Velos froze, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat.
Sterling... was more than human. The dim light of the dying fire illuminated his grotesque features—ridges of scales lining his face, small spikes protruding from his skin. Amber eyes, wild and dangerous, locked onto Velos. And his teeth—sharp, dripping with blood as they tore into the Darau’s raw flesh.
For a moment, Velos couldn't move, couldn't think.
Sterling is a monster.
The Division housed people from the farthest corners of Antea. Velos had crossed paths with the Drakari islanders from the north, with their forked ears and slate-gray skin, and had even encountered the Ulung tribes of the mountainous regions, their thick-set features and towering heights making them stand out. Each race had its own unique traits, but none—none—looked anything like Sterling. He wasn’t just foreign, he was something else entirely. Velos’ mind scrambled to place him, to find some explanation for what he was seeing, but he came up short.
But the questions wouldn’t stop. Does the Division know about this? Is he dangerous? Are there more like him? He had seen monsters in the field, but nothing could have prepared him for the possibility that he had been working alongside one.
But as Sterling stood and loomed over him, the familiar fear of being pinned under the alpha Darau flashed through Velos' mind. He stumbled back, heart hammering.
“Say a word about this,” Sterling said, “and you’re dead.” His voice was low and guttural like a creature of the night, a growl that he had never sounded until now.
Velos’ stomach churned. He knew now why Sterling hid away in the watchtower, why he kept his armor on, why he fought like no ordinary man. All those rumors, those whispers...
Freak.
Though oddly, Velos noticed a turbulent detail. Sterling was trembling too. For all his monstrous strength, he could have killed Velos right then and there. But he didn’t. Sterling still had reason to restrain himself.
Velos swallowed hard. The wise thing to do would be to stay quiet, nod and agree, but once—just once, Velos cast his survival aside. Against his own instincts, he blurted out, "P-parasites..."
Sterling blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The meat..." Velos stammered. His mind raced, grasping at anything to keep Sterling from killing him. "Carnivore meat... it’s full of parasites. Herbivores are safer, b-but carnivores… they carry all the parasites of what they eat. It’s—dangerous."
Sterling’s eyes focused on the viscera of bloodied meat in his hand. For a moment, Velos saw those amber eyes widen with uncertainty.
"I-I buried some fish near the wagon," Velos continued quickly. "It should be safer… if it hasn’t decomposed."
For a long moment, Sterling said nothing. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Show me."
—
Velos dug at the dirt with swift, uneven movements, feeling Sterling’s looming presence at his back. His fingers finally brushed the cool surface of the fish, and he pulled it free from the mound. It was large and hefty, the size of his arm. He held it up, the flesh cool but still intact, and handed it to Sterling without a word.
Sterling took it, tearing into the raw flesh with his teeth. Velos watched the blood drip from Sterling’s jaw as he devoured the fish. He ripped a hefty chunk of the fish’s spine as he tore before moving off to sit on a rock. The silence that followed each sound of tearing flesh felt heavier with every passing second. He had seen Sterling kill. Seen him tear through Darau with that same verocity. And now Sterling sat there, like a predator between meals, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
Finally, after gnawing at every morsel of flesh Sterling could squeeze from that fish, he tossed its skeletal remains aside.
For a moment, silence.
Then Sterling spoke, “You could’ve stayed quiet.”
Velos tensed, his pulse quickened. Sterling’s voice was no longer wrought with malice, but he was matter-of-fact. Indifferent, almost.
“You could’ve let me eat that meat. Let me rot with parasites crawling through my gut.” He chuckled low, licking his teeth. “Probably would've died from infection.”
Velos took a deep breath as his pulse lowered, and spoke with veiled honesty, “I don’t want you dead.”
Sterling turned to face Velos, flicking a glint in the dim light. Velos wanted to take a step back, but forced himself to stay adamant, to hold the silence.
Then, Velos began, “You saved me from that alpha Darau. You didn’t have to, either. But you did.”
Sterling’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Velos pressed on, “I don’t get it. You said I’d drag you down. But you… you still pushed me out of the way. Took the hit for me.”
“I don’t want you dead either,” Sterling finally said, his voice quieter, losing that crepuscular growl. His eyes searched Velos’ face, as though testing how far he could push.
Velos looked away, wincing. “Is that it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re just… useful?”
Sterling shrugged, his expression didn’t change an inch. “Maybe.”
