He’d expected that they’d set off as soon as possible, but apparently that wasn’t how a proper expeditionary force functioned. Supplies needed to be readied, documents filed, and the relevant individuals informed and assembled. Even in magic fantasy land, the long arm of bureaucracy could not be denied. All in all, he was told that it would take at least two to three hours before they could leave.

  It wasn’t the worst. He could afford to be a little patient. It even worked out in his favour. It gave him time to settle his group’s situation. All of them bar none had requested to be a part of the expeditionary force. He understood their desire, but he had feigned disappointment as he’d explained that it was a matter beyond his control. They’d need to take it up with Sthrillas.

  Secretly, he was glad that they’d likely not be allowed to come along. As much as they’d improved over the past few days, he didn’t think that they’d have the strength to survive the fight with something as supposedly powerful as the spirit. Not when its minions alone had done... what they’d done.

  So let them take it up with Sthrillas, and let him be the bad guy that shot them down. It was a masterful plan. Flynn avoided needless resentment, kept his group away from certain danger and made the cohort-chief's life just a little more annoying. A win-win-win situation wrapped up in a neat little box. It was perfect. Or at least, it would’ve been.

  But the prick had ruined it all by agreeing to their request. He agreed! How could he possibly have agreed? Flynn had feigned smiles and relief when Illsien came trotting back, a grin on his lips as he relayed the fact.

  Apparently, Illsien knew the cohort-chief. More so, he’d even trained the man during his own stint with the Keepers of the Wall – a paramilitary force that owed fealty to no tribe but the race as a whole. It was they who maintained the northern border against the relentless coloured one threat. Alves across the fungal forest were routinely recruited to join up, as Illsien had been during his youth. He’d even clawed his way up to a respectable position before age and his wounds had forced him to return to the clan again.

  And now, that personal connection had paid off. Flynn wanted to tear his hair off. He smiled and nodded until he was alone, and then he’d angry-walked all the way back to the bastard’s building. There, with a thin lid held over his temper, he’d demanded to know why the man had allowed them to join. And he was sure that it was for a reason beyond just his personal fondness for Illsien. Sthrillas hadn’t struck him as an idiot, despite his grievances with the man.

  He should’ve known that letting them dig their own graves would’ve been more efficient than letting them tag along. Both equated to the same end anyway. And he did, he’d readily admitted, but he’d had a good reason for it.

  “Imphar’Illar had also had companions.” the man had said excitedly, clearly working his way towards his point.

  Flynn gave him a look. “So?”

  “The tales claim that they’d been common folk at the start of their journey. Simple builders and farmers, rather than warriors. But by the end , they’d grown to the point that they stood as heroes right alongside her. Beings incomparable in sheer power to every other alf of their time. Do you understand?”

  He frowned, a thought bubbling up to the surface of his thoughts. “Were they her slaves?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “They were.”

  He understood then.

  Their levels. Working under the possibility that the woman, and every other one of the alien ‘levellers’ had operated under the same system as he did, he figured that the woman must’ve acquired Slavedriver as he had, which meant that her slaves had gained levels too. She’d been levelling them to power, and now Sthrillas intended for him to do the same.

  He wasn’t against it. He’d already started after all, but a question poked at him as he considered why the cohort-chief might be so invested in the idea.

  “Why?” he questioned. “Why does it matter if they grow strong with me or not?”

  “It matters more than you know, outsider. When the time comes, you will need all the help you can get.”

  That hadn’t sounded ominous at all. He furrowed his brow and stepped closer towards the alf.

  “When what time comes?” he asked, his voice low and cutting.

  The man said nothing more, no matter how much Flynn pushed him. He was eventually forced to leave before Sthrillas’s unbearably self-satisfied look threatened to make him do something that’d get him in far more trouble than it was worth. Grumbling, Flynn retreated.

  The next few hours passed quickly enough. There’d been a small mock battle between Flynn and one of Sthrillas’s warriors that’d been a decent distraction during the in-between. It'd been organized and insisted by the man himself, and Flynn had largely suspected that it’d been a simple means to test his battle skill ahead of the expedition. He handled himself well enough, using only his stats to carry him to victory without giving away his powers.

