The bells of the Bloodnight compound rang low, three tones in sequence that hadn't sounded in a century. The sound carried through stone halls and across the courtyards, shaking dust from the rafters and halting every servant mid-step.

Lady Marrowen Bloodnight, matriarch of the line, rose from her seat in the shaded solar. Her black gown trailed behind her like ink poured across stone, every fold deliberate, every movement a declaration of power.

Her eyes glowed faintly crimson, the telltale mark of her race — but the centuries had carved something sharper into her face. Patience. Weariness. A kind of strength that was steady, not burning. She had ruled longer than any of her peers, stood unbent while other lines faltered and crumbled.

And still, she was only Tier 4.

Not for lack of levels — she had reached the peak of that stage decades ago. Nor was she cowed by the thought of fighting higher foes; her blades had cut down challengers who dared test her. No, the truth was crueler. The path to Tier 5 demanded more than strength. It demanded a perfect harmony of Dao and spirit, the kind of transcendence Marrowen had never seized. Her Dao had long caught up to her level but she had never been able to meld her interpretation of it into her class. A lack of affinity others whispered. Her Dao was Honor, her spirit tethered to family and land, and those roots, as deep as they were, had never lifted her high enough to breach the ceiling.

The younger whispered she was afraid. The older knew better: she was trapped by her own unyielding vows.

The system's message still burned across her vision:

[A Calamity Cycle has begun.] [Target: Bloodnight Family.]

Her jaw tightened. So it comes again.

By the time she reached the great hall, the elders were already gathering. High-backed chairs scraped on stone, old warriors with pale skin and red eyes settling with stiff dignity. Retainers pressed to the walls, ears straining.

One voice cut across the murmurs.

"Mother."

The speaker strode into the chamber — tall, broad-shouldered, carrying himself with the restless fire of youth. Dorian Bloodnight, heir of the line, the son whose name the city cursed and feared in equal measure. His crimson gaze was bright where hers was weary, his hunger sharp where hers had cooled.

He stopped beside her chair but did not sit. "Is it true?"

Marrowen let the silence stretch, then inclined her head once. "The system has named us. Calamity comes for the Bloodnight family."

The younger heir's lips curled in something between a smile and a snarl. "Good. Let them test us. We'll break whatever shadow dares crawl into our lands."

Murmurs rippled down the table, some approving, some uneasy.

Marrowen's hand rested on the wood, fingers steady. Her eyes swept the gathered elders — sons, daughters, siblings, captains who had bled for the name Bloodnight. Some she had turned herself, others had been turned by her family members.

"The bells do not lie," she said. Her voice was calm, but the air thickened with each word. "We are the target. The world itself will sharpen its edge on our necks. So be it. We are vampires. We are warriors. And we will not be found wanting."

She let her gaze sweep them once more, her voice rising until it cracked like a whip.

"Call every elder. Summon every captain. Rouse the retainers. Tonight, the Bloodnight family goes to war."

The great hall thundered with the answering strike of fists on the table.

The clearing was still settling when Harold drew a long breath. The walls loomed sharp and jagged around them, the ditch a black ring at their feet. For a heartbeat, silence reigned — only the creak of wood and the rustle of the summer forest beyond.

Then Harold lifted his hand. The bond-threads in his chest tugged tight, straining. The familiar shimmer of system authority bled into his vision.

[Tactical Recall — Altered Function Detected] [Anchor Point: Settlement Established]

Harold's throat went dry. This was the piece Gerold had twisted — the boon and the price both.

"Yes," he said.

The air tore itself open at the center of the compound, light spilling outward in jagged shards. A circle of brilliance stretched wide, and for a moment Harold's heart lurched — not from power, but from the glimpse through.

His valley. His settlement. The tower that was slowly rising, the two completed Longhouses, their chimneys roaring. The platoon formed where they could all be seen. The brothers laughing with the dwarven siblings. The dwarf at her forge. Children laughing as they surrounded Master Olrick.

The portal pulsed.

Behind him, Kelan stepped closer, eyes wide. "Can you bring them?"

"Maybe," Harold said. "I think so, as long as my mana lasts. Go get them now. Tell Olrick I will open this portal every morning to send wounded and supplies through, and have him have people staged to receive it.

