Grimoire of Cultivation

Chapter 40: A Dance of Blades and Shadows

In the quiet that had settled over the camp, the elf slave's silhouette emerged as a whisper against the backdrop of tents and flickering shadows. He moved with a hesitance that seemed at odds with the night's calm, eventually pausing in front of Darius's tent.

After a moment's hesitation, as if mustering the resolve, he cautiously lifted the flap and peered inside. There, "Darius" lay in the cot, an illusion of peaceful slumber painting the scene. The slave's gaze lingered, a mix of curiosity and something unspoken in his eyes as he observed the still figure. After a moment, he turned, retracing his steps back toward Ramman's tent, the weight of unseen thoughts slowing his pace.

In front of Ramman's tent, the elf slave paused, his skin, marked with grotesque scars, shimmered slightly from sweat. He brushed his ragged fingers through tangled green hair, the other hand clutching at his worn clothes. Lingering briefly in uncertainty, eventually, he stepped into the tent.

"Master? I-I've returned," he murmured, lowering his head.

Ramman, seated at a newly placed table within the tent, watched the elf slave with a frozen smile. The table was covered with an assortment of foods, each dish carefully arranged.

"Strange. Do tell me, why do you stand there alone?," he said, his gaze never leaving the elf. Gesturing towards the space beside him, he encouraged, "Come, come."

The elf, without a moment's delay, rushed to Ramman's side and dropped to the ground, pressing his cheek against the top of Ramman's bare foot, "I did as you requested master, I went to summon the boy."

Ramman picked up a fork that lay beside him, twirling it between his fingers. "And?"

"When I entered his tent, the boy was sleeping. I tried to wake him, I really did. He must have been exhausted because he just wouldn't wake," the slave said, his words tumbling out in a frantic, pleading tone.

Ramman peered over the table, his smile twisted in a way that could unsettle the sturdiest of hearts, "The poor child, so tired, so frightened." With a slow, deliberate motion, he extended his hand, fork gripped tightly, and began to press it into the elf's back. "How thoughtful of you, to overlook my instructions, to prioritize that child's welfare over my commands."

The elf's expression remained eerily blank as the fork's tip pierced his skin, yet his eyes told a different story—a storm of fear and pain swirling within, veins popping with silent screams, "I'm sorry master, I'll fetch the boy right away." With a kiss to his master's foot, he stayed on his knees, waiting for dismissal.

Ramman withdrew his hand, his gaze lingering on the fork stuck in his slave's back with a perverse satisfaction. He licked his fingers before flicking the fork with a casual gesture, "Keep this until you return. A reminder of whom you ought to please."

The elf kissed Ramman's foot once more, murmuring, "Yes, master," as he rose to his feet. The movement sent a wave of agony through his back, the fork twisting with each muscle's protest.

As the elf departed, Ramman's gaze followed the fork's tremble. Once alone, his facade crumbled, a shiver coursing through him, "Hurry, Hurry, Hurry." His fingers clawed at his groin, drawing blood that soaked into his robe, "Oh, the sweet, innocent Valdene," his voice spiraled into a manic pitch, "I'm starving!"

----

Darius crouched in the shadows behind the carriage, waiting, 'Just checking on me?' He watched the elf peer into his tent for a moment before leaving. It seemed he still had a window of opportunity. Threads of purple electricity danced around his legs. Under his breath, he murmured, "Ethereal Steps," and in an instant, he was no longer there, the boy and the fox, disappeared.

Morgan, the fire knight, who was on the perimeter of the camp, paused, his eyes narrowing into the darkness. For a fleeting moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of something. Shaking his head, he chalked it up to the weariness tugging at his senses. Darius, in his ethereal step, had just flickered past him, unseen and unheard.

With the camp now behind him, Darius pressed forward, his pace unrelenting. Kilometers fell away in moments under his swift passage until the towering silhouette of an ancient oak emerged from the darkness.

Channeling his mana, now glowing with a deep yellow light, Darius's hands became instruments of power. The soil yielded to his touch as if welcoming him, allowing him to carve a small sanctuary among the tree's ancient roots.

In the quiet cradle formed by the roots, Darius tenderly positioned the wounded ember fox. "Hang in there, Haku," Darius carefully laid a hand over the wounded area. His palm radiated a warm, red glow as he channeled his fire mana into the wound, targeting the infection with precision. As the heat intensified, consuming the rot, Haku's body tensed, a pained whimper escaping him.

Sensing he had destroyed the infection, Darius withdrew his hand, the glow shifting back to yellow. He then carefully concealed the cave's entrance with soil and rocks, ensuring Haku's safety from prying eyes.

