“Captain! We have another sighting, but they left range as soon as we spotted them!”

Charry sighed. He might have gotten spoiled with how easily things had gone so far—Woodsman’s Town excluded. The armored carriages allowed his men to sweep aside any remnants of Treon’s army, opening the way to the city for the main army in record time.

But now that they were almost in sight of their target, a new opponent had entered the field, one he wasn’t honestly sure how to combat.

Charry was an ex-slave with a talent for marksmanship and could reliably lead his band of misfits to achieve whatever goal the brass set for him. The Light also gifted him with a hard noggin and enough luck to avoid dying in situations that had taken much better men than him.

All that mattered little when a dozen Griffin Knights took to the air. The Griffin Knights were an elite unit of the Royal Air Force, notorious for their prowess in both aerial and magical combat. Each was at least an Expert, capable of casting powerful spells from high altitudes to devastate any force below them. Their mounts, the majestic griffins, were equally formidable, resistant to magic below the third tier, and thus impervious to simple rifle fire.

This made them a dire threat to Charry and his men, who were accustomed to fighting grounded opponents. The armored carriages, the only thing in their arsenal that could level the playing field, had to be left behind lest they be immediately spotted—subtle, they were not.

Charry glanced around the makeshift command post, a small cavern hidden beneath a grass-covered hill. It had been hastily constructed by the earth mages paired with his men, who were now becoming indispensable in evading the airborne menace. They could erect and conceal shelters at will, a tactic they had learned from their enemies who had tunneled under their wards the attack on Margì. Charry had learned a lot since then, and his ability had grown significantly, but without them, they’d be toast.

"Anton, what do you make of it?" He asked, turning to his dwarf comrade. Anton, short and stout, with a beard as thick as rough wool, squinted at the map on the stone table. "Griffin Knights are a tough lot, Charry. Fast, lethal from above, and they can see for miles. If we try to engage them head-on, we’re as good as dead. There are terror stories of what happens to dwarves who brave the outside world. There is a reason we never tried to take the surface. We just ain’t made to fight flying beasts.”

Charry nodded, raking a hand through his hair, “We’ll have to be very careful in advancing. If they so much as suspect we are here, they’ll just [Fireball] us until we are all ash. And we can’t get an idea of what the lay of the land is if are stuck here.”

“Bah, just leave it to the seers, I say. They don’t risk getting turned into barbecue for a misstep.”

Charry chuckled, privately agreeing, even if he knew there was a good reason the brass sent them here instead of relying on seers. The griffins’ natural mana resistance meant they were much more challenging to spot through remote viewing—at least that was what General Doomspear said—and having actual eyes on their movements would be necessary to advance the army. It would be even better if they spotted a pattern in their rounds.

Anton knew him well enough by now that he rolled his eyes, understanding with a look that he wouldn’t change their plans. Orders were orders. "We have to use the terrain to our advantage, then. The grasslands around Treon are open, but we might avoid detection if we keep to the tunnels and make new ones only when we are sure they can’t see us. We can also set up decoys to distract them from our actual positions. They already know we are somewhere around here. It just makes sense to see how they’d react before actually engaging.”

“That seems like a good plan to me. Let’s get the earth mages working on more tunnels. We’ll move in smaller groups to prevent losses should we be spotted and only surface when absolutely necessary, but I don’t like the idea of confirming our presence. They suspect, yes, but there is a difference between knowing and suspecting.” Charry decided, clapping the grumbling dwarf on the shoulder. “Let’s get someone to spook the wormole found earlier to see how they react rather than giving up what little advantage we have.”

Their current location was a series of interconnected tunnels beneath Treon's rolling grasslands that the earth mages had magicked up in a few hours of careful work, allowing Charry’s men to move undetected. Above ground, the land was deceptively serene, with tall grasses swaying gently in the wind, masking the movements below.

The men worked hard and carefully, knowing just how dangerous their position was, but also proud of having been assigned such a mission. Their track record was nothing but success so far, and Charry intended to keep it that way.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

An hour later, a scout burst into the cavern, breathless. "Captain, another Griffin Knight sighting to the north! This one’s flying low, probably scanning for us.”

“Get the men to release the wormole. I want to see what type of fire we are playing with!” Charry ordered, grabbing his rifle and marching over to a small opening in the hillside.

In the distance, he saw the Griffin Knight, a dark silhouette against the clear sky. The knight was flying lower than usual, close enough that Charry knew he could hit him with a well-placed shot.

His finger itched on the trigger, but he held back. Firing now would reveal their position, and one downed Griffin Knight would not be worth the risk of their entire operation being compromised—if he could even aim so precisely as to avoid the much larger beast below him. Instead, he watched as the knight circled above, his griffin’s mighty wings beating rhythmically.

“That doesn’t look like the usual pattern to me. They might know something new.” Anton commented from beside him, for once leaving his grumblings to the side.