The light wavered, hungry, clawing at Harold's veins with a steady drain. He ground his teeth against the pull, forcing it to hold.

Kelan didn't hesitate. He gave Harold a sharp grin, then stepped into the radiance. His figure blurred, stretched — and then he was gone, swallowed into the glow.

For a heartbeat, Harold felt the tug of the bond flicker… then snap taut again. Shapes moved on the other side. Shouts. Laughter.

Then the first of them came through.

The two brothers — axe fighters both — burst from the portal shoulder to shoulder, their boots hitting the dirt like thunder. One raised his weapon overhead, whooping loud enough to shake the trees. The other shouted back at him, already laughing. "Adventure, boys! Finally, bloody adventure!"

Harold almost smiled despite himself.

A blur shot after them — Auren. His eyes swept the compound before his boots even hit the ground. He tore across the clearing, searching until he caught sight of Rysa near the edge. Relief crossed his face like dawn breaking, and he went straight to her without a word.

Then came Ferin, the archer, two lean hunting dogs and a third wolf bristling at his side. Where he got the third who knew The beasts hit the dirt snarling, hackles raised until his sharp whistle snapped them to order. Ferin gave Harold a quick, grim nod before moving to the wall, already measuring lines of fire.

The next wave struck like a hammer.

Daran led them — the platoon surging through in disciplined lines, shields up as if the portal itself were an enemy gate. The ground shook with their arrival, boots hammering in practiced cadence. They broke formation only once clear, but the precision of their entrance left no doubt: they were ready to fight.

Then came Sergeant Rhyea Holt. She stepped through the light with her shield grounded, scanning the compound once before walking to Harold's side. She didn't ask questions. Didn't waste words. She simply set her stance a half-step behind him, shield edge touching earth.

Then the rest of Hal's packed stepped through hesitantly then all in a rush as they ran to get to their Alpha.

Kelan came through and nodded to Harold, letting him know that was all.

Harold's chest tightened. His people filled the clearing, the ditch, the wall-walks. Their voices rang against the timber, echoing with nerves and energy.

The portal still burned, dragging on his veins. He clenched his jaw, counting heartbeats. Enough. Any longer and it'll gut me.

He raised his hand — and the light winked out.

The clearing buzzed with energy — boots scuffing, voices rising, dogs pacing. The platoon didn't need orders; they were already moving. At a word from the axe sergeant, the shield line broke into squads, each rushing to take positions along the wall. Shields slammed down, swords in their sheaths and crossbows at the ready, a rhythm of discipline settling over the chaos.

Harold stepped to the center, Holt shadowing him, her shield planted like a banner. His voice carried over the growing din.

"Listen close. The system's marked our target: the Bloodnight family. Vampires."

That got him a murmur — unease, curses, a few sharp laughs. Harold cut through it.

"They're not beasts. They're not mindless. They're a family with honor. The city hates them and needs them, and that makes them dangerous. We are not here to slaughter blindly. Though if I'm being honest, I'm getting to be ok slaughtering them as long as it means we survive. And we'll do it on ground of our choosing. This ground."

The brothers, barely listening, were circling one of the wall towers, running hands over the wood like boys at a fair. One snorted. "Never seen timber like this before."

"Looks strong," the other said, eyes gleaming. He hefted his axe. "Wonder how it holds up."

Before anyone could stop him, he swung.

The blade hit the wall with a crack like steel on stone. Instead of splitting wood, the axe rebounded, the shock jarring up his arms and nearly wrenching the weapon free. He yelped, stumbling back, his brother's laugh booming loud enough to draw every eye.

Daran was already storming across the yard, fury in his step, hand half-raised to cuff the man where he stood. Harold lifted a hand.

"Leave it."

The command froze Daran mid-stride, though his jaw clenched hard enough to creak.

But Rysa had no such restraint. She stalked forward, braid swinging, her eyes sharp as razors.

"Idiots!" she snapped. "You'd break your own arms before you scratched it! The system put more work into that wall than you ever will with your toy axes. You want to test it? Do it with your skulls next time — might knock some sense in."

The brothers wilted under her words, one rubbing his wrist, the other scowling but silent. Their laughter dried up quick.

The platoon chuckled low, tension easing, and Harold let it run for a moment before he spoke again, voice cutting through.

