The beasts circled Aelric, their glowing eyes piercing the murky twilight. Each stood taller than a man, muscles rippling beneath fur blacker than midnight. Saliva dripped from its jagged teeth, sizzling faintly where it hit the ground, leaving behind small blackened patches of earth.
Three of them. Aelric's grip tightened on his sword. His heart pounded, but years of training steadied his nerves.
One creature darted forward, faster than his eyes could track. He barely managed to sidestep, bringing his blade across its flank in the same motion. A sharp, metallic screech accompanied the strike, as though his sword had hit armor instead of flesh. The beast yowled in fury, black blood splattering the ground in thick, tar-like droplets.
Before he could recover, a second beast rushed in from his blind side. Aelric dropped low, its claws slicing the air above him, and drove his sword upward. The blade sank deep, and the creature collapsed, blood pooling beneath it.
A third leapt high, claws outstretched. Aelric rolled aside, its talons grazing his shoulder. He hissed in pain but used the momentum to rise to his feet, sword at the ready. The first beast, wounded but undeterred, charged again. Aelric parried its strike, sparks flying, then kicked hard at its knee. The joint snapped, and the creature toppled with a guttural cry.
The final beast circled warily, its glowing eyes flickering with hesitation. Aelric feigned a stumble, baiting it closer. When it lunged, he surged forward, his blade slicing cleanly across its throat. It gurgled and fell.
Panting, Aelric turned back to the wounded creature, its broken leg trembling as it tried to rise. "Rest now," he murmured, plunging his sword into its heart. The creature stilled, and silence returned.
He exhaled deeply, the adrenaline ebbing from his veins. Blood seeped from the wound on his shoulder, but it was superficial. As he wiped his blade clean on the grass, a translucent screen flickered before his eyes:
[You have slain three Lesser Howlfangs]
Aelric stared at the message, confusion mingling with awe. What is this? He had no time to ponder. The underbrush rustled behind him.
Before he could react, a heavy blow struck the back of his head. Stars exploded in his vision as he stumbled forward. Rough hands grabbed him from all sides, yanking his sword away.
"Well, look what we've caught," sneered a voice dripping with malice.
Aelric tried to twist free, but a fist connected with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping.
"Feisty little lordling, isn't he?" came a woman's voice, cool and sharp like the blade she twirled idly in her fingers. She crouched beside him, her icy blue eyes scanning him with unsettling calm. "Strong, too. He might be worth something, Varik. If he doesn't bleed out first."
Varik, the scarred man, chuckled, his boots crunching the gravel as he crouched beside her. "Oh, he's worth something all right." His eyes gleamed as he reached down, yanking the Crown of Conquest from Aelric's belt. He held it up, turning it in the dim light. "Now, what's a fancy thing like this doing with you? Hm?
"Give that back," Aelric demanded between labored breaths.
The leader chuckled. "Or what? You'll glare us to death?"
The others laughed. Aelric's cheeks burned with humiliation and rage.
"Check his pockets," Serenna ordered.
They searched him thoroughly, removing anything of value—his dagger, a small pouch of coins, even the signet ring bearing his family crest.
"Well, well," Varik mused, examining the ring. "Seems we've stumbled upon someone important."
"Those are mine," Aelric said, struggling against the hands that pinned him down.
"Not anymore," the leader retorted.
Amid the search, a crumpled piece of parchment fell from Aelric's tunic. Varik gave it a passing glance before tossing it aside. "Just rubbish."
As they bound Aelric and prepared to move, Aleric subtly stooped and retrieved the discarded parchment, slipping it into his pocket unnoticed.
His wrists burned where the coarse rope bit into his skin, but the pain was insignificant compared to the fury smoldering in his chest.
How far I have fallen, he thought bitterly, stripped of my crown and dragged through the dirt like a common prisoner. But I am Aelric Draythar, he reminded himself, his jaw tightening. My bloodline conquered Aurelen. These brutes think they've broken me, but they are fools if they believe a Draythar will stay bound.
The woman leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "You're coming with us."
Aelric kept his face blank, even as anger churned within him. For now. But when the tables turn, it will be your screams they hear, not mine.
**********
The burlap sack over Aelric's head did little to muffle the cacophony around him. The jostling of bodies, the muffled sobs, the harsh commands barked by unseen captors—it all blended into a disorienting haze. His wrists burned where the ropes bit into his skin.
