Chapter Five: Descent

Voices rang across the yard, shouts of gear checks, orders barked in urgency, the scrape of boots against stone. The last of the packs were being strapped down, and one soldier shouted to another to stop loading spears upside-down again.

One of them, a wiry man with a scarred lip, froze at the sight of him.

"Your Highness," he said, mid-buckle. "You're riding with us?"

Kael glanced at the horses. They were majestic with sleek hides, intelligent eyes, and muscles coiled like wound steel. He had only ever seen horses at the racing tracks, where he placed bets from the safety of shaded balconies. Those looked beautiful, but these kinds were bred for war.

Now they were right in front of him, and every one of them looked like it could trample him out of sheer boredom.

He didn't trust them. Not one bit. He couldn't ride them either, not properly. All he knew about horses came from betting on them, not steering them. And he'd seen a jockey fall once during a race. The man hit the ground wrong and didn't get up. That image had never left Kael's mind. He wasn't eager to become a royal encore.

"Not if I can help it," he muttered. "I'll take the cart."

The man blinked. "The cart's for supply crates."

"Then stack me with the crates."

He meant it as a joke. No one laughed.

The wiry man's expression twisted. He dropped to one knee in the dirt, head lowered as if Kael's words had been a rebuke delivered by divine right.

"My apologies, Your Highness," he said quickly. "I meant no offense."

Kael stared at him. "Stand up. I was joking."

The man hesitated, then rose slowly, still not meeting his eyes. Kael sighed. "I don't bite. Usually."

A soldier nearby muttered, "The commander won't like that."

Kael rolled his eyes. "Then tell him to tell me himself."

They grumbled, but the commander approved it without blinking. Maybe he didn't like horses either. They added a cushion, a cloth thrown over the edge, like it was a royal drape. Still, it was just a rattling supply cart with too little cushioning and far too many turns.

The path toward Griffyn's post ran through blackened trees and dried mud. Wind stirred old ashes.

Kael's stomach hated every minute of it. After the third time the cart pitched into a rut, he gave up trying to look dignified and let himself slump against the wooden side.

They reached the ridge near Griffyn's last known post by dusk. The air had shifted—lighter, colder. Even the birds had gone silent, and Kael noticed it. That silence wasn't peace. It was a warning.

Something was wrong.

Smoke curled in thin strands from the valley below. Not fresh, but not old either.

A soldier at the front raised his hand. The line stopped.

Kael leaned out of the cart. His legs ached from the ride, but he forced himself up.

"Do we move?"

The scout pointed. "That tower—look."

He followed the gesture.

At the far edge of the pass, part of the outpost wall had collapsed inward. Black streaks lined the stone, as if something had melted through it.

And just beneath it, moving slow and steady—

A giant beast. It was the same beast that the Jack slayed.

Kael swallowed hard.

The soldiers unsheathed blades, drew bows, began moving to flank—

And then another howl echoed. Closer.

Too close.

It hadn't come from the breach.

It came from the ridgeline.

Kael turned just in time to see a shape barreling toward them at terrifying speed. Four-limbed, massive, bounding low and fast across the slope like a lion unleashed from nightmare.

Muscles rippled under its slick, dark hide. Its eyes glowed faintly. Claws dug trenches through rock.

"Form up!" the lead shouted. "Form—!"

Too late.

The creature hit the line like a hammer, scattering two soldiers like pins. The others dove, yelling. Arrows flew, some useless, some hitting flesh.

Kael reached for the cards.

They spun to life, hovering with practiced urgency. He remembered how the Jack's magic had nearly dropped him last time but he needed them.

The Jack of Flowers drifted forward, pulsing faintly. Kael reached for it on instinct.

A glowing timer appeared over its face: [16:04:38]

He cursed under his breath and ducked behind a nearby crate just as something crashed nearby. So the card was once per day. Powerful, but limited. He needed something that didn't wait to reload. Damn it.

Kael snatched up a sword left in the dirt, grip unsteady. He edged toward the corner of the crate and peered around it.

The beast was surrounded. Soldiers closed in, blades raised, coordination forming in the chaos. And then the ranks parted.

The man with the gray hair and beard in the tent led the formation. His armor was plain but sturdy, worn from use and etched with marks of survival. In one hand he held an axe, notched and brutal. In the other, a round shield strapped tight to his arm.

He raised his weapon and shouted, "Ready!"

The soldiers roared back in unison, "Ready, Commander!"

Kael blinked. The man from the commander's tent. So he really was the commander. No wonder the captains followed him. That power wasn't for show.

The beast hesitated.

It turned slightly, as if unsure which target to maul next.

The commander didn't wait. He stepped in full view and pounded the butt of his axe against his shield with a clang that rang through the field.

"Come on, then," he barked. "Try me."

The beast shrieked and charged.

Steel met speed. The commander braced, absorbed the hit with his shield, then turned with a punishing swing that caught the beast across its side. Flesh split. It staggered. He pressed forward, relentless.

Kael watched, spellbound.

The soldiers held the perimeter as the commander danced a brutal rhythm, shield slams and axe strikes carving down the creature. It tried to retreat. Too late. One final blow took its head clean off.

The field quieted.

He stared at the corpse, still steaming. If that thing had turned his way first, he would've been the one being scraped off the dirt. It wasn't even a close call. Just luck.

Kael lowered the sword he hadn't used.

The commander turned toward the ranks, voice rising. "We move now! Down the ridge, on me!"

Orders rippled. Kael clambered back into the cart, and the convoy rolled forward. The wheels jolted over broken terrain, passing soldiers who were already surrounding the carcass of the slain beast.

Kael squinted at the group. One man carried a hooked tool, another knelt with gloved hands pressed into the creature's torn flesh.

He looked to his right. A soldier was riding beside the cart, silent, calm.

Kael nodded at the scene. "What's that for?"

The soldier looked puzzled for a breath, then followed his gaze.

"That's the gathering team, Your Highness. They're harvesting mana stones and other useful parts."

Kael blinked at the corpse. So even these beasts had loot.

"Three breaches in two weeks. That's no coincidence," someone muttered behind him.

The cart jolted again. He looked up just as another shout rang out ahead.

The commander raised his voice again as they neared the tower ruins. "Get ready! Another one!"

Kael looked forward.

That towering giant lumbered from beyond the tree line, its shape massive, bones cracking with each step.

Kael gripped the cart's edge tighter. This world was killing people by the hour—and acting like it needed a hero. If God brought him here for that, He picked the wrong man.