Chapter 14: The Beast of Verdainne

  The escort had come to a complete halt. The once-steady rhythm of hooves against the dirt road had given way to uneasy murmurs among the knights. The tension was thick in the air, pressing down on them like an approaching storm.

  Caelan dismounted swiftly, his boots kicking up dust as he approached Edric, who was still steadying his horse. The veteran knight was no stranger to battle, yet there was something in his eyes—a deep, lingering wariness that sent a shiver of foreboding through Caelan.

  Caelan wasted no time. "What did you see?"

  Edric took a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "Tracks. Massive ones." He hesitated before adding, "And something was in the woods, following us. Stalking us."

  Caelan narrowed his eyes. "Stalking?"

  Edric gave a firm nod. "A beast. A predator. It didn’t strike while we were investigating—it waited. It circled the wagon we found, just as it circled us."

  The other scouts shifted uneasily in their saddles, their matchlocks still in hand, smoldering fuses glowing faintly. The fact that they had returned with their weapons still drawn meant only one thing—they had been prepared to fire.

  Caelan crossed his arms, his mind racing. "You’re saying it was watching you?"

  "It was more than that," Edric muttered, glancing back toward the treeline. "It wanted us to know we were being watched."

  Silence settled over them. The Verdainne Forest loomed in the distance, its dark expanse stretching far beyond what the eye could see. Whatever had been inside was still there. Waiting. Watching.

  Caelan turned to his father. "We need to decide our next move."

  The Duke’s expression was unreadable, but his gaze remained locked on the distant trees. He was thinking, calculating.

  Finally, he exhaled. "We ride. Now."

  No one argued.

  The escort tightened formation, and with renewed urgency, they set off down the road. But as Caelan mounted his horse once more, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just leaving something behind.

  They were being followed.

  The Duke wasted no time in making his decision.

  "We're not taking the main road through the Verdainne," he declared, his voice sharp and unwavering. "We ride around the forest, even if it delays us. I will not risk this escort walking into an unseen threat."

  There was no argument. Whatever lurked in those woods was no ordinary beast, and none of them were eager to test its patience.

  Edric was the first to nod. "A wise choice, my lord. If we push south along the valley roads, we should reach a settlement by nightfall. There will be travelers and merchants we can warn about what we’ve seen."

  The Duke turned to one of the knights in the escort, a seasoned rider named Ser Mathieu, known for his speed and reliability.

  "Mathieu, take the fastest horse and ride back to the last fork in the road. If any travelers approach, warn them not to enter the Verdainne until the situation is dealt with. Tell them to pass the message along to the next village. We can’t let anyone else wander into those woods unaware."

  The knight nodded firmly, bowing slightly before kicking his horse into motion. Within seconds, he was galloping back the way they had come, disappearing beyond the rolling hills.

  Duke Adrien turned back to the escort. "The rest of us move. Now."

  The group veered off the main road, shifting southwest onto a smaller but well-worn path that ran parallel to the Verdainne’s border. The road was rougher, less traveled, but it was open—far safer than the shadowed depths of the forest.

  Caelan kept his horse steady beside Edric, his mind still turning over what had happened. "That thing in the woods," he muttered, just loud enough for the knight to hear. "Do you think it’s still watching us?"

  Edric exhaled through his nose, glancing back toward the treeline. "If it is, it’s keeping its distance. Beasts don’t usually leave prey once they’ve marked them."

  Caelan frowned. That was what unsettled him most. The creature had stalked Edric’s group, had let them see its presence, yet it hadn’t attacked. It had let them go.

  And that begged the question—why?

  Ahead, the road stretched onward, winding through the countryside. They rode in near silence, the knights more vigilant than ever. Every so often, one of them would glance back at the forest, as if expecting something to emerge from its depths.

  After an hour of steady riding, the road began to widen, the land flattening into open plains. In the distance, thin trails of smoke curled into the sky—the telltale sign of a village.

  Edric nodded toward it. "We’ll find answers there."

  Caelan narrowed his eyes at the distant settlement. If they were lucky, the people there would have heard rumors—perhaps of missing travelers, strange sightings, or worse.

  One way or another, they were going to find out exactly what kind of nightmare had been let loose in the Verdainne.

  As the escort neared the village, the smell of burning wood and freshly tilled earth filled the air. It was a modest settlement—wooden cottages with thatched roofs, dirt roads winding between them, and a handful of farmers tending to their fields. A few villagers turned their heads as the mounted knights approached, their expressions wary.

  Duke Adrien raised a hand, signaling for a halt. The clatter of hooves slowed as the knights pulled their horses to a stop near what appeared to be the village square—a simple gathering area with a well at its center.

  Caelan dismounted, stretching his legs. As he scanned the settlement, he immediately noticed something odd.

