Chapter 49
And So It Begins
As Borgen gently placed the woman in the car, the atmosphere among the group was charged with an unspoken tension. Adom sensed the undercurrents of unease. While Lyria tended to the woman, whose labored breaths hinted at her fractured ribs and the stark wound on her abdomen, Adom's eyes didn't miss the nuances that seemed out of place.
The wounds, upon closer inspection, weren't congruent with the woman's distressed state. They were serious but not life-threatening, suggesting a resilience or perhaps intervention that belied her weakened appearance. More intriguing were the faint lines crisscrossing her skin—scars that whispered tales of healed injuries. Unlike the jagged reminders left by conventional healing, these marks bore the subtlety and precision characteristic of potion-induced healing.
In the world of alchemy, potions serve as potent aids in the recovery process, weaving together the essences of various ingredients to catalyze the body's natural healing abilities. When applied to wounds, these concoctions don't just mend flesh; they reknit the very fabric of one's being, leaving behind the faintest of lines—signatures of their magical touch. These lines are more than mere scars; they are the imprints of a precise and controlled healing process, a testament to the potion's efficacy and the alchemist's skill.
This phenomenon is rooted in the interaction between the potion's magical properties and the body's innate regenerative capabilities. The potion works at a cellular level, accelerating regeneration and ensuring the alignment of new tissue fibers in a manner that minimally disrupts the skin's natural pattern. This results in a healed wound that is stronger and less prone to re-injury, marked only by a subtle line, barely perceptible to the untrained eye.
Adom's mind was a whirlwind, dissecting the unfolding situation. The subtle undercurrents of the group's reaction struck him as peculiar; their lack of empathy seemed out of place, even for seasoned adventurers accustomed to the harsh realities of their lifestyle. It wasn't just the absence of empathy that troubled him; it was their heightened tension, a collective edge that suggested they were all too aware of something he was not.
Then there was the decision to head to the lake, a choice that baffled him. Logic dictated they continue to the village where better help awaited. The lake, secluded and serene, was hardly the ideal spot for urgent medical care. This deviation from practicality was a glaring red flag in Adom's analytical mind.
Bruni's previous remark upon seeing the woman, "Is this for real?" echoed ominously in Adom's thoughts. The question implied doubt, a suspicion of illusion or deceit. Adom trusted his senses. If there were an illusion at play, he would have detected it. Yet, the doubt seeded by Bruni's words germinated in his mind, sprouting a cascade of hypotheses.
Enolar's hand sign was another piece of the puzzle. To an outsider, it might have seemed a mere gesture, but Adom recognized it as a potential silent communication, a coded message understood only within their circle. The nature of this signal and its implications weighed heavily on Adom's analytical mind.
As he observed Enolar, who remained vigilant in the car, casting a spell hidden from Adom's direct line of sight, the gears of his mind turned with increased fervor. The spell's purpose eluded him, but its existence added another layer to the unfolding mystery.
The hypothesis of Borgen and his companions being gankers seemed increasingly improbable. Had their intentions been malevolent towards him, they would have seized the opportunity to strike. Their restraint and the current course of action pointed away from Adom as their target, redirecting his suspicion towards the woman.
The woman's condition, initially perceived as genuine distress, now appeared to Adom as a potential ruse. The group's guarded reaction, once puzzling, began to crystallize into a response to a recognized deception. This alignment of facts illuminated a plausible scenario: the woman was the deceiver, a ganker perhaps, orchestrating a facade to ensnare unwary travelers.
Adom's mind wove this narrative with precision, each piece fitting seamlessly into the next. The choice of the lake as their destination was not random but strategic, offering Borgen and his companions a terrain advantage unknown to Adom. This theory also shed light on Enolar's cryptic hand signal; it was not merely a gesture but a silent acknowledgment of their predicament, a coded message that they were, indeed, being followed or lured into a trap.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The notion that the woman was conscious and complicit in this deception now seemed not just plausible but likely. Her feigned unconsciousness was a part of the elaborate ruse, a lure designed to draw them into a scenario where the odds were stacked against them.