Soon after, the quiet was broken by a low rumble. It grew insistently, becoming loud enough that even the Expert above them took notice and redirected his mount to it.

Suddenly, the ground exploded, sending chunks of earth and patches of grass flying.

From the crater emerged a monstrous creature. A terrifying hybrid of a worm and a mole, as large as an owlbear and much more hideous. Its hide was covered in a thick, earth-toned carapace, and its unseeing eyes glowed ferally at being disturbed. The creature itself made no sound, only the grinding of churned earth following in its wake. As it surfaced, a spike of hardened stone shot from the ground, aimed directly at the griffin.

It let out a piercing screech, banking sharply to avoid the attack. The knight on its back expertly guided the creature, their bond clear in the seamless coordination of their movements. The griffin then ascended rapidly, gaining altitude to escape the immediate threat and reassess.

Charry watched in awe as the battle unfolded. The wormole, using its burrowing ability, dove back into the earth—showing that it understood it couldn’t contest the flying beast outside its habitat— only to resurface moments later, launching another spike. The griffin dodged again, but this time the stone projectile grazed its flank, doing only blunt damage as the dense feathers redirected it. The creature roared in pain, but the knight steadied it with a soothing spell.

From their vantage point, Charry and Anton could see the strategy playing out. The wormole had the advantage of hiding below ground and launching surprise attacks from different positions each time, but the griffin was mightier and faster in the open air. The flying beast retaliated, casting blades of wind that sliced into the earth, tearing apart the ground and forcing the wormole to surface more frequently.

The griffin swooped down, its talons extended, raking deep gouges into the wormole’s flesh so rapidly it couldn’t react. Again and again, it found the earthbound creature the moment it emerged and barrel-rolled to avoid its attacks. Each pass left the creature more battered and bloodied, though it couldn’t be said it lacked willpower, as it never faltered.

It counterattacked by tunneling once more and emerging to launch another spike, only to follow it with a second one hidden in the first’s shadow, surprising Charry and forcing him to reevaluate its intelligence.

It might have tried to lull it into complacency, but I don’t think it’ll be enough.

Indeed, the griffin was ready, and with a mighty flap of its wings, it sent a gust of wind that deflected the spike harmlessly to the side. The surprise attack also failed, as the knight sharply gestured at it with a shout, casting a deep purple barrier. The spike smashed against it, causing cracks to spread, but the griffin was elsewhere by the time it broke.

“That beast has some fight in it, alright. It’s said that wormoles are born with hearing so fine that they hate everything that moves less silently than them. They can hold a grudge for decades and remember the exact cadence of someone’s steps.” Anton muttered, his eyes wide. “But the griffin… it’s something else entirely.”

The wormole’s carapace began to crack under the relentless assault, and its movements grew slower. The griffin, sensing victory, made another diving attack, its talons aimed for the kill.

Likely sensing the coming death, the wormole opened a series of cracks in the earth, making as if to dive in the second only to turn back and jump into the third.

But before it could vanish, safe from retaliation, the knight intervened. He cast a mighty fireball with a flourish, aiming it directly at the ground where the wormole had just disappeared. The explosion was deafening, and the resulting inferno incinerated the nearby grassland, leaving a charred circle of destruction twenty feet wide.

The heat forced the wormole entirely out of the ground, its body smoking and writhing in agony. The griffin knight took advantage of the moment, directing his mount into a final, lethal dive. The griffin’s beak struck true, obliterating the wormole’s head and ending its struggle with a final, shuddering convulsion.

Charry and Anton watched, stunned into silence. The griffin let out a triumphant screech, the knight raising his hand in a victory salute.

“Damn,” Charry finally breathed. “They’re tougher than I thought.”

Anton nodded grimly, “Adult wormoles require a band of Apprentices and at least an Expert to defeat. They are too slippery otherwise and mean to boot. I have seen one rip a Dwarrow knight apart with its claws, armor and all. The griffin might have the advantage of terrain, but we should be very careful in how we deal with them.”

Charry turned to his men, who were equally captivated by the display. “This doesn’t change anything. It only confirms what we already know. Keep to the plan. Move through the tunnels and stay hidden at all costs. We need to find another way to take these knights down, but for now, our best bet is avoiding direct confrontation and noting down everything we can so that the army knows what to expect. Our powerhouses will deal with the griffin knights.”

The men nodded, determination set in their eyes. Charry knew they were in for a tough fight, but they had come too far to turn back now. This wouldn’t be their first failure.

It didn’t hurt that they had all personally seen the corpse of General Locke before it was interred. A Master often touted as the bulwark of the South, he had been powerless before the Grand Marshal.

Yes, the Griffin Knights are powerful, and if we were a simple rebel army, we’d be in real danger, but we aren’t. We have our own monsters, and they are so much scarier than a flying chicken.