  The villagers looked tense.

  It wasn’t the usual unease that came with the sight of armed nobility passing through. There was fear in their eyes—subtle, but unmistakable. Women whispered to one another from their doorsteps. A few men gripped their tools tighter than necessary, their knuckles white.

  Caelan stepped beside his father. "They know something," he muttered.

  The Duke nodded. "Let’s find out what."

  A stocky man, dressed in weathered leather and carrying a bow slung across his back, stepped forward from the gathering villagers. His face was lined with age, his beard streaked with gray, but his eyes were sharp—watchful.

  He bowed his head slightly in respect but wasted no time with pleasantries. "My lords," he said, his voice rough from years of work outdoors. "You come from the east?"

  Duke Adrien regarded him carefully. "We do. And you are?"

  "Renaud. Hunter and tracker," the man replied. His gaze flickered toward the Verdainne Forest, still visible in the distance. "If you traveled near the woods, then you must have seen something."

  Caelan studied the hunter. The way he spoke… he already knew.

  "We didn’t just see something," Edric said, stepping forward. "We were hunted."

  A murmur rippled through the gathered villagers. Fear. Concern. Recognition.

  Renaud exhaled, rubbing his bearded chin. "Then it’s as I feared. The beast has returned."

  Caelan’s eyes narrowed. "You know what it is?"

  Renaud hesitated, then nodded. "Not by name. But by its work. I’ve tracked many things in my years. Wolves, bears, even the occasional rogue lion brought from the southern provinces." His expression darkened. "But what’s in the Verdainne? That’s no ordinary beast."

  The Duke’s gaze sharpened. "Explain."

  Renaud glanced around, as if ensuring no one else was too close to listen. Then, in a low voice, he spoke.

  "Travelers have gone missing near the Verdainne before," he said. "Wagons found abandoned. Blood on the roads, but no bodies. We used to think it was bandits or slavers… until we found what was left of a merchant’s horse."

  Caelan’s brow furrowed. "What was left of it?"

  Renaud’s jaw tightened. "Bones. Stripped clean. And not by scavengers."

  Silence hung heavy over the group. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them.

  Caelan folded his arms. "You said the beast has ‘returned.’ That means this isn’t the first time."

  Renaud nodded gravely. "Aye. Years ago, before I was even born, the elders spoke of a creature that roamed these lands. It came from the deep woods, striking at night, leaving nothing but empty homes and lost souls. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished. We thought it was a tale to keep children from wandering too far."

  He glanced toward the Verdainne again. "But I don’t think it ever left. I think it was simply waiting."

  Caelan exchanged a look with his father. This was no mere rogue animal. This was something far worse.

  Duke Adrien turned to Renaud. "Can you track it?"

  The hunter hesitated, then exhaled. "I can try. But if I do, my lords, you must understand something." His gaze was grim. "This is no ordinary hunt."

  Caelan met his stare. "We wouldn't be here if it was."

  The fire in the village square crackled softly as a tense silence settled over the gathered men. Renaud’s weathered face was unreadable as he studied Caelan, his fingers absently brushing the leather grip of the bow slung over his shoulder.

  "You truly mean to hunt it?" the hunter asked, his voice low.

  Caelan met his gaze, standing firm. "If a threat exists within Frankia’s borders, it must be dealt with."

  Renaud sighed, shaking his head. "Then listen well, my lord. You are not the first noble to think this way."

  He crouched beside the fire, staring into the flames as he spoke. His voice carried the weight of stories passed down through generations—stories not written in books, but whispered in darkened rooms, told only by those who had survived.

  "The Verdainne has always been feared," Renaud said. "But every few decades, there comes a time when the fear turns to terror. Stories spread. Farmers vanish from their fields, travelers disappear on the roads, and sometimes… entire villages go silent."

  He glanced up, his sharp eyes scanning Caelan’s face. "The lords before you sent hunting parties—knights, rangers, mercenaries. Men armed with steel and courage, believing that no beast could stand against them. But none ever returned."

  Caelan stiffened. "None?"

  "Not alive," Renaud said grimly. "Occasionally, we’d find remnants. Broken weapons, shattered armor, trails of blood leading into the deep woods. But never bodies. Never graves."

  A cold sensation curled in Caelan’s stomach. Not even war had unsettled him like this. On Earth, every battle he fought had been against men. Armies, strategies, tactics—those were things he understood.

  But this?

  This was something else entirely.

  Renaud continued, his tone growing darker. "The elders believed the beast doesn’t kill for survival alone. It lures people in. It lets some escape so that word spreads, so that more men will come looking for it… only to be devoured."

  The words sent a ripple of unease through the knights standing nearby. It was a terrifying idea—a predator that didn’t just hunt, but baited its prey into hunting it.

