Silverdew lily.

Outskirts of Thornmere – Silverdew Gathering Quest

Ravyn crouched beside a patch of dense undergrowth, eyes scanning the grass while one hand clutched the worn parchment. Her crimson gaze flicked between the hand-drawn illustration of the Silverdew Lily and the forest floor around her.

No match.

With a faint sigh, she extended her hand and called forth her skill. Ten crows burst into existence from the shadows behind her, forming a wide arc above the treetops before dispersing into the wind. Each bird carried a sliver of her strength, their purpose singular, search and report.

Meanwhile, Liam wandered off with no sense of urgency, hands in his pockets, his steps casual. He seemed more interested in the color of the morning sky than the forest floor. But then, as if the world itself bent to accommodate him, he stopped near a cluster of pale, silver-veined flowers blooming behind a mossy log.

"Ravyn," he called without raising his voice.

She stood, blinking. Then rushed over.

Liam gestured to the flowers. A perfect match, the Silverdew Lily. Thirteen in total, each intact and ready for harvest.

Ravyn's eyes widened. "This... this would take months to find. And we got it in a single walk…"

She carefully harvested them, storing the herbs in her satchel without damaging a single petal. Her voice trembled with disbelief. "That's twenty-six silver. Even split, that's thirteen for each of us."

Liam shook his head. "I don't need any. Keep it."

"But-" Ravyn looked up, startled, "you found them. I barely"

"I said keep it," he replied, waving a hand. "I've already stumbled over more gold in this town than I care to explain."

She stared at him, half in awe, half in confusion. Just who is this man…?

Before she could express the gratitude that tightened in her chest, a pulse passed through her link with the summoned crows. Several of them let out warning cries before vanishing.

Her face paled.

"Liam," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "we're surrounded."

Liam's posture shifted subtly, but his expression remained unreadable. He turned his head slowly, scanning the treeline.

From the shadows, figures emerged. One by one, men in worn leather and rusted mail stepped into view, weapons unsheathed. Fourteen in total. Most bore the insignia of wandering mercenaries, but a few had the scars and posture of exiled soldiers.

"Tch. He noticed us," one of them muttered.

Ravyn stepped back unconsciously and gripped Liam's arm. Her fingers trembled as they clung to the fabric of his sleeve. She knew her crows could offer minor interference, but in the face of fourteen battle-hardened men… she had no chance."Fourteen... at least," she whispered.

Liam sighed. "Unlucky for them."

"Hand over your coin," the leader barked, stepping forward, his blade already drawn. "And the girl."

Liam didn't pay attention to them, with calm precision, Liam drew his sword. There was no grand display, no roar of power, no burst of light. Only a smooth, sharp whisper as steel slid free, the blade catching the early sunlight with a cold gleam.

Ravyn stayed behind him, her grip tight around his sleeve. Her summoned crows circled above, watching. Waiting.

Liam said nothing. He simply took one step forward.

The first mercenary, likely the leader, advanced without hesitation. Broad shoulders, trimmed beard, longsword drawn. His stance was solid, but his confidence betrayed him. As he moved, the wet moss underfoot gave slightly, subtle, but enough to throw his center of gravity off for a split second.

It was all Liam needed.

His right foot slid forward. His sword moved in a precise arc, cutting across the man's chest just as he adjusted his footing. Steel tore through leather and muscle. The man gasped and stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding torso.

A second man, thinner, faster, charged with a short spear. Liam saw the faint twitch of his foot before he lunged and sidestepped. The man's weapon missed by a hand's breadth. Liam seized the opening. He grabbed the shaft of the spear with his left hand, pulled forward, and drove his sword straight into the attacker's thigh. The blade cut through muscle and struck bone. The man screamed and dropped. Liam pulled the blade free with a sharp twist.

He kept moving. No time to waste.

