Chapter 6 : The Cloak of Fangs

Darkness—thick and unrelenting—swallowed everything around him. Even Mortis's thoughts were consumed.

He had no sense of where he was. No sounds. No body. Only endless drifting in a void without light.

From within that still and quiet void, a voice echoed.

"You've done well, Mortis… Now, accept your reward."

The voice was cold and commanding, as if spoken from the mouth of a tomb. It wasn't merely sound—it was a wave of force that flooded directly into his consciousness.

Suddenly, Mortis's surroundings changed.

He stood in a shadowy realm, looking down upon the corpses of dozens of direwolves scattered across the ground. A dark mist swirled above them, then began to gather—wrapping around bones, sinew, and tufts of fur with eerie precision.

"I shall return your body to you… and this time, it will be better."

The Alpha's bones cracked and fused with those of its pack. Jagged fangs merged into gray-black armor—unnatural and fearsome. A reversed wolf-skull helm clamped down over Mortis's face, hiding every trace of humanity. The direwolf's remaining fur coiled upward, wrapping around his shoulders, flowing down his back like a heavy shroud.

As the transformation finished, a low growl rumbled—like a beast awakening from slumber.

Mortis opened his eyes again—within the dim cavern.

He knelt amidst blood and silence, now clad head-to-toe in bone armor. His helm covered his face entirely. No longer could anyone see what lay beneath.

Footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness. The scent of blood still lingered thick in the air.

Garrick entered first, sword drawn, eyes scanning constantly.

Ryn followed close behind, gripping his staff tightly, muttering warding spells under his breath. Sylwen brought up the rear, her bow half-raised, ears twitching at every sound.

Though no direwolves remained, the unnatural silence pressed down on them like a weight.

"I have a bad feeling..." Ryn muttered.

"There aren't any bodies..." Sylwen whispered. "Did they all really vanish?"

Light from Ryn's staff spilled across the cavern floor—revealing claw marks, trails of blood, and signs of fierce battle—but not a single corpse.

Then, suddenly…

The soft scrape of metal on stone echoed from the shadows.

A figure moved—slow, steady… and unsettling.

The adventurers crept forward, the flicker of their torches barely illuminating the gloom. The scent of blood still hung in the air.

In the corner of the cavern, a figure sat silently—one knee raised, unmoving. He wore a strange dull-colored armor. White fur draped over his shoulders, trailing to the ground like a cloak of death.

The torchlight reflected off something in the dark. A tall silhouette stepped slowly from the stone shadows, a gray-black bone mask gleaming as his heavy steps echoed.

Mortis stopped a short distance from them, then spoke in a calm, dry voice.

"You arrived just in time… I was about to start talking to the rocks."

(He said it deadpan, but the silence of the cavern left no room for laughter.)

Mira glanced around the space. "...What happened here? They're all gone?"

Mortis turned slowly to face her and replied, voice still flat.

"I drove them away."

Sylwen frowned. "Drove them away? How exactly do you make an entire pack disappear?"

Mortis lifted his hand and rotated his wrist slightly.

"I talked to them... used logic." "They didn't like my voice, so they left."

Ryn stepped closer, eyeing Mortis's armor with clear suspicion. "That armor… where did you get it?"

Mortis looked down at himself, as if only now noticing what he was wearing. His voice remained level.

"Found it in the cave. Surprisingly comfortable."

(He tilted his head slightly and tapped one shoulder.)

"The cloak... came after I dealt with the Alpha."

The group fell silent.

Mira's eyes widened. "You defeated it alone?"

Mortis nodded.

"It bit me, so I bit it back. Just a little."

Garrick looked at him with a mix of disbelief and respect. "You fought the whole pack… and survived…"

Mortis: (calmly)

"Bit of luck… and maybe… someone helped me from the shadows."

(His eyes drifted briefly into the darkness.)

Sylwen murmured, "What are you, really…?"

Ryn stepped beside Garrick, his voice more tense. "Your power isn't normal. There's… forbidden magic surrounding you."

Mortis turned to him slowly.

"You mean... the scent of death? Hmm. I've gotten used to it."

