Chương 217: After A Hunt

Shade stood silently before the still-burning, beheaded corpse of the Tyrant. Its once-impenetrable armor had melted under the flames, blackened obsidian dripping like molten wax onto the sand. The Tyrant's body, still radiating heat from the fire Eskar had ignited within, hissed as its crimson blood evaporated in the air, filling the desert with the sharp, metallic scent of iron. Shade's gaze slowly shifted to Vale and Eskar. The boys were nearby, but not close enough to ease his concern.

Vale was a dozen meters away from Eskar, struggling to remain upright. His left arm was nearly useless, hanging from his body by torn muscle and tattered sinew. A gaping hole had ripped through his shoulder, the depth of it horrifying, but, thankfully, none of the vital organs had been hit. Eskar's state, however, was far grimmer. His chest was partially caved in, some of his ribs shattered, and blood poured from his mouth as he coughed violently.

He barely drew breath between each spasm, his body trembling under the weight of injury. Shade's shadowy form froze. He had no idea how to react, standing there uncertain, a humanoid sentinel of dark power unable to intervene further. Then, from the crest of the dune, Drago emerged. The old man's dark robes flapped lightly in the heat-warped wind, his gaze fixed first on the burning Tyrant, then slowly descending to the boys. Shade tilted his head slightly, observing Drago's approach.

The old man stopped just above Vale and Eskar, grinding his teeth in visible dissatisfaction at the sight of their battered forms. He lingered a moment longer on Vale, studying the deep tears in his shoulder and arm. Vale, despite the burning agony lingering through his wounds, fixed Drago with a complicated expression beneath his dark mask. Slowly, he used his prosthetic arm to lift it and remove the mask, revealing a face marred by pain, grit, and stubborn determination.

"So… you gonna help or what?" Vale asked, his voice edged with both sarcasm and pain. Drago paused. Then, with the calm decisiveness of a man who had faced a hundred situations like this one, he said simply: "Yeah." From a storage device at his waist, Drago withdrew a strange bottle filled with a swirling, luminescent liquid. He knelt beside Vale, eyeing his injuries carefully. Then he looked to Shade.

"Make sure he doesn't move," Drago instructed.

"Any disruption could ruin the process." Shade's ruby eyes narrowed, and he nodded, grasping Vale tightly, anchoring him against the shifting sand. Vale blinked up at Drago, confusion flickering across his features. Drago's lips curled into a small, wicked smile.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine… but that doesn't mean it won't hurt." And then the liquid touched Vale's wounds. A fire unlike anything he had known shot through his shoulder and arm. Flesh and armor seemed to scream as they reformed, mending as if the world itself was rewriting his body. The pain was immediate and absolute, each nerve ending ignited, every tear, every cut, every shrapnel of broken tissue tortured anew. Vale screamed.

He felt as though his arm was being torn apart and remade simultaneously, over and over. The agony seemed endless, stretching on for what could have been hours. Vale thrashed, writhing against Shade's hold, but the shadow did not relent. He understood instinctively: any movement now would disrupt the reformation, if the flesh twisted wrong, it could possibly crippling him forever. Even in pain, Vale's mind clung to that understanding, holding itself together through sheer will. And then, finally, the pain ceased.

The last fragment of torn muscle and shattered armor stitched itself into place. Vale's arm and shoulder were whole again, pristine, as if the Tyrant's talons had never touched him. Vale exhaled slowly, his chest heaving. His mask lay on the sand beside him, useless now. For several moments, he could not form a single coherent thought. The aftertaste of agony left him hollow, yet alive. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Drago rose, leaving Vale to recover for a moment before moving to Eskar.

"Shade, with me. We still have one more," the old man said. Shade's eyes flicked to Vale, still kneeling in quiet shock, then back to Drago. A faint sigh left him as he followed the older man. Eskar was treated similarly. Drago knelt beside him, pouring the strange liquid into the crimson-haired boy's mouth. Shade positioned himself atop Eskar, holding the boy's arms to prevent movement. Eskar's eyes widened with fear, and his ragged breaths mixed with coughing blood as the process began.

Pain erupted instantly, fierce and unrelenting. Screams filled the desert, echoing off the dunes, and the world seemed to pause as Eskar's body convulsed. Vale, finally able to move, rose shakily to his feet. His body still quivering, he stumbled toward the dying embers of the Tyrant. Flames danced across its charred armor, now cooling, the smell of scorched flesh and molten metal hanging in the air. Vale retrieved his weapons from the Tyrant's body.