"Good. Learn your lesson on our walls, not theirs. From this point forward — every mistake costs blood. Maybe yours, maybe someone else's. We don't get to choose who pays."

He pointed toward the treeline, where the forest pressed too close. "Clear it. Push the trees back far enough that we own the approach. I want firing lines from these walls to the edge. Fell the timber, drag it inside. We'll use it for bracing, walkways, shelter, whatever we need."

The axe brothers grinned wide at that, already hefting their weapons. The remainder of the platoon moved in tight groups, forming teams with practiced ease.

Harold turned to Hal. Through the bond, he pressed intent and command — not words, but certainty.

Patrol. Take the wolves. Leave your new hire Guard the lines. Hunt anything that strays too close.

Halvor's hackles rose, a sharp pulse of readiness surging back through the bond. The frost wolf bounded to the gate, snapping a sharp bark. Ferin's hounds answered, eager, and soon a pack's worth of paws thudded into the dirt, vanishing into the undergrowth.

"Careful," Harold said aloud, more to himself than anyone. "We don't know what's out there yet."

His gaze shifted to the dark wolf in the shadows — the Shadow Wolf, restless and silent as a blade in the dark. "You," Harold said, finger stabbing toward it. "Take a small QRF. Auren, Ferin — with it. Scout the Bloodnight compound. Don't engage unless you must."

Auren's eyes lit with anticipation, bow already strung. Ferin gave a clipped nod, dogs pacing tight at his heels. The Shadow Wolf melted into the trees, the scouts trailing after it until the forest swallowed them whole.

Harold paused, pulling again on the Oathbond with Hal. He pressed the shape of the ground he had carved into the wolf's mind: the trails twisted, the gullies deepened, the ambush sites hidden among the ridges.

This is your ground now. Own it. Any scout that steps inside, you take them. Fast. Silent. Leave no one alive to warn the others.

The bond flared hot, then settled into a steady burn of agreement.

Harold exhaled, turning back to his people. "The Bloodnights won't sit idle forever. By the time they stir, I want this place unrecognizable to them. Move."

The clearing erupted into motion — axes biting into timber, soldiers dragging logs, wolves already gone to ground.

Harold stood in the center of it all, Holt at his back, eyes fixed on the forest's edge where danger and legend both waited.

Harold walked the length of the wall with Daran at his side and Holt behind him, the ditch yawning wide just beyond. The timber loomed sharp and braced, its shadow cutting dark across the cleared ground.

"Looks good," Harold said. "But looks aren't enough."

Daran grunted, running a hand along the logs. "You want me to test it?"

"That's why I brought you," Harold said.

The big man planted his boots, drawing his broadsword in a smooth motion. For a moment he was still — then his eyes narrowed, the faint shimmer of his Dao gathering around him. Sharpness layered onto the steel, a pressure that made the air itself prickle.

He struck.

The blade bit into the timber with a crack, the whole wall shuddering under the force. Chips flew. When the dust settled, the sword had carved a groove barely two inches deep.

Daran pulled back, jaw set. "That wasn't nothing. I'd have cut straight through a granite pillar with that."

He tested the edge of the cut with his finger, then gave a short nod. "To open a breach here? I'd have to go all out. Knight-tier sharpness, full channel, and I don't think I would get through in one attack. That kind of power would chew through a squad before I finished the swing. My blademaster class doesn't help a ton here."

Harold allowed himself a thin smile. "So the wall holds."

"For now," Daran said. He sheathed the sword, turning his steady gaze on Harold. "So your plan is to draw them into a fight here? Make them bleed on the approach, grind them against this ditch and wall until they break?"

Harold rested a hand on the timber, feeling the solidity of it under his palm. "That's the idea. Force them to come to us. And when they do—" He glanced back toward the forest where Hal and the wolves had vanished, toward the hidden gullies and ridges. "—they'll already be in the jaws before they know it. I'll need you to organize the ranges for the crossbows. Get markers out there so the men know their distances. We'll need precision if we're to bleed them before they hit the ditch."

Daran nodded, but his jaw was tight. "A Baron-tier could still carve through if given time."

"That's why I'm not planning to give them time," Harold said. "I want ways to take down more than one Tier Four at once. We'll need more than walls to do it."

