Hector’s head snapped back to her face. Her mask, it was gone. He had to find it before they could get a good look at her face.

  Yet around him, the crowd had grown. Mercenaries in assorted armour pressed closer—leather and dented plate. His gaze swept their many faces. Wide eyes. Slack jaws. The expressions of people who had just witnessed something that didn’t fit into their understanding of the world.

  Murmurs passed through the crowd like wind through wheat in the Hay Quarter.

  “—Core Formation, had to be—”

  “—did you see the light? The wings?—”

  “—no core formation cultivator moves like that. That was something else—”

  “—Mana-Ignition, maybe? I heard stories about—”

  “—impossible, she’s too young, look at her—”

  The words blurred together. Speculation. Awe. Fear dressed up as wonder.

  No.

  This was bad.

  The masks were mainly for anonymity, but after what Jodie had done, there’d be more than a target on her back. No matter how good a leader Raquel was, once the other nobles found out that there was someone who could take out a creature within the core formation realm, there’d be—maybe not attempts on her life—but definitely attacks and scouting attempts.

  And chief among the scouters would be—

  Hector turned almost on instinct.

  His gaze travelled to two individuals pushing through the crowd.

  Twin daggers hung on his hips as Wymon’s eyes met Hector’s own. There was a knowing look in them. A recognition. He was putting it together—the pieces clicking into place behind those sharp, assessing eyes.

  And unlike the last time, when Hector had fled to save Mirae, there was no running.

  Not only was he tired—bone-deep exhaustion that made even breathing feel like effort—there was no way to get Jodie out of here. And Lincoln would hardly provide much resistance against a legion of mercenaries, even if he had another smoke bomb.

  They were the centre of attention now.

  And there was no way out.

  At Wymon’s side, Raquel moved. His gaze was steady, completely focused on Jodie. The heir of the Flamelight family carried himself with the quiet authority that he hadn’t had during their earlier interactions. What was he thinking?

  Did he want to recruit her?

  The Flamelights, after all, were the leaders of the Phoenix Company, and with Raquel being one of the heirs of the Flamelights, he no doubt had a massive amount of pull within the organisation. And that was not mentioning the fact that Wymon had already tried to recruit Jodie.

  With an heir now present, Wymon could emphasise how important he felt it was for them to do that. Nevermind the fact that the power Jodie had displayed when destroying the Void Worm would only make the Phoenix Company want her more.

  Hector gulped as the motes of light continued to drift in the wind, cresting over the fortification walls and disappearing into the field beyond. The remnants of Jodie’s power—beautiful and damning in equal measure.

  The two men drew near.

  Raquel’s stern gaze lingered on Jodie a moment longer before he rested a hand on his side and let out a sigh.

  But he was not the one who spoke.

  “Jodie,” Wymon said. The name hung in the air. He seemed to taste it—rolling it around, confirming its shape against memory. “It is indeed her, sir,” he said, turning to Raquel.

  Wymon moved his withered hand to his chin and stroked it, then let it fall, fingers noticeably brushing his breast pocket on the way down.

  “And you must be one of the people who were with her on the day of the Hilda Festival,” he continued, turning to Hector, smiling. He probably meant it to be disarming, but with the situation, it was anything but.

  They had been well and truly exposed—at least as far as the Flamelights were concerned.

  —- —- —- —-

  “Are you sure we should keep pushing through the night?”

  Turning to the voice, Raquel narrowed his brows as he met Wymon’s gaze. The minor squad leader he’d made responsible for the fortification’s defences had proved useful, though it was hard to find anyone in the Phoenix Company that wasn’t. After all, they didn’t just hire on a whim.

  But regarding his question—

  Raquel glanced over his shoulder, and the weight of command settled heavier across his back. Torchlight stretched down the dirt path behind them, a serpentine trail of flickering orange that wound through the darkening trees. Dozens of flames. Maybe a hundred. Each one bobbed with the rhythm of exhausted footsteps, casting long shadows that danced and merged across the packed earth.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Carts pulled by exhausted men and women groaned under their burdens—supplies stacked high, barrels lashed down with fraying rope—and beneath those sounds came the worst ones. The wounded. Men and women sprawled across hay-stuffed pallets, their moans rising and falling like some discordant chorus. Murmurs rippled through the column, snippets of conversation swallowed by the rustle of leaves overhead.

  “We have no other choice.” Raquel faced forward again, his boots crunching against loose dirt. “That the bugs let us go at all is nothing short of a miracle.”

  “Yet, sir—” Wymon’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel it is unwise to move. Any manner of ranked beast could come out and attack the caravan. Leading to more injuries.”

  “By your assertion, then, I take it you believe we should have stayed in the fortifications?” Raquel kept his tone measured. “Risked the bugs attacking in the night?”

  Wymon stalled. The man’s eyes flickered briefly to one of his two companions—Quiness’s sister. Ana, the girl’s name had been, if Raquel was remembering correctly.

  She cleared her throat and spoke up for her stammering squad leader. “I think what he’s trying to say, my lord, is that your plan has put people at considerable risk.” A pause. “Though I’m sure—” She sounded more as if she was favouring Raquel’s approach now. “I’m sure that Wymon simply wants the best for everyone involved.”

  To that, Raquel could agree. Though the best had already been achieved, really. He’d failed to gain the quest completion because of the egg being taken by the hive, but that they’d survived at all was more than enough.