(He raised a hand to sniff the tip of his armored glove.)

"Still lingering after hugging those direwolves a bit too hard."

Mira stifled a chuckle, though she quickly suppressed it when she saw Ryn's serious face.

Garrick sighed deeply. "Whatever the case... at least you're safe."

Ryn didn't reply. He stared hard at Mortis, whose unreadable mask revealed nothing. But in Ryn's eyes, suspicion deepened.

The oppressive air in the cave eased slightly. Though silence still held its grip, fear began to shift into something else… in some, perhaps even awe.

"I thought we'd have to fight the pack ourselves..." Sylwen murmured, eyes scanning the corpse-free cavern. "...But now I wonder—can a dozen direwolf corpses really just vanish?"

"Maybe they just… disappeared," Mortis shrugged beneath his heavy cloak. "Or maybe… they didn't want you to see them."

"Stop saying creepy things like that..." Mira muttered, but there was a faint smile on her face. "I really don't like this kind of silence."

Garrick looked around once more, then sheathed his sword. "We should return. The job's done."

"I guess so…" Sylwen rolled her shoulder, easing the tension. "But I still don't understand how you did it, Mortis."

Mortis replied without turning his head, "I didn't do anything remarkable. They just… listened to my request."

"The wolves listened to you?" Mira chuckled under her breath. "You speak as if you're some kind of king of beasts."

"I'm no king," Mortis said calmly as he led them out of the cave.

"Just a whisper from death itself."

The moment he finished, silence fell over the group. The remaining four adventurers paused and looked at the cloaked figure ahead, shrouded in direwolf fur, unreadable and silent.

"Maybe… I shouldn't ask any more questions," Sylwen whispered to herself.

Ryn furrowed his brows deeper but said nothing. His whispered prayers faded into a sigh as he resumed walking.

Garrick was the first to break the stillness. "Let's go before these rock shadows start staring back at us."

"Good," Mira added with a faint smile. "I'm starting to miss the sunlight."

They stepped out of the cave with slightly less caution. The first light of morning streamed through the thinning mist above the forest canopy, and birdsong gradually returned to the air.

To them, the direwolf hunt was over.

But for Ryn, his eyes remained fixed on Mortis's back—his heart still full of unanswered questions.

Sunlight filtered through tall trees and thick underbrush as the adventurers made their way back from the cave. A light mist clung low to the ground, carrying the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves beneath their boots.

The tension that had gripped them inside the cave began to ease. Though a few eyes still regarded Mortis with suspicion, no one mentioned what they had seen again.

Garrick was the first to speak, his tone trying to lighten the mood. "About the reward… I think Mortis should get all of it. He took down the direwolves on his own."

Mortis, walking at the rear, paused before replying in a neutral tone, "I don't need it all… I didn't do it for that."

"But you deserve it," Sylwen added, glancing over her shoulder. "At least… half of it, maybe."

Mortis let out a quiet sigh and shook his head.

"A portion is enough… The rest, split among you. You risked your lives too."

"You sure about that?" Garrick looked back at him with a serious expression. "No one here would deny that without you, we might not have made it back."

Mortis lifted his gaze to the pale blue sky peeking through the treetops and spoke softly, yet with weight.

"If I take it all, it becomes my quest alone… but you were part of it too. I don't want to stand alone."

His words brought a brief hush over the group.

"You always say strange things…" Mira murmured with a half-smile. "But it does sound kinda cool."

"Strange, coming from someone who never shows his face," Ryn muttered, though he didn't argue further.

Garrick nodded at last. "If you won't change your mind, I'll respect your decision… but just know, we owe you one."

Mortis didn't respond, except to raise his hand slightly, as if to wave it off.

"You'll get your chance to return the favor next time," he said calmly, a faint smile curling beneath his helmet.

Though no one could see that smile, the atmosphere around the returning group grew a little warmer under the rising sun.

After some distance, they reached a river that wound its way toward the village.

"From here, it's faster if we row," Garrick said, eyeing the small boats moored by the bank. "But… we'll have to row ourselves."