  Caelan clenched his fists, forcing himself to think logically. If this thing was real—if it was truly intelligent enough to set traps—then they weren’t dealing with an animal. They were facing something that belonged in legend.

  Edric, standing beside him, crossed his arms. "If this thing is as dangerous as you claim, then we’ll need more than just a few knights to deal with it."

  The Duke, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Then we shall summon them."

  The air around Duke Adrien was heavy with authority as he turned to his men. "Ser Renault. Ser Aubert."

  Two knights straightened at the call. "My lord?"

  "You will ride to the Forneaux garrison in Montrevelle and deliver my command. A full company of soldiers is to be mobilized immediately. We will not take any chances with this creature."

  The knights saluted before mounting their horses without hesitation. Within moments, they were riding hard toward the distant garrison, carrying the Duke’s orders.

  Caelan exhaled slowly. Reinforcements would take time to arrive. Until then, they were on their own.

  Renaud watched the knights disappear into the distance before turning back to Caelan. "Sending for soldiers is wise. But numbers won’t save you if you don’t know what you’re hunting."

  Caelan hesitated, then nodded. "Then we need to learn more."

  The hunter’s expression was grim. "Then you’ll have to go deeper into the woods than any have dared before."

  Caelan felt the weight of the decision pressing on him. For the first time since his rebirth, he was about to face something he couldn’t predict. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he would survive.

  But one thing was certain—the Verdainne Forest would not let them go so easily.

  The village had settled into an uneasy quiet as night fell.

  Caelan sat near the small hearth in his assigned lodging, a modest wooden house offered by the village elders for the noble guests. The flickering fire cast long shadows against the walls, but it did little to warm the unease sitting deep in his chest.

  The day’s events replayed in his mind—the beast, the stories, the missing hunting parties. Everything pointed to a predator unlike anything he had ever faced before.

  Outside, the sounds of the village winding down for the night drifted through the window—muffled voices, the occasional bark of a dog, the creak of wooden doors being shut and barred. The Duke had ordered knights to keep watch along the village perimeter, just in case. They weren’t going to take chances.

  Caelan exhaled, rubbing his temples. Rest would be difficult tonight.

  But then—

  A scream tore through the night.

  His eyes snapped open. Not a distant, muffled sound. Not a drunken brawl. A real scream—raw, panicked, and full of terror.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Caelan was already on his feet when a heavy knock rattled his door.

  "My lord!" A familiar voice, Lucien’s, sharp and urgent. "Wake up! We’re under attack!"

  Caelan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his sword, threw open the door—and was met with chaos.

  The once-quiet village square was a scene of horror.

  Shadows moved between houses—figures dragged into the darkness by unseen hands. Doors hung open, abandoned or smashed apart. A woman ran past, clutching a child to her chest, her face streaked with terror.

  The village torches flickered wildly, their light barely cutting through the gloom. But it wasn’t bandits, nor an army—it was something else.

  "Lucien!" Caelan turned to his friend, who was already fastening his breastplate, his sword drawn. "What’s happening?"

  Lucien’s expression was grim. "We don’t know. Something is out there, taking people. The knights are trying to hold the perimeter, but—"

  A piercing shriek from deeper in the village. Then a wet, guttural crunch.

  Caelan and Lucien turned just in time to see a dark figure yanked violently into the alleyway by something massive.

  No cry for help. No struggle. Just silence.

  Caelan’s stomach turned to ice.

  Lucien gritted his teeth. "We need to rally the knights. Now!"

  Caelan nodded, forcing his fear down. They had prepared for battle—but they had not prepared for this.

  Whatever haunted the Verdainne was no longer just watching.

  It had come to feed.

  Caelan and Lucien sprinted through the village streets, their boots pounding against the dirt road. Screams echoed from all directions—some distant, some terrifyingly close. Shadows danced in the flickering torchlight, but whatever lurked in the darkness was always just beyond their sight.

  As they neared the village square, they spotted movement—knights, forming a defensive perimeter around the panicked villagers.

  "Caelan! Over here!"

  Edric’s voice cut through the chaos. He stood at the edge of the square, his matchlock pistol in one hand, sword in the other. His armor was streaked with dirt, his face set in a grim scowl.

  Caelan and Lucien reached him just as another bloodcurdling shriek came from one of the outer houses.

  Edric turned to them. "We’re under siege, my lord! Something is hunting the villagers—dragging them into the dark!"

  Caelan scanned the square. Dozens of terrified men, women, and children huddled together in the center. The knights had formed a defensive half-circle around them, shields raised, matchlocks smoldering, ready to fire at the first sign of an attack.

  But the problem wasn’t knowing where to defend. The problem was that they couldn’t see their enemy.