  A cry came from up ahead.

  It was one of the few scouts he’d sent forward earlier. The figure blurred through the forest, a trail of red sparks searing the air in his wake—one of the Flamelight’s members. Only their cultivation technique allowed for fire imprints like that to be left behind as someone utilised the movement techniques.

  Eventually, the willowy man stopped in front of them. One of his fists, wrapped in bandages, fell to his side as the other raised in a salute to Raquel. “My lord. Up ahead—there seems to be some sort of barrier.”

  “Barrier?” Raquel frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “My lord, whenever one of us tries to push through, it repels us.”

  “Are we going to have to turn back?” Wymon spoke up, seeming a bit too eager to go limping back to the abandoned fort.

  Yet they couldn’t turn back now. They’d moved too far, and doing so would put the injured in far more harm. They didn’t exactly have the points to buy any healing supplies for those poor souls either. Not that they could purchase such things outside of the sanctuary.

  Raising a fist, Raquel brought the line to a stop. Murmurs came from those behind him, but he ignored them, turning to Wymon.

  “You stay here with the others. I’ll go check it out.”

  “And what about H, Sir? And the girl, Jodie?”

  “What about them?”

  That little problem was something Raquel aimed to deal with, hopefully after the trial realm was over. His father was the only other person he’d ever met with battle intent, so convincing the girl would undoubtedly have to fall upon his shoulders.

  Not that his father would be any good at convincing a slum-dweller more used to living amongst her own kind to join a bunch of nobles. It would be a conversation that would take not only time but promises. Promises that should mostly be easy for the Flamelight house to keep.

  That is, if someone didn’t get there first.

  But thankfully, from what they’d gathered over the years, the Glademoors and Frostkeeps didn’t know much about battle intent. Only the sparse histories that were left from the founding, and even those stories were in ancient scrolls that came closer to fiction than any truths.

  “How about this?” Raquel rested a hand on Wymon’s shoulder. He then jerked his chin toward the bulkier of Wymon’s companions—a thick-muscled boy who didn’t seem exactly too smart, but he made up for that with sheer determination to get things done. “You send Peter to go fetch them. Have H meet me by the barrier.”

  The boy knew something about the egg, or at least his hunch played out well enough. Maybe he has something to say about this situation. He had a good head on his shoulders and had shown that he was more than capable.

  “Do you think he’d leave the girl behind?” Wymon asked.

  “Have we had any reports about her?” Raquel raised a brow.

  “No. One of the two guards I had watching over them says she still hasn’t woken.” Wymon’s expression darkened. “He doesn’t believe she ever will.”

  “He knows nothing about battle intent. Just have him continue watching them.” Raquel shifted his attention. “Peter—go bring the boy here.”

  Raquel gestured at Quiness, who stood a short distance away. The personal maid seemingly wanted to make sure she didn’t even look in her sister’s direction. Whilst the Flamelight family focused on strength, they weren’t barbarians who wanted their followers to cut off ties with their loved ones. Yet Quiness seemed to make this her only goal.

  She dedicated herself to cultivation in a way that Raquel hadn’t seen from many others. She wanted to be strong—to make sure she was just as capable as him, if not more.

  That would probably irk most. Raquel could think of a few. Drion Frostkeep being chief among them. But Raquel found her dedication to getting stronger refreshing. Though he wished she’d reach out to her family, at least a little.

  After all, family was all you really had in Middlec. Your connections with them could make or break who you were in the end—and how successful you got within the city.

  With that thought, he nodded to her. The two of them followed behind the scout, moving back toward the barrier.

  Whatever was waiting for them, hopefully, it wouldn’t be another wall of bugs. If they were attacked again, he didn’t doubt that the casualties would prove far higher than he could ever hope to contend with.

  Even gripping his mana armament didn’t give him the sense of calm it usually did. Everyone was running low on energy. They had to make it back to the sanctuary and regroup.

  —- —- —- —-

  Mud squelched beneath Hector’s boots, each step pulling at his soles with a wet schluck before releasing him to the next patch of churned earth. The torch in his hand crackled and spat, its orange glow carving a trembling circle through the darkness. Beyond that circle, the world dissolved into layered shadow—trees looming like hunched sentinels, their branches creaking in some unfelt wind.

  Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

  Crickets sang their endless chorus from the undergrowth, a rhythmic pulse that threaded through the night air. Deeper in the forest, an owl released a low, mournful hoo-hoo-hoooo, the sound stretching thin before fading into the rustle of leaves.

  The guard hadn’t given him much.

  Just that there could be a possible issue with the caravan. And that Lord Raquel requested his presence.

  Of course, Hector would have to follow. He couldn’t very well turn down a Flamelight House scion. Not only would it be an insult to someone of such high standing, but it’d also isolate them from someone who could be a potential ally.

  But that didn’t mean Hector would run around fawning after the man. No—they’d established a relationship. Hopefully, one that kept the Phoenix Company from clawing after Jodie. Who at this moment lay in the back of a cart amongst the caravan of people further behind him. A mercenary pulled her along; she still hadn’t woken.

  After all this time.

  A system scan still reassured him she was alive. A constant check of her pulse did the same. But still—

  His chest tightened. Whatever she’d done clearly went beyond the bounds of what a Gravity Forging cultivator should be able to do, and there would no doubt be a consequence of that. After all, nature didn’t let one push past their limits without there being a price to pay.