The ghouls jumped towards the door, blocking and making sure that if any of them wanted to attempt an escape, they would have to fight through them. And that wasn't a prospect the brothers were willing to risk their lives on.

  “There is no way out.” Darrow looked up and then down at the walls for any exits.

  “I don’t like our chances against those things.” Even with [lesser strength] at his low level, Damian doubted he could fight off the corrupted goblins from before, and there was no way he stood a chance against these ghouls.

  From the door, the other end of the room felt much smaller, and the ghouls just kept getting onto their feet and listening to the flesh mage commanding them.

  “There is no way out. So surrender and I won’t have to feed you to my great works.” The mage lifted his hands in the air, gesturing at turned men and women.

  All six ghouls growled, they hissed at them, and the mage cackled from the back, steadily taking in their desperation.

  “Could we at least take on one of them?” Darrow tried to say.

  “Not a chance.”

  “How about—” Before Darrow could finish, one of the ghouls jumped for him.

  Enris had seen it coming, or it was better to say that he panicked when the ghoul rushed them. He summoned another fireball that was unstable and threw it at the ghouls.

  The fireball exploded and sent the ghoul flying back and into the rest of its comrades. It growled, then hissed, and a moment later it got back to its feet.

  “I can do that only one more time without a wand.” But even with a wand, Enris knew harming the creatures with lesser power seemed like taking unnecessary precautions.

  “We need to forget about fighting, let’s find a way to escape.”

  “Easier said than done,” Darrow said as he stepped back and bumped into the wall.

  “Restrain them.” The mage pointed his wand at them, and the ghouls ignored their own fear and uncertainty, then crawled forward.

  One moment, he was trying to stab the ghoul with his short sword; the next, the humanoid creature was trying to wrestle him to the ground. It pulled him back, and all Damian could do was kick at it, forcing it to let go.

  If this continued, Damian knew that he wouldn’t survive with only one good fighting arm. In fact, he knew it was much worse for Darrow, who could barely move his right arm.

  The faint hum continued from above as the lords and ladies danced above, oblivious to the danger the brothers and their half-elf client were in.

  With his one arm so badly broken, Darrow could do nothing but let Damian fight the ghouls alone as he looked for a way out. Still, the music kept playing. He tried yelling, but he knew it wouldn’t work.

  Enris followed his eyes up to the ceiling of the underground room.

  “Do you think your spell can get us through the ceiling?” Darrow asked.

  Before they could even try it, Damian was sent flying towards them, and they had to duck. He crashed into the wall, and when they looked up, they saw him unsteadily getting to his feet already.

  Another of the ghouls jumped, and Darrow reacted fast. He twisted his body, placed his hand on the ground, and kicked the ghoul back.

  Seeing what the brothers were dealing with, Enris went down to his knees. He placed his hand on the ground and used his [level twenty-five] skill. [instant rune mark]

  The skill allowed him to instantly carve out an enchantment on any surface. It also allowed him to do this once a week. But the problem was that he had to keep channeling mana into it.

  “What are you doing,” Darrow asked.

  “A warding enchantment, give me your hand.” He said, looked up, then grabbed Darrow’s hand and placed it on the carving.

  The warding enchantment on the ground took in Darrow’s mana, and within seconds, an orange-blue force wall of hexagon plates appeared between them and the ghouls.

  “You may feel exhausted—,” Enris said after he let go of Darrow's hand, stammering and frowning all the while. But that was not all, he still had as much mana as before.

  Enris’s eyes went wide as he realized all the mana the enchantment had absorbed had not been his. With that much mana, the boy had to have a rare class. With that much mana, why wasn’t he in the magical school? With that much magic, no wonder he had a mana skill after lessons from a low-level [magical scribe] like Elora.

  “Didn’t feel a thing,” Darrow just shrugged, oblivious to the enchanter's thoughts.

  The ghouls didn’t just wait around. They obeyed the orders of the mage. They moved in and threw themselves against the wall.

  “Will this protect us?” Damian asked.

  He watched as more and more attacks landed on the shield.