  It’d been harder than he’d expected though.

  The cohort-chief's warriors were a tough bunch, as he’d already guessed. They were faster, stronger and made of far stronger mettle than his own group. Even with his boosted stats, it’d been a small challenge keeping ahead. Especially when Sthrillas had forced an irate Astralien to join in. Fighting that man had been something else. It’d been his first real taste of an enemy who’d constantly and expertly used magic. Using his fungal powers, the high priest manipulated the tendrils he wore as extensions of himself, sharpening them into pronged-tentacles that moved with a fluid grace and struck with the force of a hammer-blow.

  Victory had been hard-won, and he’d earned more than one shallow cut for his efforts, but it’d been won, nonetheless. He might’ve even garnered some small respect from the mage for his victory, though it was still buried deep beneath mounds of suspicion and wariness. Not every one of the alf’s troops proved as openly accepting of his presence as Sthrillas was.

  He was still very much known as ‘the outsider’ to the lot.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Some of his own warriors had participated in the mock battles after his fight had wrapped up, though all of them had been defeated without contest. The likes of Silthius and Alsias had put up a good fight, but they’d stood no chance despite their growth.

  Illsien had promised to push their training further to not shame him again. He’d waved away the elder’s displeasure with a smile.

  It was late in the day by the time they finally set off from the encampment, a force nearly two-hundred strong moving as swiftly through the forest as they could with a small supply train in tow.

  ◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆

  Sthrillas had kept the exact details of their eventual destination a secret from Flynn, much to his consternation. Not even Illsien had been let into that big secret. So, it was all that the group could do to follow mutely along like lost lambs led by a shepherd.

  At least, they knew they were going the right way when each tribe that they passed along the way sprouted successively thicker walls and bristling defences. The folk of those tribes had watched their grand expedition march past with hopeful smiles mingled with eyes full of fear and concern. Living so close to the terror, they likely knew better than most the odds that they were wilfully walking towards.

  A few priests had even sung a hymn for them as they passed by. The song had done little to boost Flynn’s spirits, but the others seemed to have taken some comfort from it and that was good enough for him.

  It was five hours after setting off that the group realized that they’d started to tread into spirit territory.

  The first signs had come when the ambient chatter of the forest had started to slowly die decibel by decibel. Flynn hadn’t noticed it at first, but soon enough it became startlingly evident just how deafeningly quiet the forest around them had become. No animal cries. No bird calls. Not even the wind seemed to dare sing between the stalks. It was as if all life had been drained away, and the expedition trudged on enveloped in a thick, eerie silence.

  “Every living thing here is under the spirit’s sway.” Sthrillas had explained. “Even the critters and worms. It is one of the larger reasons why past expeditions never succeeded in slaying the beast. How can one slay a thing that has a thousand eyes and ears to see you coming?”

  “What made you think that an expedition could succeed this time?” asked Flynn.

  “You.” said the warrior cheerily.

  The youth gave him an unamused look. He laughed. “Well, you certainly do help, but the truth is that much hasn’t changed. It is simply that the spirit has grown more hostile than we are willing to abide. Attacks that used to come once every few weeks or months now come every few days, and it only grows bolder. It never dared to wipe out an entire tribe before, and now we fear what it may attempt next. We can no longer tolerate its presence at our backs when a larger threat looms beyond our walls.”

  “So, if you see something skittering around the underbrush, feel free to stick an arrow through it.”

  Flynn didn’t need to be told twice. Already, he’d put a hole through a few birds that’d been following them too keenly at a distance. The creatures had been quiet, but nothing escaped his Monster Sense.

  “Anythin’ else I need to know?” he asked. “Specifically, about the spirit. I don’t really wanna run into any nasty surprises when the fight starts.”

  The man answered with a casual shrug. “We know surprisingly little save for a few minor details. It was largely ignored for most of our history, like one would a wild animal knowing it lived nearby. It went about its business, as did we. Aside from specific instances, such as the time preceeding Imphar’Illar’s arrival, and now, it is a quiet sort.”

  Flynn’s brow furrowed. There was a point there. “It only acts up right before a leveller arrives?”

