I stood there, watching the mist coil like a living thing, thick and suffocating, swallowing the world beyond a few feet. The damp chill seeped through my cloak, but I barely noticed. I was waiting. The silence around me was heavy, oppressive, and then, through the swirling fog, a large wolf appeared—jaws wide, bloodied teeth still clinging to bits of flesh.

Lovely. Guess I wasn’t its first course of the evening.

Before it could blink, I flicked my wrist, and the wolf’s head separated cleanly from its body. The beast’s eyes glazed over as it slumped to the ground, head rolling a few feet away.

I barely had time to catch my breath before three more wolves rushed from the mist, all teeth and muscle, their glowing eyes locked on me. With a casual slash of my sword, infused with a flicker of aura, I cut them down mid-leap, their bodies falling in pieces at my feet. The mist absorbed the fresh blood, turning the ground beneath me into a dark, wet mess.

Behind me, I heard the familiar gasps of disbelief, followed by the inevitable shout.

"Lord Highcliff is here! We’re saved!"

The caravan guards looked like they were about to break down in tears.

Usually, it took three fully armed, supposedly trained men to bring down one of these wolves. Yet here we were, in the middle of what looked like a full-on beast raid, with thirty—no, forty—wolves prowling through the mist. And what did we have left? Maybe a dozen guards. Fewer by now Judging by the lack of screaming.

The merchants?

Useless and most likely dead by now.

One of the guards stumbled toward me, panic etched across his face. "Lord Highcliff, please… your orders!" His voice cracked with desperation.

"Form a defensive line" I said, making the command sound far more heroic than it actually was. In truth, I was just trying to keep them out of my way for the next few minutes.

Then, i stopped.

Something… there. A faint sound, barely audible over the rustling of the mist. Voices, distant but distinct, drifting in from the left.

"I hear something" I muttered, raising my sword instinctively, eyes narrowing. "From the left."

The guards exchanged nervous glances, their terror almost palpable. I couldn’t really blame them. This situation was pretty grim for anyone not holding a sword with some actual aura control behind it.

"Don't panic, with me here, everything will be fine. We'll get out of this safely." I wasn’t lying, technically. At least, I would be getting out of this safely. What happened to them was their business.

The guards looked like they were about to cry again, but this time with some bizarre mix of relief and terror.

"Yes, as long as Lord Highcliff is here, we’re safe!" one guard exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically for my liking.

"Lord Highcliff is a novice after all," another chimed in, his voice shaking with what I assumed was meant to be confidence.

Just as they were starting to believe their own hype, a scream tore through the night, cutting off whatever delusions of safety they’d managed to conjure. All heads snapped around toward the sound, just in time to see a guard getting devoured by a wolf.

...Well, so much for the defensive position.

For a moment, they all froze, terror paralyzing them as they watched their comrade disappear beneath a flurry of teeth and fur.

The guard looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, his voice trembling as he asked, "Lord Highcliff…?"

Ah, I knew where this was going. 'Didn’t you say they’d come from the left?' Yes, yes, I did. But it’s not like I could predict everything. Besides, who’s keeping track of directions in a fight like this?

"I’m sorry " I said, mustering up my most sincere tone, "Must’ve misheard. Maybe it was the wind."

The guard looked at me, shock written all over his face. Honestly, the poor guy probably thought I had some divine sense of hearing. He didn’t get a chance to reply, though, because a wolf’s sharp teeth sank into his neck mid-gasp.

Well, that escalated quickly.

The scene around me quickly descended into chaos. Wolves howled, their piercing cries mixing with the desperate screams of the guards. For a bunch of guys supposedly tasked with protecting the caravan, they were dropping like flies. I slashed through a wolf in front of me, its body hitting the ground before it even realized it was dead.

My eyes flicked over to one of the guards, who was currently having a very bad time with a group of wolves devouring him. I sighed and rushed over, cutting through the pack before they finished their meal.

I barely had time to catch my breath when five more wolves appeared in front of me, their glowing eyes fixed on me like I was their next buffet.

"Sigh… this is gonna be my whole day, isn’t it?"

By the way I wonder what Leonard is doing now, is he still alive?

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

I was terrified, and for good reason. The howls had stopped, no more screams, no clash of steel or cries for help—just silence. And my guard? He hadn’t come back. There were only two possibilities: either my men had won the fight, or the wolves were too busy tearing them apart to care about anything else.

Running seemed like a good idea, better than staying here and becoming the next meal. If the wolves were distracted, maybe I could slip away. But what if the men had won? The shame of the caravan leader abandoning his own people... I’d never live that down.

But, to hell with that. My life came first.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Suddenly, a loud thud hit my wagon, making it shake violently. Then came the scratching—sharp, persistent, and unnerving—accompanied by the low, guttural growl of a wolf right outside.

"Shit."

They’d made it this far. Which meant only one thing—the fight was over, and not in our favor.

I grabbed my sword, my hand trembling as I pulled it from its sheath. The scratching outside grew more frantic, the wagon shaking harder. No way could my wooden walls hold up against that for long.