  Lucien clenched his jaw. "How many did we lose?"

  Edric exhaled sharply. "Too many. They strike fast, drag people away before we can even react. We’ve been pulling as many as we can back here, but some houses are already empty. No blood. No bodies. Just… gone."

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  A sudden thud made them all turn.

  One of the knights had collapsed, gasping for air. Another knelt beside him. "It’s Ser Bastien! Something grabbed him!"

  Caelan rushed forward. The knight’s armor was scratched, torn at the shoulder as if something had tried to pull him away. His eyes were wide, unfocused.

  "Bastien!" Caelan shook him. "What happened? What did you see?"

  The knight swallowed, his breath ragged. "Eyes. In the dark. So many eyes…"

  Caelan’s blood ran cold. They weren’t dealing with just one creature.

  "Enough waiting!" Caelan straightened, turning to the knights. "We hold the line here. Form a full perimeter—shields locked, matchlocks ready!"

  Edric barked orders. "You heard him! Tighten formation! Keep the torches high! We make them come to us!"

  The knights obeyed without hesitation, closing ranks as the last villagers were pulled into the square. The perimeter was set—but for how long?

  Then—silence.

  No more screams. No more dragging noises.

  Just the sound of wind rustling through the trees.

  Lucien exhaled, sweat glistening on his brow. "They’ve stopped?"

  Caelan shook his head. No. They were waiting. Watching.

  Then, from the rooftops above—a low growl rumbled through the night.

  Caelan slowly looked up.

  And in the torchlight, he saw them.

  Eyes. Glowing, inhuman eyes, reflecting the firelight.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  The hunt wasn’t over. It was only just beginning.

  The air was thick with tension.

  Caelan’s breath was slow and controlled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. The inhuman eyes glowed from the rooftops, unblinking, studying them. Whatever these creatures were, they were patient—they weren’t attacking recklessly.

  They were testing them.

  A torch flickered, casting jagged shadows against the walls. Someone swallowed nervously. The knights stood firm, their matchlocks aimed, fingers hovering over the triggers. But no one fired.

  Then—

  A sudden movement.

  One of the villagers at the back of the group—a thin, frail man in a torn tunic—broke.

  His eyes were wide with terror, his breath coming in rapid gasps. "No—no, I can’t—I can’t stay here!"

  "Wait—!" A knight reached for him.

  Too late.

  With a desperate scream, the man turned and ran.

  Straight into the dark.

  For a heartbeat, it was silent. Then—

  SHLICK!

  The sound was sickening, a wet piercing crunch followed by the villager’s choked gasp.

  Caelan turned just in time to see it—a long, jagged spike had burst through the man’s chest. A tail. Black as night, barbed like a spear.

  The villager barely had time to whimper before—

  He was yanked backward, disappearing into the darkness.

  Gone.

  A horrified silence fell over the group.

  Caelan’s pulse thundered in his ears. It had been so fast. No sound. No warning. Just a flash of movement, and the man was gone.

  Lucien’s jaw clenched. "We can’t stay here."

  Caelan forced himself to think. They were surrounded. The creatures were intelligent, organized. They weren’t attacking outright—they were waiting for mistakes. And the moment one was made, they struck.

  "We need a plan," Edric muttered, eyes scanning the darkness. "Or we’re going to die here."

  A low growl rumbled again from the rooftops.

  The creatures were waiting for their next mistake.

  Caelan exhaled, his mind racing. This wasn’t just about surviving. They had to outthink the hunters before they became the hunted.

  And fast.

  The silence was suffocating.

  Caelan’s mind raced, calculating their options. They couldn’t stay here, not out in the open like this. The creatures were hunting them with intelligence—waiting for them to panic, to break formation. And the moment someone did…

  He grimaced, his thoughts flashing back to the villager. Gone. In seconds.

  Then—a sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the night.

  Thwip!

  A whistling arrow sliced through the air—fast, precise.

  The shot found its mark.

  A beast on the rooftop let out a deep, guttural snarl, jerking its head back as the arrow struck one of its four glowing eyes. A thick, inky fluid oozed from the wound as the creature let out a rasping growl of pain.

  Caelan snapped his head toward the shooter.

  Renaud.

  The veteran hunter already had another arrow nocked, his expression hard, focused.

  "So they can bleed," Renaud muttered. "That means they can die."

  The wounded creature snarled again, then scuttled backward, retreating from the rooftop and vanishing into the shadows.

  For a brief moment, silence fell over the village square.

  Then… movement.

  The eyes were gone.

  Caelan scanned the rooftops, the alleys, the darkened edges of the village. No sign of them. The creatures had pulled back. Watching. Waiting. Reassessing.

