"Thanks for the scrumptious meal, Lana. It was delectable," I said, pushing back from the rustic table we were ensconced at on the ground level of the ancient tower. Sunset had painted its last strokes, leaving us in the company of night. Yet, the crackling hearth provided both a gentle warmth and a golden illumination, painting the chamber with its inviting light. The hall was outfitted with numerous tables and benches, suggesting it was more than a mere dwelling for the brigands—a meeting point, a dining area. A versatile space they had crafted within the stone structure.

"Truly? You found it pleasing?" Lana's eyes sparkled with surprise and a touch of pride.

Upon our arrival, a gnawing hunger reminded us of its persistent presence. The need for sustenance superseded all other concerns, and it was quickly decided—dinner must be procured. To our good fortune, the brigands' larder was far from barren. Deeming it a necessary pilferage, we selected enough for a modest meal. Lana took charge of our impromptu kitchen, her swift hands grilling the dry meat and cheese, carefully carving bread slices, and simmering a simple bean soup. My offer to assist was silenced by her brisk efficiency. It seemed I would be a stumbling block rather than a helper.

Ravenous as I was, I devoured the meal without allowing a moment's pause to savor the taste. Yet, even in my haste, the satisfying deliciousness was undeniable.

"So, shall we transition to conversation now?" I proposed, eager to move to the next step of our evening.

"Whenever you are ready," Lana responded, settling herself comfortably.

The initial topic of discussion would be my circumstances—a broad explanation, careful not to reveal too much. I was curious about Lana's knowledge of Dravus, but I deemed it prudent to establish a base of trust first. That didn’t mean I could divulge every minute detail of my life. How do I articulate my story without exposing too much? An intricate dance of words was required.

"I hail from a land far off... possibly across a vast sea, maybe even two, a land known as A-Ameria."

She nodded, her face an open canvas of curiosity.

"Alright..."

Ameria was a creation of my friends and me, a fictional realm born from our T&T adventures. Emberus, a character of our creation, hailed from Ameria, per his carefully crafted history. A slip of the tongue, not an outright lie. Yet, Lana's expression betrayed her disbelief.

"Honestly," I confessed, "my presence here is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I have no recollection of my journey. A plausible explanation might be an arcane mishap, akin to your concept of weaving. This incident could have hurled me into this land, robbing me of consciousness in the process. The brigands, I assume, chanced upon my unconscious form and took me here."

"I see," she said, her voice a murmur of understanding.

She listened, attentively, to my ramblings. Yet, a cloud of skepticism loomed over her face. I couldn't blame her. The implausibility of my tale was glaring, even to me. However, it was still a shade better than confessing my roots lie in the United States of America on a planet known as Earth.

"Therefore," I continued, "I may exhibit certain behaviors or express certain views that might appear eccentric, in comparison to the customs here, or across this entire land. I assure you, though, I am nothing like that malevolent weaver, Karyon. If there's one truth I'd like you to believe, it's that I harbor no ill intent."

My declaration came with an intensity, but it was necessary to lay all my cards on the table. I could only hope that Lana found my tale believable, or at least saw sincerity in my character. I concluded my speech with a respectful bow of my head.

"I accept your word," she responded.

"I'm grateful, truly."

"To be frank," Lana said, her eyes thoughtful, "the first half of your tale is somewhat hard to digest, yet I believe it's safe to assume you're no Black Weaver."

"That's all I ask, Lana. I am once again in your debt. Thank you."

A profound sigh of relief found its escape within me. Earning someone's trust was indeed a laborious task, yet the reward was undeniably fulfilling. Now, it was imperative to maintain consistency with the narrative I'd spun for her.

"You certainly are an oddity, Mr. Emberus. A Weaver who possesses a surname and yet treats me with such warmth," she mused.

"In my land, extending kindness and respect to women is a basic decency, and bearing a last name doesn't necessarily confer any special status," I explained.

"In Vindaris, the city of my upbringing, surnames are a luxury afforded only to the nobility. Those capable of weaving usually hail from noble or affluent lineages." Her words seemed to confirm the notion of this realm being reminiscent of a 'sword-and-sorcery' world as the deity had mentioned. The societal structure here appeared to resemble medieval Europe, with a rigid class hierarchy.

"It appears this land vastly differs from my own... Ah, this is excellent," I complimented, savoring a gulp of a beverage Lana had poured for me. It was called Silken Brew, its refreshing bitterness intriguing to my palate.

"Moving forward, Lana, would you care to share how you ended up captured by the brigands here?"

A frown formed on Lana's face, and she nodded solemnly.

Her father, Leo, was a merchant rooted in the city of Vindaris.

Vindaris was a member of a coalition of city-states lining the edges of the expansive Lake Lumeos, forming the collective known as the Lumeos Concord. Leo, despite amassing considerable wealth, often journeyed in person with his caravan along his trade routes, with Lana accompanying him as his aide.

During one such journey, the bond between father and daughter not just metaphorical but also reflected in their shared profession, they found themselves under the assault of brigands. This event unfolded in the early hours of the morning, just a day before my unexpected arrival in Dravus.

Encounters with brigands were not an uncommon ordeal for Lana and Leo. As Lana recounted, such unfortunate meetings punctuated their travels regularly—one in every three trips, approximately. The brigands typically demanded a third of their goods and coin, deeming it a 'fee' for passage through their claimed territory. I found a third to be a steep demand, but Lana explained that it was comparable to the tolls local lords levied on well-secured routes. Regardless, such additional costs were accounted for in their goods' pricing.