The onyx blade had survived, untouched by the fire, but his daggers were melted into useless metal. He let out a dry, sarcastic laugh.

"That's… nice," he muttered, tossing the ruined daggers aside. Shade finally released Eskar, who lay staring at the sky, eyes wide and unseeing, still shaking from the intensity of his pain. Vale crouched beside him, studying the boy with a mixture of concern and faint exasperation.

"You look like a corpse," Vale said softly, more observation than accusation, his voice low and steady despite the exhaustion gnawing at him. Eskar let out a weak, shuddering breath, not even responding, still trapped in the haze of agony and relief. Vale gently rested a hand on his shoulder, silent for a moment, letting the desert wind carry away the stench of fire and blood, the smell of victory and survival. Slowly, Eskar's gaze drifted toward Vale, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips.

"You… don't look much better yourself," he said, his voice hoarse but laced with a hint of humor. He extended a hand toward Vale. Vale let out a low, tired chuckle, reaching out to grasp it. Their hands met, and with a careful tug, Vale helped Eskar to his feet. Both of their armors were streaked with blood, scorched and cracked in places, yet they stood, injured, yes, but alive. Their wounds had been healed, though the memory of the agony lingered like a shadow over their senses. Vale handed Eskar his onyx blade.

Eskar took it and placed it carefully back into his scabbard.

"Thanks," he said softly, his eyes flicking toward the still-smoking corpse of the Tyrant. Then, he turned to Drago.

"And… thanks for the help." Vale nodded in agreement.

"Yeah… even if we had beaten it, we would've died without you." Drago waved them off, walking a few paces ahead, his dark robes brushing against the sand.

"Don't mention it. I said I'd be responsible for keeping you alive, so I'm simply holding myself to my own word," he said, his voice calm but firm. Vale's eyes drifted to Shade, who stood silently nearby, his dark form still radiating the quiet intensity of the battle just passed. The shadow simply shrugged. Vale let out a long, weary sigh.

"Did you… have fun, at least?" he asked, exhaustion lacing his voice. Shade nodded once, silently. Vale chuckled softly, despite the fatigue and aches burning through his body.

"Well… that's good. Would you mind turning back now?" Shade nodded again, there seemed to be something like contentment in his form. Slowly, the living shadow dissolved, the darkness retracting and coalescing back into the spear-like form he had taken before the battle. Vale grabbed it carefully, strapping it back to his back, and let out a long, deep sigh. Drago approached Eskar, handing him back the crimson egg. Vale watched quietly, his mind still reeling from the events they had just survived.

"Strange," he muttered to himself.

"Even after nearly dying… now we're fine." He shook his head, a wry smile ghosting across his lips as he followed Drago. Vale's hand drifted to his pocket, retrieving his mask and sliding it back into place. He crossed his arms, squinting at the Tyrant's smoldering corpse.

"So… what do we do about it?" he asked, curiosity and caution mixed in his tone. Drago's eyes narrowed as he looked at the blackened body, then he simply turned, walking away without hesitation.

"Nothing," he said quietly, the finality in his voice leaving no room for argument. Vale's eyes widened slightly at the response. Eskar looked equally surprised, but he shrugged, following Drago without a word. Vale exhaled, adjusting his grip on the spear, and followed as well. As they walked, Vale's mind wandered, replaying the battle in stark detail. The Tyrant had been immense, a category four threat, and he couldn't shake the reality of how close they had come to death.

Eskar's ability, to ignite the beast from within, had turned the tide, but even with that, a single attack had been enough to severely injure both of them. Without Shade's intervention, without the shadow's ability to manipulate and restrain the Tyrant, they would have died. Vale's jaw tightened at the thought, though he quickly pushed it aside. The battle was over, and worrying now wouldn't undo the fight. Still, it struck him as odd, a category four appearing here, so close to the ocean.

These threats were supposed to become rarer the closer they approached Irea. Perhaps it wasn't impossible to encounter one, but still… the timing was dangerous. He exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to focus on the positives. Soon, they would reach the ocean. Days from now, they would step onto the shores of Irea. At that moment Vale let out a weak smile, he knew of course by then he would finally be able to see his friends once more.