The man's entire figure manifested as a spectral phantom, his diaphanous form melding impeccably with the environment as he gracefully meandered toward one of the encampment's tents. His footfalls were uncannily hushed, as if he were an extension of nature itself.
Exhibiting the adroitness of a consummate covert operative, he gingerly raised the tent's canvas, exercising the utmost caution to guarantee that not even the faintest susurration divulged his clandestine presence.
Upon crossing the threshold, he observed a figure lying on the ground, utterly shrouded in a thick blanket, with a backpack resting nearby.
Retrieving a a camouflaging dagger from behind his back, the man noted the sinister liquid coating its blade a potent concoction designed to induce instantaneous paralysis and overwhelming debilitation in its unfortunate victim.
He scrutinized the enshrouded form, seeking a non-lethal area to strike. Crouching stealthily, he moved with calculated caution, fully aware of the gravity of his actions.
In a swift, decisive motion, he expertly plunged the dagger into the stomach region of the concealed figure.
However, his body slightly flinched in shock as the sensation beneath the blade felt nothing like human flesh.
Whipping his head around, he realized the backpack was gone, replaced by a figure donning an intricate, dark violet mask with potruded fangs. The masked individual aimed a gun directly at the intruder's eyes.
*Bang!*
The once transparent body crumpled to the ground as a mana bullet tore through his head, embedding itself in the tent's interior floor. The fallen man's form solidified, revealing a figure garbed in a black cloak adorned with the insignia of a feral beast.
Gabbi experienced a subtle, uneasy sensation as he gripped the Arankar, his hand trembling slightly.
He stowed the weapon in his dimensional ring, deep in thought. "So, this marks my inaugural human kill. It's astonishing how delicate the thread of life becomes when presented with the right opportunity."
With a brief, deliberate closure of his eyes, he endeavored to banish the intrusive thought from his consciousness. 'I must not allow myself to become preoccupied with this matter,' he sternly admonished himself.
As his eyes reopened, he redirected his attention to the pressing circumstances before him. "I am profoundly appreciative of their implementation of a noise barrier," he remarked.
Casting a discerning gaze upon the lifeless form sprawled on the ground, the distinctive insignia it bore. "This must be one of Vyn's operative. Fortunately, my level indicator can notice invisible enemies."
"This man was quite dangerous likely a low adept rank, capable of blending into nature and expertly concealing his aura. Considering the vast chasm in our respective levels of experience, I harbor significant doubts that I could have killed him instantaneously with a mere dagger."
Gabbi studied the man's face, noting the precise shot that had pierced his eye.
He continued, 'My hypothesis seems accurate: this vulnerability applies only to humans, not other creatures. Among the most efficient methods of dispatching a human is to aim for their eyes, thereby gaining swift access to their brain.'
'Attempting to fortify one's eyes with mana is an arduous and perilous endeavor, as it carries the potential for irreversible blindness. This form of training bears a striking resemblance to the intricate process of reconfiguring one's immune system to identify the eye as a potential threat. To achieve this, one must exercise extreme caution and precision in the manipulation of mana, ensuring that no harm befalls the eye until the body has fully adapted to this newfound resilience.'
With measured steps, Gabbi approached the side of his tent, deftly carving a diminutive aperture with his discerning gaze unwaveringly fixed upon Joaquin's nearby tent.
He had deliberately positioned his own tent dwelling in close proximity to Joaquin's, foreseeing that circumstances might necessitate such an arrangement.
Channeling his mana into the finely honed blade, Gabbi masterfully launched the knife with unerring accuracy towards Joaquin's tent, intending it to serve as a warning.
No sooner had Gabbi thrown the knife than a man clad in black cloak emerged from the tent, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and horror as he discovered a lifeless body on the ground.
The man's gaze darted toward Gabbi, who had seemingly vanished from view, only to re-materialize beside him. The dagger protruded from the man's mouth, piercing through his chin and the anterior belly of his throat as Gabbi deftly withdrew it.
The man crumpled to his knees, gurgling and grasping at the wound, while Gabbi seized his hair and drove the dagger deep into his neck.