Adom chose to cloak his suspicions in silence, a sentinel watching the unfolding drama with guarded anticipation. His gaze met Borgen's, who offered a smile—a veneer of reassurance in the midst of brewing storm. Yet, beneath that fleeting grin lay a depth of resolve and readiness, the unspoken language of his eyes spelling out a narrative far removed from the comfort his smile sought to convey. It was the look of a man steeling himself for a dangerous confrontation.
This silent exchange only served to cement Adom's conjectures. The subtleties of Borgen's demeanor, the incongruities in the group's reactions, and the peculiar choice of their path all coalesced into a singular, inescapable conclusion: conflict was not just imminent but inevitable. The tranquility of their surroundings belied the tension that crackled like a barely contained electrical charge, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.
Adom began to mentally prepare for the various scenarios that might unfold. He assessed his own strengths and weaknesses, the potential assets and liabilities presented by his companions, the unknown elements that remained obscured in the shadows of the coming confrontation, and the potential need for him to step up and fight. His mind plotted and planned, even as he maintained the outward appearance of calm observance.
As they arrived at the serene lakeside, the group's movements unfolded with a precision that belied their outward calm. Lyria's request to bring the woman to a nearby tree for treatment was the first in a series of choreographed steps. Adom noted Zara's discreet casting of a spell in the woman's direction, a subtle manipulation of essentia that did not escape his keen senses.
The lake sat quiet, its surface a clear reflection of the sky. Surrounded by tall, dense trees, it felt secluded, untouched. Near the edges, a few old stones hinted at a history, mostly swallowed by the earth. The sound of distant birds occasionally pierced the silence, this emphasized the solitude of this natural haven and created a scene of peaceful isolation perfect for a battle, if there was any.
Enolar's sudden absence from the scene drew a sharp line of concern in Adom's mind. The tactician had vanished, perhaps melding with the shadows, preparing the unseen chessboard upon which their fates would play out. Meanwhile, Bruni, Jace, and Zara positioned themselves with an ease that spoke of long familiarity, yet their stance was anything but casual. To the untrained eye, they appeared to be merely standing; to Adom, they formed a "Triarch," a strategic military formation renowned for its defensive and offensive versatility.
The Triarch, a term that conjured images of battlefields and disciplined armies, was characterized by its triangular arrangement. Each point of the triangle was occupied by a warrior, creating a zone of protection and a focal point of force. This formation allowed for a dynamic defense, capable of rotating and adapting to threats from any direction, while also concentrating offensive power through coordinated strikes. It was a testament to the group's military background, revealing a level of preparedness and strategic acumen that aligned with Adom's growing suspicions.
At the heart of this formation were Assia and Lyria, the former procuring water with a focus that suggested an underlying urgency, the latter attending to the woman with a healer's precision. Borgen, standing sentinel over the scene, was the linchpin of their defense, his watchful gaze sweeping the area for any hint of the impending storm.
As the group settled by the lake, Borgen's abrupt confrontation with the woman shattered the deceptive calm. "So tell me, how long do you plan on playing with us?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence. The woman's stillness, her lack of response, only heightened the tension, a silent prelude to the impending storm.
Adom's surprise at Borgen's directness was a fleeting shadow across his thoughts. It confirmed the shift from the deceptive peace to the reality of their situation. Borgen's continued prodding, "Oi, lassie, I am talking to you. Do you want—" was cut short by the woman's sudden, lightning-fast kick, a move that defied human capabilities. The unnatural sound of it, coupled with the sheer speed, underscored the truth of her non-human nature.
Borgen's reaction, a testament to his own prowess, was to halt the attack with a forearm that acted as an unyielding shield, a move executed with such ease that it spoke volumes of his strength and skill. This interaction, this dance of attack and defense, unfolded within moments, yet it painted a clear picture of the caliber of beings involved.
Adom, witnessing this exchange, couldn't help but smile at the turn of events. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, each move, each revelation, adding depth to the unfolding narrative. "And so it begins," he mused internally, his mind alight with the anticipation of the conflict that was no longer a possibility but a certainty.