The swamp enveloped Arion as he followed the winding path. Each step sank into the mud, the wet earth clinging to his boots. Mist curled around him, thick and ghostly, blurring the edges of the world. Then, the village came into view.

Marrow Hollow. A place of forgotten corners and silent suffering. Crude wooden huts leaned precariously, patched with whatever the villagers could scavenge—driftwood, rotting planks, even rusted scraps of metal. The air smelled of decay. Tools, broken and useless, lay scattered in the dirt. Not a single voice called out. Only the croak of frogs and the occasional splash of water broke the stillness.

Arion paused. His [Sealing Aura] stirred, like ripples across still water. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The air was heavy. Immortal blood, faint but insidious, lingered through the swamp. He tightened his grip on his staff.

A shadow moved. Then another. Villagers began to emerge, their faces pale and gaunt, their eyes sunken. Fear clung to them as visibly as the mud on their clothes. An older woman stepped forward, her hands trembling as they clutched the tattered edge of her shawl.

“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re... you’re here to help us, aren’t you?”

Others gathered behind her. A young man held a crude spear, the tip bent and useless, but his hands gripped it like a lifeline. “The monsters,” he whispered. “They come at night. They’re killing us. We can’t stop them.”

Arion scanned their faces. Desperation. Exhaustion. A weariness that weighed on their very souls. The scent of immortal blood grew stronger, thrumming just beneath the surface of the swamp. It felt alive. Watching.

He straightened, his staff firm in his grasp. “Tell me everything,” he said. “I’ll help you. But I need to know what we’re up against.”

The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, “They don’t die,” she said, clutching her shawl tighter. “We’ve stabbed them, burned them, but they keep coming back. Night after night. They’re hunting us.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered villagers. Their faces, pale and hollow, carried the weight of nights spent in terror. Arion listened, his brow furrowed. His grip on the staff tightened.

Before he could ask more, the swamp stirred. A low rumble, like distant thunder, rolled through the air. Then it came again, closer. The villagers froze.

“Get back!” Arion barked, stepping forward. The mist parted, revealing movement in the shadows. The first creature leapt into view—a hulking, frog-like beast with the head of a lion. Its glowing eyes locked onto the village, and with a roar, it pounced. Others followed, their massive forms cutting through the fog with unsettling precision.

Arion raised his staff. “[Mana Pulse]!” he shouted. A wave of energy erupted from its tip, slamming into the creatures and pushing them back. The force splashed across the swamp, leaving ripples in the muck. He pivoted, chanting quickly as the runes etched along his staff began to glow. “[Sealing Rune]!” he cried. The glowing symbols leapt from his staff, encasing one of the beasts with a binding rune. The monster roared in defiance, its body turning into a card as the rune activated.

But they kept coming.

The creatures coordinated their attacks, weaving through his defenses with terrifying intelligence. Arion swung his staff, another [Mana Pulse] forcing a group to stumble. Yet, for every one he repelled, two more lunged at the village. His breath came in short bursts as he pushed himself, sweat beading on his brow.

A clawed paw scraped across his arm, tearing through fabric and leaving a shallow wound. He gritted his teeth, twisting away just in time to avoid a second strike. Pain flared, but he refused to falter. A group of villagers cowered behind him, their faces pale with fear. He would not let them die.

The battle stretched on. With each beast sealed, the swamp seemed to grow angrier, darker, as though the land itself resented his interference. Arion’s movements slowed. His mana reserves dipped dangerously low. A final roar echoed through the village as another rune activated, turning yet another monster into a card.

Then, silence.

The remaining creatures paused, their glowing eyes narrowing before retreating into the mist. One by one, they vanished, their massive forms swallowed by the swamp.

Arion stood amidst the wreckage, his staff planted in the mud for support. Blood trickled from his arm, and his chest heaved with each breath. Around him, the villagers emerged cautiously, their expressions a mix of relief and despair.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“We’re safe... for now,” he said. “But they’ll be back.”

The villagers moved quickly, their hands trembling as they approached Arion. They wrapped his wounds with crude bandages, their fingers fumbling over the fabric. The woman from before, her face drawn with worry, pressed a damp cloth to his brow, wiping away the sweat and dirt.

"Thank you," Arion murmured, his voice hoarse. The pain in his arm throbbed with every movement, but he ignored it, watching the villagers as they tended to him. Their eyes were full of quiet gratitude, mixed with the lingering fear that still hung in the air.

