chapter 43

Chapter 43: First Blood of Thorn

The wind carried the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves as I stood at the edge of the Blackroot Forest, watching the Eclipse Pact's convoy trudge along the winding dirt road below. A procession of heavily armored carriages, their sigils gleaming in the moonlight, moved steadily through the valley. Packed with mana crystals, spell scrolls, and alchemical supplies, it was a treasure trove of magical resources meant to fuel the academy's experiments.

And tonight, it would be mine.

From my vantage point among the branches, my grip tightened around the hilt of my blade. Silas stood beside me, a massive, living sentinel shrouded in the darkness of the forest. His wooden form barely made a sound as he whispered, "Their defenses are strong. You are certain of this course, Master?"

I exhaled slowly.

"This is necessary," I said, my voice muffled by the plague doctor's mask. "If we are to be feared, we must strike where they are strongest."

Beneath us, the convoy moved unaware, their torches illuminating the path like tiny embers in the night. The lead carriage bore the insignia of the Pact—two intertwined serpents devouring each other's tails. A fitting emblem for their endless cycle of greed and control.

I raised a hand, signaling the Thorn Circle's forces hidden among the foliage.

Then, I unleashed the storm.

The Verdant Phantom Strikes

A burst of nature magic erupted from my palm as I whispered the incantation for Rootbind. The earth trembled, and thick, gnarled vines shot from the ground, lashing around the horses' legs. The creatures neighed in panic, toppling as their limbs were ensnared.

Chaos erupted.

Guards shouted orders, scrambling into defensive formations as the forest came alive around them. Bloodthistle—sharp, enchanted brambles—sprouted across the road, cutting off escape routes. The lead knight barely had time to draw his sword before a wave of Witherbloom spores filled the air, seeping into his lungs. He staggered, his movements slowing as paralysis crept through his veins.

I leaped from the treetops, my Vinefiend Armor activating mid-air. The living exoskeleton hardened around my limbs, twisting like an organic cuirass as I landed atop the first carriage. The impact sent a crack through the wood, and the terrified driver scrambled away.

"It's him! The Verdant Phantom!" a soldier cried.

Good. Let them know.

One of the Eclipse mages stepped forward, his staff crackling with fire magic. He thrust it forward, sending a column of flames roaring toward me.

Too slow.

I raised a hand, channeling Photosynthetic Mirage. My form split into multiple illusory copies, each flickering with green energy. The flames passed harmlessly through them, charring the wooden carriage behind me.

The mage barely had time to react before I lunged forward, my sword arcing through the air. He brought his staff up to block, but Barkflesh had already activated—my arm hardened into dense wood, absorbing his counterstrike with ease.

The blade found its mark.

He gasped as the vines along my weapon burrowed into his skin, leeching his mana in an instant. He collapsed, his eyes wide with horror.

The rest of the Thorn Circle surged forward, cutting down the remaining guards with brutal efficiency. Silas moved like a force of nature, his colossal arms sweeping through enemy ranks with the weight of a falling tree. Roots lashed out from the earth, pulling men into the soil like it was swallowing them whole.

The battle was over in minutes.

I stood amidst the wreckage, my breath steady as I took in the carnage. The moonlight reflected off the bloodied brambles, painting the scene in eerie silver and crimson.

One survivor remained—a young knight, barely older than me, trembling as he knelt before me.

I crouched down, tilting my head as I studied him. "Tell them," I murmured. "Tell the Pact what you saw. Tell them the forest itself has risen against them."

He nodded frantically, stumbling to his feet before fleeing into the darkness.

I watched him disappear over the ridge. Then, I turned to Silas. "Burn the bodies. Leave nothing but whispers."

The Thorn Circle had drawn its first blood.

And soon, the Pact would bleed dry.

Echoes of the Hunt

The aftermath of the raid rippled through the capital like a stone thrown into still water.

By morning, rumors of the Verdant Phantom had spread like wildfire. Whispers of a masked figure, wreathed in living vines, who moved like a ghost and struck like a storm. The Eclipse Pact scrambled to respond, doubling their patrols, enacting curfews, and sending hunting parties into the Blackroot Forest.

None returned.

The academy was in an uproar. Professors debated whether this new faction was merely a band of rogue druids or something far more dangerous. Nobles whispered in fear of what it meant—if nature itself was turning against them.

And at the heart of it all, I sat within the academy walls, playing the role of Aidan Morvell—the quiet, unremarkable student with no discernible talent.

I listened. I watched. And I learned.

I feigned ignorance as Alaric paced in frustration, muttering about the Pact's failure to eliminate the rebels. I sat through strategy meetings where the council debated how to respond, all while silently noting their weaknesses, their blind spots.

They had no idea that their enemy sat among them.

A Thorn in the Darkness

Back in the Blackroot Forest, our stronghold flourished. The druidic temple had transformed from ruins into a thriving sanctuary of controlled chaos.

Silas had taken command of the Blightweavers—former druids who had forsaken the old ways to embrace the corrupted power of the Blight. Their abilities in manipulating twisted flora made them invaluable in our war against the Pact.

The Rootbound—prisoners grafted with symbiotic plants—served as foot soldiers, their bodies enhanced with nature's wrath.

And the Silent Thorns, my assassins, moved like whispers on the wind, striking down key figures in the Pact's hierarchy with ruthless precision.

Every raid, every skirmish, every act of destruction sent a message: The Verdant Phantom is watching.

But power always came at a cost.

The Rot Within

Late one night, as I stood alone in the temple's heart, I examined my hand beneath the torchlight.

The skin had begun to wither. The veins beneath my flesh darkened, tinged with the eerie glow of Blight corruption. The system's warning flashed in my mind:

[Blight Corruption: 18%]

[Effects: -10% mana efficiency, +15% nature spell potency]

I clenched my fist.

The power was intoxicating, but Silas's warning echoed in my mind. "Nature does not only give—it takes."

I exhaled, rolling my fingers as the withered skin seemed to pulse, almost hungry.

No. I would not falter. I had come too far.

The Thorn Circle was no longer just an idea—it was a force. A movement.

And I would not let the rot consume me before my war was won.