After Ebony's multiple failed attempts, the reality of his situation became glaringly clear. He inwardly cursed, admitting he should have learned to swim before plunging into the deep end. That was his folly the moment he glanced at the quest board—he should have known better.

  The monks had instilled in him the importance of assessment, planning, and understanding the currents before diving in. Yet, despite all he had learned, the lesson had never truly permeated his soul.

  A nagging feeling, a reckless impulse, had propelled him towards this daunting quest, despite his fledgling abilities. He couldn't articulate it, but something deep within him chafed against the slow, methodical approach.

  He craved to bypass the tedious training, the incremental progress, and leap directly into the heart of the fray. He yearned to prove himself—to everyone, and most importantly, to himself—that he was capable of greatness, that he wasn't merely a wandering bard with a few superficial tricks.

  But now, as the centaur's hooves thundered and its eyes blazed with fury, the stark reality of his miscalculation crashed down upon him. He had mistaken bravado for skill, ambition for aptitude.

  He had underestimated the challenge, blinded by his own hubris. The monks' words echoed in his mind, a haunting chorus of "patience," "wisdom," and "humility," each syllable a stinging reprimand.

  He had always been driven by impatience, eager to seize the moment, to chase the adrenaline rush of adventure. But this time, his impetuousness had led him astray.

  He had allowed his yearning for glory to cloud his judgment, to disregard the warning signs. He had aspired to be a hero, but he had forgotten that heroes are forged in the crucible of experience, not conjured in the fleeting heat of rash decisions.

  A wave of regret washed over him, a bitter taste of what could have been. He could have chosen a less demanding quest, refined his skills, and fortified his strength.

  He could have approached this challenge with prudence, with preparation, with a clear understanding of his limitations. And yet, despite the unfolding disaster, a stubborn part of him still clung to the desire to prove himself, to overcome the impossible.

  The centaur charged with raging fury, its sword poised to cleave Ebony in half.

  His companions, backing away, drew their weapons, ready for combat.

  The centaur swung its massive longsword with violent precision, a weapon it had wielded its entire life.

  The sheer size and weight of the blade allowed for multiple strikes, forcing Ebony to lift both his short swords to parry.

  Multiple strikes pounded the earth beneath their feet, but the centaur jumped and struck again, batting Ebony away with a relentless flurry of blows. All Ebony could do was dodge and parry, relying on his superior speed and agility.

  The centaur's anger and rage had consumed it, turning it into a mindless beast. Ebony saw this as a twisted advantage, knowing that as long as he remained fast and quick, he could survive this encounter.

  The centaur readied its sword for a piercing motion, drawing both arms back to deliver a devastating thrust. Ebony, anticipating the attack, used his two blades to deflect the blow, forcing the sword down into the solid earth.

  But in doing so, a piece of his book was impaled by the centaur's sword, trapping it against the ground. He had to make a choice: lose the bag or lose his life.

  He tore the bag free, dodging the next blow just as the centaur retrieved its sword, launching another attack.

  Ebony tumbled backward, regaining his footing, his heart sinking at the sight of his ruined book bag.

  Five years he had carried that bag, a faithful companion filled with coins and memories. "Damn you!" he said somberly, "That was my favorite book bag."

  The centaur, oblivious to Ebony's grief, charged again, delivering a one-handed strike with its longsword. Ebony dodged to the left, but the centaur seized the opportunity, delivering a powerful blow to his chest with its bulging left arm.

  The force of the impact knocked the wind out of Ebony, sending him flying. He crashed into the ground, creating a mud crater, and rolled in the dirt, writhing in pain.

  The centaur had dealt 10 damage, a significant blow to Ebony's already weakened state. He lay there, gasping for air, his body aching, his mind reeling.

  Ebony felt a searing pain in his chest, like a thousand needles piercing his lungs. He gasped for air, his body trembling, feeling the wind knocked right out of him. He started wheezing.

  The centaur, proud of its strike, began to hype itself up for another charge.

  Then, a spark hit the centaur in the face. A magical blast struck it, dealing 14 damage.

  Ebony turned to see Alex's wand glowing, the source of the magical attack. It had actually done some damage, leaving a couple of burn marks on the beast.

  Suddenly, arrows rained down on the centaur from the Silver Falcons.

  Pyrrhus's men had engaged in combat, swinging their blades as the centaur backed away, now distracted.

  Ebony was still on the ground, trying to regain his breath, his chest heaving.

  Vicky hunched over him, offering him a cloth to wipe away the sweat and mud from his face.

  Jordan, feeling dumbfounded, walked over to Ebony. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "Come on! It can't be that hard to take on one centaur! You said you could handle this, bard! What are you doing? We're in the middle of combat!"

  Jordan, feeling perplexed and dumbfounded, continued his berating. "Can't you do better than this? I mean, what's wrong with you?"

  Ebony, still struggling to breathe, tried to sit up, his face pale and strained. He looked at Jordan, then at the centaur, then back at his own hands, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.

  Jordan, impatient and assuming Ebony was feigning silence, not realizing he'd had the wind knocked out of him, scoffed. "Man, I knew you were a coward, bard. Just sit back and let us do all the work."