His gaze swept the compound until it landed on Kelan. "Kelan! Let's talk."

The younger man strode over, still carrying that restless fire, eyes burning bright at being called forward. Harold met his gaze directly.

"Your class gives you bonuses to ground you claim. What can you do if you claim this place?" Harold asked. "Last time you brought up a temporary lava flow. What about now? I know your Dao has expanded, and this class of yours is exactly what you wanted. So—what can you make of it?"

Kelan came at once, wiping his hands on his tunic as though he'd already been working. He stopped in front of Harold, shoulders squared, eyes burning with that restless hunger.

"You asked what I can do if I claim this ground?" he said, voice steady but carrying an edge of pride. "Give me time to set the bindings, and the earth here will be ours in truth. Any other Stone Dao — maybe even general mana that tries to root into the land — will stumble. Their grip will slip if they try to call the ground against us. Mine will hold."

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

He crouched, knuckling the dirt at his feet. The faint shimmer of his Dao flickered, a tremor running across the packed soil. "I can fortify foundations. Make sure no one can collapse tunnels beneath us, no quake or spell can topple what we've built. If they try to undermine the walls, they'll find the earth too stubborn to move."

His eyes lifted, bright with something like anticipation. "And if we want fire… I can build it. Last time I forced up a lava vein for a moment. Now I can shape it sharper, more controlled. Explosive flows. Bursts I can detonate beneath our enemies' feet when they cross the ground I've claimed."

Harold studied him for a moment, weighing every word.

Kelan's jaw tightened. "I'm not an offensive fighter. My class wasn't made for that. I'm a defender — a warrior of the land itself. But on ground I've claimed? Anyone who steps here bleeds for it."

Harold's gaze sharpened. "Kelan, we'll be fighting Tier 4s. Barons. Walls alone won't break them. Can you integrate that lava Dao user? Make your claim more dangerous?"

Kelan didn't hesitate. "Yes. If I anchor the land and let him channel through it, we can combine our strength. His fire runs wild, my class shapes it. Together, we can make controlled eruptions — sharper, stronger than either of us alone."

He turned, eyes finding Daran at Harold's side. "He's not a mage, though. He's a spear fighter. Some Tier 2 fire spear class right? His Dao isn't about summoning flames out of nothing, it's about driving fire through his strikes. That limits the scale, but it also means his fire hits hard where it lands. If we work together, I can turn those strikes into eruptions beneath the enemy. His flame and my stone feeding each other."

Harold folded his arms, considering. Kelan's voice grew steadier, edged with conviction.

"It won't burn a Baron to ash outright," he admitted. "But it'll disrupt them. Force them off balance, make them bleed."

"Alright, I'll take it," Harold said with a grimace. "We'll just have to hope they don't have some kind of water user, or someone who can shield their group."

Kelan's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "If they do, then we make the ground itself their enemy. Even water can't quench stone erupting underfoot."

Daran snorted at that, leaning on his spear. "And if they do bring a shield, then we'll just make them stand long enough for me to crack it. Knights bleed same as squires."

Harold's gaze swept the wall again, the ditch, the men moving timber to reinforce the towers. The plan wasn't perfect. No plan ever was. But it was sharper than what they'd had a day ago.

"Good," Harold said at last. "Then we'll bleed them here. If the Bloodnights send Barons, we'll answer with fire and stone.

"Ok… let's brainstorm what else we can whip up. I have a couple other ideas," Harold trailed off, eyes narrowing on the wall as the gears kept turning.

The forest was alive with heat and cicadas, but Auren didn't hear them. He listened to the wind.

Every draft that curled through the branches carried him whispers — the flap of wings far off, the clatter of a loose strap, the soft rasp of boots on stone. His Dao bent the air to him, turning the whole wood into a map he could read with his ears and skin.

Ahead, the Shadow Wolf slipped through the trees like dusk given form, never once rustling a branch. Its movements were sharp, certain. Efficient. Auren respected that.

Ferin flanked on the other side, his dogs padding low and silent. The archer caught Auren's eye as the wolf froze, and the two exchanged a quick string of hand signs. Halt. Watch. Move slow.

Ferin answered with a tight nod, no wasted motion. His dogs sank flat into the brush on command.

Auren's lips twitched. Always good to work with professionals.

