Noah’s boots slipped in the mud. He cursed and tried not to break his stance. The blood from his last opponent trickled in dark droplets down his blade and contributed to the muck on the ground. His hands trembled slightly from the strain to deflect the magically amplified attacks. Those zombies, corpse-dolls, or whatever they were called, were indeed formidable and his fresh bruises could testify to this. But now, any physical sores paled before the threat of the angry clouds of darkness that rushed to encircle him.

His grip on Red Dawn tightened. From behind, something bumped lightly into him but Noah knew it wasn’t an enemy. It reminded him of seven years ago. Back then they had fought just like this, only this time the back pressing against his was much larger.

“First walking corpses, now evil spirits,” he grumbled. “Just fabulous!”

“Be thankful it isn’t a dral.” Gregor’s voice sounded relieved. “Or even worse – a dhrowghost.”

“Don’t jinx it!” The red shimmer along Noah’s blade became stronger the tighter the circle of black smoke became. “So, can you tell me how the hell is Rowell able to summon evil spirits? No, rather, how am I even able to see them without a scryer-balm?”

As if offended by their prey’s lack of interest, the black clouds surrounding the two men churned, and a dozen black needles the size of a spear shot out towards them. With a flick of his wrist, Noah cut through the ones aiming at him like they were made of butter. The subtle rustle coming from behind meant that his friend had swiftly dealt with the rest of the nuisance.

“Rowell is not summoning anything.” Gregor continued as if nothing had interrupted their conversation. “A shaman has possessed him and is using him as a summoning ingredient. The Baron’s body can’t endure the hexes, so it has started to break down, hence the rotting smell.”

“You don’t mean...?” Noah’s eyes widened.

“I wouldn’t inhale that black smoke if I were you... unless you want to breathe in Rowell-dust.”

A loud curse left Noah’s mouth as he made sure that his breaths were as shallow as possible.

“Are you ready?” The sound of metal being drawn out of a leather scabbard indicated that Gregor was pulling out a new set of silver knives. “Red Dawn should protect you from getting ghost-touched. I will deal with our ghastly friends; you take care of the shaman in Rowell.”

“You sound pretty confident today,” Noah smirked. Before him, skull-like shapes surfaced on the black smoke only to disappear a few moments later.

“Those things can’t even take proper shape,” snorted the Binshi. “They are at best middling.”

“Alright, Vanquisher of Drals, you give the signal.”

Noah lowered Red Dawn slightly to the side and bent his knees, ready to dash out at any moment. The blood drummed loudly in his ears and his muscles twitched in anticipation. Despite the seemingly lighthearted jokes he exchanged with Gregor, his senses were sharpened to the extreme.

‘Don’t underestimate the enemy. A moment of negligence can lead to a life of regret.’ He repeated Duncan’s teachings in his head as he always did when facing a foe, his mind drawing plans for evading all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

Finding a perfect equilibrium between calm and agitation, Noah slowly exhaled, his eyes fixed on a blurry figure beyond the dark mist. Gregor’s quiet chanting came from behind, the muffled verses of the hex merging in a strange melody. Little by little, everything around Noah dulled out and faded. There was only the weight of Red Dawn in his hands and the tiny figure that summoned the darkness a few paces away from him.

“… Oh light of mine, the dark beset, from my own soul – a shapeless net. Now!”

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Gregor’s shout hadn’t even died down when Noah jumped forth. Thin threads of silver shot over his head and embedded themselves in the black smoke. A screech shook the air and wisps of darkness crawled along the glowing strings as if something was pulling them in.

The smoke barrier before Noah thinned as he charged directly towards it. His fingers gripped his sword tighter. The red shimmer surrounding the blade spread up his hands and quickly engulfed his entire body in an almost invisible layer of protection. When Noah plunged through the wraith’s encirclement, the few wisps of dark smoke that remained uncaptured by Gregor’s hex dissolved into nothingness with a loud hiss the moment they tried to touch his skin.