  He turned and rejoined the combat, swinging his sword at the remaining centaurs.

  Ebony, stung by Jordan's comment, slowly rose, taking deep breaths to fill his aching lungs. He adopted a Shaolin stance, focusing on regaining his composure. He picked up his blades and prepared to rejoin the fight.

  Vicky stopped him. "Hey, wait! What are you doing? Are you okay? That was a lot of damage. You almost died!" She handed him a healing potion. He drank it, feeling his health return to 20/20.

  "You're not doing a lot of damage at all," Vicky said, her voice laced with concern. "What level are you?"

  Ebony, for the first time, answered, "One."

  Vicky's hands flew to her head in shock. "One?! Why are you here? What are you doing? Why are you level one?!"

  Ebony didn't respond. He charged back towards the centaur, eager to engage the creature once more.

  Vicky, still reeling from the revelation, muttered to herself, "Oh goodness, this man is going to kill himself!

  Did we take on the wrong client?" Despite her apprehension, she ran after Ebony, staying close behind him.

  The centaur, having parried the attacks of the remaining Silver Falcons, swung its longsword in a wide arc, killing three of them instantly.

  Their lifeless bodies crumpled to the ground.

  As Ebony charged, he muttered to himself, "Come on, elemental mastery! I was whooping those bandits! Why isn't it working on this centaur?" He was frustrated, feeling foolish in front of everyone. Driven by anger, he vowed to find a way to cleave through the creature.

  The centaur saw Ebony approaching and prepared to strike again. Ebony launched a double slash with his short swords, aiming for the creature's flanks, but the centaur was ready. It grabbed his blades, parrying the attack.

  Their blades clashed repeatedly, each trying to gain an advantage. But due to the centaur's slower mobility, it couldn't land a decisive blow. Just as it was about to strike Ebony again, another magical spark from Alex's wand hit the creature, dealing 8 damage.

  Ebony seized the opportunity, slashing at the centaur's legs. The creature screamed in pain, taking 10 damage from the blade.

  Ebony had a Eureka moment. While his elemental attacks were ineffective, his blades could still inflict damage. He silently thanked the talented blacksmith in Iomud Damir. Thanks, Damir Ebony whispered.

  The centaur, its eyes burning with rage, raised its hooves and tried to crush Ebony. He dodged in time, but he didn't anticipate the centaur's counterattack.

  The centaur struck him with its longsword, the impact far greater than Ebony expected, dealing 18 damage. He collapsed, paralyzed by the pain, blood dripping from the deep slash on his back.

  Vicky screamed in panic. Reeling from the shock, she reached into her bag and pulled out a flask filled with a neon green substance. She charged at the centaur.

  Seeing an opportunity to finish Ebony, the centaur gripped its longsword with both hands, ready to deliver the final blow.

  Alex, seeing his companion in danger, gathered all the energy he could muster into his wand. He held it with both hands and concentrated, a purple spark growing from its tip. He stretched the energy, creating a writhing lightning whip.

  Alex twirled the wand, striking the centaur in the face before it could reach Ebony, dealing 20 damage.

  Alex continued to strike the centaur, trying to keep it away from Ebony. He dodged and missed, but eventually landed a series of blows, pushing the creature back.

  Vicky positioned herself over Ebony, shielding him from any further attacks. She threw the neon flask at the centaur, striking it in the chest.

  The creature wailed in agony, its skin burning and melting. It was an acid flask, dealing 15 damage.

  The centaur, terrified and in immense pain, retreated in a panicked haste.

  Alex and Vicky, panting, watched as the creature fled. Alex deactivated his wand.

  Vicky walked over to Alex, her eyes filled with worry. "Help me pick him up," she said. "We need to get him back to the portal."

  Together, they carried Ebony back through the portal, leaving the battle to the rest of the group.

  Xiao Ling watched as the remaining Silver Falcons carved a path through the centaur bandits. His twin daggers, honed to a razor's edge, moved with deadly precision, dispatching the creatures with effortless grace.

  He engaged in a whirlwind of combat, a dance of death against a dozen or more of the Hoard centaurs.

  As the last of the centaurs fell, Xiao Ling's gaze turned to a mud hut, crudely constructed and obviously the bandits' base of operations. A sense of conviction settled upon him. This was likely where his quarry was held.

  He approached the hut cautiously, his senses heightened, his daggers ready. As he drew closer, a voice resonated from within, a voice that was both commanding and strangely gentle.

  "You have come far, hunter," the voice said, "a journey driven by a thirst for retribution, I presume?"

  Xiao Ling halted, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the hut.

  "You seek Lapith's Bane," the voice continued, "a name whispered in fear, a legend etched in blood. But tell me, hunter, what is a legend but a story told by those who cannot grasp the truth?"

  A figure emerged from the hut, a centaur of imposing stature, his eyes gleaming with an ancient wisdom. This was Lapith's Bane.

  "You see me as a villain," Lapith's Bane said, his voice laced with a philosophical tone, "a destroyer of lives, a harbinger of chaos.

  But I ask you, hunter, what is chaos but the natural order of things? What is destruction but the inevitable cycle of creation and decay?"