However, the most recent encounter had deviated from this pattern. The brigands had demanded a complete surrender of their possessions. Leo had the foresight to employ mercenaries for the caravan's protection, but they weren't equipped to repel a whole group of determined brigands. Unsurprisingly, they yielded without resistance. Yet, the brigands' greed was not satiated. Dissatisfied with merely taking Leo's belongings, they kidnapped Lana, demanding a ransom of five thousand gold coins for her safe return.

"And after that, they brought you here?" I questioned.

"Yes... This is an unprecedented experience for us. I suspect the brigands altered their behavior after that Black Weaver assumed leadership," Lana replied.

In Dravus, it appeared that weavers were not only rare but were also regarded with fear due to their overwhelming power. The mere association with one was sufficient to transform 'peaceful' brigands into unabashed plunderers.

According to Lana, my arrival had been mere hours after hers. One could argue it was fortuitous timing, providing me with the opportunity to intervene on her behalf.

"By now, my father should have reached the village of Maridal. There, he might seek assistance from the local knightly order for my rescue or attempt to assemble the ransom sum," Lana surmised.

"I understand... In light of this, we should plan our departure for the break of dawn. We must reach Maridal posthaste," I proposed.

"Yes, let's! I can't begin to express my gratitude!" Lana responded, her voice filled with hope.

"What a day," I sighed, reflecting upon the recent events.

We decided Lana would rest in the chamber on the tower's third tier while I occupied the second.

Gazing out the window at the moon, it was a sight identical to what I had grown accustomed to. With the quiet of the night affording me some respite, I found myself overwhelmed by my thoughts. My recent experiences, far removed from anything I had known or felt comfortable with—a colossal understatement—had left me utterly spent.

What if the brigands return? I pondered. How will I ensure Lana's safe return home? How am I to forge a life in this unfamiliar world?

Fortuitously, I had the luxury of time. The night was still in its infancy. Savoring my Silken Brew, I braced myself for a long, contemplative night...

"Hey! How long do you plan to slumber?!"

"What?!"

Before I knew it, the veil of night had lifted, and the break of dawn heralded the onset of the morning. Lana was prodding me awake, and I groggily realized I had drifted to sleep at the desk situated in the second-tier chamber. In simpler terms, I was utterly vulnerable. What if the brigands had returned? I scolded myself. My prolonged residence in a peaceful society had made me complacent... I had to be more vigilant in the future.

"We have a meal for the road ready, let's depart!" Lana declared.

Post-breakfast, Lana appeared prepared for our journey. However, there was an oddity that I needed to question.

"What's with the sack?" I queried.

Adorned in her one-piece attire, Lana was shouldering an enormous hemp sack. The sight was reminiscent of a caricature of a thief, or perhaps a refugee fleeing a natural disaster with their worldly possessions.

"These are some of the items the brigands pilfered from my father. I can't carry it all, but I thought I should at least recover some," Lana responded.

I found myself rooted to the spot. Of course, this was the brigands' stronghold. It stood to reason she'd find her father's stolen goods here, probably alongside loot from others as well. I recalled the numerous items stashed in the tower's basement during my inspection. Had this been a TTRPG, I might have seized everything I discovered then and there, including Lana's father's possessions. Had I done so and Lana discovered my actions, I would've risked jeopardizing the trust she had placed in me. A narrow escape indeed.

"Could you hold on a moment? I need to tend to something first," I proposed.

"What do you need to do?" Lana questioned, her eagerness to depart visible.

Even though Lana seemed ready to bolt out the front gate, I beckoned her back and began the incantation for a spell.

"Wha-? Where did that steed spring from?!" Lana exclaimed, her eyes wide.

I had just completed the incantation for Summon Greater Steed, a Rank 4 spell. The result was the appearance of a black-maned pegasus in the fortress courtyard. Lana was evidently taken aback.

"Given the precipitous nature of our mountainous journey and the urgency to reach Maridal Village, a horse seemed the most prudent option. Moreover, we have some additional cargo to carry," I explained.

The pegasus was enveloped in a soft, blue-white glow. This wasn't an ordinary steed but a superior entity capable of surpassing the limitations inherent to common mounts.

With the first spell complete, my gaze shifted to the statue of Karyon, the 'additional cargo' I mentioned. I then began incanting the subsequent spell.

"It's... it's levitating!" Lana exclaimed in shock.

The spell I recited was Sprite Porter, a spell that created an unseen servant tasked with carrying our load. Being a Rank 1 spell, this invisible porter could only lift objects and follow the spellcaster, but it was capable of supporting substantial weight. First, the unseen servant took hold of Lana's bag, then effortlessly hoisted up the statue of Karyon. The sight of the two objects seemingly floating in midair, unsupported, was undoubtedly eerie.

"There are a few more spells I'd like to conjure, but I believe it's best if we make our start," I said, climbing onto the majestic, winged steed and extending a hand to Lana.

"Ah... alright!" she responded, and I grasped her hand, helping her mount the Pegasus.

Lana's hand wasn't akin to the delicate, ladylike hands often depicted in tales of fantasy. It was rough, hardened from a life of labor and assisting her father, yet it radiated warmth.

"I suppose this would be the moment to shout 'Ride forth, Shadowfax!' would it not?" I quipped. Lana returned my jest with a confused gaze.

