The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, crunching over dried leaves and broken wood. Zarathis could feel Erynn's grip tighten around his arm as they remained crouched in the dense bushes, concealed by the thick undergrowth. His breath was slow, controlled, but his heart hammered against his ribs.
"They're getting closer," he whispered.
Erynn nodded, her emerald eyes fixated on the approaching figures. "It has to be the Obsidian Hand. They must've realized their offerings never made it to the ritual site."
Zarathis frowned. "So these bastards were the ones responsible for taking us to be sacrifice?"
She gave him a sharp look but nodded. "Yes. The Obsidian Hand is notorious for these rituals. Their worship of the Dark One demands constant blood sacrifices. Every few months, they raid villages, take prisoners, and transport them to hidden harvesting grounds."
Zarathis clenched his fists. "And no one stops them?"
"The Temple of Lima has been fighting them for years, but they operate in the shadows, spreading corruption in kingdoms and empires alike." Her voice lowered as she eyed him critically. "But looking at you now... I don't think you know much about them at all."
Zarathis tensed as Erynn's gaze turned sharper. "Which begs the question: if you're not one of them, then how did you kill a Fendor without mana?"
Before he could answer, she pointed at his hands. "I saw those claws. They weren't normal. And you don't use magic."
Zarathis shifted slightly, his fingers unconsciously curling as he remembered the sensation of his blood hardening into razor-sharp claws. He didn't have a proper explanation—at least, not one that wouldn't make him sound insane.
[System Alert: Oof, buddy, she's not letting this go. Might I suggest 'mysterious past and a tragic backstory'? Women love that.]
'Not helping,' Zarathis thought bitterly.
Erynn's expression darkened. "As a Holy Templar, anyone wielding unnatural abilities falls under our jurisdiction. If you try to escape, I will personally gouge out your heart and feed it to the wild Fendors."
Zarathis swallowed hard. Yeah, definitely a trust issue.
[System Alert: Damn. She's really into you.]
Ignoring the system's antics, Zarathis asked, "Why were you in the caravan then? You don't exactly strike me as someone who gets kidnapped easily."
Erynn's eyes flickered to the incoming figures before she answered. "The Temple of Lima planned this operation. We knew the Obsidian Hand was gathering victims for a grander ritual, and we had intel that some of their senior bishops would be attending. My job was to infiltrate the group and signal the attack when the time was right."
Zarathis absorbed her words carefully. So she wasn't just some lost warrior—she had a mission. That meant she wasn't planning on dying here. That was good news.
[System Alert: Sub-Quest Completed!]
[Reward: Level Up! You are now Level 5!]
[Stats boosted!]
Strength +3 Agility +3 Endurance +1
[New Ability Unlocked: Hunter's Vision]
[Hunter's Vision: You can see the flow of blood in living beings, allowing you to track enemies, predict movements, and target vital areas.]
[Drawback: Overuse results in nausea at the sight of blood. Increase level to gain tolerance or risk passing out mid-battle.]
Zarathis blinked as his vision shifted. His surroundings took on an eerie new depth, red glowing lines pulsing beneath the skins of nearby creatures. It was as if he could see their blood vessels in real-time, tracing every heartbeat, every movement.
His eyes instinctively locked onto the approaching group.
A massive brute led the way, his sheer bulk making the ground tremble beneath his heavy steps. Behind him, several armored soldiers followed in formation, their weapons at the ready.
Then his vision cut off.
Zarathis gasped, clutching his head as a wave of nausea washed over him. The sudden influx of information had been too much.
Erynn cast him a quick glance before whispering, "The leader… he's an orc."
Zarathis peered between the leaves and saw the brute step into the clearing. The massive green-skinned warrior wore thick plate armor, his face scarred from countless battles. His tusks protruded from his lower jaw, and his yellow eyes gleamed with intelligence rather than brute savagery.
"That flag…" Erynn whispered, pointing subtly.
Zarathis followed her gaze and saw it—a black snake coiled around a withered tree, embroidered in crimson. It was planted into the ground near the wreckage.
"The Obsidian Hand," she muttered grimly.
The orc surveyed the scene before letting out a deep, guttural chuckle. He reached down, grabbing a torn Fendor's corpse, lifting it effortlessly before tossing it aside.
"Looks like our offerings were devoured before we could claim them."
His voice was low and rough, filled with amusement yet irritation.
Zarathis felt Erynn's grip tighten again. She didn't need to say it. If they were found, there would be no mercy.
They had to remain perfectly still.
And then—
To be continued