  He gestured towards the carnage surrounding them. "You see the fallen, and you condemn me. But I see the seeds of change, the fertile ground for a new beginning. Life, like fire, consumes and transforms. It is not a matter of good or evil, but of necessity."

  "You seek to extinguish my flame," Lapith's Bane said, his gaze fixed on Xiao Ling, "but you fail to understand that a flame cannot be truly extinguished. It merely transforms, becoming something else, something greater. You see me as an animal to be put down.

  But I am the wind that shifts the sands, the storm that reshapes the landscape. I am the force that will not be contained."

  "You believe you are righteous," Lapith's Bane continued, his voice softening, "that your cause is just. But righteousness is a fragile illusion, a mask worn by those who fear the truth. The truth, hunter, is that we are all animals, driven by instinct, bound by fate.

  You are no different."

  "You seek to kill me because you believe it is your purpose. But I tell you, your purpose is as fleeting as the wind, as ephemeral as the smoke. You are chasing a shadow, a phantom of your own creation."

  Xiao Ling heard Lapith's Bane, but shook his head, knowing that he was truly an animal and a monster, no matter what he said. He sounded like a mature, functioning, civilized individual, like a human.

  But Xiao Ling looked directly at his face. His face was the face of an animal. Lapith's eyes were bloodshot, his teeth razor-sharp, animalistic human teeth, like the teeth of a crazed ape.

  Lapith's Bane was a white horse with a long white mane, but everything around his white mane was covered in dried red blood that he never washed off, like dry skin itself. Even if he did wash it off, you could still see the stain of dry blood on his mane.

  His skin bore edges and scars and bruises, like he had killed and fought countless animals and countless humans and taken a bite out of them each chance he got.

  The room behind them was filled with gut gardening and flesh painting, flesh and blood smeared all over the damn wall, with organs of every single creature he had hunted and killed. You looked at his whole hut itself; you didn't even need to go in to know the type of rituals Lapith's Bane participated in.

  So, without hesitation, he raised his daggers and told Lapith's Bane, "No, creature. I'm not doing this because it's my civic duty. I'm doing this because it's my job."

  Xiao Ling readied his blades and charged at Lapith's Bane. And just like that, Lapith's Bane smiled, oh so gleefully, raising his weapon, a crude mace wrapped in the fangs of some unknown creature, and charged at the warrior.

  Jordan, his voice a thunderous command, maintained the Silver Falcons' tight line formation. "Pikes ready, downwards! Prepare for encirclement!" he roared, his eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield.

  The centaurs, a surging wave of muscle and fury, were about to plow into the group. But Jordan, anticipating their charge, turned to the second line of Falcon members positioned behind them. "Archers, nock your arrows!" he bellowed. The archers, disciplined and responsive, obeyed instantly.

  Jordan raised his arm, standing firm and ready, a statue of unwavering resolve. "Draw!" he commanded. The archers drew their arrows, pointing them at the centaurs, their bowstrings taut with anticipation.

  Then, with a swift, decisive motion, Jordan threw his hand down and shouted, "LOOSE!"

  A shower of arrows zipped through the air, a deadly rainstorm of steel and feathers, striking the centaur horde multiple times.

  Dozens of centaurs were thrown back, their bodies riddled with arrows, collapsing to the ground with guttural cries. As they fell, those behind them tripped over their fallen comrades, creating a domino effect, with several centaurs struggling to regain their footing amidst the chaos.

  But Jordan, relentless and strategic, saw the momentary disarray and seized the opportunity. "LOOSE!" he shouted again, his voice cutting through the din of battle.

  Multiple arrows were fired once more, repeating their deadly pattern, hitting those already on the ground and those attempting to dodge the barrage.

  The centaurs, caught in the relentless crossfire, were thrown into complete disarray. They stumbled, they fell, they screamed in pain and confusion, their initial charge shattered.

  Jordan, his eyes blazing with the thrill of command, saw the opening. "Pikemen, advance! Press the advantage!" he bellowed. The pikemen, their weapons gleaming, surged forward, their pikes forming a deadly wall of sharpened steel.

  The centaurs, still reeling from the arrow barrage, were met with a wall of pikes, their attempts to rally and counterattack thwarted by the disciplined formation. The pikemen, their faces grim, thrust their pikes into the centaurs, their movements precise and brutal.

  The battlefield became a scene of carnage, a symphony of clashing steel and agonizing cries. The centaurs, their numbers dwindling, fought with a desperate ferocity, but they were no match for the coordinated onslaught of the Silver Falcons.

  Jordan, moving with a fluid grace, cut down a centaur attempting to flank his pikemen, his sword a blur of deadly motion. He barked orders, directing his men, ensuring the formation held, exploiting every weakness in the centaur's defenses.

  The remaining centaurs, their morale broken, began to retreat, their hooves pounding the ground as they fled in disarray. Jordan, his eyes fixed on their retreating forms, shouted, "Archers, cover their retreat! Leave no survivors!"

  The archers, their bows already drawn, unleashed another volley of arrows, striking the fleeing centaurs in the back. The ground was littered with fallen centaurs, their bodies a testament to the Silver Falcons' deadly efficiency.