With a swift, decisive motion, Gabbi yanked the blade from the man's throat, cleaving the laryngeal prominence and unleashing a torrent of blood before the man slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Gabbi mused thoughtfully, 'The [Prestidigitation] skill possesses a unique duality, proving both useful and limited in equal measure. This particular ability can only be cast upon a single individual, relying heavily on the whims of chance. Regrettably, it proves ineffective against highly illogical beings and those with exceptional mental acuity. Nevertheless, if this skill were to ascend to the realm of mythical or legendary spells, its efficacy would be unparalleled.'
Abruptly, Gabbi sensed an erratic surge of mana coursing through the air. Whirling around, he discovered that half of his tent had been obliterated by a powerful magical force. The once-enclosed space now lay open to the night, exposing him to the elements.
As he watched, the remnants of the tattered tent were swept away by the potent energy, which then proceeded to barrel towards a neighboring tent with unrelenting force.
Amidst the expansive verdant grassland, Gabbi rapidly surveyed the landscape with a discerning eye.
Within mere moments, he ascertained that the bipedal velociraptors from both caravans had been subjected to a savage and merciless decapitation.
The unfortunate handlers had not been spared either, as their mangled corpses bore witness to a grisly and horrifying demise.
The dark skinned woman, with her pointed ears, black sclera, and menacing yellow eyes revealing her identity, was already locked in combat with shadowy figures clad in black cloaks. She panted heavily, a deep gash in her abdomen threatening to overwhelm her, bruises covering her body.
Gabbi observed the scene, contemplating the situation. 'A dark elf? And she's still alive as a night sentinel?' He scrutinized the actions of the cloaked figures, coming to the realization, 'Their objective, it seems, is to render her incapacitated.'
Suddenly, a jagged earthen spire erupted from the ground inside another tent, soaring to a height of three meters and mercilessly impaling one of the enigmatic figures garbed in black cloaks.
Berto exclaimed indignantly, "Fuck this! Who are these wretched individuals?! They've utterly desecrated my invaluable artifact for the expedition!"
Frustration etched across his face, he turned to his companion, "Hugo, are you unscathed?" Upon witnessing Hugo's dire state, he cried out in alarm, "Hugo!"
Gabbi's gaze shifted to Hugo, who lay convulsing on the ground in agony. A frothy, yellow-tinged saliva oozed from his mouth as his body spasmed uncontrollably. A sinister, viscous liquid seeped from a deep puncture wound in his thigh, unmistakably the source of his excruciating torment.
In the distance, an intricate array of magical spells began to coalesce, their shimmering energy focused intently on Joaquin's battered tent. The lethal intent behind these arcane incantations was unmistakable, as they sought to annihilate all those within its tattered confines.
Gabbi sensed a presence behind him, and as he pivoted to confront it, the figures halted in their tracks. They stared at the two lifeless bodies lying near Gabbi, their expressions a mixture of shock and fear.
The man at the rear stammered, "H-he killed the 'Vanishblade' Absolon."
Gabbi considered the man's words, silently reflecting, 'That must be the one I shot earlier.'
He meticulously assessed the trio, subtly preparing for the impending confrontation. His astute gaze studied their physical demeanor, the subtle shifts in their joints, and the diverse arsenal they carried.
The man in front spoke with urgency, "Both of you must return and relay this information to Sir Wallace without delay. We are unable to subdue him, as he poses a far greater threat than anticipated. This is none other than the fallen hero, Sucura Vesper."
The two men behind him exchanged a furtive glance, giving each other a subtle nod before swiftly springing into action.
In an instant, the man at the forefront managed to intercept the incoming knife, which was imbued with a sinister, crimson aura.
Upon glancing over his shoulder, the man discovered that his companions were not as fortunate. Each of them felt the cold steel of the blade pierce their napes, penetrating deep into their necks. They crumpled to the ground, desperately clutching their wounds as they writhed in agony.
The man's piercing gaze became fixated on the Sucura Vesper, his back drenched in a cold perspiration.
Above, the three resplendent moons cast their ethereal glow upon the vast grassland. The fallen hero's aura, an amalgamation of ashen gray and deep crimson, pulsated in perfect synchrony with the mana that enveloped him.
Veiled by an uncanny dark violet mask, his countenance remained hidden from view. The mask's pronounced fangs only intensified the air of menace as the fallen hero, with the swiftness of a predator, lunged towards him.