56

  The courtyard fell into an uneasy stillness as Durante straightened from his landing. Dust drifted around him. His presence—calm, rooted, old as the forests—spread across the square like a cold wind.

  The Revenant line shifted. Shoulders tensed. Fingers tightened around weapons. Their movements were subtle, but the unease was unmistakable.

  All except Barang.

  The cloaked leader watched with a growing smile, eyes glittering from beneath his layered hood. This—the druid they sought—had finally stepped into their grasp. If the Karit could not be taken, then the druid who knew the ancient paths would be taken instead.

  Therson rose from where he had crashed onto the fountain’s edge, helmet gone, hair matted with sweat and blood. He spat a dark red mouthful onto the stones and wiped his jaw with the back of his hand.

  “Lucille,” Barang said without turning. “Assist Therson.”

  “Yes, Lord Barang.”

  Lucille stepped forward, lifting her metal staff horizontally across her chest. The owl-shaped tip gleamed, green gems glowing like awakened eyes.

  But Durante did not look at her. He knelt beside Hector.

  “Are my kids here?” His voice was steady, but an undercurrent of fear threaded it.

  Hector coughed, palm over his ribs. “They’re not. They went with your sister.”

  Relief washed across Durante so visibly that for a moment, he seemed to breathe again.

  A presence materialized at his side—the lynx pact—its form shimmering between spirit and flesh. The great spectral cat stood tall, fur bristling in readiness, golden eyes narrowed at the Revenant.

  Lucille’s staff rang like metal struck by a bell.

  Two glowing circles formed before her—runic diagrams rotating, grinding like gears of light.

  From the first stepped a griffin—skeletal, four-legged, wings tattered with bone spires. Spines jutted from its tail and back.

  From the second lumbered the grind—massive, towering like a three-story beast. Its body was heavy, light brown, bound in chains that clattered as it moved. Its arms thick as tree trunks. Its head—broad, blunt, turtle-like—carried two forward-facing tusks.

  “Advance,” Lucille commanded.

  The griffin shot forward first, darting sideways with jerking, corpse-like movements. Bone spikes launched from its tail in rapid succession—three sharp white streaks.

  The grind thundered behind it, shaking the courtyard stone.

  Therson was already above Durante—descending, blade raised.

  Durante caught the first two spikes midair with effortless precision. He flicked his wrist and hurled them into the grind’s chest—harmless, but enough to stagger its charge.

  The third spike he raised like a dagger and struck upward—

  CLANG!

  The spike slammed into Therson’s descending greatsword, redirecting it. Durante pivoted, stepping inside the knight’s guard, and drove a kick into Therson’s abdomen.

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  Therson flew sideways, crashing through a vendor cart and tumbling across gravel.

  The grind’s massive arms came down to crush Durante’s skull.

  Durante spat a seed.

  The seed hit the grind’s forearm—sprouted instantly—roots exploding outward in a violent web. The creature stumbled, losing balance, and crashed onto its side with a seismic thud.

  The griffin darted behind Durante, tail whipping forward—

  He caught the tail, spun with fluid strength, and threw the skeletal beast straight toward Therson.

  Lucille’s staff glowed again.

  A third diagram appeared, runes spinning open like a blooming flower—and three bulbous creatures hopped out.

  The toads.

  Round, soft-bodied, with tiny limbs and wide eyes. Their jelly-like feathers glistened. Their bellies were dark green, backs bright orange and covered in swollen buds.

  The first toad opened its mouth—

  SPLAT.

  A glob of corrosive jelly struck Durante’s shoulder. The burn seared immediately. He hissed and wiped it off before it could eat through muscle.

  More projectiles followed, three at a time. Durante dodged between them, but a few still hit—legs, arms, ribs—burning like acid.

  The grind shoved back to its feet.

  The griffin picked itself off the stones.

  Therson reappeared, eyes wild, blade dripping aura.

  All three advanced.

  The grind hurled its iron chain—

  The chain wrapped around Durante’s neck, jerking him back.

  A bone spike from the griffin lodged into his thigh—

  Durante staggered.

  Therson descended from above—

  Greatsword cutting a bright green arc—

  BOOM.

  A boulder erupted upward—Hector’s work—deflecting the killing blow. Therson flipped backward, landing in a crouch, confused for only a heartbeat.

  The lynx pact roared.

  Its body shuddered. Fur rippled. Muscles expanded. Golden horns burst from its skull. Vast wings unfurled from its back. Fangs lengthened, claws darkened like obsidian.

  It had transformed—fully manifesting its spirit power.

  The lynx launched itself at the toads. The creatures spat again, but a single sweep of its wing sent the corrosive liquid splattering harmlessly aside.

  Durante’s pupils sharpened—his pact’s transformation fed into him. His limbs filled with renewed strength. His senses widened to every heartbeat in the courtyard. Wounds began to close.

  He gripped the chain tightening around his neck. The grind yanked—

  Durante pulled back, unbalancing the giant. He stepped forward and drove a brutal kick into the grind’s abdomen.

  THUD.

  The monster crumpled to its knees, wheezing.

  Durante leapt, pivoted midair, and brought his fist down in a crushing hook across the grind’s snout. The beast flew backward, skidding into the space directly at Lucille’s feet.

  The lynx roared at the toads.

  A gale burst from its maw—

  The toads flew back, rolling across the courtyard, jelly splattering behind them.

  The griffin lunged from behind Durante, claws wide—

  Durante did not dodge.

  He reached back, seized the griffin’s throat, and slammed it into the ground with earth-shattering force.

  Therson charged, greatsword blazing—

  The lynx blocked him, horns clashing with blade. Sparks flew. Therson’s boots scraped trenches in the stone from the force.

  Durante leapt, driving both fists toward Therson’s chest—

  Therson raised his blade horizontally to block. The impact sent him sliding backward a full five meters. Stone cracked under his feet.

  Bar-ang moved.

  His cloak rippled. His form dissolved into shadow—

  And in the next instant—

  He was beside Durante.

  Antes Durante could turn—

  Before the lynx could leap—

  Barang’s hand plunged into Durante’s side.

  Blood splashed onto the stones.

  Durante choked, dropping to one knee. His breath hitched. Pain radiated through his torso like wildfire.

  “You,” Barang whispered, voice thick with delight, “are so very amusing.”

  The lynx charged with a roar—horn lowered—

  Barang caught the horn with a single raised hand. His fingers closed around it, halting the full force of the pact’s attack.

  More guards arrived—dozens—some holding formation, others frozen in terror. Prince William and Prince Sergei pushed through the ranks, weapons drawn, eyes wide at the carnage.

  Then—

  A sharp whistle.

  A hiss.

  A streak through the air like a falling star—

  An arrow—massive, reinforced, forged for killing monsters—shot toward Barang’s heart.

  Before it hit—

  Barang vanished.

  He reappeared beside the Revenant line, unbothered, as if he had taken a casual step.

  High atop a tower, Soraya lowered her bow. Three elite guards from Freska flanked her, preparing another volley.

  Barang reached into his pocket and retrieved a small vial. He held his dripping hand above it—

  Blood slid into the glass. Dark. Thick. Gleaming with druidic vitality.

  Durante’s blood.

  Barang corked the vial.

  “Enough,” he said softly.

  In unison, the Revenant blurred—figures dissolving like smoke caught in a sudden wind.

  And in a blink—

  They were gone.