I had last mounted a horse on a ranch in Texas several decades prior, yet the process of clambering atop the Pegasus and gripping the reins came surprisingly naturally. According to the basic rules of T&T, each character inherently possesses rudimentary horse riding skills. Therefore, presuming these mechanics were faithfully implemented by God, it was likely these inborn abilities, rather than my own personal experience, facilitated this newfound proficiency. That being said, the Pegasus, being a summoned creature of my own spell, would attempt to obey my commands regardless of my personal horsemanship capabilities.

With Lana seated behind me, adopting the sidesaddle posture, I could feel her nerves. Taking care not to jostle her and risk her falling off, I guided the Pegasus into a gentle canter. A glance over my shoulder revealed the statue of Karyon and Lana's bag seemingly hovering behind us—an uncanny sight indeed. Nevertheless, we were making progress. We ventured beneath the gate arch, exiting the fortress.

The gate faced southward, offering scant flat terrain. Beyond the gate, the ground dropped sharply, leading onto a single winding path that descended the mountain. The western face of the fortress bordered a sheer cliff, and the remaining two sides were met by steep drop-offs. A military siege on such a fortress would be an arduous task indeed, I mused. It was rather remarkable that such a stronghold could be constructed in such a locale to begin with...

"We must hasten to the village to inform my father of my safety, then promptly return... I harbor concerns about leaving our goods unattended here," Lana voiced, her expression earnest and serious.

"Indeed, we can't predict when the brigands may return. It seems prudent to take some protective measures," I agreed.

"Protective measures? Such as what?" Lana queried.

I turned my gaze toward the fortress's towering defensive ramparts and began to weave my next spell. "Architectural Manipulation!"

"Wh-what is this Weaving now?!" Lana exclaimed in alarm as the very earth beneath us—more specifically, the terrain underlying the fortress—commenced an ominous trembling.

"The f-fortress! It's ascending?!" she gasped.

Architectural manipulation is a spell that bestows upon the caster the ability to reshape and relocate a portion of land or earth as they see fit. With a resonant rumble, the very ground upon which the fortress was erected began to elongate vertically. The entire structure ascended. Once the edifice had been hoisted approximately twenty meters into the air, I solidified its position.

Upon the completion of my task, the only visible aspect of the fortress was the cliff face it now adhered to. "This should deter any potential intruders, at least until our return," I stated.

Lana remained silent. Turning to her, I found her gaze locked upward, her eyes and mouth agape in sheer awe of the floating fortress. While she remained mesmerized, I took the opportunity to cast a few protective spells on myself. We could not predict what kind of dangers we might encounter on our journey.

"Apologies for the delay. Shall we proceed then?" I proposed, finally ready to depart.

"Um... Y-yes, let's go!" she stuttered, snapping out of her stupor.

With a subtle nudge of my heels, a gesture more for appearance's sake, the winged steed had already begun responding to my mental directives. It broke into a gallop, not across the ground, but... up into the sky.

"Oh God!" I couldn't suppress an exclamation, momentarily struck silent. "We're genuinely soaring through the skies!"

A scream rang out from Lana, her voice echoing in the crisp, open air.

Only a handful of minutes had passed before our Pegasus was serenely pacing along the mountainside pathway, the two of us securely mounted on its back. I brought my hand to my lips, gagging as I wrestled with the urge to expel my breakfast.

"In the future, could you possibly exercise a bit more forethought before embarking on such ventures?" Lana implored, her voice laced with the remnants of her panic. "Remember, I'm unaccustomed to your Surgebinding—or was it wizardry, as you termed it? Regardless, what if we had plummeted to our demise?"

"Point well noted... My apologies... Ugh..." I conceded weakly, my stomach still roiling.

The experience of commandeering a steed through the open sky, a medley of novel sensations all at once, had been nothing short of exhilarating... for the briefest of moments.

But swiftly, the complications began to emerge. Firstly, Lana was instantly thrown into a frenzy. Secondly, it wasn't long before my own stomach succumbed to the discomfort of motion sickness. The ride was replete with sudden ascents and descents that one would not typically associate with equine travel. Thirdly, if Lana's father was in the midst of returning to the fortress with the required ransom, our airborne journey might lead us astray. The forest-hugged mountain trail was not easily discernible from our lofty perspective. For all these reasons, we elected to resume our journey by land, despite the delay it might cause in reaching Maridal Village.

To our relief, I discovered that as long as the Pegasus' hooves were planted firmly on the ground, the journey was rather steady. This was a welcome revelation considering the twisting and turning forest pathway wasn't precisely ideal terrain for a horse.

Beyond these matters, Lana enlightened me that we would intersect with the main road after a half day's travel. If we took a westerly course, we would arrive in Vandaris City; an eastward direction would deliver us to Maridal Village.

After approximately two hours of steady riding, I was about to propose a pause for our midday meal when Lana suddenly broke the silence.

"Your abilities are strikingly distinct from the weavers I am familiar with, Mister Emberus."

"Do you truly believe so?" I inquired, a brow arched in mild surprise. "Have you encountered weavers and observed their spellcraft in the past?"

"Indeed, Vandaris boasts of a thriving weavers' guild. My work alongside my father once necessitated a journey with an Elemental-Weaver who had been a member of an adventuring party. She's a kind soul, but quite unlike you..."