  Jordan, his chest heaving, surveyed the battlefield, his eyes scanning for any remaining threats. He raised his sword, a signal to his men. "Hold formation! Prepare for any counterattack!" he commanded.

  The Silver Falcons, their faces streaked with sweat and blood, stood their ground, their weapons ready, their eyes vigilant. They had faced a horde of centaurs and emerged victorious, their discipline and coordination proving decisive.

  Jordan, his gaze fixed on the forest beyond, felt a sense of satisfaction. They had cleared the path, secured the cargo, and proven their worth. But he knew the journey was far from over. Serpent's Pass held many dangers, and they would need to remain vigilant.

  "Regroup! Check your weapons and replenish your arrows," Jordan ordered, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

  Jordan, his mind already focused on the next obstacle, knew that they would need to maintain their vigilance.

  Pyrrhus, in the midst of a furious battle, was simultaneously engaging two centaurs, his longsword, Armadarian, a blur of violet and silver. The two-handed blade, with its wavy tip and ultraviolet grip, danced through the air, parrying their attacks with effortless grace.

  He handled them with a nimble, fast-moving style, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Armadarian, capable of dealing 45 damage with each swing, was a formidable weapon in his hands.

  Swiftly and nimbly, he parried as the two centaurs simultaneously attempted to impale him with their swords. Each downward strike was met with the unwavering resistance of Armadarian.

  One centaur attempted a two-handed swing, aiming to pierce Pyrrhus's armor, but Pyrrhus deftly swatted the other centaur's short sword aside, creating an opening.

  The other centaur seized the opportunity, attempting to stab Pyrrhus in his exposed flank. However, the blade bounced harmlessly off his reinforced armor.

  Pyrrhus, now thoroughly annoyed, retaliated. He swung Armadarian with the speed of the wind, his blade shattering both centaurs' swords upon impact.

  The monstrous centaurs, paralyzed with fear, their bodies bearing the marks of Pyrrhus's onslaught, attempted to flee.

  Pyrrhus, his eyes filled with contempt, sneered, "You want to run from me?!"

  He leaped forward, swinging Armadarian, cleaving one centaur's chest, sending it crashing to the ground. The other centaur, in a desperate attempt to escape, turned to flee.

  Pyrrhus, with a swift motion, retracted Armadarian and pulled out his miniature crossbow, firing a bolt into the fleeing centaur's back. The creature collapsed, its escape thwarted.

  Pyrrhus, completely satisfied with his display of power, turned to his companions. He walked up to Jordan, his second-in-command, who was wiping the blood off his blade.

  "Jordan," Pyrrhus commanded, his voice filled with authority, "give me an analysis. How are we doing? How many are still around?"

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Jordan, after surveying the battlefield, gave his estimation. "Sir, we were 100 strong when we entered. We're now down to 79."

  Pyrrhus, placing a hand on Jordan's shoulder, seemed pleased. "So, we only lost 21. That's not so bad. 21 soldiers took out more of them than they did of us."

  He looked around at the remaining centaur bandits, noting their dwindling numbers. "We got them real good," he said with a smirk.

  The remaining Silver Falcons, though bruised and scratched, were largely intact.

  "Alright, Silver Falcons," Pyrrhus announced, his voice ringing with command, "you know what to do. Loot gold, weapons, armor, ingredients, miscellaneous—whatever you can find."

  The uninjured men, energized by their victory, responded with a hearty "Yes, boss! Got it, boss! I'm on my way!"

  Jordan, scanning the battlefield, noticed the absence of the other group. "Boss," he said to Pyrrhus, "those other adventurers… they're gone. And that hunter is nowhere to be seen either."

  He continued, "They probably died trying to finish off the stragglers. You know, the bard who was talking so much about his experience?" Jordan said gleefully. "Turns out he was doing all these magical flips and tricks, and it didn't do any damage! Can you believe that? That bard was full of it."

  Pyrrhus, nodding in agreement, said, "See? That's what I was talking about. That's why Wyatt should have just hired us in the first place, instead of some randoms who don't know what they're doing."

  They both assumed the other group had been killed, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition.

  Jordan chuckled, kicking a discarded centaur spear. "I thought he was going to play some childish woodland bard music or something, try to befriend the beasts with a lute and a daisy chain."

  "Instead, he's getting tossed around like a rag doll by a pony-men. Probably thought a few fancy kicks would scare 'em off."

  Pyrrhus snorted. "Scare them? They probably thought he was doing some kind of ridiculous jig. And that little… accessory? I saw her waving that twig around like she was trying to swat flies. Utterly useless. Couldn't even conjure a decent breeze, let alone a fireball."

  "And the other one," Jordan added, scratching his chin, "the one with the glowing peepers. Looked like he was trying to stare the centaurs to death. Probably blinded himself with his own light show."

  Pyrrhus waved a dismissive hand. "They were amateurs, Jordan. Amateurs. Wyatt should stick to what he knows – brewing weak coffee and peddling watered-down wine, not hiring glorified street performers. They were about as useful as a broken door.

  "Honestly, Jordan," Pyrrhus drawled, adjusting the diamond stud in his ear, "I half expected them to trip over their own feet and impale themselves on a stray twig. Did you see that bard's 'magic'? Looked like a toddler trying to paint with smoke."