"Keep moving!" a gruff voice snarled, shoving him forward. He nearly tripped over an uneven patch of ground but managed to regain his footing. Wherever they were taking him, it was far from where he had arrived.
After what felt like hours, they came to an abrupt halt. The sack was yanked off his head, and Aelric blinked against the sudden influx of dim light. Twilight had settled over the forest. Around him stood a motley group of captives—men and women of varying ages, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion.
Whispers of prayers and stifled cries filled the air.
"Keep them moving!" barked the scarred leader, his voice cutting through the night like a blade. Aelric's captors herded the group to a rise overlooking a shadowed gorge. His breath hitched as he caught sight of the writhing darkness below. It wasn't shadows—it was them.
Howlfangs. Dozens of them, their glowing eyes flickering like embers in the gloom. They prowled across the rocky expanse, their movements too silent, too calculated for ordinary beasts. Low growls reverberated through the air, a warning that sent a chill up Aelric's spine.
"Tonight," the leader sneered, "you'll help us keep them entertained."
A murmur of horror rippled through the captives, but Aelric forced himself to remain silent, his gaze fixed on the captors instead. Their postures were tense, their hands never straying far from their weapons. They're afraid, he realized. Even with the numbers on their side, the beasts unnerved them. It wasn't just cruelty that drove them to sacrifice captives—it was fear.
The first victim was dragged forward, a frail man barely able to stand. He stumbled to his knees at the edge of the gorge, pleading with a hoarse, cracking voice. "Please, I have children—"
The leader rolled his eyes, drawing his sword in a fluid motion. "Then they'll learn to fend for themselves." Without hesitation, he plunged the blade into the man's chest and shoved him over the edge.
The Howlfangs erupted into chaos, their snarls echoing as they tore into the fresh kill. The captives recoiled as one, the rising cries of the beasts drowning out the man's final scream.
Aelric clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to watch. Every detail mattered: the captors' positions, the distance between them, the beasts' frenzied response. A king must see what others miss.
The sacrifices continued, each victim dragged forward with mechanical efficiency. A young boy clung to his father, screaming as the man fell to the captors' blades. The boy's cries echoed as he was hurled after him. The Howlfangs' hunger seemed insatiable, but Aelric noticed their movements growing slower, less frantic with every kill.
Aelric clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as rage coursed through him. Monsters. They're worse than the creatures they feed.
The air felt heavier with every death. The captors moved methodically, dragging captives one after another to the edge. Some screamed, others wept, and a few stood silent, resigned to their fate.
"How much longer?" one of the captors grumbled, his voice tinged with unease as he glanced toward the restless horde.
"Until they lose interest," Varik replied, his tone casual. "Then we move."
As if in response, the Howlfangs began to slow their movements. Some peeled away, slinking back into the darkness of the gorge. A few lingered, their glowing eyes fixed on the captors above, but even they eventually turned and vanished into the shadows, ready to feast.
"Looks like that's enough for tonight," the leader announced, sheathing his sword. He turned to his men. "Secure the rest. We'll need them for tomorrow."
The captives were herded into a tighter group, many collapsing in exhaustion. Aelric shifted closer to a jagged rock with careful, deliberate movements, nudging it beneath his boot. When no one was watching, he slipped it into his palm, the sharp edge biting into his skin.
They think I'm just another frightened boy. His eyes flicked to the captors' confident stances, the distance they kept from the edge, the way their grips tightened on their weapons whenever the Howlfangs stirred. But they're afraid too. What they don't expect is a captive to be another predator they have to watch.
Aelric's mind raced. He couldn't take all of them, not now, but if he waited—if he struck when they least expected—he might create an opening. His fingers curled tighter around the rock.
But it looked like not all of his luck had run out as another message appeared.
[Welcome Mortal! You have arrived in Kharath's domain, and have now been given a chance to prove your worth to the mighty Sovereign.]
[Quest Activated: Trial of the Conqueror]
[Objective: Slay 100 Howlfangs]
[Reward: Dominion Mark]
*****
A/N:
Hey, everyone! Thank you for diving into the second chapter of our journey. I know there's a lot to unpack here—Aelric finds himself in a strange, unfamiliar place, and the world might feel a little mysterious right now. But don't worry! As the story progresses, you'll get to unravel the intricacies of this world and its magic. All will become clear in time. I truly appreciate your patience as things unfold and hope you enjoy the adventure until then.