  Lucien exhaled sharply. "They’re not attacking."

  Edric tightened his grip on his sword. "Not yet."

  Renaud lowered his bow slightly, keeping his gaze on the rooftops. "They’re smart. But now they know we can hurt them."

  Caelan exhaled. This was their chance.

  "They’re regrouping," he said. "We have to move before they decide to strike again."

  Duke Adrien stepped forward. "Where?"

  Caelan’s mind raced. They needed shelter. A defensible position. Somewhere they could force the creatures into a direct fight—where strategy could overcome their speed.

  Then it hit him.

  "The chapel," he said. "It’s stone-built, limited entry points. If we can get inside, we can hold them off until reinforcements arrive."

  Edric gave a sharp nod. "It’s our best option."

  Duke Adrien turned to the knights. "Move the villagers—now!"

  The order was given. The evacuation had begun.

  Caelan tightened his grip on his sword. They weren’t out of danger yet. But they had their first advantage.

  And for the first time, he wasn’t just reacting to the creatures’ hunt.

  He was turning the hunt against them.

  Lucien stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the flickering torchlight. His expression was tense, his posture ready—he wasn’t just walking. He was hunting.

  "I'll take point," he said, his voice low but firm. "We move in formation. Slow, steady. No sudden movements."

  Caelan watched as Lucien locked eyes with the knights, making sure they understood. They couldn’t afford to break formation. One mistake—one panicked villager running again—and the creatures would strike.

  Lucien glanced back at Caelan. "Stay close."

  Caelan clenched his fists. He hated this feeling. Watching, waiting, relying on others while the threat loomed around them. He had commanded armies, led men into battle. Yet here he was, unarmed, dependent on others to shield him from the danger.

  No. Not this time.

  He turned to a nearby knight, one who was gripping a matchlock pistol in his armored gauntlet. "Give me your spare matchlock."

  The knight hesitated. "My lord?"

  Caelan’s expression was sharp. "Now."

  The knight obeyed, pulling a second matchlock pistol from his belt and handing it over. It was heavier than Caelan expected, the polished wood cool against his fingers. The slow match was already smoldering, ready to ignite the powder.

  Lucien arched an eyebrow. "You ever fired one before?"

  Caelan smirked, weighing the weapon in his grip. "I’ve fought wars, Lucien. I think I can manage."

  Lucien huffed, but there was no time for argument.

  "Let’s move," he said.

  The group began their march.

  Lucien led the way, his blade reflecting the dim torchlight as he moved with careful precision. Behind him, the knights walked in a tight defensive formation, shields raised, matchlocks ready.

  In the center, the terrified villagers clung to one another, their footsteps hurried but controlled. No one ran. No one screamed. They knew what awaited them if they did.

  Caelan stayed near the back, his pistol gripped tightly in his hands. He scanned the rooftops, the alleys, the dark spaces between the buildings—anywhere something could be lurking.

  The chapel was in sight now, its stone walls and heavy wooden doors barely visible in the dim torchlight. They were close.

  But the silence was unbearable.

  Not a single growl. No shifting movement. The creatures had disappeared.

  That was what unsettled Caelan the most. They weren’t gone.

  They were waiting.

  And he had the sinking feeling they wouldn’t make it to the chapel unchallenged.

  The march toward the chapel continued, the air thick with tension. The silence was unnatural, suffocating. The villagers huddled together in the center of the formation, their eyes darting between the shadows of the alleyways and rooftops.

  Lucien remained at the front, his sword raised and ready. The knights moved in sync, shields up, matchlocks primed. They were close now—just a few more streets to go.

  Then—

  A deafening crash.

  Wood splintered as a beast burst through the walls of an adjacent building, exploding into the street in a blur of motion.

  It was fast—too fast.

  Before anyone could react, it lunged for the nearest villager—a young man barely past his teenage years. Its twisted, sinewy body moved like a shadow given form, its claws reaching—

  Caelan didn’t think.

  He raised the matchlock, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  BOOM!

  The gunshot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space.

  The heavy lead ball slammed into the beast’s side, just beneath where its ribs would be. A wet, sickening crunch followed.

  The creature let out a guttural screech—not a roar, but something lower, something unnatural.

  It twisted away from its target, stumbling as black, viscous blood seeped from the wound. Its many glowing eyes locked onto Caelan for a brief moment—confusion, rage.

  Then, it turned and scampered into the darkness, vanishing between buildings.

  For a long moment, there was only silence.

  Then someone—a villager—spoke. "He… he hurt it."

  Caelan exhaled slowly, the weight of the matchlock heavy in his grasp. His ears were still ringing, his pulse steady.

  Lucien glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Good shot."

  Caelan held out the spent pistol. "I’ll need another."