The Shadow Wolf crept forward, and Auren followed. The wind stirred again, slipping past his ear. He tilted his head, interpreting what it carried. Torch smoke. Oil. Too much for hunters. Must be their compound — no, a fortress.

The treeline thinned, and he saw it.

The Bloodnight compound.

Black stone walls jutted up like a scar, sharp-angled and deliberate. Towers loomed on the corners. Sentries already patrolling.Torches burned even in daylight, their flames guttering crimson in the wind. Auren's breath tightened. Every sound the air carried from within was measured: weapons striking in drills, people marching in formation. A forge was sharpening weapons.

He shifted two fingers, signing low toward Ferin: War camp, not a house.

Ferin's mouth quirked grim, his bow angled down but ready. His dogs huffed once, almost in agreement.

The Shadow Wolf melted into the grass at their feet, head low, waiting for its next command.

Auren crouched low in the brush, eyes on the compound, but his thoughts drifted despite himself.

Back home, in the hills where he and Rysa had grown up, the tallest thing he'd ever seen was the steeple of the old stone church, the fortress the group he was pressed into had slaughtered their way into. He has talked to alot of the people in the platoon about their old life. They all agreed it was better where they were now. With Harold. Even with these deaths. But even that old church had leaned, half-sinking into the mud. His people were hunters, scrabbling out meals with bow and trap, always poorer than they deserved to be. He had hunted to keep them fed, and when Rysa came into his life, he swore he'd get her away from that place. Away from the mud and hunger.

The strongest men there had been hunters with quick hands or women with sharp tongues and quicker hands. A few rare cultivators, sure, but they were no higher than Knight-tier. To folk like Auren, those people were untouchable, invincible. A Knight could cut a man down and no one would dare lift their eyes after. Tier Four was a story — the stuff of rumor, whispered about like monsters.

And now?

Now they were marching straight toward a family of Baron-tier vampires. Real Tier Fours, with an army, with power that could break a hundred squires without flinching.

The Bloodnight compound loomed above him, black walls like jagged teeth. The discipline he heard in the drills, the clang of weapons in rhythm, the sheer weight of it all — it was more than a fortress. It was the grandest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

And beyond it, the city. Stone towers glimmered faint in the distance, spires and rooftops stretching farther than his sight. Auren's chest tightened. More people lived in that city than he had ever known could fit into one place. More than all the valleys and hills he'd ever walked combined. Farms surrounded the city further than he could see and further than the wind would tell him about.

The wind curled past his ear again, carrying the echo of bells from within the compound, the sound sharp as iron.

Auren's hand tightened on his bow. For the first time since Harold had branded him, the hunter felt the true scale of the game they were playing.

He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing on the walls. Invincible. That's what I used to think of Knights. Now I'm supposed to help bring down Barons. No going back, Auren. Not now.

The Shadow Wolf stirred, ears flicking, and Auren pushed the thoughts aside. His hands signed quick to Ferin: Too big. Too many. Report back.

Ferin nodded, professional to the bone, though his dogs whined softly at the scent of strange blood on the wind.

The hunter glanced one last time at the city's silhouette, vast and alien. Then he slipped back into the forest's shadow, following the wolf.

Unbeknownst to them, they were already being followed.

The air shifted almost imperceptibly, the kind of disturbance only prey ever noticed too late. A branch bent and swayed, though no weight pressed it. The faintest ripple of scent moved with the breeze — iron, smoke, and something darker.

High above, in the canopy, crimson eyes blinked open and watched. Silent as the grave, they tracked the scouts slipping through the undergrowth.

The Bloodnights did not leave their borders unguarded.

He was no common retainer. One of the Bloodnight's inner members, tasked to sentinel duty after the bells had rung. Tier 3 — Knight-level — his body brimming with strength and speed, his Dao steeped in darkness. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, eager to swallow him whole if he wished it.

His orders had been clear: watch the forest. Guard the compound. Report anything unusual.

And what could be more unusual than this? A wolf of shadow prowling through the trees, a pair of hunters moving with the kind of silence only soldiers achieved. Strangers who did not belong.

He shifted on the branch, the wood silent under his weight. He could end it now. A flicker of movement, a rush of shadow, and one of them would die before the others even knew he was there. The thought pressed against his teeth, tempting.