The existence of a weaver's guild intrigued me. Adventurers, too... What other unexpected facets of Dravus awaited my discovery?

As Lana and I directed the Pegasus away from the fortress, descending the serpentine mountain pathway, we arrived at a consensus that we might not be the only inhabitants of this formidable mountain.

Our conjecture proved to be disturbingly accurate.

In the middle reaches of the mountain, the tranquil atmosphere was polluted by the sinister unfolding of events. Unwittingly oblivious to the situation, we remained ignorant of the malevolent forces that mobilized between the fortress and the main road, swarms of beastly creatures shrieking in horrific harmony, scaling the tree-infested incline on all fours.

"Gree! Gi-gree!"

These beasts – humanoid, though just barely – possessed distorted limbs, crimson skin that appeared as if scorched by a relentless sun, and golden eyes ablaze with wicked intent. Short horns, pronounced ears, and cries that mirrored the spine-chilling sound of metallic claws scraping against metallic skin constituted their grotesque ensemble Their numerous teeth clattered together in a symphony of threat with each opening of their maws. Clutched in their gnarled hands were rudimentary axes, spears, and clubs. Though their stature was modest – about one and a half meters if they chose to stand on their hind legs – they exuded an aura of animosity and contempt. And their abhorrence was most fervently directed towards their age-old adversary: mankind.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

These monstrous beings were what the residents of Dravus ominously referred to as fiends.

Sprinting ahead of the swarm of fiends were their quarry: a mixed group of six adventurers, both men and women.

"Who would have imagined a gathering of fiends of such magnitude!" cried out Petr, the leader of the group, his voice echoing amidst the pandemonium.

Petr was a seasoned ranger tied to the Adventurers' Guild. At the age of thirty-two, he had already earned veteran status within the guild. The party under his judicious leadership was widely respected as one of Vandaris' most capable. His build was tall and lean, wrapped in flexible leather armor and high boots, their design tailored for agility. Attached to his belt were a dagger, a short sword, and a pouch brimming with herbs; a bow, a quiver stocked with arrows, and a backpack slung over his should His practical outfit, a common trait among experienced adventurers, was complemented by a face marked by sharp lines of acute intelligence.

Returning from a separate adventure, Petr and his group crossed paths with the merchant Leo in Maridal Village. Leo, being a purveyor of arms and armor masterfully forged by dwarven smiths, frequently interacted with adventurers, making him a known figure to Petr.

In Maridal, Leo had approached Petr and his team, seeking their help to rescue his daughter from the clutches of a bandit group. After thoughtful consideration, Petr and his team agreed to Leo's request. Though Petr had heard whispers of a sorcerer taking over the leadership of the bandits, the potential danger seemed outweighed by the generous reward of three thousand gold coins that Leo had offered for the safe return of his daughter. The decision had been made the previous night.

The dawn of the next day was still a few hours away when Petr and his party departed from Maridal, their sights set on the bandits' fortress tucked away in the mountains. Opting for discretion, they chose to navigate through the dense woods rather than take the main, more frequented path.

The decision might have borne fruit had they not run into an unforeseen and highly unfortunate turn of events.

"Gree! Gi-gree!"

Fleeing from a horde of fiends presented a completely unique challenge compared to battling organized human forces or even unstructured bandits. The actions of human collectives are invariably guided by an array of factors: strategic planning, directives from a leader, and the interplay of emotions such as rage, dread, anticipation, and excitement Fiends, however, didn't adhere to these typical behavioral drivers. Their motivations were steeped in a singular, profoundly evil impulse:

The thirst for human blood and the unalloyed joy they derived from sowing death.

To the adventurers, it was as if they were being pursued by a relentless, murderous wave of darkness.

The bulk of the fiendish horde was made up of the most diminutive among their kind, creatures ominously dubbed as curseling. Though not known for their speed, these creatures were nonetheless gaining ground, each curseling scurrying with a singular, mad focus...and gradually, their relentless pace was starting to pay off.

"Three-second counter! Now!" shouted Petr, the creatures advancing so close that their slavering tongues were all too visible.

"Roger that!"

"Understood!"

"Right away!"

The first to pivot and face the onslaught were two rear-guard fighters of the warrior class. Both were donned in armor enhanced with chainmail, armed with round shields and single-handed swords. Among the two, the elder, grizzled man with a beard was known as David, while his youthful, still unseasoned companion was named Greg. A beat later, a warrior-priest by the name of Philip fell in line with them, solidifying their defensive formation.

"Have at thee!" David bellowed.

"Gi-grah?! Gree!"

An curseling weapon raised, then lunged forward only to be met by the solid impact of David's boot against its jaw. The creature was sent sprawling. But it was quick to recover, spinning around and launching itself back at him.

"Confound it, David! Drop them in one strike! Otherwise, it's our lives you're endangering!"

"My apologies!"

David was suddenly faced with the curseling, now clutching his leg, its grotesquely broken jaw gaping wide. Just as it was about to sink its teeth in, Greg stepped forward and drove his sword through its neck.

"Gree?!" A second curseling let out a bewildered screech as a dagger lodged itself in its chest.

Vaness, the scout who had hurled the blade, remained silent as she watched the oncoming tide of fiends. Her eyes narrowed, and she prepared a second dagger for her next victim. The red-haired lass wore light gear, her protection amounting to little more than her regular travel clothes.

"Eryn, ready yourself to impede their charge," Petr directed the sorceress by his side while he loosed arrow after arrow into the encroaching swarm.