  "Exactly, boss," Jordan agreed, his eyes scanning the looted piles. "And speaking of 'getting the job done,' these centaurs had some surprisingly decent trinkets. Found a necklace with some rather sparkly stones. Might fetch a pretty penny."

  Pyrrhus smirked. "See? That's what I'm talking about. While those amateurs were busy getting trampled, we were securing the spoils. It's all about priorities, Jordan. Priorities."

  "And speaking of priorities," Jordan said, nudging a dead centaur with his boot, "Yep, boss, we can actually make it back down this path. We can sell all this centaur gear and have enough to sell those spices as well. For ourselves."

  Pyrrhus and the Silver Falcons were stealing more of the spices from Wyatt, as they always did. He was planning to steal those spices coming down Serpent's Pass, and he was glad it went as smoothly as it always did. He would never admit that if it wasn't for the other group finding the portal, they would have been caught unprepared by the centaur horde. He took advantage of the surprise attack.

  Pyrrhus confirmed, tucking his arms, looking very smug. "Yeah, this couldn't have gone any easier. We could have just taken the spices and left, looking forward to Glottis."

  "I doubt they even knew what these spices were worth," Jordan said, "Probably thought they were just some fancy herbs for their tea."

  Pyrrhus laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the battlefield. "Tea? With these? They wouldn't know a fine spice if it slapped them in the face. They probably think salt is exotic. And those centaurs? Barely smarter than the horses they're attached to. They fell for the oldest trick in the book, just stood there like a bunch of hay-stuffed dummies while we filled them with arrows."

  "Well, boss," Jordan said, grinning, "at least they made for a good distraction. Gave us plenty of time to set up the archers. They were practically a walking, talking, bumbling decoy, both the centaurs and those so-called adventurers."

  Pyrrhus clapped Jordan on the shoulder. "Exactly, Jordan. Exactly. They served their purpose, even if they didn't know it. Now, let's gather the rest of the loot and get moving. We still have a long way to go, and I'm itching to get to Glottis. I hear they have a new restaurant down there, a rather… refined establishment that caters to gentlemen of discerning taste."

  Then, in the distance, an untold boom was unleashed, resonating with a force that made the very air vibrate.

  The Silver Falcons, Jordan, and Pyrrhus turned towards the source of the sound. They saw a mud hut, its crude structure now a scene of chaos, with debris exploding outwards and clashes and flashes of light emanating from within.

  Jordan, his blade still slick with centaur blood, gripped it tightly. "Should I investigate, boss?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of unease.

  Pyrrhus waved his hand dismissively, his arrogance overriding any caution. "No, no. I'll investigate myself. You just continue looting and get back to the portal."

  Jordan nodded in agreement, his loyalty unwavering. "Got it, sir."

  As Pyrrhus charged towards the mud hut, Jordan turned to the rest of the group, his voice sharp and commanding. "Hey! Grab as much as you can! We're leaving in five!"

  Xiao Ling's daggers flashed, a whirlwind of steel against Lapith's crude mace. Each strike, each parry, sent a pulse of blinding light radiating from the mace's fanged head.

  The light, a paralyzing strobe, flickered across Xiao Ling's vision, a disorienting assault on his senses.

  Lapith's mace, a brutal instrument of bone and fang, crashed down, forcing Xiao Ling to twist and evade.

  The air shimmered with the afterimage of the light, a lingering haze that threatened to obscure his next move.

  "Such skill, hunter," Lapith murmured, his voice a low, almost soothing tone amidst the chaos. "A shame to waste it on such a… fleeting pursuit."

  His mace arced again, a sweeping blow that Xiao Ling barely deflected.

  Xiao Ling, his face a mask of concentration, remained silent.

  He knew Lapith's words were a veil, a deceptive attempt to lull him into a false sense of security. He focused on the rhythm of the mace, the subtle shifts in Lapith's stance, the telltale signs of his next attack.

  Lapith shook his mace like a maraca, and with each shake, the mace grew brighter and brighter, the light so blinding that Xiao Ling could barely discern its trajectory.

  Then, Lapith slammed the mace into the ground, sending a shockwave through the mud hut. Xiao Ling, anticipating the move, had already leaped back, his daggers poised for a counterattack.

  He darted forward, aiming for Lapith's exposed flank, but the centaur moved with surprising agility, his mace a blur of motion.

  "You are so persistent, hunter," Lapith said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Why not join me? We could reshape this world together."

  He swung his mace in a wide, sweeping arc, forcing Xiao Ling to roll to the side.

  Xiao Ling's daggers traced arcs of deadly precision, each strike aimed at vital points. But Lapith, despite his size, moved with a surprising grace, his mace a constant barrier against Xiao Ling's attacks.

  "You cling to your purpose, hunter," Lapith continued, his tone almost paternal. "But purpose is an illusion. We are all bound by the same primal urges, the same animalistic desires."

  He lunged, his mace aimed at Xiao Ling's chest. Xiao Ling sidestepped the blow, his daggers slicing through the air, leaving shallow cuts on Lapith's arm.