I wasn’t foolish enough to leave my wagon completely unguarded, though. I had a plan.

I pressed the blade against my finger, slicing deep enough to draw blood. I winced as the blood pooled, but before it could drip to the ground, it began to move—slowly at first, then in an unnatural flow—towards the blade. I bit down on the pain, watching the blood drain from me, too much of it, in fact. My hand turned pale, my veins tightening as I felt the life being sapped from me.

Then it stopped. The blade absorbed every drop, turning crimson, glowing with an eerie light.

A relic.

Not just any sword—a relic of unimaginable power. This cursed thing was rare, even among the nobility. Barons and counts would kill for one, but relics of this nature were usually only found in the hands of marquises or dukes.

And yet, here I was, holding it.

The scratching stopped suddenly, as if the wolves could sense what was coming. The air grew colder, the mist thickening. I stepped out of the wagon, sword in hand, the glow casting an ominous red hue across the fog. The wolves were waiting, watching me through the haze, their glowing eyes fixed on me. They weren’t mindless beasts—they could feel the power radiating from the sword.

But I didn’t give them a chance.

With a wild swing, I unleashed a wave of blood-red energy, slicing through the air with a sound that made the mist tremble. The arc of energy moved like it had a mind of its own, curving unnaturally as it tore through the wolves. Their bodies fell in pieces, the force of the strike leaving them lifeless in seconds. Blood pooled beneath them, the grass soaking it up like a sponge.

Behind them, a tree cracked and fell, split cleanly down the middle, as if it had been paper under the blade’s power.

The remaining wolves scattered, tails between their legs, vanishing into the mist as fast as they had come. I stood there, heart pounding in my chest, every breath ragged. The sword glowed faintly in my hand, still hungry for more.

Only when the last of the wolves disappeared did my legs give out. I collapsed to the ground, coughing violently. Blood spilled from my mouth, warm and metallic. I knew the price of using this sword.

Every swing of this sword didn’t just take the blood from my body—it took time off my life.

I’d tested it before. A single wave of energy, like the one I’d just used, could shave years off my life.

This sword wasn’t meant for men like me. A novice or someone stronger could wield it without fear, but me? It was killing me, slowly but surely. Every swing brought me closer to death.

But what choice did I have? It was either use the relic or be torn to pieces by the wolves.

Lying on the cold, blood-soaked ground, gasping for air, I could feel the toll the sword had taken. My hands trembled, weak from the blood loss, my vision hazy. I spat out another mouthful of blood, the taste bitter on my tongue.

And then...

I heard the footsteps before I saw them.

And when I turned around, my heart nearly stopped.

A pack of wolves stood there, and leading them was no ordinary beast. This one was massive, easily dwarfing the others beside it, its eyes glowing crimson like freshly spilled blood.

A mutant.

That was the only word that came to mind, and it filled me with dread. Regular beast wolves were bad enough, but a mutant? It was the kind of thing that could wipe out entire villages, maybe even towns. Only an Apprentice-level cultivator or higher stood a chance against one, and novices like Nathaniel? Even they would struggle. Now it all made sense—why my men hadn’t stood a chance, even with Nathaniel’s help.

The mutant wolf locked its gaze on me, moving slowly, its eyes never blinking.

I knew immediately that even with my relic, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

There was only one logical thing to do.

I ran.

I ran like my life depended on it—because it did. I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. My feet pounded the earth as fast as they could. The howls of the wolves seemed to fade into the distance, and I dared to hope I might actually escape.

After what felt like minutes, I slowed down, glancing back to check my surroundings. Nothing. The wolves weren’t behind me. Maybe the mutant had decided I wasn’t worth the chase.

But then I looked forward, and my heart sank.

It was standing there, waiting for me, crimson eyes watching, amused. Almost like it was playing with me.

"Fuck."

The mutant wolf didn’t charge at me immediately. It just stood there, looking... curious. No, not at me, but at my sword. Its gaze lingered on the relic, and for a brief moment, I saw caution in its eyes.

I see now. It wasn’t me the wolf was wary of—it was the bloodlust emanating from the sword. A mutant beast would sense danger, even if I wasn’t strong enough to fully wield the relic’s power. The question was, could I use that to my advantage?

How many more slashes could I manage before the relic took everything from me?

A few, if I was lucky. But even that wouldn’t be enough. The wolf would survive, and then it would tear me apart.

Still... I had no other choice.

I gripped the sword tightly, my mind racing as I called upon the relic’s power. Blood began to spin around the blade, forming a vortex. The wolf took a step back, but I wasn’t about to give it time to reconsider. With a desperate cry, I flung the sword from my hand, sending it spiraling toward the wolf’s left eye.

The sword struck true, embedding itself in the wolf’s eye socket. The creature howled in pain, the vortex still spinning, tearing at the flesh around its eye.

But it didn’t go deep enough.

The sword had lodged in the eye, but it hadn’t pierced the skull. My plan had failed.