"Just don't let me row," Ryn said, raising his hands. "You want the boat to stay above water, don't you?"

"Oh, so that's what your staff is for—supporting yourself, not casting spells," Mira laughed.

"You—!" Ryn scowled, but didn't argue further.

Eventually, they boarded the boats. Mortis rode with Sylwen, while Garrick, Mira, and Ryn shared the other.

The gentle lapping of water mixed with relaxed laughter as the two boats glided along the river, the golden light of evening spilling through the leafy canopy.

"You know," Mira said as she began rowing, "I think Mortis should try taking off that helmet once in a while. Might let some air reach his head."

"My head is always cold," Mortis replied flatly from the other boat.

"Truly cold, I bet…" Sylwen muttered with a soft giggle.

"Do you talk like this with everyone?" Garrick teased. "Or is it just me and the ghost who get this privilege?"

"I'm not a ghost!"Mortis snapped back.

"Right, you're more like an armored spirit," Ryn chimed in. "We should give you a proper name… something like 'The Silent Knight of the Shadows,' perhaps?"

"Sounds like something from a bedtime story," Sylwen giggled.

"Or how about 'The Mysterious Bald One'?" Mira tried to stifle a laugh.

Mortis sighed audibly enough for them to hear.

"If I still had a heart, it'd be pounding with shame right now."

Laughter filled the boats as they drifted down the river. The breeze carried away their fatigue, replaced by a growing sense of camaraderie.

As the boats neared the village dock, the laughter and chatter gradually faded. One by one, they stepped onto land.

Villagers who had heard the sound of paddles gathered by the path, their faces lined with hope and worry.

"The adventurers are back!" someone from the front cried out.

An older woman stepped forward, shielding her eyes from the sun and shouting, "Did you take care of the wolves?"

Garrick glanced at his companions, and all eyes eventually turned to Mortis, who still sat silently at the back of the boat.

Slowly, Mortis stood. The creak of bone armor made several villagers instinctively step back.

"We've driven them from the forest," he said with a calm, confident voice.

Cheers erupted all around.

"Hurrah!"

"Thank you, brave adventurers!"

"We should throw them a feast!"

The atmosphere turned festive. People began to chatter excitedly. Some ran off to tell their families to prepare food, while others carried tables, chairs, and brightly colored cloths to lay out in the village square.

As the excitement grew, the four adventurers turned to glance at Mortis once more, smiling.

"Looks like we're famous now," Mira whispered softly.

"Don't go acting too full of yourself," Ryn said, raising an eyebrow at her.

But in another corner of the village, a group of villagers were dragging a rugged, disheveled man out of an abandoned hut amid curses and furious glares.

The village chief—a stern-faced older man—stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back, eyes hard.

"These are the ones who tied my son up and left him in the forest," he said calmly.

Garrick approached him with a steady step.

"I informed you earlier," Garrick said. "But... I'm sorry. Your son didn't make it. The direwolves got to him before we arrived."

The chief fell silent for a moment. Grief flickered across his face, but after a pause, he slowly nodded.

"I'll handle this myself," he said in a low voice. "You all… go celebrate. Let the villagers repay your kindness."

"But—" Garrick began, but the village chief raised a hand to stop him.

"As for your reward, I'll have someone prepare it. Don't worry."

Garrick gave a slow nod, then returned to the others as cheers and the scent of food filled the square. Torches and paper lanterns began to light one by one. A long night seemed to be just beginning—filled with smiles… and silent wounds yet to heal.

Amidst the growing celebration and the soft light glowing throughout the village square, villagers bustled with activity. Some prepared food, others poured drinks for the adventurers seated at the center.

But in another corner, beneath a large tree near the storage hut, the captured bandits sat tied and lined up on the ground, guarded by two villagers.

One of them—the one who had encountered Mortis—struggled and writhed, terror in his face and wild panic in his eyes, as if haunted by something unseen.

"You… you don't understand!" he shouted. "He's not human! That guy in the armor—he's a demon! An undead!"

Music played on. Some villagers turned to glance at him, then burst into laughter. Others just shook their heads in annoyance.

"He's lost it. Probably snapped from fear."