Grasping a small stone, Darius exerted a fraction of his strength, splitting it to create a sharp edge. His eyes shimmered with a deep purple glow, his movements a blur as he etched a compact array at the tree's base.

'This should deter any curious animals or most mana-beasts,' Darius thought, satisfied with his safeguard. Turning away, his legs became shrouded in crackling purple mana.

With a burst of velocity, he vanished into the night, the direction of the camp his target. 'If luck is on my side, I'll return unnoticed.' Darius funneled his mana, fueling his swift return.

----

The elf slave's progress back to Darius's tent unfolded slowly, his feet dragging against the ground as if reluctant to complete the journey. Each step seemed to echo his soft murmurs, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I tried, I'm sorry, I tried," a mantra repeated with each labored breath laced with pain. His shadow, elongated and distorted by the flickering campfires, played against the tent's fabric, a silent witness to his turmoil.

Pausing occasionally, he would look up as if seeking some sign or reprieve in the night sky, only to bow his head and continue his labored pace.

Upon finally reaching the tent, his hand hovered over the flap, trembling. He leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against the cool fabric, his apologies now a whisper lost to the night.

Pulling back, he straightened with an effort that seemed to draw on his last reserves of strength, his shadow merging with the darkness at the tent's entrance.

"Oh! Excuse me!" The words burst from Darius as he materialized from the tent, colliding with the elf slave who stumbled backward and landed awkwardly.

Darius, feigning drowsiness and clutching at his crotch with urgency, apologized almost frantic, "I'm very sorry, I really have to pee. If you'll excuse me," awkwardly bowing and without waiting for a response, he dashed off towards the woods, leaving the elf sitting in the dirt, startled and unable to utter a single word in response.

The elf, after a moment of stunned silence, managed to painfully regain his footing. He brushed off the dirt from his ragged clothes as he stood, his eyes following the hastily retreating figure of Darius with a mix of confusion and pity. "Come back quickly, young lord," he called out softly, though his voice carried little hope of being heard.

The elf slave's gaze lingered on the dark path taken by Darius, his expression a blend of sorrow and resignation.

As Darius feigned urgency in search of a secluded spot, the moment he sensed he was out of view, he swiftly veered off and took refuge in the shadow of a nearby tent, 'why did he have a fork in his back?'

His return to camp had been a narrow affair; had the elf not lingered at the tent's entrance, Darius would have been caught without the chance to sneak back in through the tent's rear.

With a focused calm, Darius shut his eyes, mentally mapping the positions of everyone within the camp. Upon reopening them, a determined tension in his jaw, he silently thought, 'sorry, Morgan.' Harnessing his wind mana, he moved with silent grace between the tents, heading towards the camp's eastern edge.

There, Morgan stood, back against a tree, caught in the weary cycle of dozing off and jolting awake, his yawns wide and unguarded.

Darius approached Morgan silently, unseen by the knight. Arriving on the opposite side of the ancient tree, he halted for a moment, joining in the peace of Fang Root.

Under the night sky, the moon's waning light bathed the forest, filtering through like beams of starlight upon the forest floor.

Darius stood frozen, strangely taking comfort from the view as his heart pounded, 'Why am I hesitating?'

This surreal moment of a knight and a boy, both captured by the serene beauty of Fang Root Forest, lingered for a moment longer, a needed calm before the storm.

With a final look, Darius's determination surged; his fists clenched tightly as his gaze intensified, his eyes shimmering with a deep blue light. He carefully extended a finger, its tip beginning to emit a faint, vibrating hum.

Morgan's battle with sleep ended as his eyelids finally surrendered, granting him a brief moment of calm.

Abruptly, a sharp buzzing sound sliced through the quiet, reminiscent of an arrow whizzing past. Instantly, his eyes sprang open, alert and wide, while his hands ignited in a red glow, swiftly manifesting his manaforged gauntlets.

"What wa-s...wel-hegl..." Morgan's attempt at speech was abruptly halted as blood gushed from his mouth, his hands flying to his throat. As he fell to his knees, gasping, blood slipped through his fingers in a desperate struggle for air.

With a swift, decisive blow to the back of his neck, Darius ended the knight's struggles, silencing him permanently.

Morgan's body hit the ground, and Darius vanished from the vicinity in an instant. 'Time is critical; they might possess techniques to detect death.' He employed his Arcane Gaze, searching for his next target —the knight imbued with lightning.

Guided by green mana, he glided among the trees, using their branches as his path to evade detection.