But he hesitated.

The wolf radiated something alien. Its steps were too measured, its presence heavy in a way that unsettled even him. And the men — no ordinary poachers, no wandering mercenaries. Professionals. The sort who didn't stumble.

His fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade, but slowly eased back. No. Not yet.

Better to watch. To follow. To learn where they returned.

The shadows rippled and swallowed him whole, leaving only the faint sway of a branch as he slid silently after them, a phantom dogging their trail.

The forest thickened around them as they made their way back, the canopy blotting out much of the summer sun. Auren kept low, every draft of wind whispering to him of the paths ahead.

Then Ferin stumbled. It was subtle — just half a step, his bow hand tightening — but Auren caught it instantly. Ferin's dogs froze, ears flat, a low growl rumbling deep in their throats.

Ferin's lips didn't move, but his fingers shifted quick: Being hunted.

Auren stilled, listening. The wind curled through the branches, bringing the faintest wrongness. A shadow where none should be. A breath of air that did not belong.

At their feet, the Shadow Wolf bristled, its form shivering like oil in water. Its head lifted, gaze cutting toward the canopy as if staring at something unseen. A ripple of unease pulsed through it, then out along the bond. Hal, far behind at their own camp, stirred in answer, his growl echoing faintly in Auren's chest like distant thunder.

Auren's fingers flicked quick signs back: Not sure where. Watch above.

Ferin nodded, professional calm covering the tension in his eyes. His dogs melted lower into the brush, but their hackles stayed high.

Unseen above, crimson eyes narrowed. The vampire sentinel tilted his head, studying their sudden alertness. The wolf especially — it felt him, somehow. The shadows recoiled at its presence, uneasy.

He considered breaking away. To follow was risk; if these strangers truly sensed him, they might lead him into an ambush. But training settled the doubt. He was Bloodnight. They do not panic.

He pressed two fingers together, his Dao swirling. Darkness coiled from his hand, shaping into a thin construct of shadow — a raven of black smoke. It shimmered once, then took wing, darting low through the forest toward the compound. A message delivered without words: Intruders. Wolves. Watch the borders.

The vampire melted back into the canopy, resuming his hunt, even as a faint unease coiled tighter in his chest.

The vampire pressed two fingers together, his Dao swirling. Darkness coiled from his hand, shaping into a thin construct of shadow — a raven of black smoke. It shimmered once, its wings spreading to take flight toward the compound.

Auren froze. The wind bent around him, carrying not sound but intent — cold, coiling, wrong. He recognized the shape. A message, not a weapon. His jaw clenched. Not happening.

He slid an arrow from his quiver, the shaft whispering as the Wind Dao wrapped it. He loosed.

The arrow hissed, slicing through the air. The raven screeched once, distorted and unnatural, before it burst apart into motes of smoke that bled away into the branches.

The forest went still.

Ferin's head snapped toward him. "That was a message construct," he muttered. His dogs bristled, hackles stiff. "Knight-tier work. Which means whoever cast it is close. Very close."

The Shadow Wolf's form rippled violently, its muzzle lifting toward the canopy. A low growl rolled from its throat — not uncertain, but certain. It had the scent. The feel of a shadow that did not belong.

Auren's heart thudded. He knocked another arrow and felt out through the wind looking for something that didn't belong.

The hunter nocked another arrow, eyes scanning the trees. "He's still here," he said, voice low but steady. "Don't need the wind to tell me that. The wolf's locked on him. Make him bleed and I can start the Hunt."

Above them, the vampire sentinel stilled, crimson eyes narrowing. The construct was gone, his shadows shredded, and now the prey looked straight at him.

Unease twisted in his chest. For the first time, the hunter felt like the hunted.

Auren lowered his stance, bowstring trembling against his fingers. He closed his eyes.

The wind wrapped around him, whispering. Different here. Not the choked, stale air of the dungeon caves where every breath had echoed like a drum. Not the clean, biting gale of the snows back home that had frozen his fingers raw. Not even the dry, burning gusts of the ashen steppes, thick with grit and ash.

This wind was alive. It drifted through the summer trees, bending leaves, brushing skin, curling in eddies where breath escaped lungs. He felt it catch against Ferin's dogs, rustle faint through the Shadow Wolf's phantom form. He felt it soften, warm, when he remembered how it moved when Rysa leaned close, her lips brushing his cheek, her breath carrying the weight of home.