From his left, another came with a pair of hatchets. Wild. Untrained. His swings were heavy but telegraphed. Liam ducked under the first and let the second pass above his shoulder. As the man overextended, Liam rose from his crouch and slashed across the exposed ribs. The cut was clean but shallow. The man howled in pain, just enough to stagger backward.

A mistake.

Liam followed immediately, stepping into his guard and driving the pommel of his sword into the man's throat. A gurgling sound, then silence.

Another attacker approached from behind.

Liam turned in time to see a blade raised overhead, descending. Before it reached him, the attacker cried out, his foot had struck a jagged root. He fell forward unexpectedly.

Liam met him halfway, bringing his sword down onto the back of his neck. The strike severed muscle, shattered vertebrae, and dropped him instantly.

It wasn't magic.

It was timing. It was control. It was efficiency.

And luck.

A man to his right raised a bow. Liam ducked just as the string snapped from a small loss of focus, a weakness that cost his life . The archer fumbled, confused. Liam was already moving.

He crossed the distance in three quick steps and slashed horizontally. The archer barely lifted his arm before Liam's sword split through it, then continued into his chest. Blood spilled onto the grass.

Six down.

The others hesitated, forming a loose arc around him. One barked an order, and three more surged forward.

One had a longsword, another a dagger and buckler, the third a heavy iron mace. Liam didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped to his right and forced them to close the gap unevenly.

The dagger-wielder reached first. He jabbed forward with quick movements, trying to draw Liam's attention. The feint failed. Liam stepped inside his range, pivoted, and drove the blade of his sword upward beneath the buckler. The man screamed as Liam carved through the exposed underarm.

Liam turned sharply, just in time to meet the next sword. Their blades clashed.

This one was more experienced. Liam adjusted his grip and used the man's momentum against him, letting their weapons slide until their hilts met. Then he slammed his elbow into the man's jaw.

The swordsman reeled. Liam cut across his abdomen.

The last of the trio swung the iron mace. It was slow but powerful. Liam ducked, letting the weapon sail past him, then swept his foot low. The man tripped. As he fell, his head struck a stone half-buried in the dirt. The sound of bone against rock echoed dully. He didn't rise.

Nine.

Ravyn stood frozen behind him, stunned.

Another archer took aim from farther away. A crow dived into the path of the arrow, no command needed. It struck the bird mid-flight, throwing off its trajectory. The arrow veered to the side.

Before the archer could ready another, Liam closed in.

This one turned to run.

A foolish decision.

He tripped on uneven ground and fell. Liam reached him, drove his sword into the man's back, and moved on.

Three remained.

One charged in blind rage. His swing was wide, wild. Liam didn't block. He stepped aside, waited until the man's forward motion left him off balance, and drove his sword through the exposed side of the ribcage.

The eleventh man, a heavyset mercenary with a cleaver, came in swinging low. Liam parried, forcing his arm wide, then pivoted his entire body and drove a boot into the man's chest. He crashed into a tree trunk and slumped.

The last man dropped his weapon.

Liam's eyes met his, his scarlet eyes with no emotions but with invisible madness making his body trembled.

The mercenary took one step back.

Then another.

He turned to run, but slipped. A blood-soaked patch of grass took his footing. He fell hard. Liam didn't hesitate. He walked up to him and delivered a clean, silent thrust through the back of the neck.

All fourteen, down.

The fight had lasted barely two minutes.

They came to him, drawn forward by their own misfortune, their own poor luck.

Or perhaps, by his.

They never had a chance.

He was never outnumbered. They were simply choose to fight the wrong opponent.

Within minutes, the clearing was silent.

Ravyn stared, breathless, as Liam wiped his blade clean on the grass with cold face. Her crows circled above, but she barely noticed them now.

That wasn't just power, she thought. That was inevitability.

And for the first time in her life, Ravyn felt something dark stir within her. Not fear.

Something deeper. Warmer. Hungrier.

She lowered her eyes, face flushed.

She wanted that strength.

She wanted to follow it.

And, perhaps, belong to it.