  The shadow daggers, called the Lunar Twins, though each dealing 25 damage, seemed to have little effect on Lapith.

  Xiao Ling concluded that centaurs were generally resistant to magical attacks, but vulnerable to blades. However, even his daggers, capable of inflicting significant damage on most foes, were barely scratching Lapith's thick hide.

  He suspected that magically imbued weapons would be more effective against ordinary centaurs, but Lapith's Bane, this beast, this animal, seemed to be resistant to even those.

  He could only manage minor gashes and scratches, superficial wounds that seemed to enrage rather than incapacitate him.

  He concluded that his only option was to create a large enough gash and then target Lapith's internal organs.

  It was a risky strategy, but the only one that offered a chance of success.

  He began a dynamic attack, weaving and dodging, focusing on the same spot, aiming to create a significant wound behind Lapith's Bane. He moved behind him, slashing repeatedly at the same area.

  He slashed once, twice, three times, each strike deepening the wound. The tough hide began to tear, revealing the muscle beneath, a crimson gash against the white fur. Four, five, six times he slashed, the wound growing larger with each pass of his daggers, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood.

  On his seventh attempt, Lapith dodged, his hooves lashing out with devastating force, kicking Xiao Ling in the chest. The impact dealt 35 damage, shattering Xiao Ling's ribs.

  A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through his torso, making him gasp for air.

  Xiao Ling staggered back, his bones feeling ruptured, his breath ragged. The kick had definitely injured the bounty hunter. He was momentarily stunned, reeling on the ground, his vision blurring.

  Lapith's Bane, seeing his opportunity, rattled his mace once more, the fanged head emitting a blinding light, a pulsating beacon of raw power.

  He slammed the mace into the ground with righteous fury, the force of the blow shaking the very foundations of the hut.

  The impact caused several rocks to erupt from the ground, hurtling towards Xiao Ling like deadly projectiles.

  He managed a swift dodge, rolling to the side, but wasn't fast enough to avoid all the projectiles. Some of the rock pieces struck him in his left shoulder, dealing 15 damage, the pain a searing brand against his already battered body.

  Xiao Ling rolled on the ground, trying to recover his footing, his movements sluggish and pained.

  He looked up to see Lapith preparing to strike him once more with his mace, an upward swing aimed at his jaw, a brutal, bone-crushing blow. He backflipped, narrowly avoiding the blow, the wind of the mace whistling past his face.

  As the hunter was making multiple flips, trying to evade Lapith's Bane's massive mace, each attempted swing aimed to crush his body. But Lapith failed numerous times.

  And as he finished his flips, he regained his footing just as Lapith's Bane made one more heavy swing at his left side.

  Despite his injuries, he managed to narrowly avoid the mace, which grazed his skin, leaving small scratches on his face.

  However, Lapith's Bane's nasty, dirty, filthy claws scratched Xiao Ling's cheek, dealing 5 damage. He landed on his feet, his body screaming in protest, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  He knew he couldn't sustain this pace. Lapith's strength was overwhelming, his attacks relentless. He needed to find an opening, a weakness, a way to turn the tide of the battle.

  Xiao Ling's mind raced, searching for a solution. He couldn't rely on brute force; he needed to be smarter, faster, more cunning. He needed to use Lapith's strength against him, to exploit his rage and turn it into a fatal mistake.

  Then, right behind them was Pyrrhus, standing ready with a serious glare, his longsword drawn, ready for combat.

  Pyrrhus, in front of them, saw that the bounty hunter was thriving on the floor, clearly taking some damage. He was definitely injured.

  Pyrrhus already had a thought in his mind, knowing that this hunter in particular wasn't going to be anywhere near skillful enough to take down this creature.

  "You know you couldn't even do it alone," he muttered, "so you should be grateful that I came in time to save you from—"

  Then he turned to see Lapith's Bane, a monstrous white man-centaur, a pinnacle of a mindless animal.

  Pyrrhus said to himself with a confident smile, "Just in time to fight a real animal that can last more than three minutes."

  And then he said a short poem that magically embued his Armadarian, causing it to glow in bright violet, emphasizing its strength and making his longsword even stronger.

  Pyrrhus speaks in a lullaby tone,

  "Armadarian, with wavy tip, in ultraviolet grip, and diamond-covered pommel,"

  "Blade of valor, heart of fire,

  Strike true with power, never tire.

  Let strength and speed combine as one,

  Your righteous work shall soon be done."

  And with that, his sword got a buff. With this buff, his Armadarian increased its attack by 20%.

  And with enough confidence to choke on it, he charged at the beast, full head-on.

  As Pyrrhus was charging toward the beast, he swung his blade in mid-air, only to turn around and swing it again. And as he swung, a slash of ultraviolet light was summoned in mid-air and was arching towards Lapith's Bane.

  Hitting the beast in the face, blinding it profusely, Pyrrhus seized this opportunity and began violently swinging towards the beast, taking every opportunity to strike.

  As the beast writhed in pain, Pyrrhus dealt damage: 8, 6, 7, 5, 9, 3.

  Every slash whittled down the creature even more.

  As Pyrrhus was dealing with the creature, Xiao Ling focused on himself on the ground.

