The Dawnstead Barracks stood as a fortified heart of the town, a stronghold of order amidst the unpredictable world beyond its walls. Its stone structure, weathered by time and duty, exuded an air of unwavering vigilance. The midday sun streamed through the open windows, casting sharp beams across the war table, where maps and scouting reports lay scattered.
The air inside was thick—not just with dust, sweat, and steel—but with something unspoken. A tension that gnawed at the edges of routine, an unease that even seasoned knights couldn't quite name.
At the center of it all stood Vice-Captain Gale Valtor, his sharp gaze scanning the gathered officers and scouts. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but his silence alone demanded answers.
A scout, his travel-worn leather armor still caked with dust, cleared his throat. His voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of unease.
"Sir, we're seeing monsters behave in ways they shouldn't. Wolves, Goblins, even the territorial beasts like Direfangs… they're clustering in unnatural numbers. No territorial fights. No hunting patterns. Just relentless movement, as if driven by something unseen."
Gale's brow furrowed slightly. He had spent years tracking monster behavior—this wasn't normal.
"How many?" he asked.
The scout hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face, as if struggling to put the sheer scale into words.
"Too many. It started as scattered packs, but now they're forming swarms. Last night, a patrol had to retreat after being overrun by a horde of horned rabbits."
A ripple of scoffs spread through the gathered knights. Horned rabbits were a common nuisance, aggressive in groups but hardly a true threat. The idea that an armed patrol had been forced to retreat from them was… unsettling.
The scout hesitated before speaking again.
"Sir, it's not just the numbers. It's… how they're moving."
Gale's brows furrowed. "Explain."
The scout licked his lips, choosing his words carefully.
"Normally, goblins, wolves, and direfangs wouldn't tolerate each other. Territories keep them apart, food scarcity keeps them fighting. But now?" He shook his head. "They're not just gathering. They're marching. Almost like… they're being led."
That sent a ripple through the room.
A young knight, no older than twenty, shifted in place. His voice was quiet, but the concern in it was clear.
"You mean… like an army?"
The idea hung in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon.
Doran, a grizzled veteran with a thick, graying beard, leaned on the table, his fingers drumming against the wood.
"I've seen monster migrations before—usually after a disaster forces them out of their dens. But this…" His expression darkened. "This isn't a migration. They're not running from something. They're moving with purpose."
A chill crawled down Gale's spine. "Miasma?" Gale asked.
The room stilled.
A shadow passed over the gathered knights, their expressions tightening. It was the most logical concern. If miasma was seeping into the region, it could drive monsters into a frenzy, warping their instincts and pushing them toward aggression.
But the scout shook his head.
"We considered that, sir. But there's no sign of miasma fog, no corruption, and the monsters aren't mutating. They're not physically stronger. They're just… acting like something's forcing them forward. Like they're running from something, or worse—toward it."
That wasn't normal. That wasn't anything they had recorded before.
Gale let out a slow breath, his mind working through the possibilities.
If it wasn't miasma, what was it?
If the monsters were gathering, where were they headed?
And more importantly—who or what was making them move?
The knights in the room shifted uncomfortably. They were warriors, trained for battle, but the unknown? The unknown was the real enemy.
Something was happening in the wilds beyond Dawnstead. Something unseen. And it was coming closer.
Finally, Doran broke the silence.
"We need to act. If this continues, the town could be in danger."
Gale agreed—but rushing in blind was a mistake. He needed more proof, something concrete before making a move. He wasn't about to send knights into the dark without a lantern.
He turned back to the scout. "We need more information before we act. Where was the last major sighting?"
The scout straightened. "Near the southern riverbanks. Three separate scouting parties reported seeing unusual monster activity there in the past two days."
Gale considered it. The riverbanks were far enough from the town that a large-scale movement wouldn't be immediately noticeable. If the monsters were gathering there, then that was their best chance to observe before engaging.
He exhaled, his decision was made.
"We'll send a small reconnaissance team to confirm the situation. No direct combat unless necessary." His gaze swept across the room. "If the monsters really are moving like an army, we need to know who's giving the orders."
Doran nodded. "A cautious approach, then."
"For now." Gale's expression hardened. "But if this turns out to be worse than we think, we'll be ready."
The tension in the room didn't lessen, but there was a sense of direction now—a course of action in the face of uncertainty.
As the knights dispersed to prepare the reconnaissance team, Gale remained by the war table, staring at the reports.