Landing on a tree mere meters from the lightning knight—a bald, middle-aged man with tan skin—Darius's presence left not even a leaf stirred. The knight patrolled diligently between two trees, his commitment to his watch evident.

'I'm lucky they're just bronze knights, only capable of wielding five cauldrons at most.' With ethereal steps, he ghosted to a nearer tree. 'Given their age, their potential seems limited.' The knights in the camp shared a similar age, Clemet being the youngest yet still in his thirties.

Darius reached into his pocket, retrieving the fractured stone previously utilized for Haku's protective array. Yellow and amber colors covered his hand, earth mana infusing the stone.

Drawing back, he tensed his shoulder muscles, while relaxing his arm, poised. In a swift, whip-like motion, he unleashed the stone straight towards the unsuspecting knight.

The bald knight, caught unawares, couldn't muster a response. The stone, hurled with precision and explosive force, penetrated one side of his skull and exited the other without giving him a chance to react or defend.

As the stone exited, its trajectory slightly skewed, it grazed off the knight's shoulder guard. This contact produced a sharp, metallic clang, a sound that briefly pierced the quiet of the surrounding woods before fading into silence.

'Shit!' Darius's mind raced as he swiftly surveyed the surroundings. As anticipated, the noise had drawn attention. Winch, the wind knight on duty, had picked up on the sound and was now heading towards its source.

In a flash of decision, Darius descended from his perch, positioning himself directly in Winch's approaching path, mimicking the act of relieving himself.

As Winch neared, Darius feigned completion, slowly adjusting his attire. Emerging into Winch's sight, he crafted an expression of surprise, his voice laced with feigned alarm, "Ah!" He recoiled slightly, as if startled by the sudden encounter.

In reaction, Winch instinctively recoiled, summoning his daggers in a defensive posture, only to find Darius awkwardly managing his attire, seemingly terrified. With a dismissive roll of his eyes, he quietly chastised, "What are you doing out here? Piss outside your tent, you idiot," before his daggers vanished with a swift gesture.

Darius, having adjusted himself, adopted a submissive stance, eyes cast downward as he cautiously approached Winch. "I'm sorry, I know I should... it's just... it's just..." he stuttered, nervously fidgeting with his hands, inching closer to Winch with each hesitant step.

"Spit it out, dud! Can't you talk either?" Winch's impatience erupted as he took a step forward, his voice low and laced with disdain.

If Winch had been able to perceive Darius's aura, he would have seen the colossal amount of lightning mana gathering around Darius's hand, where hundreds of minuscule purple dragons writhed and danced along his arm and fingers.

In that fleeting moment, as Winch moved forward, momentarily unguarded and arms lifted in irritation, Darius seized his opportunity.

He vanished from Winch's sight in a blink. With lethal accuracy, Darius transformed his hand into a blade, channeling the full might of twenty cauldrons of force, reappearing just as his arm, now a spear of pure elemental force, easily pierced through Winch's chest. His arm exiting cleanly through the knight's shattered backplate.

"You!" Winch's hand latched onto Darius's neck in a futile attempt, his strength swiftly ebbing away as his life force drained, his body turning limp, supported only by Darius's arm.

Shoving the lifeless form from his grip, Darius channeled his fire mana. Wisps of dark steam rose from his arm as he vanished into the night once more. Moving with silent urgency, Darius's cold azure gaze betrayed neither regret nor compassion for the lives he extinguished.

Leaping between the branches, Darius couldn't help but think on the singular nature of his mana. 'It must be terrifying.' His mana, invisible and unfelt by others until its sudden, explosive release, was a weapon unlike any other.

Darius shivered at the thought, picturing the scene: a fighter, silent and still, then, in the blink of an eye, unleashing a dragon vast as the mountains upon their unsuspecting foe. The contrast between the apparent vulnerability and the following surprise assault was jarring.

As he navigated the canopy, the idea of applying this advantage to create his own unique fighting style intrigued him. The thought of engaging in combat, seemingly a dud, only to reveal a cataclysmic technique resonated with a part of him that craved both the deadly power of the unseen and the undeniable declaration of strength. The potential of such a surprise, of such a reveal, was a thrilling prospect. This stealthiness also allowed for repeated use, even after the initial shock. Martial techniques could be incorporated into ongoing combat, with the adversary unaware until it was too late.

As Darius pondered on the possibilities, he eventually zeroed in on a distinct yellow aura at the camp's western boundary. Approaching a gap between the trees, he abruptly sensed an explosion of fire mana originating from Hoggle's tent, the mage's aura flaring wildly.

The peace of the camp was suddenly broken by a commanding shout, "We are under attack!"