seeking vital organs.
The blade found flesh. Iska's yelp of pain tore through the night as she twisted away, crimson staining her white fur. The wolf's left foreleg buckled, but she kept fighting, fangs bared in defiance.
"No!" Elara's magic surged desperately. "Thorn Volley!" The wooden projectiles forced the Thieves back, but the spell was weak, unfocused. She was barely Tier 0, her power nothing compared to what they faced.
Borin saw it happening but couldn't stop it. "Suppressing Fire!" Roric's Hunter ability turned his crossbow into a rapid-fire weapon, bolts streaming from the mechanism faster than should be possible. The technique drained stamina but kept targets thoroughly pinned.
Every time Borin tried to rise and put an arrow in Gregor, bolts whistled past his head. One grazed his shoulder, tearing through leather and flesh. Hot blood soaked his sleeve.
"Damn you," the Ranger growled, trying to activate Eagle Eye for a precision shot through cover. But Roric had positioned one of the regular mercenaries as a spotter. The sellsword couldn't match a Hunter's skill, but his crossbow added enough extra fire to keep Borin thoroughly suppressed.
Valerius circled the meeting hall like a shadow given form. The muffled sobs of frightened children leaked through the barricaded windows, mixing with the distant sounds of battle. Perfect. Every defender was engaged, every eye turned outward.
Exploit Opening activated instinctively, his Schemer senses dissecting the fortifications. The patterns revealed themselves—not in the physical barriers, but in the human element. There. The eastern window where nervous eyes kept peeking out, checking the same angle repeatedly. Amateur mistake. Predictable timing. A seventeen-second gap between checks.
He waited. The watcher turned away to report another "all clear." Valerius moved.
The window gave way silently under his lockpicks. As he slipped through, Plausible Presence settled over him like a familiar cloak. To any who glimpsed him in the chaos, he would register as just another villager—someone who belonged, someone forgettable. A frightened man checking the defenses, perhaps.
He landed in a crouch behind overturned tables. One of the guards glanced his way, but their eyes slid past him without alarm. Just another worried adult moving through the shadows.
The hall's interior revealed itself—families huddled at the far end, a few young people standing guard, and there, mounted above the great hearth...
The sensing matrix in his chest blazed with heat.
Magnificent white antlers spread across the wall, each point gleaming with an inner light that had nothing to do with the fire below. Caelus's antlers. A Tier 2 peak beast's essence. The very object his Master had sent him to retrieve.
Valerius smiled. While fools died for coin outside, he would claim the true prize.
He rose from his crouch, moving toward the hearth with practiced silence. Just a few more steps—
"Stop right there."
The voice was young but steady. Valerius turned to find a boy blocking his path, exhaustion written across his features but determination in his stance. Somehow, this child had seen through Plausible Presence.
Read Intent flowed naturally, his Schemer instincts probing the boy's emotional state. Fear—yes, plenty of that. Exhaustion from whatever training had left those bruises. A protective instinct toward the cowering families. And beneath it all... something else. A tremor of magical resonance.
"You're the Awakened one," Valerius said, his voice calm, conversational. "The village's newest defender."
The boy's hands trembled slightly as frost began to gather around his fingers. "I-I'm an Arcane Squire! Stay back!"
Ice materialized—a sword in one hand, crude and unrefined. Exactly what a panicked Tier 0 would produce under stress. Read Intent confirmed it: genuine fear, desperate bravado, a child trying to look brave.
"An Arcane Squire," Valerius mused, taking a step forward. "How unfortunate for you."
The boy raised his ice blade with shaking hands. "I said stay back! I'll—I'll fight you!"
Perfect. Valerius drew his own blade, its steel gleaming in the firelight. A frightened child with basic elemental magic against a trained Schemer. This would be over quickly.
Their weapons met with a crystalline ring. The ice held against steel—surprising, but not concerning. No unusual cold, no spreading frost. Just simple magical ice.
They exchanged several passes, Alph's movements growing clumsier with each clash. His swings were wide, telegraphed—a textbook example of someone who'd learned swordplay from books rather than practice.
That's it, Alph thought, letting his exhaustion show while carefully suppressing the frostbite effect. See what you expect to see. Tired boy, basic magic, nothing special.
"Is this what they teach in the mountains?" Valerius taunted, easily deflecting another graceless strike. The ice weapons showed no unusual properties, no hint of anything beyond basic conjuration.
Alph stumbled back, breathing hard. The exhaustion was real—his body still ached from morning training—but he played it up, letting his shoulders sag more than necessary. "Just... just leave us alone!" He raised an ice shield with visibly shaking arms.
Test it, Alph willed silently. Build your confidence.
Valerius tested it with a probing strike. The shield cracked but held—Alph had structured it to look solid while being deliberately brittle. No spreading cold, no numbing effect. Read Intent continued to feed him the same story: exhausted boy, fading strength, desperate to protect but utterly outmatched.
"You're brave," Valerius admitted, shattering the weakened shield with a second strike. "Stupid, but brave."