Whatever was happening out there… This was only the beginning.
A heavy silence followed Gale's declaration.
"I'll lead the reconnaissance team." His voice was steady, but a flicker of concern crossed his sharp features.
Doran folded his arms, his gaze hard.
"Are you sure?" His voice held the weight of years of experience. "You can leave reconnaissance to the knights. That's what they're trained for."
Gale met his eyes. "I need to confirm it myself. If this is as bad as I think, I won't risk sending anyone blind."
Doran exhaled through his nose. He understood Gale's reasoning, but that didn't mean he liked it.
"You know what you're doing, then."
"I do." Gale's voice was firm, but inside, he wasn't entirely sure. The reports weren't adding up. A normal monster migration wouldn't explain the organized movement, and without miasma corruption, they had no known cause.
If there was something else behind this, he needed to see it with his own eyes.
Doran shook his head. "Then at least take experienced knights with you. No recruits."
"Of course."
"And keep your squad small."
"Five at most," Gale confirmed. "Too many would slow us down."
Doran frowned, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "Stubborn as ever."
"You wouldn't respect me if I wasn't."
A dry chuckle. "Fair point."
With the decision made, the war room erupted into movement.
Knights left to gather equipment, sharpen weapons, and check supplies. Even those not joining the mission knew the importance of preparation. If this reconnaissance went poorly, Dawnstead itself could be in danger.
Gale moved through the barracks with purpose, strapping on his gear piece by piece.
Leather-reinforced armor, worn but reliable.
A sword, its hilt wrapped tight from years of use.
A hunting knife secured at his belt, a backup he hoped not to need.
A pouch of rations and a water flask—basic, but enough for a day's journey.
As he adjusted his gauntlets, a familiar voice called out.
"Vice-Captain!"
Gale turned to see a younger knight jogging up—Reiner, one of his more promising men.
"Sir, do you need another sword on your squad?" Reiner asked, his expression eager.
Gale studied him for a moment. Reiner was skilled, but young. He had potential, but this mission wasn't for potential.
"Not this time," Gale said. "I need veterans for this one."
Reiner's expression faltered, but he nodded. "Understood, sir. Then at least—be careful."
Gale clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I plan to."
With his squad selected—four seasoned knights—they gathered in the courtyard for final checks.
Doran approached once more, his expression unreadable.
"You remember the old saying, Gale?"
Gale smirked. "Which one?"
Doran's gaze darkened. "Never chase shadows without a torch."
A warning.
Gale nodded. "Then let's hope we find nothing but empty woods."
Another seasoned knight, Edric, frowned as he tightened the saddle on his horse. "Still, we've had three separate reports from different patrol squads. That's not normal."
Gale nodded. "Exactly. Which is why we're checking it out ourselves."
With that, he turned to his squad.
"We move out."
As they stepped beyond the town gates, the warmth of Dawnstead faded behind them. Their horses' hooves stirred up dust as they followed the winding dirt path leading toward the reported disturbances.
At first, everything seemed… normal.
Yet as the minutes passed, a creeping sense of unease settled over them.
The usual sounds of the wild—chirping birds, rustling leaves, distant howls—were absent.
Even the wind barely stirred the treetops.
At first, the knights ignored it, their casual banter filling the silence.
Then, the quiet became too much to ignore.
Doran, one of the seasoned knights accompanying Gale, unable to stand the eerie stillness, let out an exaggerated sigh. "This is boring. Where's the part where the monsters jump out at us?"
Edric shot him a look. "You do realize we're hoping that doesn't happen, right?"
"Oh, come on. A little action never hurts."
Another seasoned knight, Roland, furrowed his brows. "Vice-Captain, something's off. There's no movement. No animals. It's like everything cleared out."
Gale tightened his grip on the reins. He'd felt something was wrong the moment they'd entered this stretch of the forest, but now the others were sensing it too.
He scanned the surroundings.
The trees stood still, their branches untouched by even the lightest breeze.
The grass lay undisturbed, as if nothing had moved through it in days.
Even the insects—flies, crickets—were missing.
Something had driven the wildlife away.
Gale opened his mouth to issue a warning when—a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
"Hold up," Gale called, raising a fist.
The knights halted immediately, hands drifting toward their weapons.
Up ahead, deep gashes marred the bark of a towering oak. The claw marks ran nearly three meters high, carving through the wood as if it had been paper.
Doran whistled, dismounting to run a hand over the grooves. "That's… not normal."