In the brief window it took to guide Eryn, Petr succeeded in skewering one curseling the skull and another in the neck, successfully taking down the two nearest threats in the larger swarm that continued to trail the adventurers through the trees. His prowess with the bow, both in terms of speed and accuracy, was outstanding.

"Griiihk!"

"Geeeya!"

Even as the curseling were struck with fatal injuries, their perverse zeal for human flesh and blood spurred them on. One, in its blind fervor, assaulted a tree trunk, mistaking it for a human adversary. This bizarre tenacity and their singular, ruthless pursuit were among the reasons why these demons were universally abhorred and feared by humanity.

In that brief volley of counterattacks, David had slain one curseling, Vaness two, and Petr four.

With the vanguard of the curseling onslaught driven back, the forward momentum of the overall swarm slackened, albeit slightly.

"Enough! Break!" Petr commanded.

"Understood!" echoed the unified voices of the party.

David, Greg, and Philip—the trio comprising the defensive front—were the first to pivot away from the fiends and dash away. Both Vaness and Petr held weapons suitable for ranged combat, enabling them to hold off and strike for a vital moment longer before they too turned to follow their fellow party members.

In this formation—the heavily armored trio in the lead, followed by the pair with lighter gear—they rushed past the last member of their party, who had stationed herself higher up the slope.

"Foul creatures!" she cried at the horde.

The weaver, Eryn, was a striking young woman with golden curls and clear blue eyes. She wore a cloak over garments designed with maneuverability in mind.

A moment passed, then another. The fiends, captivated by her solitary, seemingly vulnerable figure, charged at her in an unthinking frenzy.

"Ignis: Sagitta"

Eryn's voice, a vital conduit for her weave manipulation, sliced through the advancing horde like a razor. She channeled her mana to the peak of her uplifted staff until it fragmented and dispersed, morphing into eight arrows of fiery incandescence mid-air.

"Gree?!"

"Gheee!"

Eight blazing arrows launched with deadly intent towards eight distinct targets. Not a single one missed its mark. They enveloped their scarlet victims in radiant flame. Even the fiends' unnatural resilience crumbled in the face of this magical inferno. Writhing and screeching, they thrashed about on the forest floor, their flailing bodies creating an obstruction for the other fiends in their race to reach the humans.

"Enjoy the burn, won't you?" Eryn called out in a tone that contrasted starkly with her elegant demeanor, smirking at the flailing fiends. With her taunt sent sailing into the chaos, she sprinted towards her companions. Her attire, the lightest among them, allowed her to swiftly close the gap and fall in step with the rest of her party.

Their coordinated retaliation had momentarily widened the gulf between themselves and the savage horde. Guided by Petr's swift commands, every member of the party had executed their roles with precision, their actions in sync. This was the edge humans held over the fiends, beings driven solely by their primal, murderous instincts. In essence, humans and fiend

s were fundamentally distinct, existing on different ends of a vast chasm.

"New threats approaching," Vaness alerted in a calm, measured voice. The telltale cacophony of the fiends began to echo not only from behind but also from the side.

"Gree!"

"Giyah! Grrr!"

Silhouettes sprung out from the dense undergrowth, hurtling towards the adventurers, joining the pursuing swarm at their flank. A frustrated click of his tongue escaped Petr as he gestured swiftly with his hands, indicating a change of course. Even the potential danger of crossing paths with the bandits was a risk worth taking if they could reach the serpentine path snaking up the mountain. Reaching the road would provide a more defensible position, perhaps preventing them from being surrounded.

"I've got something!" David's voice echoed, his expression twisted in alarm. "A fiend!"

The party members each drew a sharp breath as an enormous silhouette violently broke through the dense underbrush beside them. Towering over them, this netherhulk, another variant of the fiends, was easily twice the height of an curseling. Standing at a staggering three meters, its thick, gnarled horns sprouting from its head made Petr seem but a child in its presence. Boasting the same crimson hide as its smaller counterparts, the netherhulks exaggeratedly muscular form, brandishing an uprooted tree as its crude club, offered a strangely grotesque sight.

"Gruuooo!" The netherhulks bellow resonated through the surroundings, seeming to rattle the very mountain they stood on.

"Gods above, it's fast!"

Each monstrous stride of the netherhulks covered several times the distance the curselings could, propelled by its seemingly inexhaustible reserves of frenzied energy. It tore towards the adventurers, rapidly closing the gap they'd managed to put between them and the advancing horde.

The netherhulk swung its colossal club towards David, who was shielding the party's rear. David barely managed to hoist his shield up in time, but the raw kinetic force of the blow sent him sprawling.

"David!" Greg cried out, rushing to his side and pulling him up by the arm.

Philip, too, turned around, placing himself between the fallen David and the netherhulk. Despite the three-man stand against such a monstrosity and its deadly club, the odds appeared dishearteningly grim. If they'd been a typical band of adventurers, they might've surrendered then and there.

"Eryn, proceed further. Secure your position. Vaness, protect her. The rest of you, distance yourselves from that creature!" Petr's orders rang clear as he notched his bow, loosing an arrow straight into the netherhulks shoulder. Vaness and Eryn pushed on, leaving the confrontation behind. Petr's arrow seemingly did no damage, yet it momentarily diverted netherhulks attention, granting Greg and Philip enough time to hoist David back onto his feet.

