Mannat’s senses failed to find anything living that could prove dangerous to them.

“I don’t see anything,” Pandit said, but his words carried little weight because of his abnormal attribute distribution for a hunter.

Then suddenly Deacon yelled in excitement.

“There!” He said drawing everyone’s attention. He dashed away to the left as Khargosh yelled behind him to stop. He didn’t seem to hear the warning and grew frantic in his steps.

Left with no choice, Khargosh was ready to let the arrow fly when Mannat grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” Mannat said. “I can sense something in his direction, but it’s definitely not a person.”

Khargosh hesitated. He wouldn’t have held his hand if Deacon had brought them to a trap. They would have been under fire from all sides if it was an ambush. No experienced hunting party would give them time to worry about a runaway. He wanted to shoot the man dead, but decided to listen to Mannat one more time. He believed the boy.

Meanwhile, Deacon rushed past a double trunked tree and kneeled in front of a boulder covered in green moss. He dug underneath it with his hands for five or ten minutes then slapped the boulder in excitement, which led to a few painful grunts.

Mannat’s senses grew dull at exactly the same moment. His thoughts also slowed to a crawl. He felt akin to having walked into a smoke cloud. Whatever Deacon found under the boulder had a severe impact on his senses. Horrified, he hurriedly deactivated ‘mana sense’, which lifted the spell covering his mind and brought him out of the daze. His mental facilities also returned to normal. Yet, losing the ‘mana sense’ made him anxious. He felt naked without its protection.

Meanwhile, Deacon dropped his jute bag to the ground and flipped open its cover. He pulled a hand trowel and a dark wooden box from inside. He laid the former on the ground and started digging under the boulder.

Khargosh didn’t act through the ordeal. Yet he kept his eyes peeled and the arrow pointed at Deacon.

Deacon carefully extracted a plant the size of his hand from under the boulder. It had yellow nail-sized flowers and red dotted leaves. He stored it in the wooden box and stashed it away into his jute bag. He didn’t lose vigilance until he was back on his feet. At last, he raised his hands to the sky, kicked and punched the air, and cried out in happiness.

“Are you done?” The morbid voice sent a chill down Deacon’s back and he finally remembered he wasn’t alone.

He stood his place and turned around to find the three strangers, who had caught him trespassing, walking toward him. The boys stared at him in curiosity, while the man glared daggers at him. Khargosh pointed the arrow right at his heart, and it scared him a lot. He wouldn’t have met them if he had been a little faster in his venture. If only he hadn’t gone to check the cave.

“What’s the deal with the flower?” Pandit asked Deacon as they started walking.

“It’s a hallucinogen.” Deacon was reluctant to say anything more.

Pandit wanted to know but decided to stop pestering the man whose happiness had reached sky-high.

Deacon held the jute bag close to his chest, refusing to let it go for anything. He flinched every time they called him, which only added to his grievances since Pandit had taken interest in him and the flower. His paranoia made Pandit believe the flower had to be a rare specimen, and worth an arm and a leg.

They walked for another two hours. Mannat’s constitution and thus his endurance had grown recently, and it was the only reason he could keep up with the others. The toll on his legs was not small. He needed a break. The thought had just passed his mind when he sensed people in the woods. There were many, at least half a dozen of them had gathered up ahead. Their mana was agitated, fearful, and afraid. And they weren’t alone. He sensed miasma. It was colder, grittier, and stronger. Little Butcher was among them.

“That’s where you want to go.” Deacon pointed over a small mound. “You’ll find the men there. I’ll take my leave then.”

“You are not going anywhere,” Khargosh said raising his bow.

Deacon lost his temper. “Why do this? I did what you wanted. I brought you here. I kept my side of the bargain. Now you keep yours!”

Khargosh didn’t remove the arrow and the man understood what was up. “You want the flower, don’t you? Not gonna happen! I’d rather destroy it than give it to you, scoundrel!”

“They are fighting,” Mannat interjected nervously. Khargosh looked between him and Deacon and dropped his bow. Deacon saw the chance and ran away into the bushes to keep out of Khargosh’s sight.

“Stay together,” Khargosh ordered the boys, and then chased Deacon. He grabbed the man in seconds, picked him up, and disappeared into the distance.

Pandit called after him, but his dad didn’t stop. Was it greed? Mannat didn’t think so. The two looked at each other. They had a silent agreement and followed Khargosh. Pandit stayed with Mannat, while his dad rushed ahead at a blinding pace. The forest was their enemy. To leave Mannat behind in the woods would be tantamount to leaving him with their enemy. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to Mannat because of his negligence.

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Terrifying loud screams echoed in the woods up ahead, making the boys nervous. They saw silhouettes and shadows move in the trees. A tall fiendish figure was throwing people into the air and flinging them onto the trees.

What they saw left a mark on their souls.

