Chương 81: The First One Is The Hardest

One moment, Cal stood on the enchanted road with his boots planted on the solid certainty of Dominion power; the next, he was sinking into cold mud. Above them, a thick canopy blocked most of the light, filtering what remained into a greenish twilight where moss draped everything. Low-hanging branches reached across the trail like skeletal arms, their surfaces slick with moisture while the air itself was full of the scent of damp earth and rotting logs.

Ahead of him, Corinne walked with her shoulders squared, her head swiveling to take in every detail of the woods. Her spear tapped a subconscious rhythm, the tip rising and falling. She projected confidence, but her spine was stiff and her movements were a fraction too controlled. The reality is setting in for her. Reaching into his pack, Cal pulled out one of Aurelian's meridian liner elixirs. The vial caught a stray beam of light, the liquid inside glowing a pinkish hue.

He pulled the cork with his teeth and downed the viscous contents in a single swallow, grimacing at the texture sliding down his throat. A syrupy sensation spread from his chest, flowing through his spiritual channels like honey being poured into warm tea. The feeling was deeply strange, a foreign presence settling into the pathways his Stamina normally traveled. Cal turned his focus inward as they walked, drawing on his reserves to run a diagnostic.

He pulled Stamina from all over his body, concentrating it through different limbs in measured amounts, varying the speed and intensity to map the changes. The liner clung to the walls of his meridians, a magical equivalent of deep-fried arteries that narrowed the aperture and added a resistance that would have made a cardiologist weep. He pushed a stronger surge through his system to simulate the draw for a [Dash]. Pressure built as the energy accelerated and compressed until he found the flaw.

The liner was incomplete. It had adhered to the healthy sections of his channels, but the damage from his Channel Erosion remained exposed. He could feel the energy leaking through these vulnerable spots, bleeding power into the surroundings like air escaping from a punctured tire. The elixir would prevent further damage if he kept his output reasonable, but if he pushed too hard the liner wouldn't matter.

Dumping too much Stamina through those unprotected tears would worsen the erosion and cause the temporary protection to fail. He rolled his shoulders to release the tension gathering there. It was clear he could use his Abilities safely, but [Crimson Overdrive] would burn through the protection in seconds, a trump card he could only play briefly. Better than nothing. Cal extended his [Spiritual Perception], letting the sense unfurl like a slow exhalation.

To this sense, the forest was a spiritual void, an endless expanse of nothingness. The towering trees, the dense foliage, the chittering squirrels—they were all un-Awakened, spiritually inert. He wanted to conserve his Mana, and without [Spatial Mapping] it was a canvas of absolute black where the physical world ceased to exist, broken only by the rare, burning signatures of true power. The team's auras blazed in the dark.

Kamari was a bonfire of deep crimson, his resonance steady and dense like a slow-beating war drum. Jorik was a jagged, aggressive red, while Amina felt tighter, a compressed wire of energy ready to snap. Senna was unique, her martial red woven with threads of soothing blue, showcasing the healer's dual nature. Even Bryon, the rookie, burned with a stable, if smaller, power—a high F-tier flame trying to keep pace with the veterans' E-tier infernos.

Beyond them, the spiritual darkness was vast and held scattered points of power. Cal pushed his senses outward, filtering through the void. Far to the left, a solitary aura stalked away through the forest—a spirit beast, likely a hemlock prowler, but knowing enough to steer clear. Closer, scattered pinpricks of light clung to the invisible terrain. He brushed his attention over them, analyzing the feedback. A cluster of dull, muddy-brown pulses near the ground. Woodear fungus.

Just soup filler he used to chop in the kitchen. Further on, a spicy tang radiated from a patch of fuzzy stones. Pepper moss. Cheap seasoning. He mentally discarded them, allowing the low-value signatures to fade into the background as he refined his search for something specific. The team continued through a particularly dense section of trail where the undergrowth closed in on both sides. A low branch caught on Cal's arm, and he had to duck beneath a tall fern that dripped cold water down the back of his neck.

Ahead of him, Corinne yelped quietly as her boot sank deeper than expected into a puddle, and she yanked her leg free, her lips pressed into a thin line. They'd been walking for roughly thirty minutes when Kamari slowed and then pointed to the left, where the trail widened slightly. They rounded the bend and the forest opened into a small clearing on the edge of a ridge.

A moss-covered hill sat in the center, easily the size of a small cottage, its surface carpeted in thick layers of delicate ferns, and even small saplings that had taken root in the living carpet itself. Instinct took the wheel as the hill moved. Cal jerked back, his boots finding purchase in the loam as he dropped into fighting readiness. Beside him, Corinne let out a gasp, her spear leveling at the gigantic shape. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, adrenaline spiking, weapons locked on the threat.

Kamari didn't even twitch. An ancient head lifted to reveal a face that appeared carved from granite, small eyes barely visible beneath a thick brow ridge. A miniature ecosystem thrived on the shell, a garden of life accumulated over years. Ponderous, pillar-like legs shifted forward in a slow plod that made the ground tremble. The titan paid them no heed, its attention entirely consumed with a patch of mushrooms growing at the base of a nearby tree.