"Shhh! Don't ruin the mood."

As the bandit's cries were drowned out by the festive noise, Mira—standing close to Mortis—couldn't help but whisper to him.

"That night… what did you do to him to scare him that badly?"

Mortis turned to her slightly, the torchlight reflecting off his dark bone armor with a faint shimmer.

"I just… revealed a little of my true self," Mortis replied calmly. "Let's call it a personal trick."

Mira frowned slightly. "A trick? You mean, you just threatened him, or—?"

"My secret technique..." Mortis interrupted, holding a finger to his lips playfully. "...is not something I reveal so easily."

She let out a soft chuckle. "You're really mysterious, huh?"

"I just don't want people copying it and misusing it," Mortis replied, arms crossed as he gazed at the ongoing celebration.

They stood near a busy table, surrounded by villagers and laughing children. No one paid attention to the bandit's desperate warnings.

As Mira laughed quietly and turned to grab a drink, the cheerful sounds of the villagers continued to swirl around them. Ryn, not far away, silently observed Mortis. Under the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, his eyes showed signs of deep thought.

What kind of technique did you use…? he wondered, his gaze locked on Mortis standing calmly in the firelight.

All he saw was a composed, cool, and unshakable figure in bone armor—emotionless.

But something in that voice… in that answer… felt like an undercurrent—silent but undeniably powerful.

Ryn said nothing. He simply took a slow sip from his cup, pretending not to care.

I'll be keeping a closer eye on you… Mortis.

Morning sunlight broke through the light mist that veiled the village. The adventurers were packed and waiting in front of the guesthouse, roosters crowing and the gentle scent of cooked rice drifting from nearby homes.

The village chief approached with a small cloth bundle in his hands. His expression was stern, but beneath it was sincere gratitude.

"This is your reward for your bravery," he said, handing the bundle to Garrick. Inside, gleaming gold coins filled the cloth. "I've already signed off the quest. You'll receive confirmation from the guild once you arrive in the city."

"Thank you," Garrick said, bowing slightly as he accepted the reward.

"If danger ever comes again, I hope to see you once more—whether as adventurers… or heroes," the chief said with a firm voice, his gaze meeting each of them in turn. "Especially you… Mortis."

Mortis gave a slight nod, saying nothing—but the brief exchange of glances conveyed more than enough.

When they reached the small pier by the canal, several villagers came to see them off, smiling and bidding farewell. Children waved their hands; some gave them small fruits as parting gifts.

"Safe travels!" someone called out behind them.

"Come visit us again someday!" another shouted.

The village chief stood at the end of the wooden pier, watching them board one by one before speaking once more.

"May the Goddess of the Path guide and protect you all—"

The soft dip of oars in water followed. The boat drifted slowly along the quiet canal, leaving behind the warm morning light… and the village gradually fading from sight.

On the road to Phon Town, a dirt path ran alongside the forest, cutting through fields and gentle hills. The late-morning sun cast warm light through scattered trees, and the scent of damp earth and dry leaves drifted on the wind.

Mira led the way cheerfully, occasionally hopping over small branches. Sylwen walked just behind her, calmly scanning the surroundings, while Garrick kept a steady pace, his eyes ever alert.

Ryn walked beside Mortis, pretending to stroll casually, but his eyes flicked toward the helmeted man every so often.

"You're quite good at intimidating people," Ryn said offhandedly. "Back in the village... that bandit looked like he'd seen a ghost."

"Maybe he did," Mortis replied flatly, not looking at him.

"So what exactly did you do to him?" Ryn's voice remained polite, but a note of curiosity crept in. "Was it some kind of illusion magic? I've heard of mages who use spells to conjure terrifying images…"

Mortis was silent for a moment before he spoke quietly. "It's a secret technique… I learned it back when I was still alive."

"Still alive?" Ryn raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "You mean when you were a soldier or something like that?"

"Yeah... something like that," Mortis replied in the same even tone, though inwardly he was unsettled. "Scaring an enemy until their knees give out is often more useful than actually fighting."