  One of the knights hesitated before handing him a second matchlock. Another quickly took the used one, preparing to reload it. The men moved with precise efficiency, following his lead without question.

  Caelan took the fresh pistol, testing its weight before looking back at the villagers. Their fear was still there—but now, it was mixed with something else.

  Hope.

  The young noble had stood his ground. He had fought back, and he had wounded the thing that had terrorized them.

  The panic in their eyes lessened, their breathing steadied.

  Caelan exhaled and turned toward the chapel. "Let’s move."

  No one argued.

  And so, with renewed determination, they continued forward—one step closer to sanctuary.

  But Caelan knew one thing for certain.

  The creatures wouldn’t let them leave so easily.

  The chapel’s stone walls loomed ahead, a beacon of hope in the chaos.

  The group reached the entrance without another attack. The knights rushed the villagers inside, their expressions tense but focused. Every second counted.

  Caelan stayed outside, ushering the last few people in. His heart was steady, his focus sharp. The creatures had pulled back, likely waiting for a better moment to strike. If they could just get inside and barricade the doors, they might survive the night.

  But the Verdainne hunters were not so easily denied.

  A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air—close.

  Too close.

  Caelan barely had time to react before something lunged from the shadows.

  It came from an unseen angle—fast, silent, precise.

  A blur of motion. A flash of fangs.

  It was coming for him.

  Instinct took over.

  Caelan barely managed to throw his arms up, matchlock in hand, turning the firearm sideways just as the creature’s massive jaws snapped down.

  CRUNCH!

  The beast’s teeth clamped onto the wooden stock of the pistol. A fraction slower, and those fangs would have sunk into his throat.

  Its momentum carried it forward, slamming into Caelan with terrifying force.

  He was yanked backward, his boots skidding against the ground as the creature dragged him toward the darkness.

  "Caelan!"

  Lucien’s voice, raw with panic.

  "Hold on!"

  The knights shouted in alarm, weapons raised, but the beast was moving too fast.

  Caelan gritted his teeth, feeling the monster’s strength through his arms. It wasn’t just trying to kill him.

  It was trying to separate him from the others.

  His mind raced. He couldn’t overpower it. If he tried to wrestle, it would rip him apart.

  Only one option.

  Let go.

  With a sharp exhale, he released his grip on the matchlock.

  The sudden lack of resistance threw the beast off balance. It lurched forward, the momentum carrying it past him as its own strength worked against it.

  Caelan dropped to the ground, rolling to the side just as the beast crashed down where he had stood moments before. It skidded, claws digging into the earth, snapping its head around.

  The matchlock pistol, now broken in half, clattered to the ground. The beast spat it aside.

  Slowly, Caelan pushed himself to his feet.

  The two locked eyes.

  The beast was massive up close—its body low and muscular, its elongated head twisting unnaturally as its four glowing eyes bore into him. Black, viscous blood oozed from the wound in its side—the same wound he had inflicted earlier.

  Recognition flickered in its gaze.

  It was the same one.

  It had come back for him.

  The monster began to circle, slow, deliberate.

  Caelan lifted his sword, mirroring its movements.

  The world around them faded. There was no chapel, no shouting knights, no terrified villagers.

  Just him.

  And the hunter.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  Ready for the next move.

  The world around him blurred into nothingness.

  Caelan’s grip tightened around his sword as the beast circled him in slow, deliberate steps. Each movement was measured, calculated—this wasn’t a mindless predator. It was a hunter, one that knew exactly what it was doing.

  And now, up close, Caelan could truly see it for what it was.

  The creature moved like a wolf, but its body was longer, unnaturally stretched—more suited for slinking through the shadows than standing upright. Its skin, black as the void, had no fur, only smooth, sinewy muscle shifting beneath its hide.

  Its head was a fusion of beastly horrors—a long, lupine snout like a wolf’s, but its eyes—four glowing, reptilian slits—stared at him with cold, predatory intelligence.

  The creature’s limbs were powerful and thick like a lion’s, built for both speed and raw strength. Its claws were unnervingly long, each talon curved slightly inward like a falcon’s—designed to grip and tear.

  And then—there were the tails.

  Not one. Two.

  They snaked behind the beast, moving independently, like vipers preparing to strike. Each tail was longer than its entire body, thick and sinuous, ending in sharpened, spike-like tips.

  Caelan’s mind raced. The tails. That’s how it had taken its victims—a precision kill. A single pierce, and then it would drag them off to its pack.

  This wasn’t just an animal.

  It was something beyond nature.

  Something that shouldn’t exist.

  And yet, it was right in front of him.

  The beast stopped circling. It lowered its body slightly, weight shifting onto its hind legs.

  Caelan tensed. It was about to strike.