The sound of trickling water drifted up from just beyond the creature's massive shell. Their trail cut past the tortoise's resting spot, dipping sharply down a steep embankment toward the creek gurgling below. Cal stared, relaxing his posture and lowering his spear as he processed the sheer scale of it, the weight of time made manifest in living earth. He turned to Kamari.

"That's an E-tier groveback tortoise, isn't it? Is it safe to test my perception on something a full tier higher?" Kamari kept his eyes fixed on the tortoise, looking thoughtful, before he gave a slow nod.

"Aye, lad. We call 'em 'torts.' And normally, that perception question would get you a lecture and a cuff on the ear." The veteran explained.

"Probing a beast that out-ranks you is a fool's errand. A clumsy touch feels like a slap to their senses, and most would tear you apart for the insult. You don't poke a sleeping dragon, no matter how curious you are about what its aura tastes like." He paused, a hint of respect entering his tone.

"But grovebacks are different. Placid as a mountain, most days. They're one of the few beasts that'll tolerate you, which makes it an excellent training dummy for a lad learning to soften his touch." Kamari's look shifted to Cal.

"Just don't actually manage to piss it off. They're slow, but they don't stop. Ever. I saw one in my caravan days when a merchant's cart spooked it. The tortoise turned, locked onto the instigator, and just walked. The merchant fled and the tortoise followed for three days, tracking that man's scent through the forest, over rivers, and through villages. By the time the local garrison put it down, it had trampled two homesteads and crushed a Legion patrol that tried to redirect it."

Cal swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Good to know... I'll be careful." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it He took a steadying breath and concentrated his will, knowing the [Feathered Edge] technique required precision. Extending his perception slowly, he carefully spun out the thread of Mana-enhanced awareness. He let it drift, spreading the density out at the perimeter until it was as thin and insubstantial as fog. The mist brushed against the tortoise's aura. Strong.

Deep and grinding, the resonance crashed against him like tectonic plates shifting beneath the earth. Compressed stone defined the aura, immovable and unchanging, while the color burned with an ancient vermillion buried under centuries of moss and time. The tortoise maintained its mushroom feasting, unaware of the intrusion. Cal pulled his sense back, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

[Your proficiency with Feathered Edge (F) has increased to Practiced] He turned to Kamari, a new question forming.

"Is it possible to do that, but for a whole area at once?" Kamari gave him a measured look, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Not for the likes of us, lad." He gestured vaguely at the forest around them.

"I've heard stories of powerful mages, high E-tier, maybe D-tier, who can spread their senses like a net and feel everything in hundreds of yards at once. But maintaining that soft touch on dozens of things simultaneously demands immense mental strain, not to mention loads of Mana." The veteran shook his head.

"It's a technique for magic specialists, the kind of folk who spend their lives in meditation and study, not the kind who swing swords for a living." Cal reflected on the mans' words. It wasn't a 'no.' It was a 'not yet.' And considering what he'd learned about [Savant of the Mind] it might even be a 'sooner rather than later.' He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but his train of thought derailed as his perception finally found what he'd been looking for.

A cluster of steady silver lights hummed with a sweet taste like honeyed water and mint. They sat low to the ground, somewhere over the ridge beyond the tortoise. Silverbloom. Kamari gestured forward, and the team headed toward the creek. The sound of running water grew louder; a constant, gurgling backdrop that masked the subtler sounds of the forest. The current sliced through thin mist, a ribbon of black water so frigid it radiated stinging air.

As the trail curved to follow the creek bed, the undergrowth thinned as the banks spread, giving them more room to maneuver. He continued examining the area more carefully, and another signature caught his attention. Patches of gritty red sand along the water's edge resonated with an earthy hum that felt oddly familiar. He frowned, trying to place the sensation, and then it clicked. Cinder-sand. It feels like my spirit cauldron. Cal memorized the location to gather a sample on the way back.

Jorik, walking point, suddenly stopped, his thick arm rising in a fist. The entire team froze. The man's head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he listened. Then he gestured urgently up ahead, pointing toward a line of smooth river boulders that formed a natural barrier the creek wrapped around. He stepped quietly onwards, his boots barely making a sound over the running water.

The team followed, descending the embankment from the ridge the trail had followed and crouching behind the group of large stones in the creek bed. Then Cal heard it. High-pitched guttural chatter, chittering voices layered over one another. Feral goblins. A phantom ache throbbed in his arm. He remembered the quarry. The life or death struggle of his first true test of mettle on Veraxus. But these creatures were ambush predators, monsters that understood the lethal value of silence. This pack was hollering.

The chaotic, aggressive chatter scraped at his ears, entirely wrong. They were announcing their position to the world. Sensing something was amiss, Cal closed his eyes and drove his [Spiritual Perception] forward. A cluster of auras appeared, twelve goblins burning with the weak crimson of low F-tier. They were gathered in a sloppy group near the creek bend, their positions exposed. He extended his search, sweeping the area in a slow arc. There. Two more auras, faint and cold. Utterly motionless.