I let out a laugh, but it was a hollow, mad thing—despair in its purest form. "So this is my end?"

The wolf growled, taking a step closer, then another. Its massive jaws dripped with saliva, ready to end me.

My legs moved on their own, panic overriding any sense of strategy. I bolted again, running like a madman. My calculated nature, my careful planning—all of it gone. I was a man running for his life, nothing more.

"No! No, no, no! Goddammit, why me? I don’t want to die!"

I pushed my legs as hard as I could, fear driving me faster than I thought possible.

I could hear the beast behind me, the heavy thudding of its paws, the ragged breaths of a cat toying with a mouse. I pushed harder, my legs burning.

I tripped.

My foot caught on a damn rock, and I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my arms. I tried to scramble up, but before I could get back on my feet, the mutant wolf’s claws raked across my leg. I screamed loud.

just that it hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt.

The damn wolf wasn’t even rushing. It just stood there, watching me, savoring the moment like it had all the time in the world. It could have killed me right then and there, but no—it was playing with me. I knew it. I could see it in its eyes. Those crimson eyes, full of enjoyment.

But I wasn’t about to just give up. I started crawling, dragging myself through the dirt, my hands clawing at the ground. I got maybe two meters before it struck again, this time slashing through my arm. The pain... Mesra, the pain was unbearable. I couldn’t even scream right that time—just a wheeze of agony.

I kept trying to move. Crawling, pushing, anything. But I couldn’t. My body refused to cooperate. My arms were numb, my leg was a mess, and I was bleeding out faster than I could think.

"Dammit... why is it always me?"

I couldn’t believe it. Of all the rotten luck, here I was, caught in a beast raid.

With a mutant of all things.

A one-in-a-thousand chance, and yet, there it was. About to kill me.

The wolf stepped closer, finally ready to finish the game. Its jaws opened wide, the glint of my blood still fresh on its teeth. I could see its muscles tensing, ready to strike.

And then, out of nowhere, a sharp sound cut through the air.

A blur of motion, and suddenly the mutant wolf collapsed right in front of me, a massive sword buried in its skull.

I blinked. I couldn’t process it.

It was dead, its body limp on the ground. I tried to move, but my body had given up. The pain was overwhelming, but I forced my eyes open, squinting through the blood and dirt.

That’s when I saw the shadow—a figure stepping out of the darkness, walking toward me. I tried to focus, tried to make out who or what it was, but my vision was failing me.

"Still alive?" The voice was familiar, and as my vision cleared, I saw Nathaniel blackwood.

Blood covered his face, but he was standing there, untouched, without a single scratch.

How...?

I tried to speak, to say anything, but the words wouldn’t come. I just stared at him, bewildered. His face, drenched in blood, looked almost amused.

"You know," he said, "I really thought it was the end for you when the sword stopped spinning, but good job surviving this far. I’m impressed."

My heart froze in my chest.

He had seen it.

He had seen the relic.

Then, I noticed something in his right hand—a red, crimson flask.

"Oh, this?" he said, as though he’d read my mind. "It was pretty hard to find. Those merchants in Norelana are a bunch of thieves," he added with a light-hearted laugh.

What...what is he talking about?

he continued, "And not like it works well at all. Do you know how many times I had to spread it on the wagon wheels just to get it right? I almost thought I’d been scammed until recently."

Wait....

Dont tell me....

And then he grinned, that dark, knowing grin. "Yup, you guessed it right buddy. Blood mist."

My blood ran cold. Blood mist—an item known to attract beasts. An item no one in their right mind would use unless they were on a hunt. Only the church used it during their crusades against beasts.

It was him!

He did this...he planned this.

Everything made sense now.

Why the raid was so massive.

why the wolves came at us so violently.

And the mutant... it all made sense. This guy...

"Why so confused?" Nate asked, his voice mocking as if this was some joke. "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the artifact in your wagon?"

A strong feeling of chills came to me.

"I didn’t mind at first," he shrugged, "Everyone has a right to be prepared, especially against a 'random noble.' It was actually a smart move. But then, when I realized you’d figured out my identity, well..."

he looked at me, his eyes alight with a mix of amusement and something far darker. "I can’t let you share that information with Count Merno, can I?".

How...how long had he known?

"It’s a shame, really" He said with some regret and indifference

"i wanted to get into the capital with a caravan. Would’ve made a good cover... however, I’m close enough now anyway "

The moon broke through the mist, illuminating his face. He looked...almost serene, like he was admiring the night.

"Oh, it’s already this late? I should get going to the capital, or I'll be late." He smiled, pulling his sword out of the mutant's corpse.

Then he turned back to me and waved. "goodbye, This is where your story ends...and mine gets a little more interesting."

I felt the world spin. A strange, disorienting sensation washed over me. And in that brief second, everything became clear. The pain, the blood—none of it mattered anymore.

I was...floating?

The last thing I saw before everything went dark was his face—calm, cold, and covered in blood. But it wasn’t the blood that terrified me. It was the look in his eyes. That smile.

That smile wasn’t human.

That smile belonged to a devil.