  Then—

  It lunged.

  Fast—unbelievably fast.

  Caelan barely had time to react. He twisted his body just in time as the beast’s jaw snapped shut where his throat had been a second ago. The air itself seemed to shudder from the sheer force of the bite.

  His sword lashed out on instinct, aiming for its flank—

  CLANG!

  Sparks flew as the blade scraped against its hide.

  Caelan’s eyes widened. Not fur. Not scales. But something tough. The creature wasn’t just fast—it was armored.

  It pivoted mid-motion, using the momentum of its miss to swipe with its massive claws.

  Caelan threw himself backward, feeling the air split inches from his chest.

  The beast snarled, but it didn’t lunge again. It was testing him. It knew he was different.

  For the first time, Caelan wasn’t just prey.

  And yet, that didn’t mean he would survive.

  Not unless he found a way to kill it first.

  The tension was razor-thin.

  Caelan and the beast moved in tandem, mirroring each other’s steps. The air between them crackled with anticipation—two predators locked in a deadly standoff.

  Caelan’s grip on his sword tightened. The beast was fast, too fast. He had barely dodged its first attack, and his blade had glanced off its armored hide with nothing but sparks. This wasn’t a fight he could win through brute force alone.

  He had to outthink it.

  He shifted his stance, trying to force the creature to make a mistake, trying to analyze the way it moved, the way its tails shifted behind it—

  Then—

  "My lord!"

  A voice—too close, too loud.

  Caelan’s eyes flickered to the side. A knight had caught up to them, sprinting toward him, sword drawn.

  "Stay back!" Caelan shouted, but—too late.

  The beast lunged.

  It was instant—a blur of black muscle and glistening fangs.

  The knight barely had time to react before the monster’s massive form slammed into him like a battering ram.

  The impact was sickening. Metal groaned and bent as the beast’s sheer force sent the knight flying through the air.

  He crashed against the ground several meters away, rolling over the dirt before coming to a motionless stop.

  Silence.

  Caelan’s stomach twisted. The knight didn’t move.

  And then, slowly, the beast turned its head back toward Caelan.

  Its glowing, reptilian eyes held a message.

  "This fight is between us."

  Caelan clenched his jaw. It had thrown the knight aside, not killed him. Not because it showed mercy—but because it didn’t want interference.

  It wanted him.

  The beast let out a low, rumbling growl as it resumed its slow, stalking circle around him.

  Caelan exhaled sharply, shifting his stance once more.

  "Fine," he muttered, lifting his blade.

  "Let’s finish this."

  Caelan took a slow, steady breath.

  The beast was intelligent. Too intelligent. It wasn’t just hunting—it was fighting with intent. It had come back for revenge.

  Which meant… it could be manipulated.

  His eyes flickered over its massive frame, searching for something—anything—he could exploit.

  The eyes? Too dangerous.

  The mouth? Even worse.

  But then—he saw it.

  A slow, steady drip of dark blood, sliding down the creature’s left side.

  The same side where he had shot it earlier.

  Caelan’s mind snapped into motion. The creature was wounded. It knew it might not survive. That’s why it was risking itself—it was willing to die, but it would take him down with it.

  But that also meant it had a weakness.

  If he could strike that exact spot—its side rib, where the puncture wound was—he could kill it.

  The problem?

  How the hell was he supposed to get close enough without being ripped to shreds?

  His grip on his sword tightened. The beast wouldn’t let him get near that wound easily. It would protect its weakness at all costs.

  Which meant…

  He needed it to lower its guard.

  And there was only one way to do that.

  He had to enrage it.

  Caelan’s mind raced through possibilities. The beast held grudges. It fought with personal vengeance.

  So all he had to do was make it mad enough to act recklessly.

  He took a careful step forward, keeping his sword raised.

  Then—he smirked.

  "You’re bleeding, monster." His voice was sharp, mocking. He wanted it to hear him. He wanted it to feel the sting of his words.

  The beast let out a low growl, but it didn’t move.

  Caelan’s smirk widened. "Oh? Did I hit a nerve?"

  He gestured toward its bleeding side with his sword.

  "Not so invincible after all, are you?"

  The beast let out a rasping snarl, its tails flicking in agitation.

  Good. It understood him.

  "You came back for revenge, didn’t you?" Caelan continued, taking another slow step forward. "But now you’re dying. And soon—" he tilted his head— "you’ll be nothing but a corpse on the ground."

  The moment the words left his lips, the beast moved.

  It roared—not just in fury, but in raw, unfiltered rage.

  It charged.

  But this time, Caelan was ready.

  He sidestepped at the last possible second, twisting his body just as one of its massive claws swept past his chest—missing him by inches.