As they finished, an older man stepped forward, his back hunched with age but his eyes sharp. He wore a tattered cloak, and his hands shook as he spoke. "You... you saved us," he said, his voice rough but sincere. "We thought we'd be next. Just like the others. We tried to ask the kingdom for help, but..." He faltered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

Arion's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "They ignored you?"

The village head nodded, his gaze bitter. "Every time. They see us as nothing—just a forgotten place in the middle of a swamp. The kingdom's soldiers never come. We've been begging for help for months, but..." He shook his head, unable to finish.

Arion looked around at the broken village—the splintered wood, the jagged remains of what had once been homes—and his resolve solidified. "I won't let this continue," he said. "You don’t deserve to live in fear."

The head looked at him, surprised. "But... you’re injured, and there’s still more out there. There’s no way—"

Arion interrupted, his gaze unwavering. "I’ll stay. I won’t leave until every last one of these monsters is sealed. I’ll protect this village."

The villagers around him, weary and frightened, looked at each other in disbelief. Hope began to stir in their eyes. Arion’s determination, even in the face of exhaustion and pain, sparked something inside them. The weight of their despair began to lift, just a little.

The village head, though still hesitant, nodded slowly. “Then we will help you. Whatever you need, we’ll do our part.”

Arion offered a faint smile, his body heavy with fatigue but his spirit undeterred. "Thank you. Together, we can make this place safe again."

The village head motioned for Arion to follow him, leading him toward one of the remaining huts. Inside, a dim light flickered from a small oil lamp. On a worn wooden table, laid carefully in a velvet cloth, rested an ancient tome.

"This is what we planned to offer the kingdom," the village head said. "It’s the only thing of value we have left." He carefully lifted the tome and handed it to Arion.

The book was heavier than it appeared, the cover etched with swirling runes that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. A faint blue glow emanated from the pages, flickering like the remnants of a long-extinguished flame. Arion ran his fingers lightly over the cover, feeling the ancient power that lay within. It thrummed under his touch, the magic alive, just waiting to be unleashed.

"This... this is a tome of [Tempest Wave]," Arion murmured, recognizing the spell instantly. [Tempest Wave]—a powerful Area of Effect spell that created a massive wave of mana, knocking back enemies with devastating force. It was a rare and valuable tome.

The village head lowered his eyes. "We hoped the kingdom would take it and send help... but they never came. Now... it’s yours. You’ve given us hope again."

Arion hesitated. He had never wanted rewards, never sought recognition. But this tome—this tome could make a difference in a battle against multiple monsters.

With a sigh, Arion accepted the tome, his fingers closing around its worn cover. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I’ll use this to protect the people. All people. No one should have to live in fear like this."

The village head gave a small, relieved smile, his shoulders finally relaxing as if a great weight had been lifted. "We believe in you," he said quietly, stepping back to give Arion space.

Arion clutched the tome to his chest for a moment, feeling its power surge within him. Then, with a firm nod, he tucked it safely into his pack. “I won’t fail you,” he promised.

Arion focused on the tome, feeling the pulse of magic within. The runes on its cover glowed, beckoning him. He reached out, steadying his breath, and channeled mana into the book. Instantly, a wave of knowledge crashed over him, its power flowing through his body. The essence of [Tempest Wave] fused with him, its structure and energy now part of his being.

The spell clicked into place.

His ability list materialized before him, the familiar glow of his stats lighting up the air.

Name: Arion

Level: 17

Class: Monster Sealer

-------------------- Attributes --------------------

Strength: 42

Dexterity: 42

Constitution: 58

Intelligence: 74

Wisdom: 58

Luck: 26

-------------------- Abilities --------------------

1. Sealing Rune - Level 4

2. Mana Pulse - Level 3

3. Mana Sight - Level 2

4. Sealing Aura - Level 3

5. Tempest Wave - Level 1

Tomes were unlike any other magic books. They didn’t require years of study or practice. Instead, a caster could absorb the essence inside, unlocking the spell instantly. There was no waiting. No hesitation. The moment Arion poured his mana into the tome, [Tempest Wave] became his.

He marveled at the new power coursing through him. The villagers had given him this. Their hope. Their faith. It was more than just a spell; it was a promise.

He glanced toward the swamp. A chill crept down his spine. He felt the presence of the monsters—darker now, their energy pulsing like a heartbeat. They were regrouping.

Arion’s mind raced. He had the power to strike back. But the monsters wouldn’t be so easily vanquished. He needed to strike fast. He needed to time it just right. [Tempest Wave] could clear them out in one powerful surge, but it was risky. The spell would leave him vulnerable for a moment. One moment too long, and it could cost him.

His resolve hardened. He couldn’t afford to fail. Not after all they had done for him. They were counting on him.