Moving through the rest of the rest of the rooms labelled ‘recreational area’ is like walking through a wonderland, with vast amounts of foreign and magical looking objects, most of which I couldn’t even guess how they worked.

However, everyone's faces didn’t reflect the wonderment that would be expected from a lost paradise.

Including my own.

Instead, our main focus is on what is lurking behind that object, or how long until another pack of dire wolves ambushes from the shadows.

It would appear that I’m not the only person expecting to be ambushed. Rather, there aren’t many who aren’t a paranoid mess.

Moving into the fifth room was the most breath-taking and yet only served to increase everyone's anxiety.

This room was by far the largest we’ve seen in the ruins, and likely the largest any of us have ever seen before, almost to the point where I have to question if this actually classifies as a room.

In addition to the much taller ceiling, lots of the ‘recreational games’ were larger, with some looking more like small rooms like that of a carriage.

These all created a maze-like environment, restricting everybody's line of sight and therefore being the source of increased tension.

Especially for those of our squadron, who likely still remember our earlier encounter with the hellhounds and a similar maze filled with blind corners.

With this in mind we decide the filter through as a group, since no one likes the idea of a group of five mysteriously going missing shortly after separating. Plus, this way it will be quicker for us to organise ourselves against any threats we may find.

Moving through here makes me appreciate the professionalism of our company.

When attempting to move through an area quietly with unrefined thugs and even soldiers is a nightmare. With the silence occasionally being broken with some idiot tripping, or not so silently swearing after stumbling into a thorny bush.

For this exact reason I had selected a group of the most experienced and/or talented individuals for the more, delicate ‘excursions’, when leading a raid.

But since the Black Hound selection process automatically does this certainly does my heart a favour.

Far too many times I've had to throttle some bumbling fool, who had decided to have a ‘quiet' chat about the viability of half-swording.

But as I listen now… nothing. Just silent and efficient actions, with an ever-present alertness for threats. Minus our previous carelessness.

Moving closer to the centre of the area finally gave us our first indication of witches being here.

Two female voices, too far to make out but the distance is slowly closing.

Thankfully they don't sound panicked and therefore alerted to our presence. However, it is possible for this to be bait to draw us in before eight more witches emerge from the shadows.

Before we get closer we separate into fours, unlike our previous groups of five since three members died in the previous ambush and one person was badly wounded, bringing us down to 16 functional members.

In my group was Torben, Argus and Petri. Which I guess makes it Argus's group, but that makes little difference since we agree on most things anyway.

As the four groups move forwards, we get to the edge of a more open area in the centre of the gigantic room.

Rather than have the games that litter the rest of the area, this is filled with tables, with many of them broken or missing, judging by the large amounts of empty spaces where tables should be and junk heaps of what use to be tables.

Like most objects in these ruins, the tables are made of a strange material that would have normally have decayed away if it was wooden or a regular metal.

Sat around a couple of tables was four women at a distance of 30 metres, with two of the witches having a conversation. Though they're too far away to hear accurately.

Though that they looked and sounded calm was reassuring that we they don't know we are here. So we hopefully are walking into a trap.

Independently the four groups begin to move closer, using the tables for cover. But rather than moving straight towards them, we begin to sweep around to partly encircle them before attacking.

Now at 20 metres and in position, I can fully hear them talking. Unfortunately just some menial stuff, as well as complaints about being drained of mana and exhausted.

Looking more closely I do notice all of them looking pretty shitty, with one of the original speakers looking like she should be on her death bed.

Mana exhaustion is a bitch, and I'm glad that we're being as big of a pain in the arse as they are. After all, it is always helpful to know someone is having a worse time than yourself, and when no such person exists, they turn to becoming a petty bully to forcefully make sure they do.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Since life in the barrens is rough, there were a lot of petty bullies trying o make sure at least someone had it worse than them.

As we move forwards, those carrying a bow hold back, drawing an arrow and preparing to fire either the second we attack or when one of them spots us.

"Worked to the bloody core I am! Been leavin' me with nothing' left. Few hours ago I nearly passed out durin' a summon and that bitch had the nerve to blame me for it! Plus there's good amount of us lying in bed, near comatose from this damn ‘lets make an army' plan. I need those idiots to just drop dead, else I'll never get some good rest."

The previously quiet witch speaks up for the first time.

"You've said this over five fucking times now. Once more and I might just feed you to Mr Tibbles." What awful naming sense is that? Sound like a cat given to a five year old, minus the threats of it eating human flesh.

Those evil bastards probably would if they thought they could get away with it. If I find the cat I'll kill the fuck out of it. I hate cats!

As we get 15 metres from them, the exhausted witches lazily looks around as if bored, suddenly stopping at an area one of our group were at as her eyes go wide.

"Crap! Who the hells tha-" The first loosed arrow finds her throat, followed by another driving into her stomach. Resulting in her falling to the ground, spluttering blood, still with her eyes wide open, fixed into a shocked expression.

Satisfied that they die like everyone else, I prepare to charge at them, provided the rest of the arrows for some reason don't kill them first.

The only witch I haven't heard speak yet grabs a large medallion hanging from her neck. The large grey object has a rune covering one of its faces and instantly reacts to the witch grabbing it, absorbing a portion of her mana.

The feeling of this mana then changes, before being amplified outwards to cover the three remaining witches.

Of four following arrows, one narrowly misses, whilst the others collide with the mana shield and are deflected to the side.

I was about to call out this information before I realised it's likely everyone else can't see the shield, but hopefully they'll realise this fact on their own.

As the melee groups run forwards, a witch holding out her wrist and releases a large amount of mana that quickly forms into a white tiger covered in purple stripes. However, rather than this mana being drawn from the witch herself, it appears as if it was stored there instead, with the tattoo that was previously there appearing to jump off her arm.

The new arrival I assume is Mr Tibbles pounces for one of the four groups, stopping them before they get to the witch in question.

However, I no longer have any time to focus on anything that isn't one of my immediate threats, and so I look towards the closest witch. The one responsible for the arrow shield that still remains active.

We both make eye contact, since I'm slightly in front of the rest of my group, allowing me the see the primal rage in her stare which I return with my own cold gaze, filled with murderous intent.

However, these witches weren't in the best condition even before the fight, so it was easy to tell she has very little mana left anyway.

As I get within 5 metres a rune on her hand lights up, forming a blue one-handed blade that she holds shakily, grimacing from the pain of using the last reserves of her magic.

In response, I throw one of my daggers at her eyes, causing her to recoil backwards. Causing only a small cut on her cheek, yet resulting in the distraction I wanted.

Now upon her, I use my shortsword to slap her blade's point away from me, then using my wrist to circle my blade back towards her chest as I run her through. Impaling her through the heart.

It would appear that the mana shield doesn't work against swords, much to my relief.

As I turn around, the fighting is almost over already, with the rest of my group looking dejected that they didn't actually contribute.

At the end of the fight three were counted dead, two due to Mr Tibbles and another by the witch who conjured him.

One of these was from our squadron, Grigori Chronis.

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