Velos stared up at him, searching for any sign, any crack in the armor that might show him who—or what—Sterling really was. Velos hesitated, then took a breath, speaking slowly. “I don’t know what you are, Sterling. I’ve never seen anyone like you. I’ll never know.” He paused, his voice dropping to a mutter. “But I’d like to believe that, for once, you’re also a person worth saving.”
The words were a risk. A gamble. A naivete that could cost him.
Yet there was no response from Sterling. Not a muscle in his body budged. Velos dropped his gaze, feeling his own doubts clawing at him. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a coward.”
The silence returned, deeper than before, stretching between them. The sky in the distance began to lighten, the faint glow of the sun creeping over the horizon.
Sterling stood, a faint warmth washing over them as the sun rose.
“You're not a coward,” Sterling spoke. “I know what you are, Velos.”
“What’s that?” Velos crossed his arms, furtive, expecting a half-hearted mocking response from Sterling, who up to this point had never run short of snark.
Instead when Velos darted his gaze towards Sterling, he was greeted with a smile—a toothy, irregular smile—but a smile nonetheless.
Sterling offered his hand.
“You’re just as much of a freak as me.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
—
Field Commander Baraol sat at the head of the war room, his scarred temple catching the light from a nearby lantern. The sword gash he’d earned on the frontlines was a daily reminder of why he preferred this quiet corner of the Slayers Division. He lifted his tea to his lips—green tea, specifically a Widari-native strain—his favored blend. Brewed with precision, he used a teapot with a mesh filter to ensure the leaves were properly steeped. He always insisted on the right temperature for exactly two minutes. Any more, and the tea would lose its fresh, grassy flavor. The earthy aroma filled the air as he reviewed the latest reports on ongoing slayer operations across Antea.
Around him, the maps of locales and regions plastered the walls, pins and tacks representing the current mobilization of their units. A large board stood at the far end of the room, covered in markers detailing the movement of both slayers and known monsters. Baraol methodically marked off updates between the maps and the reports as he sipped his tea. The ongoings were peaceful, suspiciously peaceful—as far as a veteran’s experience goes.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Without looking up, he recognized the voice from behind it.
“Come in, Shovi.”
Deputy Commander Shovi Aradne entered the room with her usual briskness. Her sharp, short hair—close on the sides and slightly longer on top—gave her that precise look, though her constant, relaxed smile always tempered it. Her eyes were narrow and sharp, contrasting with the ease of her expression. As always, two blades hung at her hips, one on each side, sheathed in polished leather. A sling draped over her shoulder, filled with paperwork and notes.
“Commander,” she greeted. “I have an update regarding some new faces.”
“What about it?” Baraol asked, setting down his tea. “Rookies are usually your jurisdiction.”
“True,” Shovi replied, pulling a file from her sling. “But these two rookies, in particular, I figured you’d wanna take a look at.”
Shovi handed him a plain-looking scroll. He recognized the casing the scroll was rolled in. A mission report?
MISSION REPORT
Issued by the Covenant’s Slayers Division
----------------------------------------
Mission Information
* Subject: Promotional Assignment for Sterling (Markless)
* Location: Northern Heartland Plains, Heartland
* Date: 8th of Hiruga, 2nd Year of Emperor Harlos III
* Objective: Capture a single Darau and bring it back to a forward camp
ASSIGNED PERSONNEL
1. Sterling: Candidate for One-Mark Promotion
2. Velos: Markless Slayer
SUPPORT AND RESOURCES
* Quest Coordinator: Melicent Althaus III
* Field Assistant: None
* Resources: None
* Time Limit: 3 days
RESULT
* A tranquilized Darau has been presented and confirmed to the supervising guards stationed at the forward camp
* Slayers Velos Rendhal and Sterling engaged in combat with an alpha Darau, which has been confirmed slain
* Slayers Velos Rendhal and Sterling were injured in the engagement and require medical treatment
MISSION LOG
> Our expedition began with steady progress through the Heartland Plains, following several signs of Darau activity. We had set up a trap in advance using the remains of a pit presumably dug by previous slayers. By dusk, a lone Darau—a juvenile that had strayed from its pack—took the bait. I had missed a tranquilizer shot against it. The Darau became aware of our presence and fled before we could initiate capture.
>
> We pursued the creature, tracking the Darau across the forest. Unfortunately, during our pursuit, we entered unfamiliar territory where we were ambushed by an alpha Darau and its pack. The creatures had surrounded us before we realized the danger.
