The caravan creaked along the winding dirt path, its heavy wheels dragging over uneven terrain. A thick fog had rolled in, smothering the moonlight and shrouding the surroundings in an eerie gloom.
The Ironclad Order—a guild of seasoned Awakeners—rode alongside the cargo, their presence a necessary defense against the dangers lurking in the wilderness.
This mission was vital. The caravan carried reinforced materials meant for the construction of a fortress near the border, a stronghold meant to stem the tide of rifts that frequently spewed monsters into the land. Failure was not an option.
Norton, the Ironclad Order's leader, rode at the front, his steel-plated form rigid with tension. His instincts, sharpened from years of battle, prickled with unease. His grip on the reins tightened.
Then—he felt it.
A pulse of murderous intent, seeping through the fog like an unseen predator licking its lips.
Norton raised his arm. The caravan stopped.
"Something's here," he whispered, scanning the darkness. His voice was steady, but his hand moved to the hilt of his greatsword. "Stay alert."
The others shifted uneasily.
"Is it Darkspawn, Norton?" Mylar, the scout, asked, his fingers dancing over the hilts of his twin daggers.
"I'm not sure… Maybe monsters. But I can feel it. Something hungry."
Then, the first growl rumbled from the trees.
It wasn't a normal growl—it was layered, distorted, as if multiple voices were speaking at once. The fog thickened, moving unnaturally, tendrils of shadow slithering between the trees.
A shudder passed through the horses. One reared, eyes rolling in terror.
Then—they struck.
A dozen figures burst from the darkness—Shadow Wolves. Their semi-ethereal bodies flickered in and out of visibility, their forms shifting like living mist. Only their crimson eyes and jagged fangs remained constant.
"Shadow Wolves!" Norton bellowed. "Prepare for battle!"
The air exploded into chaos.
A wolf lunged straight for Mylar, jaws snapping for his throat. He barely ducked in time, rolling beneath the creature and slashing upward. His daggers met nothing but air—the wolf had already faded into mist.
"Damn illusions!" he hissed.
Another wolf materialized behind Remar, the youngest of the group. He turned too slow—fangs sank into his shoulder. He let out a strangled cry, feeling his life force drain as the wolf's jaws tightened.
"Remar!"
Joslin slammed her shield into the beast, sending it skidding back. Remar staggered, his face pale, breath ragged.
"They're playing with us," Antya, the battle-mage, muttered as she traced glowing runes into the air. "They toy with their prey before finishing them off."
Norton narrowed his eyes. Not on my watch.
"Light magic! Drive them back!"
Antya's hands flared with arcane energy, and she unleashed a wave of searing white mana. The mist recoiled, and for a brief second, the wolves' true forms were revealed—twisted, skeletal creatures cloaked in writhing darkness.
"Now! Strike!" Norton roared.
Joslin charged, her sword cleaving through one of the wolves as it howled in agony, its body dissolving into smoke.
Mylar danced between attacks, his daggers moving like silver streaks. He caught another wolf mid-phase, plunging his blade into its throat. The creature let out a warped snarl before vanishing.
Remar, still wounded, gritted his teeth and swung his sword, barely blocking another strike. Norton stepped in, his greatsword flashing in an arc of raw power, splitting the beast in half.
The wolves hesitated. Their advantage—their terror—was slipping.
Then, from the depths of the fog, a new presence emerged.
A colossal Shadow Wolf, its form more solid than the rest, its burning eyes filled with malevolent intelligence.
The Alpha.
It did not flicker. It did not phase.
It was real.
And it was furious.
Norton stepped forward, gripping his sword.
"Hold the line."
The battle had only just begun.
********
The wind howled through the towering trees as Kael moved like a shadow along the dirt path. His breath was steady, his senses sharp. The system had been quiet for a while, but his instincts screamed that danger lurked ahead.
Then he heard it—clashing steel, desperate shouts, the unmistakable sound of battle. He crouched behind a thick oak, peering through the gaps in the foliage.
A convoy of wagons, emblazoned with a sigil he didn't recognize, was under siege. Bandits. No, not bandits—monsters.
A sharp chime echoed in his mind.
[System Alert: Side Quest Activated]
Quest: "Defend the Ironclad Order"
Objective: Defeat the attackers.
Reward: ???
Kael's lips curled into a smirk. "Guess I'm not getting to Greythorne peacefully."
The caravan fighters were skilled, their movements disciplined. But they were outnumbered. The monsters, each radiating a distinct aura of power, fought like wolves—vicious and coordinated.
[Shadow Wolves detected]
Engaging in battle mode.
Kael sprinted forward, his blade whispering free from its sheath. The nearest monster barely had time to register his presence before Kael's sword flashed, severing his spear at the shaft. A swift kick sent the Shadow Wolf sprawling, and Kael moved to the next enemy without hesitation.
System notifications flared in the corner of his vision:
[Combat XP Gained]
[Enemy Slain: +150 XP]
The caravan fighters took notice. "Who is that?!"
"Doesn't matter—cover him!" someone shouted.
Kael's eyes darted between enemies, his movements fluid. His blade found flesh, parrying, countering, striking. The Shadow Wolves alpha snarled, his aura flaring as he activated an ability.
Kael reacted instantly, dodging under the incoming strike. The system pulsed.
[Skill Unlocked: Shadowstep]
[Dodge successfully executed under extreme conditions]
He grinned. "Now this is more like it."
The moment the last wolves fell, a chilling screech tore through the battlefield. Kael stiffened. That wasn't another Shadow Wolf.
A fresh alert flashed before his eyes:
[System Alert: Darkspawns Detected]
New Threat: Void Reavers Incoming. Defend the Caravan!
Out of the dark, twisted forms lunged. Beasts mutated by Rift energy, their bodies warped into monstrous shapes. They smelled blood—and they were hungry.
"Damn it! We just finished fighting!" one of the caravan guards cursed.
Kael raised his blade, his muscles aching but his resolve firm. "Then let's finish it properly."
The battle raged anew. He sidestepped a lunging beast, driving his sword into its exposed flank. Another creature pounced, claws aiming for his throat. Kael barely managed to twist away, feeling hot breath against his skin before he drove a dagger into its eye.
The system was relentless:
[Enemy Slain: +300 XP]
Blood and dust filled the air, but they fought with everything they had. When the last beast fell, the caravan stood victorious—battered, but alive.
Panting, Kael wiped his blade clean. The caravan members regarded him with awe and caution.