"Grrruuu… Grrahh?!" The netherhulk appeared unwilling to let the three humans escape from its grasp. Raising its club for another swing, it was caught off guard when Petr's second arrow found its mark in the creature's right eye.

"Gi-gaahhh?!"

"Who knew?" Petr's voice rang out, a thin smirk masking his shaky sigh of relief.

In its pain, the netherhulk misjudged its swing, and instead of connecting with its intended targets, it ripped a chunk from the ground just where David had stood seconds earlier, as Greg and Philip yanked him out of the path of destruction.

"Keep moving!" urged Petr, as the trio, somewhat shaken, stumbled past him.

"We're doing our best!" Greg shot back.

But the imminent danger was far from over. The one-eyed netherhulk showed no signs of abandoning its pursuit.

"Ignis: flagellum!"

Once again, Eryn's voice resonated powerfully, causing the surrounding fiends to falter. From her staff, a whip of brilliant flame unfurled, the tendrils moving with a life of their own, defying the rules of gravity. The fiery whip shot out, entangling the netherhulk.

"Gi-graah?!"

As the flaming tendrils tightened around the creature, its flesh sizzled and popped, the netherhulks monstrous form illuminated by the merciless fire. The netherhulks movements were effectively halted, the intense heat and the whip's relentless grip rendering it immobile. Within moments, the monstrous form had been transformed into a blazing beacon.

"Gree?!"

"Grrruu!" Despite the netherhulk being securely bound, the outermost tendrils of the flaming whip elongated further, ensnaring two massive trees and creating a blazing barrier in the fiends' path. Regardless of the dangerous flames, the curseling fearlessly attempted to breach the fiery blockade, but each creature that made contact was consumed in the otherworldly fire.

"Huff... Huff..."

"Eryn, that's incredible!"

Arriving to join Eryn, the rest of the party were gasping for breath, their bodies slick with sweat from the relentless chase and combat. Fatigue weighed heavily on them, but the sight of the temporarily stalled fiends offered a glimmer of hope and a momentary respite for them to recoup their energy.

"It's only... a fleeting pause," Eryn announced.

Eryn's magical reserves were not perceivable to the others, yet as an adept weaver, she had an accurate sense of her remaining mana. From a full supply, she was down to a scant twenty-five units. A couple more usages of the Flagellum spell, and she'd be drained completely.

"You're right," said Petr. "But if we could just push a little more..."

"Grruo!"

Petr's face registered a momentary shock. Two more netherhulks burst forth from the same foliage that concealed the first.

"Are you kidding me? Three of these things? Three?!" Greg's voice was incredulous.

Even the seasoned members of the party were momentarily dumbstruck.

"I suggest we continue to run," advised Petr, a hint of dry humor in his tone.

"This is not my end, not yet!" Eryn's voice echoed determination.

Both Petr and Eryn were far from surrendering. They were well aware that the flaming whip's barrier would hold for mere seconds before the netherhulks breached it or the other fiends found a workaround. But every moment it did hold gave them precious seconds to increase the distance from their pursuers. Together, they worked to bolster the morale of the rest of the party.

"I won't fall here," Eryn vowed, determination lighting her blue eyes, when suddenly a colossal detonation engulfed the fiends.

"Eee..."

"Gree...ee..."

"What is that noise?" I mused out loud.

As Lana and I leisurely traveled down the mountain path atop the Pegasus, a strange cry resonated in the distance. A howling monkey, perhaps? The cry seemed malevolent, not the sound of a lone creature, but echoing from a multitude of sources... It appeared to originate from further down the trail.

"Lana, can you identify that?" I asked, seeking Lana's insight.

Instead of an answer, Lana barely suppressed a scream. Her complexion had drained of color, her body trembling as she clutched my robes.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"M-Mister Ember..." Lana stuttered, a look of pure terror etched onto her face. "Th-those... are the cries of fiends."

"Fiends?"

"L-Legends speak of fiends assailing Vandaris... and...my mother... she..." Lana's voice faltered, unable to continue.

Fiends... Fiends, the word echoed in my thoughts. The bandits had mentioned them as well. Could they be akin to ogres? Observing Lana's shaken demeanor, I decided we should halt our journey and dismount.

"But my father... what if they're attacking him?! I must reach him!" Lana burst out.

"Hold on! Just a moment!"

As soon as our feet touched the ground, Lana began to dash away. My hand shot out to clutch her shoulder, pulling her back just before she could sprint down the trail.

"Let me go! My father might be down there!" Lana shouted, her voice choked with tears streaking down her face.

I attempted to comprehend the unfolding situation. Lana's father, Leo, could be travelling on this path towards us with the ransom money. If that's the case, and those horrifying cries belong to fiends, then her father could be in grave danger. If fiends bear any similarity to ogres, an ordinary human wouldn't have the slightest chance against such a beast. However, against a maximum-level mage like myself, such a creature should pose no threat...

As I deliberated, a sequence of chilling cries pierced the silence, echoing one after another. In theory, my newfound powers should give me an immense advantage, but the fact remained that beneath the facade of a mage, I was a mere mortal. Those sinister cries sent a shiver down my spine.

"Let me go! If my father... if he too meets his end... I... I..." Lana's struggle ceased as she succumbed to uncontrollable sobbing.

Life... and death. Back in America, I had never had to grapple with this harsh divide.

Was it not just yesterday when I vowed to ensure the safe return of this girl? What would that promise mean if I escorted her back to a home devoid of her father's presence?