The sprint through the muddy field took Noah less than a few breaths. As he approached his target, the pungent smell of rotting flesh intensified. Now, he could clearly see the condition of his opponent and the sight made Noah’s stomach turn.

The previously chubby body of Baron Rowell had now deflated. His garments hung loosely over a frame that was now more of a skeleton than a fresh corpse. White bones, held together by strands of darkened flesh, shimmered in place of his hands. Dark oily stains covered his clothes where his body had already disintegrated to the point of turning into ash. The Baron’s face was the most preserved part, still retaining some human features, albeit with sunken cheeks and eyes, and skin as dry as parchment.

Despite his sorry state, Baron Rowell still seemed alive, his mouth – whispering an odd incantation the very sound of which made one’s soul shiver. As soon as he noticed the charging Noah, his blackened eyes squinted. An expression of anger and malice twisted the man’s features, making his brittle skin crack in several places. He abruptly stopped chanting the hex and, instead, lunged with an uncanny speed towards the Duke, his screech splitting the air:

“Die, you Limerian dog!”

Noah didn’t flinch. He swung his sword, aiming for Rowell’s head but unexpectedly, his attack missed. Bending his body at an impossible angle, his enemy escaped the blade. Five bony fingers clawed at Noah's heart. He managed to avoid the first attack but before he could put some more distance between them, the Baron's second attack landed on his arm, tearing the garments and the mail below.

Cursing loudly, Noah jumped to the side before the talon-like fingers could lodge into his flesh. As he was preparing to confront his opponent again, a small glimmer caught his attention. Taking a split-second decision, the Duke twisted his body just in time. A moment later, the sharp tip of a spear grazed his ribs.

Time slowed down. Noah's hand and elbow clamped the shaft as he used his own body as a pivot point. Pouring in all of his strength, he turned around, tearing the spear away from its wielder. Red Dawn split the air with a hiss and the head of the reanimated corpse-doll flew off cleanly cut.

Without wasting a second, Noah hurled the spear at Baron Rowell, who was about to jump on him again. The combined force of his thrust and the enemy's attack was enough to impale the Baron with almost half of the shaft sticking out of his back.

Giving out a deafening shriek, the Baron flailed his hands in a desperate attempt to reach his prey.

“Won’t you shut up already?!” grumbled Noah and lifted his sword.

In a heartbeat, Baron Rowell’s head was already rolling in the mud. Dark smoke escaped from its eyes as they returned to their normal color. The decapitated body swayed and tumbled down with limbs oddly bent like broken twigs.

With a relieved sigh, Noah slumped down on the muddy ground, resting his arms on his knees. He took a few deep breaths but suddenly bent over and started violently coughing and spitting.

“Noah!” Gregor’s voice reached his ears, accompanied by the squishing sound of running feet. “Are you alright?”

The young shaman knelt beside him and his hands began to frantically check his friend’s body.

“I… got some of that bastard… into my mouth!” moaned Noah and spat again.

“Thank the Mother!” Relief swept over Gregor’s face. “I thought it was something serious.”

“It is serious!”

“It won’t kill you, so it’s no big deal.”

Noah threw him a mortified glance but the Binshi ignored him.

Putting his palms around his friend’s face, Gregor closed his eyes and started chanting a small purification hex. Noah saw the weak silver shimmer radiating from the shaman’s hands and could feel a wave of warmth spreading all over his body.

In a few seconds, the ritual was complete. Letting go of him, Gregor stood up and stretched out his arm. Its slight tremble didn’t escape Noah’s eyes.

“Pull yourself together before the others see you.”

“Look who is talking.” Noah took the offered hand and climbed to his feet. “Don’t faint on me now.”

“You wish.” Gregor rewarded him with a crooked smile. “If I’m going to faint it will be into my wife’s embrace and nowhere else.”

“Cocky brat!” Over his shoulder, Noah saw Duncan and the rest of the hunting party rushing towards them. “Let’s clean up here and return home.”