Ryn nodded slowly, smiling as usual, but there was a deeper suspicion in his eyes. He didn't respond right away, simply filing the thought away for later.

Ahead of them, Mira shouted excitedly, "I can smell the breeze from the east! We must be getting close to the main river before town!"

"Good," said Garrick. "We'll stop there for lunch."

"Let's hope no monsters jump out of the water this time…" Sylwen added softly, though he smiled.

The group shared a round of light laughter.

They stopped for lunch at a grassy clearing near a small river. A large tree provided cool shade, and the gentle sound of flowing water brought a sense of peace.

"This'll do," Garrick said, setting his pack down on a rock.

"Perfect! I'm so hungry I could eat the cookpot!" Mira exclaimed, flopping down by the tree and unwrapping her food.

Ryn sat near Mortis, still keeping a watchful eye on the mysterious man. Though Mortis rarely spoke, there was an eerie presence about him.

Everyone was relaxing and enjoying their meal—until a wailing cry rang out from the tall grass behind them.

"What the hell was that?" Sylwen turned toward the noise immediately.

Heavy hoofbeats thundered toward them—thud! thud! thud!

"Wild buffalo!! Watch out!!" a villager shouted from afar, running from the field.

Before anyone could react, a massive buffalo with curved horns and bloodshot eyes charged from the brush, crazed and furious, heading straight for them.

"Move!!" Garrick shouted. The group scrambled in all directions.

Only Mortis remained still. He didn't move an inch.

The wild buffalo barreled toward him with unstoppable force, kicking up clouds of dust.

But at the last moment—

Smack!

Mortis flung his arm out and caught both of its horns barehanded, with precise timing.

A loud thud echoed as man and beast clashed in the grassy field.

The buffalo staggered, its momentum halted by the overwhelming strength of the man before it.

Mortis inhaled calmly and growled under his breath.

"Let me… have a break, for once!"

Then—with a roar—he lifted the entire creature into the air with one arm.

And—

CRASH!

He slammed it to the ground, shaking the earth. Dust exploded into the air. The buffalo twitched once, then lay still.

Silence.

Mira's jaw dropped. Sylwen's eyes were wide. Ryn rolled his eyes slightly, as if to ask, What even is this?

Garrick slowly stood, brushing dust off himself. "Since when were you that strong…"

Mortis straightened, brushed dirt off his armor, and turned back to the group.

"Should we eat it?" he asked flatly.

Mira gave a dry laugh. "Uh… my appetite's kind of gone now…"

Ryn smirked faintly.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the five adventurers finally reached the looming gates of a large walled city. A wooden sign above read:

"Phon Town – Welcome"

Though not a capital, the height of the walls and number of guards clearly spoke of the town's importance and stability.

"At last... Finally. I'm going to eat until I explode," Mira groaned, stretching her tired shoulders after a full day's walk.

Sylwen looked around eagerly. "Look at that! So many shops inside!"

As they approached the gate, two guards stepped forward, barring their path with stern expressions. One of them stared directly at Mortis, whose face was still fully concealed beneath his helmet.

"Stop—" the guard said sharply. "You there. Remove your helmet."

Mortis halted and stared silently at the man. His voice was cold.

"Not necessary."

The other guard frowned. "This is a human city. If you're hiding your face, you must be hiding something else. Take it off."

One hand moved toward a sword hilt—suspicion rising.

The tension crackled. Garrick quickly stepped forward and raised a hand between them.

"Wait, wait—he's with me," Garrick said. "I'm Garrick, an adventurer from the guild. We just returned from the Direwolf hunt at Nong Ruea village. This man helped us greatly. He's one of us."

The guards exchanged glances, then looked back at Garrick. One of them replied:

"If the guild knows him, we'll let it slide... but if anything happens in the city, you'll be held responsible."

Garrick nodded. "Understood."

Mortis said nothing. He walked past the guards into the city without so much as a glance back. Ryn watched him go, a mix of curiosity and suspicion in his eyes.

"I'm more and more curious what you really are…" he muttered to himself.

"Mortis?" Mira laughed lightly.

"He's just a weirdo who insists on wearing that helmet all the time!"