Edric slid off his horse, crouching near the dirt path. He ran his fingers through the soil, then frowned. "There was a struggle here. Something fought, but... the bodies aren't here."
Roland muttered, "Or something dragged them away."
Silence.
The weight of that thought hung over them like a storm cloud.
Gale's gaze swept the surroundings. If a fight had broken out here, the signs of battle should be everywhere—torn-up ground, broken branches, blood. But the scene was almost… too clean.
Whatever had fought here had left no trace of its victims.
A faint chill settled over the group.
SNAP.
The distant sound of a branch breaking. It came from deep within the trees.
The knights froze.
Roland's hand tightened around his sword. "Vice-Captain..."
Gale's pulse quickened. He could feel it now—something was watching them.
They were not alone.
Then—something moved ahead. A figure lurched into the clearing.
At first glance, it was just a Direfang Wolf, one of the many predatory beasts that roamed these lands. Its scarlet streaks ran along its jet-black fur, pulsating with eerie energy, bristled under the faint afternoon light. Its muscular frame was built for killing.
But something was wrong.
The wolf's legs trembled. It stood, hunched over, its claws digging so deeply into the dirt that small furrows formed beneath its paws. Its body twitched violently, like a puppet whose strings had been tangled. Shuddering breaths racked its frame, as if it were struggling against something unseen.
And then there were its eyes.
A faint, eerie glow pulsed from its pupils, veins of unnatural light spreading like cracks across its body.
The knights didn't speak at first. They felt it. Something wasn't right.
"Is it… sick?" Doran finally broke the silence, his voice uncertain.
Gale didn't answer immediately.
He had hunted Direfangs before. These creatures were pack hunters, cold and calculated in their approach. They attacked only when they had the advantage.
But this one was alone.
And it wasn't acting like a predator.
It was shaking.
Then—its head snapped toward them.
A guttural, choking snarl tore through the air.
The wolf's entire body convulsed—and then, with terrifying speed, it lunged forward.
"Defensive formation!" Gale's command came sharp and fast.
The knights reacted instantly, shields rising in a disciplined motion. But the wolf's movements were unlike anything they had ever seen.
Its limbs jerked unnaturally, as if its body wasn't fully under its own control. Instead of calculated strikes, it thrashed violently, lunging and twisting in erratic, unpredictable motions.
It wasn't hunting them. It wasn't even fighting them. It was fighting something inside itself.
"What the hell is wrong with it?!" Doran cursed as the beast collided with one of the knights, slamming against his shield with terrifying force. The impact should have sent the creature reeling—but it didn't.
Instead, it twisted midair and came down even harder, its claws scraping against the knight's armor, its fangs gnashing mindlessly.
Gale didn't hesitate. He surged forward.
His blade flashed, infused with wind magic, a clean arc cutting through the Direfang's side. A normal beast would have howled in pain, staggered back, bled.
But this one… It barely reacted.
The glowing veins across its body flared brighter. Its body spasmed violently, a sickening, guttural sound escaping from its throat—not a growl, but something far more unnatural.
It looked like it was breaking apart from the inside.
Gale didn't like this. Not one bit.
"Bring it down!" he ordered.
Edric moved in next, his sword driving straight through the beast's chest.
The Direfang spasmed.
For a moment, its entire body locked up. It trembled violently, its mouth opening in a silent snarl.
And then—it collapsed.
The knights stood in tense silence, the only sound the raggedness of their own breathing.
Edric was the first to step forward, kneeling beside the corpse. He hesitated before reaching out, pressing two fingers against the beast's still-pulsing veins.
Then, slowly, he withdrew his hand.
"I've never seen a Direfang act like that," he murmured, eyes dark with unease. "It wasn't hunting us. It wasn't defending its territory. It was just… lashing out."
Roland pointed at the wolf's body, his jaw tight. "And look at this. That glow… it's fading now, but this wasn't natural."
Gale's gaze lingered on the corpse, his mind racing.
This wasn't miasma corruption. He had encountered that before—it made monsters more aggressive, yes, but not unstable. Not like this.
This was something else.
And he didn't like not knowing what.
Slowly, he exhaled, turning toward the others.
"We keep moving." His voice was steady, but beneath it was an unmistakable edge of urgency. "If this is just one case, we might be overthinking it. But if there's more..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Because they all understood. Something was happening. Something they couldn't explain.
And whatever it was… This was only the beginning.
End of Chapter 16