  Sthrillas gave him no answer. “Maybe.”

  “How could it know?”

  Another shrug. Flynn shot the alf an irate look before turning away. It was an important question. How could it possibly know when people like him appeared? Unless... unless it was informed each time. Unless it was a part of whatever power had brought him here. Was responsible for all of this.

  He was still in an exam, he reminded himself. Did it know that? Flynn paused and glanced about. These people didn’t, clearly. They had no idea that their entire world; their very lives and futures were being used by a higher power. That they were just toys to be used for tests and discarded after until the next one. Could he claim that he wasn’t the same? That he wasn't a toy of a different sort?

  He knew too little on the matter to be sure, and Flynn hated that. He hated more that he didn’t want to tell them. What would it accomplish? Either he would be ignored as a madman, even with his leveller status, or worse, they would believe him, and the fabric of their entire society may come apart.

  Could he risk it? Imphar’Illar clearly hadn’t. Had the alien woman grappled with the same questions as he had? She must’ve, and she’d likely come to the same answer that he had.

  Ignorance was preferrable, at times.

  Flynn swallowed the thought down like a disgusting mouthful before he swept his mind clean of a brimming moral crisis. He had more pressing matters to concentrate on.

  The further they pushed into the forest, the more evident the spirit’s presence became, and the greater the likelihood of danger. The mushrooms around them grew strange, twisted beyond natural proportions, with some sprouting face-like structures, or arm-like branches grasping at the air. Even the flesh beneath their feet became darker, a bruised purple instead of the rich red he’d seen thus far.

  It was proof enough that they weren’t too far off from the heart of the evil. Flynn could almost feel its presence in the distance, beckoning him closer. He smiled with expectation. The monster had targeted him twice already, he suspected. The first with the Ozana with him conveniently nearby, and the second a more direct assault. Given Sthrillas’s belief in his supposed importance to the people, Flynn was willing to give the theory more credit than he otherwise would’ve.

  The spirit might want him here. It might’ve even planned everything thus far to lure him into its embrace. If so, he didn’t really care. His choice had been made the moment the monster had slain his people.

  He needed to see it dead.

  And it likely wanted to see him dead just as dearly.

  Flynn was the first to sense the taken-beast coming. A dozen of them snuck around the edge of his sensory range, positioning themselves into ambush formation just as they’d done during the nighttime raid. Well, he was awake this time, and he had no intention of letting them catch anyone by surprise again.

  Flynn quickly informed Sthrillas of the monster’s presence. The cohort-chief's reaction was immediate. The alves, already moving in a practiced, fluid formation, quietly adapted more defensive positioning. His group was moved up until they stood by his side, enveloped under the protective shield of his watchful gaze, and then the expedition continued, pretending at obliviousness.

  Lure them in, the man had said softly. Let us have them within reach before battle is met, rather than afar where they can more easily escape. The plan had sounded simple, but solid. Still, he knew well that the heavens laughed at the best-laid plans of mortal men. Hopefully, this wasn’t one of those times.

  The attack came a few minutes after he’d first sensed them. Twenty taken-beasts rushed them from a single direction, their monstrous figures bursting out of the underbrush with open maws and bared claws.

  The alves reacted with practiced professionalism. Spears cut into the wretches before they could land a single hit, and the thwang of bows cut apart the momentum of their charge. Those that managed to sneak past both blade and arrow found themselves struggling impotently against unrelenting shields until others could strike them from the side.

  It was impressive, how easily the cohort made the bloody work of slaughter look. His group was speechless, and even Flynn had to give the man credit where it was due. They’d taken apart the assault with ease within minutes, leaving only a butcher’s bill behind scattered across the forest floor. His group hadn’t even had the time to raise a single spear.

  Flynn hadn’t cared much, though Illsien and the others clearly hadn’t been as nonchalant about it all. Their blood was up, and they were peeved at being denied a chance to wet their blades.

  Sthrillas had recognized that.

  “Next time.” the man had promised as they walked. “That was just a probing attack. More will come, and in greater numbers. Your slaves will have their opportunities yet.”

  Sthrillas’s words proved prophetic in the hours to come.