Chapter 8 : The Mage’s Warning.

Night fell over the caravan.

Ethan sat near the fire, his muscles aching from the duel. The rest of the guards had already settled into their usual patrol shifts, drinking quietly or maintaining their gear.

But Ethan's mind was elsewhere.

Captain Rael had bought his bluff.

Barely.

If Ethan had tried to win, he would've been crushed instantly. Instead, he played the weak but competent angle—enough to be ignored, not enough to be a threat.

But that only worked on warriors.

Mages were different.

And tonight, he had another problem.

Because House Meridan's caravan didn't just have knights.

It had a mage.

A man approached the fire, his crimson robes swaying with each step. He was tall and lean, with graying hair and sharp, piercing eyes.

Ethan immediately recognized him.

Gavril Renwick. 3rd Circle Mage.

A fire-caster from one of the lesser imperial academies. Not the strongest magic user, but more than powerful enough to kill Ethan if he wanted.

And from the way Gavril was staring at him, Ethan knew one thing.

The mage was already suspicious.

Gavril took a seat across from Ethan, stretching his fingers toward the fire.

"You handled yourself well today," the mage murmured.

Ethan kept his expression neutral. "Hardly. I lost."

"Yes," Gavril said. "But you didn't panic."

Ethan stayed silent.

Gavril's eyes flickered with quiet amusement.

"Tell me," he continued. "Where did you train?"

Ethan tensed.

That was a trap question.

If he named a real school, Gavril would know immediately if he was lying.

So he shrugged. "Nowhere official. Just practice, here and there."

Gavril exhaled slowly. "I see."

His fingers tapped idly against his knee.

Then he said, "You don't have a real aura, do you?"

Ethan went completely still.

The fire crackled between them.

Gavril's voice was calm. Too calm.

"I've met many aura users," he continued. "And I've met many men who have no aura at all. But you…"

His gaze sharpened.

"You are something in between."

Ethan's fingers tightened.

This was worse than he thought.

Aura was a physical force. Mages had their own ways of sensing it—reading the energy it gave off, even if they didn't use it themselves.

And Gavril had just figured out something was wrong.

Ethan forced a small chuckle. "You're overestimating me, Master Renwick."

Gavril didn't blink. "Perhaps."

A pause. Then—he smiled.

"But if I were you, I would be careful." His voice was soft, almost amused. "In times of war, unusual things tend to… disappear."

A warning.

A clear, unmistakable warning.

Ethan didn't look away.

Neither did Gavril.

Then, after a long moment, the mage rose to his feet.

"Sleep well, young mercenary."

He walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Ethan exhaled slowly.

His hands were shaking.

Gavril had seen through him. Not completely. Not yet.

But the mage knew Ethan wasn't normal.

And now…

Ethan was officially being watched.

Ethan didn't sleep.

He sat near the fire long after Gavril Renwick disappeared, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

The mage had seen too much. Suspected too much.

Ethan had planned to keep a low profile, but that was getting harder by the day.

Seran was watching.

Rael was testing.

Gavril was sensing.

And now?

Now, Ethan had the feeling House Meridan was hiding something even worse.

Because something about this caravan felt wrong.

By the time dawn broke, the caravan was already moving.

Wagons rattled against the dirt road, horses trudging forward under the weight of their cargo.

Ethan sat near the back of the formation, Kael beside him, their horses keeping pace with the other mercenaries.

Lysia was further ahead, hood drawn, blending into the crowd.

Ethan exhaled, letting his gaze flicker toward the largest wagon in the convoy.

It was different from the others. Reinforced wood. Thick steel locks on the doors. Heavily guarded.

No merchant caravan needed security that tight.

Kael noticed his stare. "You see it too."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah."

Kael adjusted his grip on the reins. "I don't like it."

Ethan didn't either.

And he was about to like it even less.

Because minutes later, the screams started.

The first sign of trouble was the horses.

They snorted, reared up—eyes wide with panic.

Then—a mercenary riding ahead screamed as his body was torn from his horse, yanked violently into the trees.

Blood sprayed across the dirt road.

Ethan's breath caught.

From the shadows of the forest, figures emerged.

Not men. Not animals.

Something in between.

Humanoid shapes—but twisted. Their bodies moved in unnatural, jagged motions, eyes burning with an eerie green glow.

Kael cursed. "What the hell are those?"

Ethan already knew.

Because in the book, these creatures never existed.

Which meant something was rewriting the story again.

And now?

Now he had to survive it.

Chaos erupted around the caravan.

Knights drew their swords, their auras flaring to life in shimmering colors—gold, red, blue. Spells ignited in the air as the mages began casting, hurling fire and lightning into the trees.

But it wasn't enough.

The twisted creatures moved too fast. Their bodies jerked unnaturally, their limbs bending in ways that no human should move.

A knight—Tier 3, Red Aura—rushed forward, slashing at one of them. His sword connected, but—

It didn't cut.

Instead, the creature's flesh rippled, absorbing the impact like liquid. Then it lashed out, claws sinking into the knight's throat.

He barely had time to scream.

Ethan's blood turned to ice.

These weren't bandits, warbeasts, or rebel assassins.

These were something else entirely.

And in the book? They didn't exist.

Which meant Ethan had no idea what they were capable of.

A roar split the battlefield.

Louder than the knights' shouts. Deeper than the twisted creatures' screeches.

The locked wagon at the center of the caravan shook violently, its reinforced doors buckling outward.

Something inside was fighting to get out.

Ethan swallowed hard.

Whatever House Meridan was hiding—it was waking up.

Captain Rael, his Tier 4 aura flaring gold, barked orders. "Mages! Reinforce the bindings—!"

Too late.

The doors exploded outward.

A dark shape surged from within, chains snapping as if they were nothing.

Ethan only caught a glimpse—gleaming obsidian skin, burning silver eyes, long jagged horns curling upward like a crown.

Not human. Not entirely.

A Demonblood.

The battlefield froze.

The twisted creatures stopped their attack, shrinking away from the wagon.

The knights and mages hesitated, staring in horror.

And Ethan?

Ethan could barely breathe.

No. No, this isn't right.

Demonbloods were mentioned only once in Eclipse of the Eternal Empire. A race long extinct, wiped out in the empire's earliest days.

They weren't supposed to exist anymore.

Yet here one stood, breathing, alive, and very, very angry.

Its gaze swept the battlefield. Then—it turned toward Ethan.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then the Demonblood smirked.

"…You don't belong here either, do you?"

Ethan's heart stopped.

This thing knew.

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