A nervous dryness clawed at my throat as I initiated a spellcasting. "By virtue of this enchantment, for one hour, one target shall be safeguarded by a mana barrier. Mana Shield."

"M-Mister Ember?"

Even while maintaining my hold on Lana, I successfully executed a Rank 1 spell. I could feel the frenzied energy manifesting into an unseen protective shield around her. There was no time for extensive spellcasting, yet it was crucial to take the most rudimentary precautions.

In case matters spiraled out of control, Lana and I could always resort to fleeing on the Pegasus.

"Let's proceed. If your father is indeed in peril... I shall be his savior."

Remounting our spectral steed, we spurred it into a frantic gallop down the mountain path. Lana clung to me, her arms securely around my waist. To our left was a rocky cliff, and to the right, a precipitous fall. The path itself barely extended to three meters at any point.

The Pegasus, guided by my thoughts rather than any physical reins, exhibited rapid responsiveness to the path's alterations. Despite our swift pace, I found a certain trust in the horse not to stumble or send us flying. Therefore, it wasn't the exhilaration of our ride that clouded my face with worry. My concern stemmed from the impending confrontation with the fiends. This would be my maiden battle, against adversaries of which I had minimal knowledge.

"Greee!"

"Gigigigi!"

By then, the cacophony of growls and shrieks formed an unending undercurrent to our journey. I was cognizant that we were soon to stumble upon their source.

But the reality of the encounter arrived far swifter than anticipated.

"Look! Over yonder!" Lana cried, directing my gaze to the right, down the incline.

"Greee!"

"Gigigigi!"

I issued an urgent halt command to our pegasus and found myself gazing downward. A smattering of men and women were struggling up the slope, with a multitude of distorted shadows hot on their heels.

"So, those are the fiends..." I mused aloud.

The armored contingent was a good twenty meters ahead of the looming shadows.

The shadows resembled grotesque, emaciated childlike figures. They were still quite distant, but they bore a striking resemblance to goblins – those low-level beasts ubiquitous in fantasy role-playing games.

However, as their golden eyes flashed with a vicious hatred and their shrieks of pursuit rang in my ears, I couldn't dismiss them merely as low-level threats. Instead, a primal fear started to take hold. The scene stirred up images of an ant army overwhelming its quarry.

"It's not my father... It's Petr... and Eryn!" Lana leaned forward, identifying individuals within the scrambling group.

Could these be people she's familiar with?

"There are even netherhulks!" Lana gasped, aghast at the sight.

netherhulks, the term echoed in my mind. These must be the enormous fiends— the creatures that Lana and the bandits confused with ogres…

"Mister Ember... Please! Deliver those individuals! Slay the Fiends!" Lana pleaded.

Would I have ever encountered such raw desperation in my old life, in contemporary American society? The thought unsettled me. It felt as though her cry originated not merely from her, but from every living soul in this world.

Excuses had no place here.

"Lana, beckon them our way." I took a breath. "I'll deal with the fiends."

"Mister Ember... Thank you! I will," Lana responded before she projected her voice across the distance, calling for Petr and Eryn.

With my fingers still curled around the reins, I honed my focus.

"A luminous trail blazes from your pointed digit to a point of your choosing within range, subsequently bursting with a low rumble into a fiery explosion. Every entity within a 20-foot-radius sphere centred on that point must evade or suffer the consequences. A target endures 8d6 fire damage on a failed evasion, or half the damage should they succeed. The fire proliferates around corners, setting ablaze flammable objects in the vicinity that aren’t equipped or in hand."

In the framework of T&T, when a spell's outcome involves a degree of unpredictability, it mandates a resolution via dice roll. Here, 8d6 was a shorthand for rolling eight six-sided dice.

"All right... Here goes!" I muttered, mentally rolling the dice.

The dice in my mind's eye settled revealing the numbers: 6, 3, 4, 3, 6, 2, 4... Not too shabby at first sight. Upon confirming the sum, 37, the fireball's damage was fixed, and the dice transformed into a brilliant stream of energy that rocketed into reality.

"Fireball!" my physical form declared, finalizing the incantation.

A vivid, fiery red streak darted forward, emitting a high-pitched whir as it sailed over the group of adventurers below. It homed in on one of the hulking fiends with the precision of a guided missile.

And then, it detonated.

A few individuals in the group below unleashed cries of surprise or confusion.

The Fireball spell is straightforward, its effects evident in its name. It's the staple spell for mages who reach the necessary level for Tier 2 in T&T. Being such a common spell, I didn't give it much thought when casting. But witnessing its impact for the first time, the spell's sheer power and force far exceeded my assumptions.

The netherhulk at the epicenter of the explosion evaporated. No trace of it survived. All the curselings within the fireball's twenty-foot radius suffered the same fate, reduced to mere dust and ash.

If this were solely a game, that would be the limit of the spell's impact. Any creature or object even a centimeter outside the fireball's radius would be entirely unaffected.

Reality, however, proved more chaotic. Due to the scorching heat at the center of the blast (so I assumed), the adjacent air expanded rapidly, resulting in a shockwave potent enough to bend or break nearby trees. This shockwave carried fragments of wood, dirt, and stone, launching them into the fiends like deadly shrapnel. In essence, it functioned similarly to a conventional missile or bomb.

In the end, that single invocation of Fireball wreaked havoc on at least half of the crimson tide of fiends.