The air was rich with the scent of blood. They tasted the metallic taste in their mouth with every breath. Three were three shallow ditches in the ground and bloody mangled people lay right outside them. At least one man was gravely injured. A young man was tearing strips of clothes from his clothes and tying their wounds while the men screamed in pain. Covered in their blood, he looked worse than the injured.

In the distance, another group of three men surrounded a monster with jet-black fur and hunched back in the distance. Little butcher was the monster, and he looked… lethargic. His skin had completely molted and the muscles underneath were grey and deflated.

Yet, he was winning.

Mannat glanced at Pandit and found him holding himself surprisingly well.

At the very least, Pandit wasn’t screaming for his brother’s recognition. Perhaps he understood that boat had sailed.

What they needed to do was to capture Little butcher, and bring him back to the clearing.

Since Mannat could sense Little Butcher’s miasma that meant it still hadn’t metastasized, and he could be saved.

They would force the Witch to incubate him in the underground chamber. They wouldn’t let him die so easily.

“Sunlight’s restraining him.” Mannat’s said. Pandit simply nodded.

Khargosh had dropped Deacon next to the injured men and was helping the men fight Little Butcher. He was blocking Little Butcher from attacking the men by shooting him. The arrows distracted him.

Khargosh had confiscated Deacon’s jute bag and slung it over his shoulder. Mannat didn’t know what it was about, but he did notice Deacon murderously staring at him again and again.

Mannat could sense the helplessness of the men fighting Little Butcher. They were barely holding the monster back with Khargosh’s help. Mannat wished to inspect Little Butcher, but they were too far apart.

Little Butcher couldn’t attack or run, while the men couldn’t hurt him. They were in a deadlock, but only for a short while. Suddenly Little Butcher caught the shield-bearer and raised his clawed hand to hurt him. Khargosh shot his hand, but he missed and the claw slashed opened the shield bearer’s chest. The man went down screaming and gurgling on his blood. The other two men grew pessimistic at the same time. Little Butcher roared to the sky and fled. Khargosh fired a volley of arrows after him, some of which struck his back, but they didn’t bring him down. Little butcher ran on his four limbs toward the forest.

Pandit saw it happen and sped up, leaving Mannat in the dust. Deacon took notice of them at the same time.

“I need help!” Deacon cried, but Pandit had his eyes set on his brother. He didn’t bother looking at the injured men and ran toward his father. Mannat weighted the life of the men with their chance of catching little butcher in the woods and decided to stay and help the men.

“What do you want me to do?” Mannat said.

Deacon threw a set of wooden mortar and pestle at him along with a bunch of herbs and asked him to grind them. Meanwhile, he chewed a few herbs and spat them on the wounds of the men lying around the pits. The injured men screamed in agony, but he ignored their pain. He pulled another handful of herbs from his bag and shoved it into the mouth of the screaming men. He looked straight into their shocked eyes and ordered him to chew the herbs.

“Are you done grinding the herbs?” Deacon asked Mannat, then haphazardly snatched the mortar from him.

He scooped a finger full of paste from the bottom of the container and rubbed it upon a strip of cloth that he had torn from the injured man’s shirt, and threw it back to Mannat.

“Hold it over his wounds.” He ordered Mannat and then yelled at the kid who was jealously pressing the bleeding wound of the third man who had stopped moving some time ago.

“Leave him, kid. He’s dead.”

“He’s not dead! I can feel his heartbeat.” The kid yelled back.

In the distance, Khargosh had a clear shot at the Little Butcher’s heart, and he took it.

“Don’t Dad!” Pandit screamed but the arrow had already left the bow. It sailed after Little Bucher and stabbed right through his heart, bringing a wail out of his throat.

“You killed him!” Pandit screamed at his dad. Khargosh stared back at him with a set of empty eyes and shook his head.

“He’s not dead.” He said. “He won’t die until you behead him.”

A chill went down Pandit’s back realizing the meaning behind his dad’s words. He tried running after his brother, but Khargosh grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“What are you doing? He’ll run away again,” Pandit said and pulled his arms to get free.

“Look around,” Khargosh told him. “We can’t leave them here to die.”

Four injured and one dead men. Little butcher had dealt a devastating blow to a group of people. Although Deacon was helping the injured, they would need assistance to get back to their village.

“But they are our enemies! You fought a war with them.”

“That thing happened decades ago, boy. A whole generation of people has retired since then. The hatred is long forgotten.” Khargosh said. “We can’t let them die, boy. We’ll find your brother. Believe me. But right now we need to help these people and save their lives. Or your brother will be a murderer.”

“He killed the patrolmen,” Pandit mumbled lethargically.

“I don’t think he did,” Khargosh answered and a weight lifted from Pandit’s back. He left the boy to speak with the men carrying the injured shield bearer.

Pandit stood his ground gritting his teeth. He didn’t chase his brother, but neither did he go to help the others. They were so close. His brother was right there. They could have caught him and ended this thing!

He felt betrayed and saddened to see the carnage that little butcher had left behind. He used to think that one day everyone would fear his brother as he did. He just never thought it would come true like this.