The wind had always been there. It had always listened, even when no one else did. And now, for the first time, he listened back. Not just heard it.

Something swelled inside him. His Qi surged, no longer the thin stream of a struggling hunter but a tide that rose with the rhythm of the air itself. His travels had tempered him — dungeon stone, mountain snow, ash-filled skies — and each had left a lesson in his bones. Now those fragments aligned, weaving into the truth of what he sought.

[Wind Dao: Squire Tier — Mid Stage Achieved.]

He opened his eyes. The world moved differently. And so did the shadows.

One place in the canopy bent wrong, the wind breaking unnaturally around it, curling and pulling away as though recoiling. The vampire.

Auren drew in a slow breath, the wind drawing with him. He didn't just nock the arrow — he pulled the current itself into the shaft, weaving the air along the fletching, behind the point, until the arrow was more than wood and steel. It was motion. It was force.

His bow creaked as he invoked [Power Draw]. The string groaned, his arms burning as he pulled farther than should have been possible. The wind bent tighter, hissing down the shaft, eager to be released.

His Qi surged again, harmonizing with the arrow, the air itself wrapping around him in answer.

He let go.

The arrow howled, a white-edged streak that tore through the air and hammered into the shadows of the canopy. Leaves exploded outward, branches snapping as the darkness buckled beneath the strike.

The forest roared with the sudden rush of wind.

The arrow shrieked through the canopy, faster than thought. The shadows surged in response — the vampire sentinel twisting, his Darkness Dao flaring into a shroud around him. For an instant it seemed the black would swallow the strike whole.

Then the wind howled and tore it apart.

The arrow punched through the veil, driving into his side with a crack of splintering bone. The vampire staggered, crimson eyes flashing wide as he clutched at the wound. Dark ichor spilled, the shadows around him fraying like smoke in a gale.

Ferin stared at Auren, incredulous. "You hit him? Through that?"

But Auren was already moving, breath low, the wind threading into his limbs. He sank into his Dao again, not just listening but moving with it — his body lighter, his focus razor-sharp.

Above, the vampire snarled, wounded but not broken, leaping branch to branch with inhuman speed. He bled, but he was moving.

Auren's eyes narrowed. "He's blooded."

Ferin's lips pulled into a sharp grin, his dogs bristling with anticipation. "Then the hunt is on."

The Shadow Wolf gave a low, savage growl and surged forward, vanishing into the undergrowth like liquid night. Auren and Ferin sprinted after it, bows ready, arrows whispering in their hands.

The vampire fled deeper into the forest, shadows peeling off him in desperate waves — but he left a trail of wind and blood no hunter could ignore.

The wounded vampire raced through the canopy, each leap slower than the last. His darkness bled around him in ragged bursts, curling into constructs as he tried to shake pursuit.

He raised his hand again, forcing his Dao to coil into another raven of smoke. It barely spread its wings before Auren's arrow whistled through the trees, the wind bending its path into a perfect strike. The construct burst apart in a spray of black motes.

Snarling, the vampire twisted, this time forcing his power into the soil. Shadows slithered low along the roots, forming a serpent meant to carry his warning unseen along the ground. But the Shadow Wolf pounced, its form unraveling into a wave of darkness that tore the serpent to tatters. The wolf re-formed an instant later, hackles high, its fangs dripping with stolen shadow.

Ferin's hounds surged forward, their great mastiffs crashing through underbrush with reckless strength, his one wolf weaving between them with a predator's grace. The vampire lashed out, hurling scythes of shadow at the animals, but the pack slipped aside — low, fast, trained.

Ferin's voice rose behind them, steady and deep, a mantra carried by years of repetition. "The quarry runs. The pack follows. The blood spills. The hunt ends."

The words rolled like a drumbeat. His Dao flared with each line, threads of predatory instinct weaving into his beasts. The mastiffs' muscles bulged, their speed doubling despite their size, eyes glowing faint with feral red. The wolf's growl sharpened, ears pricked as if every sound in the forest belonged to it.