>
> The alpha Darau led the attack, forcing Sterling and me into immediate combat. Sterling fought the alpha directly while I provided support, attempting to manage the smaller pack members. During the fight, I managed to tranquilize one of the lesser Darau. After the alpha had fallen into the aforementioned pit trap, Sterling delivered the final blow to the alpha, neutralizing it.
>
> After eliminating the alpha and scattering the pack, we secured the tranquilized Darau. With our objective met, we returned to the forward camp on the morning of the third day, presenting the captured Darau as instructed.
>
> — Velos Rendhal
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Approved by Deputy Commander Shovi Aradne
Property of the Covenant, Slayers Division
Commander Baraol sat in his chair, the report laid out before him. The writing was odd, clearly handled by someone unfamiliar with the formality of mission logs, but he understood enough. The task had been completed. The Darau had been captured. But something far more remarkable stood out in the report—an alpha Darau had been slain. By two rookies.
Baraol leaned back, a hand absently brushing the scar on his temple. An alpha Darau, he thought. Even a one-mark slayer would struggle with such a creature, and yet these two markless rookies had managed to take one out with no fatalities. His brows furrowed in disbelief.
He flipped through the pages again. Sterling. That name had come up before. The rookie with a combat record impressive enough that the Promotional Committee had taken an early interest. Baraol recalled the conversations—potential, but a severe attitude problem. The Committee had added a restriction to his promotional assignment, forcing him to complete the mission with another. That was their way of testing him—keeping him under control. Baraol had pointed out how shoddy of a safety net this mechanic was, but Promotional wasn't interested in hearing his lectures on leadership and cooperation. After all, it wasn't entirely Baraol's jurisdiction on who gets promoted.
Baraol turned to Shovi, standing patiently nearby. "Is it confirmed that these two actually killed the alpha Darau?"
Shovi nodded. “Yes, sir. The head of the alpha was brought back to the forward camp. The wounds match the weapons carried by these two. Teeth and claw marks on their bodies also align with alpha Darau attack patterns.”
Baraol raised an eyebrow. "In a pit trap designed for smaller Darau?"
“That's right. The alpha was trapped and restrained in a rudimentary net. They made do with what they had.”
Baraol shook his head slightly, unable to fully grasp how two rookies had survived the encounter. “How are they still breathing?”
“They applied first aid, yes. Basic training every rookie sat through a lecture on. But this Velos Rendhal administered what i'd guess as intermediate medical aid.”
“Intermediate?” Baraol glanced up from the papers. “Has Velos undergone advanced medical training?”
“I’m not sure,” Shovi admitted.
Baraol fell silent, thinking. Sterling was clearly powerful but insubordinate, while Velos—unknown, competent, and surprisingly skilled—had displayed unexpected field knowledge. The two made for an odd pairing, but they had accomplished something far beyond what was expected.
“This Sterling has earned his promotion,” Baraol mused aloud, “but killing the alpha Darau could disrupt the local ecosystem. And more concerning, he may have endangered Velos by engaging the alpha in the first place.” He narrowed his eyes. "His ability to work cooperatively is still in question."
He stood from his desk, sliding the report into a file. With a curt nod to Shovi, Baraol strode toward the door. The guards in the hallway immediately snapped to attention and saluted as he stepped out.
“Find two slayers. Velos Rendhal and Sterling,” he ordered. “Tell them I want to see them.”
One of the guards quickly set off down the hall.
Shovi, standing behind him with a calm smile, asked, “Do you want me to schedule a meeting with Promotional?”
Baraol shook his head and sipped his tea. “I wish to see them with my own two eyes first.”
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Slayer's Notes
Property of Velos Rendhal
Slayer Marks
The Slayer Marks system is more than just a ranking—it's a reflection of every challenge we’ve overcome, a measure of our capability in the Division. The hierarchy begins with Markless (☐) slayers, who handle basic tasks, far removed from the danger of marked monsters. But as you earn your one-mark (▲), you’re expected to face real threats—monsters whose danger is equal to the number of marks you hold. A one-mark slayer can take on a one-mark creature, with difficulty. The challenge rises with every mark.
For Two or Three-Mark slayers, the scale of threats expands—at these levels, you’re the frontline defense for local areas. When the stakes are higher, like a beast threatening a whole region, only a Four-Mark slayer is called in. Then there are the Five-Mark slayers—legends in the Division, capable of taking on national threats, like a creature the size of a mountain. Few even reach that point, but the stories we hear—those slayers are larger than life.