Thomas led the way through the forest, his sword swinging lightly against his hip. His squad followed behind him, five newly inducted knights tasked with accompanying him for this hunt. They crushed fallen leaves and flattened the earth with every step, while the light squeal of metal armor worked to drive off the region's smaller game.

He had high hopes for each of them. After two years of higher education and three of basic combat, they were well prepared to start getting some more practical experience. Well equipped, generally intelligent, and led by an experienced rose knight, they were—

Shwick

Thomas twitched as one stepped out of line. The initiate's sword swung out at a low-hanging vine and sent it flopping to the ground. Turning his head to the side, Thomas sighed as the younger man paused, then shuffled over to poke at the severed greenery.

They were jumpy. Still initiates, no matter how prepared.

Still, that was half the point of the current trip, and he was loath to hold it against them.

"Mister Harris, I believe the vine is dead. Please, return to the group."

Ignoring the young man's noticeable flush, Thomas led the initiates onward. His eyes roamed the surrounding trees for either signs of an ambush or tracks. He didn't particularly mind which he might find.

As well-intentioned as their orders might have been, the area they'd been sent to make clear was practically wiped clean already. Besides the occasional stringer-vine — clumps of predatory thorns that the group simply burned upon discovery — they'd yet to find a monster of any kind in these outer woods, much less the bristle-boars they'd aimed to hunt.

He would prefer an encounter of some sort, and soon, lest the entire outing be a waste.

Tilting his head sideways, Thomas swept back a low-hanging branch. The leaves snapped back into place behind him, and he turned to ensure the initiates were still keeping up.

They were, and he continued.

Moving around the clearing of pale white flowers and past a collection of bushes, Thomas swatted at a meeler as it jumped to his shoulder from a nearby Alnum berry. The thumb-sized insect chirped loudly as it landed next to his ear, right before his gantlet squashed it into a paste, forcing him to spend the next minute scraping the metal clean as a result.

Still, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time.

Sighing to himself, Thomas plucked distractedly at the tether to his patron goddess. It was a tick he couldn't seem to break. Like most of the Rose Order's knights, he'd chosen to align himself with one of the world's many divines. And while the benefits were numerous, he retained a sense of discomfort regarding the connection.

Still, as he himself had said before, the benefits outweighed any personal trepidation. The same as him, all but one of the [Knights] in his current group had chosen a divine to honor and received a corresponding holy Class. The overlap and relative synergy between the two professions made the decision an obvious one for those looking to advance themselves along a known path.

Looking up again, Thomas leaned in towards a grouping of thicker vegetation that rested off to the groups' left. A glimmer caught his eye as he moved— an intermittent shine from the bushes just beyond.

"Hold up! Quiet down, the lot of you— I think I see something."

Thomas raised a fist into the air, motioning the group to follow him off to the side. The greenery parted where he walked, the bushes' branches being crushed beneath his soles. He stopped as he entered a more open clearing, making space for the men who followed behind.

Ahead of him, embedded in the trunk of a large, oaken tree, there stood a door. It was a cobbled-together construct, six boards of shaved-down and roughly polished wood, bound together with a metal strap across their width.

A silver bowl, its interior filled with water from the recent rains, sat a few inches from the door's frame. Light shone down from a gap in the trees above, bouncing off the object's sides and flaring out into the surrounding forest.

It was that glimmer which he'd seen.

Thomas knelt, his brow scrunching in curiosity. The plates of his armor shifted as he bent forwards to pick up the bowl, but his hand froze a finger's length from its side.

Slowly, he pulled his arm back, his fingers flexing as his expression settled into a frown. No, the situation didn't sit right with him. A door, upright in its frame, simply embedded within the trunk of a tree in the outer woods? A silver bowl, shining in the dirt outside its front?

[Sense Danger] gave him nothing. Neither the bowl nor the door registered in the slightest, even as he focused the full brunt of his attention on their forms. They were harmless; nothing more than a valuable trinket left to tarnish in the woods and an oddly framed collection of planks.

Still, his gut egged him to be careful, and the scene was too strange to ignore. Quieting the other knights' murmurs with a wave of his hand, Thomas stood and worked his way around the tree's trunk. It was blank— normal, rather. Mundane to both his goddess-given senses and general Skills.

He shifted uncertainly, coming back around to the side where his charges stood waiting. Finally, edging his way carefully around the bowl, he pulled at the handle of the door, attempting to remove it from its shoddy frame.

It opened with a long-suffering groan, swinging forwards to reveal a cavernous space in place of the trunk that should've stood there.

Thomas flinched away with a muffled curse, even as his charges shuffled forwards for a closer look.

"Damned magic—" He flushed beneath his armored-plate, his hand dropping back down to his side. The doorway was, undoubtedly, some mage's abode. The conclusion was as evident as the prospect was annoying, given both the aforementioned lack of Monsters in the area, as well as the clear manipulation of space being displayed in front of their eyes.