A mage must reach Level 5 to conjure a Fireball, and at that stage, the spell's potential damage hovers around 20 points. Even at that early level, a damage score of 20 can obliterate a warrior in a single hit.

So, this is what a 37-point damage explosion manifests as… I stood awestruck, the gust of hot wind from the lingering shockwave sweeping over Lana and me atop our phantom steed.

"P-Petr," Lana stuttered, rattled. "Eryn…" She emerged from her stupor before I could.

Her words yanked me back from my dazed state, triggering a surge of panic. Even though the group of people was twenty meters away from the explosion's epicenter, they were close enough to the blast to be rattled by the shockwave.

However, my dread seemed misplaced. As soon as the fireball detonated, the group had immediately thrown themselves to the ground. They were smeared with mud, but none appeared to be injured.

"Hey, you…"

"Are you a weaver? Could you assist us?"

"Lana?! Is that really you?"

As they drew closer, I tallied six individuals in all. Their weapons and gear were clear indicators of their adventurer status.

Yet even as we converged, the shrieks and the teeming shadows of the fiends just a short distance beneath us indicated that the remainder were swiftly converging on our position.

"Petr! Eryn!"

"Lana?!" The man halted. "We'll save the pleasantries for after this."

Despite the maelstrom, the band of adventurers didn't hesitate.

"Shift!" the tall, blonde-haired man called Petr commanded. "We need to create a buffer."

"Understood!" replied three men in tandem. All bore the unmistakable aura of warrior-class characters.

"You, can you weave the same spell again?" Petr, now nocking an arrow into his bow, said to me.

"I-I can conjure Fireball two more times," I responded almost instinctively, my voice barely steady. I had prepared the spell that very morning.

"Excellent. There's still a single netherhulk left. When it emerges, I need you to obliterate it, and obliterate as many curselings in the process as you can."

"O-okay."

Petr's voice was gentle but resonated with authority and persuasion. Given his youthful appearance, seemingly in his thirties, his imposing demeanor surprised me. Could such gravitas be borne out of combat experience, I wondered?

As someone bereft of genuine combat experience, I was grateful for his guidance.

"Lana, come with me."

"Vaness!" Lana exclaimed as the woman named Vaness swept her off the Pegasus into her arms.

This woman named Vaness seemed to be a familiar face to Lana. From what I could tell, it appeared Lana would be safe under her watch.

"To stumble upon such a potent Weaver in such dire circumstances. Our luck has truly turned."

"Praise be to our lady, Alissani! The goddess has not abandoned us!"

The men in the front line seemed buoyed by my presence. On the contrary, the woman donning a cloak, bearing the tell-tale signs of a mage, was scrutinizing me. Could she be mistaking me for Karyon? I wondered.

"Greeooaaaar!"

"Strike now!" Petr bellowed.

"What?!"

The remaining netherhulk was precariously close to cresting the slope.

Had I been capable of instantaneously unleashing my spell at Petr's signal, it would likely have been highly effective. In that respect, Petr's timing was impeccable. But the casting time of ten seconds was not considered in Petr's call.

In the grip of panic, I started conjuring a spell, though not Fireball.

Petr glanced back at me, a look of confusion etched on his face.

"What in the blazes are you doing?!" the weaver cried out.

As I was in the midst of spellcasting, the netherhulk clawed its way onto the mountain path before us, a slew of curselings hot on its heels. Luckily, it was still more than ten meters away, but barely.

Regardless, my failure to strike as expected caught the group off guard, and they shot me suspicious glances before diverting their focus back to the approaching fiend.

Petr was the first to respond, letting loose an arrow from his bow.

"Ignis: Sagitta!" The mage, a beat after Petr, fired her own incendiary missile at the beast.

"Greeaa!"

Their arrows found their mark, burying into the netherhulk's face. It roared in agony, yet it wasn't enough to fell the creature. Unseeing, it swung its club wildly as it barreled towards us.

"Lightning Bolt!" The words burst from me as my spell took form. The Fireball's scope of impact was simply too broad; casting it at that moment would've ensnared us in its fiery tendrils. Thus, I chose to channel a spell that drew a straight line of devastation rather than a sphere. At my gesture, a hundred-foot bolt of lightning exploded forward, no wider than five feet. The lightning, brilliant and blinding, rent the fiends that surged up the path.

"Gugyaah?!"

The sound of thunder ripped through the air as the superheated air detonated, sending a shockwave that buffeted our group. Several men let out yelps of surprise, and a high-pitched scream pierced through, likely Lana.

Caught off guard, the mage was yanked back by the force of the blast, her cloak billowing. As she stumbled, I reached out and steadied her.

Seeing her regain her footing, I exhaled a sigh of relief, then took in the aftermath. The upper half of the netherhulk was simply gone, the remaining half, ash-covered and broken, collapsed to the ground. The curselings had met an even more gruesome fate. A grisly collage of torn red bodies littered the path.

My ears still hummed from the thunder's roar, and the acrid stench of scorched flesh pervaded the air. My stomach held steady, the only reason being the sheer surrealness of the scene before me. My mind reeled, struggling to accept what my eyes were seeing.

"Unhand me," the weaver commanded, turning towards me with a stern expression.

"Ah... apologies." A sudden clarity washed over me, and I let go of her swiftly.

Thus ended my first true battle—a victory under my name, Archmage Emberus Blazeus Xandros.