Ahead, the vampire faltered, bleeding from his side, shadows fraying as his pace faltered. The hunters were closing — and the pack was already circling, slipping ahead, fanning out to cut him off.

The forest was no longer his domain. It belonged to the hunt.

The vampire launched himself into another leap, shadows trailing behind like tattered wings.

Auren's bow sang.

The arrow struck him midair, wind howling around the shaft. It punched through his shoulder, spinning him sideways. He crashed down hard, tumbling across the forest floor, tearing gouges into the earth as he tried to recover.

The hunt closed.

Ferin's mastiffs hit first, thundering into him with the weight of stone. One set of jaws clamped around his arm, another at his thigh. The vampire snarled, darkness lashing like blades — one mastiff yelped as shadow cut deep into its flank, blood spilling hot across the dirt.

"Easy, boy!" Ferin shouted, hand snapping out. A faint green shimmer bled from his palm, closing the worst of the wound, slowing the bleeding. His voice dropped into another steady cadence, words laced with power. "The pack endures. The pack bites deeper."

The mastiff steadied, growling again, dragging the vampire down.

The sentinel roared, desperation leaking into every movement. His Dao surged, darkness coiling thick around him. Then he vanished — the air warping, shadow folding as he tried to teleport away.

But the wolf was faster.

With a blur of motion, Ferin's lone wolf lunged into the collapsing dark. It vanished with him, a flash of fur and fangs diving into the teleport.

They reappeared ten paces away, the vampire staggering out with the wolf locked on his throat. He screamed, shadows spearing wildly into the beast's side. The wolf snarled through blood, jaws tightening until bone cracked.

The Shadow Wolf struck next, bursting from the undergrowth like midnight given form. It tore into the vampire, their clash a blur of fang and shadow. The sentinel's blade drove deep twice, scoring the wolf's side, but its form held — and then the wolf's jaws closed on his chest.

The vampire gasped, crimson eyes flaring wide — then the shadows bled out of him. His body slumped, torn and broken, darkness unraveling into nothing.

The Shadow Wolf staggered back, dripping shadow and blood both, wounds deep along its ribs. It lifted its head and gave a low, guttural growl of triumph, even as it swayed on its paws.

The hunt was done.

The forest was silent again, save for the ragged breathing of men and beasts. The vampire's body lay crumpled where the Shadow Wolf had dropped it, already unraveling into gray ash as the last traces of Dao bled away.

Auren lowered his bow slowly, his arms trembling from the strain. He stared at the ashes, the memory of crimson eyes still burning in his mind.

They'd just killed a Knight-tier vampire.

Back home, that would've been unthinkable. A Knight was the end of every story, the invincible giant at the top of the hill. And now he and Ferin had run one to ground like a wounded boar, shot him out of the air, and finished him with their animals.

The hunt had ended — and they had won.

Ferin was already kneeling beside his mastiff, hands glowing faint green as he pressed to its torn flank. "Hold still, you great lump," he muttered, voice steady, calm. The mastiff whined, then stilled, its tail thumping weakly against the dirt.

Auren turned toward the wolves. Ferin's wolf lay panting, blood bubbling at its side where shadows had pierced deep. The Shadow Wolf was worse — its black form flickering at the edges, ribs gouged, ichor dripping onto the leaves. It swayed but stayed upright, refusing to collapse.

Auren crouched, resting a hand on the Shadow Wolf's side. The bond through Hal thrummed faint and strained, like a drumbeat muffled by distance. "You did good," Auren said quietly. "But you're bleeding out. Both of you are."

Ferin glanced up, sweat slick on his brow. "These wounds are beyond me. I can slow the bleeding, that's all." His tone didn't shake, but his eyes told the truth — fear for his pack.

Auren drew a slow breath. "We need to get them back to camp. To Rysa and Lira." He looked to the ashes once more, the weight of it settling in his chest. He went to grab the few weapons and pouches that were left in the vampire ash. "We've made our point here. But if there's one Knight-tier, there are more. We can't linger."

He whistled low, his Wind Dao carrying the sound clear through the trees. The mastiffs shifted, bracing to move. Ferin's wolf staggered but stayed with them, stubborn as its master. The Shadow Wolf growled once, then fell in at Auren's side, its form still flickering but its eyes hard.

Auren tightened his grip on his bow and they set off home at a slow pace.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.