"Move into single file and follow me inside. Refrain from hostile action unless directly attacked— if it's a rogue mage, we can't be the side to instigate."

Stepping forwards again, Thomas steeled himself for the transition between spaces and crossed the door's frame boundary. As he did so, the sounds of the forest cut off. He shook himself as he took in the creaking of an empty bar.

Or perhaps— not entirely empty. Thomas turned his head as the rest of the knights followed behind him. A young woman stood by a table off to one side. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth had dropped open following their entrance into the room.

Thomas froze, then shook himself. In an instant, his posture shifted, shoulders dropping into position at his sides. Quickly, he began walking towards the woman. From his back, Thomas could hear a scuffling from the others as they followed his line of sight. He waved discreetly back at them, motioning for them to stay where they were. His earlier annoyance had transformed itself into a heart-rending calm.

"Greetings, Miss, are you the owner of this place?"

He kept his voice level as he spoke, pitching his tone to a friendly key and smiling winningly beneath his helm.

"I— Yes! I mean, no, but—" The woman fumbled her words in apparent surprise. She shook herself, then took a hesitant step forwards. "Are you— ?"

Thomas twitched, then nodded along, still keeping up the smile he was sure that she couldn't see. He forced his hands to remain in place.

"Absolutely, Miss! How can I help you?"

Another few steps towards her, and she entered the outer range of his Skills. It wasn't enough— he restrained himself. The longer-ranged gap closers weren't what he needed here; a single decisive strike would be the safest course of action. He'd flip the tables before she knew he'd caught on.

She was a small, red-haired, and waifish young woman, all but unassuming to his eyes. Beige shorts, a pull-over tunic, and a rag half-clenched in her right hand told a story of more modest living— hardly the mage they'd entered in expecting.

But it didn't matter.

He'd noticed her most important feature when he walked in. It was a matter of fact all but one of the other knights had caught on to, the odd man out having been almost immediately dragged back by the rest of the group.

Thomas caught himself before he could scowl.

The woman had no soul.

To Thomas's senses, she was a husk— a pearlescent void inhabiting a meat-shell of a body. It made him sick, his stomach roiling in a combination of loathing and no light amount of fear.

A demon. A spawn or a voidling— the vanguard to an infestation, or an offspring of what was already here? There was no way to be sure.

He tried to look around the room as he finished his approach — a second scan for if there were any more — but his eyes refused to leave the woman's core. Finally, though, the edge of the necessary Skill's range passed over her body, placing her solidly within his grasp.

Thomas lunged.

[A sword in hand]! [Divine's blade]! 

His arm pulled back, even as she began to jerk away.

[Flash-cut]!

The sword cut deep into her side.

Pulling free his blade, Thomas swung again.

The woman's head hit the floor with a meaty thud, and her body followed.

It happened in an instant; the two meters that still separated them were crossed in the time it'd take to blink. Breathing heavily, Thomas flopped to one side, leaning against a table for support. He'd done it. One demon down and no casualties sustained— an unmitigated success.

He hacked, spitting out a globule of blood from where he'd bit his tongue, and slapped a hand against the table. When he'd caught his breath again, the strain from his rapid use of Skills diminishing, he gave the room its second scan.

Empty. Blessedly empty— there'd been only one. Sighing deeply, Thomas turned back to the initiates.

A number had their faceplates raised— their faces pale as they stared at the corpse by his feet. One had removed his helm in full and was emptying his stomach in the far corner of the room.

Thomas sighed as he took in the scene. Still, they were new, fresh out of training, and had yet to experience the harsher realities of their job. These initial reactions, at least, he could understand.

"The boar-culling is canceled. We will be heading back to the Order as of now— if there's a Demon infestation in these woods, news of such can not be allowed to wait. Nathanial, Harris, you two will remain. Stay outside, and keep any creatures or people from entering. I'll leave with you a scroll— use it if your lives come into danger, but please, exercise restraint. We should return within the—"

His words choked off as all six of the knight's [Danger Senses] went off at once. The Skill blared hell and ruin in their heads, and with the end of his orders interrupted and unsaid, Thomas burst in motion. He yelled for his men to move as he began to sprint for the door.

"Everybody out and scatter! Keep running— don't stand and fight! We'll reconvene at yesterday's camp!"

The Skill didn't give specifics, but this room, this bar, had become a death trap. Something was coming, and they were fodder before the storm.

Thomas's metal boots shattered a broken table-leg beneath him, sending splinters of wood flying through the room. He stumbled but kept himself from falling. His feet pounded as he ran. Four initiates fled before him, exiting through the door while the last followed at his back. He pumped his legs and—

The Skill's warning spiked as a scream sounded from over Thomas's shoulder. There was a screeching of metal being torn, then a wet flop that cut off the previous noise. A half-second later, the crunch of wood sounded directly behind his leg.

Thomas dove.

His arm passed through the door's frame and continued forwards towards the forest. From there, it flopped to the earth and rolled, the severed end trailing blood across the ground.