  “How long will it last.” Darrow asked instead.

  “Most times a couple of minutes, but with how much mana you pushed into the enchantment... maybe half an hour.” the half-elf sounded unsure.

  Now Enris looked up. He had to start destroying the ceiling. Damian and Darrow followed his eyes.

  Can you destroy the ceiling?" Damian asked.

  “Will it work?” Darrow looked at him.

  “I must try this if I want to see my daughter again.” The half-elf raised his hand, and a large fireball formed. The ball of fire was still chaotic, still ever changing, and bright to say the least.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  And when the fireball flew upward and caused an explosion of rock mixed with dust to go off and rain down on them behind the barrier, the ghouls hesitated in thrashing at the arcane wall.

  The mage’s eyes widened as he realized what they were trying to do. He panicked, and in his panic, he started casting spells at the ward.

  They looked up, but the ceiling floor was still intact. It had barely taken any damage, and all the enchanter’s spell had managed to do was gouge out a big hole in the stone ceiling.

  The mage, on the other hand, started getting more frantic. He started throwing higher-level spells at the orange-blue ward. He started throwing ice shards, lightning, and fireballs of his own.

  “Grab my hands quickly, I need your mana.” he pushed his hand out a Darrow, and without hesitation, both brothers held his arms instead.

  The mana in the air filled them, and the mage’s eyes widened. The vampiric ghouls grew more frantic, and the fireball formed in front of them.

  “No, no, you’re going to ruin my work,” the mage said and started throwing even more spells at them.

  ———

  The Ball event found him sitting near a window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The ballroom's golden blue reflected off the glass, and despite all the luxury that was ongoing around him, Artoz looked outside into Principal City.

  The city outside was filled with glowing light, carriages moving about, and prospective thieves and rogues looking to gain any information about anything from the small parade outside.

  If he were to compare it to his home, the district was more of a port city than anything else. It was loud, always moving, and it was unlike the farms of wheat that stretched in Leonin Leonin-controlled district states.

  He was in attendance at the ball, but he wasn’t really there. He hadn’t been invited, and yet the guards hadn’t stopped him.

  He had been let in without any trouble. Still, it made no sense for him to be here, and he hadn’t planned on it.

  Yet he was here not because of the food, music, or even noble gossip. It was because of his skill, [Warrior’s Path], and because of it, he sat there waiting for something that would make him draw his katana. Something that needed a warrior like him.

  It was here or there, so he let his attention be drawn back to the room he was sitting in. There were chairs, lofty soft couches, and yet he found the seating on the ground beside the large window much more comfortable.

  This way, because no nobles or lords would see it fit to sit with him and ask him for stories about his war beads.

  The music of the bards barely registered in his mind, and around him the ballroom thrived in organized murmurs and flashy colours.

  The Bards performed on the raised stage before the rich, powerful, and somewhat influential men and women of the district. Their songs shifted between the dancing kind and those of storytelling ballads and rhythms.

  The lords and ladies swayed in pairs across the polished marble, merchant lords whispered negotiations that they disguised as compliments, while the guild master of some of the more notable guilds drank and discussed with their patrons.

  The servants could be ignored. They circled silently around tables and guests with trays of drinks, small peckish foods. You could also miss the glaring fact that none of them were dwarves or any tall goliath or leonin. They were either humans or half-elves.

  Artoz noted the warriors among the guests, dressed finely, but their weapons were not far away from their bodies. As long as they kept them sheathed, they weren’t breaking any laws.

  Laws that were only respected until someone threw a glove in your face and demanded a duel for some slight. great or small.

  The warriors cautiously looked at him, many of them trained but hesitant. They looked at his beard and fur hair that was filled with over a dozen war beads.

  Each of them told a story of how many warriors he had defeated in combat.

  A half-elf woman caught his eye, but she wasn’t dressed in fine silks. She was dressed like an adventurer and a duelist.

  She held his gaze steadily in challenge, and Artoz paused and met her gaze, but he soon moved on. He dismissed her with cold indifference, and even from the opposite side of the room, Artoz heard her exhale.