  He drank two healing potions, healing his scars and regaining his footing, but his ribs still ached from that last kick to his chest. So he grabbed something from his satchel as well.

  He pulled it out; it was a 12 fl oz large glass container, similar to a beer can, with a golden substance emanating from its contents.

  He popped it open with one flick of his thumb and took a quick sip of its contents. And as he drank it, he started to glow a bright gold.

  This helped him stand on his feet, and he didn't even feel the pain in his ribs anymore.

  Then he put the cap back on and retrieved it back into his satchel, only to pull out another one of the same.

  He opened that one and sipped it as well, wiping the concoction off his lips, and then charged back in with his two daggers in hand, ready to join the fight, running right behind Pyrrhus.

  As Pyrrhus made multiple forward slashes, he noticed that he wasn't really making dents, just small little scratches. Usually, with that incantation, he'd do more than this. These were no more than cat scratches compared to the blistering gashes Armadarian could deal.

  Lapith's Bane, growing sick and tired, decided to strike back. He began to shake his mace, and then a bright flash of light shone directly at Pyrrhus, blinding him in the face, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

  Pyrrhus did not take this lightly, clutching his eyes and shouting, "You dirty—"

  "Oh, you dirty apple-eating, stable-sitting half-breed!" he spewed, hurling dirty, disgusting insults towards the creature.

  Lapith, not liking those choice words, was about to swing and strike him in the head.

  Pyrrhus was saved by a thrown dagger heading straight at Lapith's chest. The dagger dealt four damage towards the centaur, causing him to stagger back. It was thrown by Xiao Ling, a last-minute save.

  Pyrrhus rubbed his eyes, trying to regain his sight, still mumbling off-color remarks under his breath.

  Xiao Ling replied, "Now we're even. I don't owe you anything."

  Pyrrhus retorted, "Yeah, yeah, I don't care. Your aid was insignificant."

  As Pyrrhus continued to rub his eyes, regaining his sight with slow blinks, he tried to focus on his opponent again.

  Both of them stood tall, healed up, and ready to engage the beast once more.

  Xiao Ling told Pyrrhus, "Lapith's Bane is resistant to magic-enhanced weapon attacks. I made a couple of gashes in his skin. If we work simultaneously, making multiple gashes, we can defeat him."

  Pyrrhus cut him off bluntly and told him, "I'm not doing that." And he took off running at the beast once more, with a powerful stride towards his enemy.

  Xiao Ling, shocked by his response, gave a huge eye roll as Pyrrhus charged at the enemy blindly. But then, Xiao Ling charged at Lapith's Bane as well, his two daggers primed and ready.

  Pyrrhus, his vision still slightly blurred, charged with a roar, Armadarian flashing in a wide, powerful arc. Lapith's Bane, ripping the dagger from his chest and throwing it aside, met the blow with his mace, the impact sending a shockwave through the hut.

  Xiao Ling, picking up his other dagger off the floor and seeing an opening, darted in from the side, his Lunar Twins slicing through the air, aiming for the exposed flank. Lapith's Bane, reacting swiftly, twisted, his mace a blur, deflecting Xiao Ling's strike.

  The centaur, enraged, unleashed a flurry of blows, his mace a relentless storm of bone and fang. Pyrrhus, though still disoriented, parried and dodged, his movements surprisingly agile.

  He ducked under a sweeping blow, the wind of the mace ruffling his hair. And anytime the mace came into contact with his arm, the armor absorbed the blow, though the impact still jarred him.

  While Xiao Ling, flipping over Pyrrhus's shoulder, slashed at Lapith's exposed leg.

  The centaur roared in pain, a deep, guttural sound that shook the very foundations of the hut.

  Lapith's Bane, his eyes burning with fury, focused his attention on Xiao Ling, swinging his mace in a vicious downward strike. Xiao Ling, anticipating the move, slid under the blow, his daggers tracing a line across Lapith's chest.

  As the centaur staggered back, Pyrrhus, seizing the opportunity, lunged forward, his longsword aimed at Lapith's neck. But Lapith, with surprising speed, raised his mace, blocking the strike, the force of the impact sending sparks flying.

  They moved in a deadly dance, a whirlwind of steel and bone. Pyrrhus, his longsword, a flashing arc of violet light, pressed the attack, while Xiao Ling, his movements fluid and precise, weaved in and out, his daggers finding every opening.

  Lapith's Bane, his mace a constant threat, fought with a savage ferocity, his attacks relentless and brutal. Each attempted strike was met with a counterattack from the other, each dodging just in time.

  Xiao Ling, flipping over a low sweeping strike from Lapith's mace, landed behind the centaur. He swiftly aimed both daggers at the back of Lapith’s knee, forcing the beast to stumble.

  Pyrrhus took this moment of imbalance to drive Armadarian into the centaur’s side, the blade sinking deep into the creature’s flesh.

  Lapith’s Bane, howling in pain, tried to swing his mace in a desperate backhanded blow. Pyrrhus, anticipating the move, ducked under the swing, while Xiao Ling, with a burst of speed, darted forward, his daggers plunging into Lapith’s exposed neck.