They lurked in a deeper pool to the right, their spiritual signatures muted by the water but still present. Cal opened his eyes. Kamari was watching him. The veteran crouched with his back to the noise downriver, his shield resting against his knee. He ignored the bait entirely, looking at Cal with silent expectation. Cal tapped two fingers against his thigh, then pointed a finger toward the dark water on the right flank. The warrior's eyes crinkled slightly in response. Fourteen goblins.

The number instantly altered the mission's scope. He understood the original plan was to give Corinne a controlled first kill against a single target to build her confidence. A full pack would swarm and overwhelm her in moments. He watched Kamari's posture harden, his focus appearing to shift from supervision to assault, confirming Cal's rapid assessment. The training exercise had just become an extermination. The veteran's hands darted in a series of swift gestures, while Cal did his best to interpret.

The man pointed to himself, then stabbed a finger forward. I'm the heavy. I go center. He pointed to Jorik, then made a hooking gesture to the right. You take the submerged flank. He signaled Bryon to the left, then pointed a finger up toward the same ridge line for Amina. Overwatch. Finally, he tapped his own back, looking at Cal and Corinne. You two are with me. Kamari turned to face the enemy and held three fingers over his shoulder. Two. One.

Their leader drew his sword and splashed around the boulders in a charge at the massed group. The veteran moved like a mountain given motion, his heavy plate armor turning him into a living avalanche that scattered goblins like leaves in a storm. His shield crashed into the face of the nearest creature. The goblin's skull crumpled, and it dropped without a sound.

Simultaneously, Jorik exploded from behind the boulders, his twin hand-axes becoming a whirlwind of steel as he rushed into the submerged goblins the moment they arose. The blades caught the first creature across the throat before it could shriek. The second goblin scrambled backward, claws scrabbling against slick river stones, but Jorik was already on it. A downward chop buried one axe in its skull with a meaty thunk.

From the left ridge, a black-fletched arrow whistled down, burying itself in the throat of a goblin trying to crawl up the bank. Below the archer Bryon pivoted smoothly, his spear impaling another goblin that broke from the melee and tried to flee. They dismantled the trap in seconds. Cal stepped forward, his spear rising. One of the goblins slipped past Kamari's assault, snarling as its yellow eyes locked onto him.

His [Breaching Thrust] punched through the goblin's torso, the force of the blow lifting the creature off its feet before it slid off the blade and collapsed into the mud. He turned, searching the chaos, and saw the rest of the pack breaking, their cries of terror fading up and down the creek. One goblin remained. It stood trapped in the shallows between Kamari's bulk and Corinne's spear. It weighed the massive veteran against the teenage girl. It chose her.

With a high-pitched squeal, the goblin launched itself at Corinne, a blur of gnashing yellow teeth and claws. Corinne cursed. Her boots had slipped on the wet river stones, her balance wavering as the creature closed the distance. Muscle memory took over. She dropped her weight, sinking into a low stance, and snapped out her signature move. [Linebreaker Sweep] The haft of her spear flashed out, catching the leaping goblin mid-air with a sickening crack against its ribs.

The kinetic force swatted the creature sideways, arresting its momentum and sending it violently into the ground. The goblin thrashed, spitting pink froth as it scrambled to rise. Corinne stepped forward, driving her boot onto the creature's chest to pin it against the creek bed. She leveled her spear, the iron tip hovering inches from its throat. Then she froze. The goblin clawed at her boot, its limbs flailing. Its eyes were wide, pupils blown. Alive.

Corinne's hands trembled on the spear shaft, her knuckles white. The training, the drills, the lectures—they evaporated in the face of the living, breathing thing beneath her heel.

"Now, Corinne!" Cal's voice cut through the paralysis. The command shattered her hesitation. She raised her spear drove it down, her features twisting with effort. Clumsy, the spearhead caught on the goblin's sternum and deflected off the bone. The creature shrieked—a high, thin wail of agony as it convulsed. Revulsion twisted her face, but she gritted her teeth and bore down. With a choked cry, she leaned her entire body weight onto the weapon. The howl cut off mid-note.

Limbs went slack, the body sagging into the silt. Corinne stood panting over the corpse, chest heaving as she stared down at the blood streaking her spear. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at Cal. Her hands still shook, but there was a wild, exhilarated light warring with the shock in her eyes. Cal stepped closer, holding a hand out to steady her.

"The first one is always the hardest, Corinne. Trust me, I know. You did what you had to do." He shook her slightly." Well done." She took a shaky breath and her shoulders straightened, a gleam of her usual fire returning to her eyes. She managed a small nod. A tremulous grin started to form on her lips as she looked at Cal, ready to accept the victory. Then her eyes looked past him. The grin died, and color drained from her face.

"Cal—" He turned, following her horrified look. One of the fleeing goblins must have scrambled up the ridge where the team had come from. Instead of safety, it had found a giant tortoise. The goblin was rounding the boulder line in a panic, screeching as the mobile hillock appeared over the wall behind it. The groveback tortoise charged, its stout limbs digging through the creek with impossible speed for something that size.

Boulders shifted as the lumbering titan barreled forward, its ancient eyes locked onto the source of its offense with single-minded, unstoppable fury. The ground trembled beneath Cal's feet as the goblin trained the behemoth right to them.