  The beast wasn’t thinking anymore. It wasn’t calculating. It was furious. Reckless. And in its blind anger, it exposed the one thing it shouldn’t have—

  Its wounded side.

  Caelan didn’t hesitate.

  He lunged forward, sword aimed for the puncture wound.

  The blade pierced deep, sinking past muscle, past bone.

  The beast **let out a horrible, gurgling snarl—**its entire body jerking violently as it staggered back, trying to twist away.

  But it was too late.

  Caelan had won.

  Caelan exhaled, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He had done it.

  His sword had sunk deep into the beast’s wounded side, piercing through muscle and bone. The creature jerked violently, its limbs trembling, its snarl gurgling with pain.

  It was dying.

  Caelan took a step back, his body still tense, but his mind already moving toward the next step. He needed to finish it off—he needed to—

  Then—

  The beast moved.

  Faster than it should have been able to.

  A sharp, unnatural twist—its elongated body whipping around in a way no creature its size should have been capable of.

  Caelan’s breath caught—he had no time to react.

  The beast’s massive jaw snapped onto the hilt of his sword—

  And with a sickening crunch, it tore the blade from his hands.

  Caelan staggered, his balance thrown off for a split second—

  And in that split second—the beast struck.

  SHRRIP!

  Caelan didn’t even see the claw coming.

  Pain exploded in his shoulder as the beast’s massive talons ripped through flesh and cloth, tearing open a deep, gashing wound.

  His body jerked violently from the force of the blow, and before he could even register the pain—

  The beast moved again.

  WHIP!

  Something slammed into his side.

  A tail.

  Then—another.

  A second impact followed a heartbeat later—this one striking across his face.

  The spear-like tip of the tail raked across his cheek, slicing through skin like a blade.

  Caelan’s world spun violently as he was sent crashing onto the dirt.

  The pain was instant—his vision flared red, his body convulsing from the force of the strikes.

  He barely had time to process it before he hit the ground hard, his head bouncing against the packed earth.

  A strangled, ragged scream tore from his throat.

  Everything blurred. His breath came in rapid, pained gasps.

  He was bleeding. Badly.

  His shoulder throbbed, his face burned, and his vision swam.

  But—

  But…

  The beast was down.

  Through his blurred sight, he saw it—the creature, finally collapsing onto its side. Its massive body trembled, its claws twitching, its tails curling inward.

  And finally—it went still.

  Caelan groaned, his limbs shaking as he tried to push himself up.

  Blood dripped from his chin.

  From his shoulder, his face, his side.

  He barely heard the shouts of Lucien and the knights running toward him.

  Someone was calling his name—desperate, panicked.

  But all he could do was stare at the motionless corpse of the beast.

  It was dead.

  But not before it had marked him.

  Not before it had made sure he never forgot this fight.

  Not before it had left its scars.

  And then—darkness crept into the edges of his vision.

  The last thing he heard was Lucien shouting his name.

  And then—

  Everything faded to black.

  Lucien sprinted forward, his boots pounding against the dirt.

  It had happened too fast.

  One moment, Caelan was locked in a tense standoff with the beast. The next—a blur of violence, a whirlwind of claws and tails.

  And now—

  Caelan lay motionless on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

  Lucien’s heart pounded in his chest. He barely noticed the other knights catching up behind him. His focus was on one thing.

  "Check on Ser Bertrand!" he barked, pointing to the fallen knight. One of the men immediately rushed over to the armored figure sprawled in the dirt.

  Lucien dropped to his knees beside Caelan, eyes scanning his wounds. His shoulder was torn open, his side bleeding freely. A deep, vicious slash ran across his face.

  Lucien’s fists clenched. The bastard had marked him.

  Rage coiled in his chest like fire.

  He stood abruptly, his glare locking onto the fallen creature.

  "Put a bullet in its skull."

  One of the knights hesitated. "But, sir, it’s—"

  "Now!" Lucien snapped.

  BOOM!

  The matchlock fired.

  The bullet punched through the beast’s head, its skull snapping back before finally going still.

  Lucien didn’t wait to watch.

  He knelt, carefully gathering Caelan into his arms.

  "Stay with me, you bastard," he muttered under his breath, voice tight with emotion. "You don’t get to die here."

  With careful but urgent movements, he rose, carrying Caelan toward the chapel.

  Behind him, the knights moved swiftly, dragging Bertrand along, weapons still trained on the corpse—as if expecting it to rise again.

  Lucien didn’t care. His focus was on one thing.

  Getting Caelan to safety.

  As he stepped through the chapel doors, the weight of everything settled on him.

  The battle was over.

  But the scars would remain.

  And as the doors slammed shut behind them—Lucien vowed the Verdainne Forest would pay for every drop of blood spilled tonight.

  End of Chapter 14

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