  It could have been in reply, or she could have been insulted by his silence. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for duels.

  There was a mix of wine, wax, and faint mana in the air, and his eyes moved past a few more guests’ fine coats, all carrying their dueling blades at their hips. The bard’s tempo rose as if to cover the tension.

  It was a contrast between wealth and weaponry, and it felt natural even to him. From here, he could tell those confident few duelists among the hesitant, less confident ones. He wondered if any of them had seen any real fighting.

  As a wandering swordsman, he carried his own kind of solitude. Most of the merchants and lords avoided meeting his eyes because only a few wanted his kind of trouble or that of the Takers’ guild.

  On the other hand, a group of guilders broke into laughter near the dais. And he ignored it, looking up towards the upper balcony where the leonin lord watched him. He watched the lordlying back as well.

  Suddenly, Rraan inclined his head slightly. Even though he was noble and a warrior, he knew how to show his respect. It was the way of the leonin. Artoz, seeing this, returned the gesture faintly.

  The moment passed, the bard’s laughter filled the lull, and time continued to stretch as he waited.

  He waited, and his [Warrior’s Path] skill continued its hum. It told him that this peace would end soon, and after a few long minutes, he rose.

  It shouldn’t have been a surprise for anyone. But as he got up, his movement drew several eyes to him.

  The war beads in his hair caught the light, and nearby, disguised cloak-and-dagger assassins, duelists, all noticed him first.

  Many others turned to watch him as he cut through the rhythm of the ballroom, and with how tall he stood, it was obvious to see why he got all the attention.

  The conversations around him began to grow quiet, and as if the bards sensed it, the music shifted as well. It faltered, then with a bit of improvisation, the bards shifted to a slower pace.

  A bard frowned as his skill told him that the attention of the crowd was being drawn to something else mid-verse, and he watched as the change rippled out through the crowd.

  A captain from Fenroth paused in his drink, he turned slowly and frowned down at the moving lionin.

  Several wealthy-looking women raised their fans, began whispering and murmuring.

  “Is he going to duel someone?”

  “Another duel."

  "This month."

  "I wonder who offended whom,” a man said, then chuckled.

  That statement was followed by nervous laughter.

  Artoz stopped in the center of the marble floor, and the crowd unconsciously opened up space around him.

  In his mind, the [Warrior’s Path] skill hummed ceaselessly until it suddenly stopped. He looked down around the crowd, then behind, and he realized that he was where he was meant to be.

  Guild mistress Magda stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, and she met his eyes.

  “Who offends your honor, warrior,” she asked, and her voice carried through the whispers and murmurs.

  He turned to face her, and in turn, all the heads turned to face him, waiting for his response.

  “No one, mistress,” he answered.

  There was a collective exhale of held breath in the room, and Magda tilted her head to the side.

  Artoz scanned the room again. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was sure he was in the right place.

  He didn’t know why the skill had led him here, but he really hoped it wasn’t another due.

  The musicians remained still as they watched him, and the nobles watched him, half afraid and the other half in fascination.

  The great chandelier in the ballroom flickered, the mana in the enchanted walls shifted slightly, and a dull vibration moved through the marble floor.

  His head snapped back down to the floor. He heard one of the guests gasp, and he knew whatever he had been waiting for was about to show itself.

  “Do you feel that?” a woman in fine silks asked.

  Another tremor rocked the ballroom from the floor, and the crowd started taking hesitant steps back. The candles in the nearest candelabra shook, and before they knew it, the bards and singers had stopped singing.

  Guild mistress Magda frowned as she stepped forward and stood next to him.

  “What is it?” she asked, the question partially directed to no one in particular.

  Captain Bormac of the watch joined them, and they all looked at the empty space in front of them.

  “Is it a portal gate?” he asked uncertainly.

  There was another vibration, and he panicked.

  “Is it really a dungeon gate?” he repeated.

  “This building is enchanted. That’s impossible,” Guild mistress Magda said.

  Artoz, the tiger man, just stood there waiting. There was no sign of panic on his face, and that somehow made Magda and the others relax a bit.