  They fought in a seamless, devastating rhythm. As Lapith's Bane attempted to block Pyrrhus's powerful overhead strike, Xiao Ling's daggers found their mark, slicing across the centaur's exposed shoulder 22 damage.

  Lapith's Bane, reeling, tried to retaliate with a sweeping mace attack, but Pyrrhus parried, the force of the blow jarring his arms, while Xiao Ling, nimble as a shadow, plunged his daggers into the centaur's wounded thigh 25 damage.

  Lapith's Bane, now weakened, staggered, his movements becoming sluggish. Pyrrhus, with a fierce cry, drove Armadarian deep into the centaur's chest 28 damage, while Xiao Ling, with a final, decisive strike, plunged his daggers into the centaur's throat 21 damage.

  Lapith's Bane, with a final, shuddering gasp, collapsed, his massive body hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

  The centaur’s roar turned into a gurgling gasp, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

  With a final, shuddering breath, Lapith’s Bane collapsed, his massive body crashing to the ground with a thunderous thud. The hut shook, dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. Pyrrhus, his chest heaving, raised Armadarian in triumph, while Xiao Ling, his daggers dripping with blood, stood silently beside him, his expression grim.

  Pyrrhus, still panting, tried to regain his composure, sweat running down his face and his body aching from the battle.

  He hadn't taken much damage, but the constant dodging and maneuvering against the beast had drained his energy.

  He grabbed a clean white cloth from a pouch and began meticulously cleaning Armadarian, taking his time to remove every trace of blood.

  "Yes, well," Pyrrhus said, glancing at Xiao Ling, "what was the health of this creature? Felt like he didn't want to die at all."

  Xiao Ling responded bluntly, "His health was around 150. With the gashes we inflicted, probably around 20 to 18 damage overall."

  He had made a rough estimate in his head, unwilling to divulge the exact number.

  "And what did this thing even do?" Pyrrhus asked, his tone laced with disdain.

  "Lapith's Bane was a member of a civilized centaur tribe, next in line for leadership. They were trying to modernize and switch to farming," Xiao Ling explained.

  "But Lapith didn't like that and reverted to banditry, pillaging the countryside of Magyaria." Xiao Ling shook his head, whispering distastefully, "What a waste."

  "What was his bounty?" Pyrrhus inquired, his eyes gleaming with mercenary interest.

  "Not important," Xiao Ling replied, walking away from the creature and heading back towards the portal.

  Pyrrhus, always one to seize an opportunity for loot, began to rummage through Lapith's Bane's belongings. He was looking for anything of value—trinkets, weapons, anything that could be sold or used.

  Pyrrhus picked up Lapith's mace, noting its heavy weight and potent magical imbuement. "I don't do maces," he muttered, "but you're worth a lot of pearls to me."

  As he moved to inspect the back of the centaur's head, he recoiled in disgust.

  There, embedded in the back of Lapith's Bane's skull, was a Rafflesia—a genus of parasitic flowering plants, famous for its enormous, foul-smelling flowers that are pollinated by carrion flies. Its thorny tendrils grew out of the wound, spreading deep into the centaur's body.

  The plant, a grotesque parody of life, pulsed with a sickly, unnatural red energy.

  Pyrrhus, thoroughly repulsed, abandoned his search, wiping his hands on his trousers. He didn't want to touch the creature anymore.

  He threw the mace on the ground violently.

  "Eww, disgusting," he muttered, shaking his head. "What kind of abomination is that? No amount of reward is worth an infection."

  As Pyrrhus walked away empty-handed, the plant itself began to glow brightly. And as it glowed brighter, a red-orange predatory eyeball emerged from the flower.

  ◇

  Both of them, covered in mud, blood, and sweat, made their way back in silence.

  Pyrrhus, breaking the silence, looked Xiao Ling up and down, his eyes lingering on the sleek black armor.

  "Not entirely inept," he conceded, a grudging acknowledgment of skill.

  "For a… solitary type. Though, let's be precise," he added, his tone sharpening, "your current state of not-death is directly attributable to my intervention. You are, in essence, in my debt."

  Xiao Ling, without turning, responded coolly, "Debt implies a transaction of equal value. Your 'intervention' was a consequence of your own compromised state.

  I merely rectified an inefficiency. And I require no alliances, nor saviors."

  Pyrrhus scoffed, "Inefficiency? I was merely… momentarily disoriented. A tactical pause, if you will.

  You, on the other hand, were on the verge of becoming fertilizer. A clear distinction."

  "Distinctions are irrelevant when the outcome is the same," Xiao Ling retorted, his voice even. "The creature is dead. That is the objective. Your assessment of my 'verge' is subjective and inconsequential."

  "Subjective? I saw you on the ground, hunter. Practically begging for a swift end. You'd be wise to acknowledge the reality of your situation," Pyrrhus pressed, his ego demanding validation.

  "Reality is a construct, Pyrrhus. I construct mine. And in my reality, I am self-sufficient," Xiao Ling replied, his gaze fixed on the fallen centaur. "Your perception of my 'situation' is, therefore, irrelevant."

  Pyrrhus, his patience wearing thin, sneered, "Self-sufficient? You needed my blade to finish the job. Admit it, you were outmatched."

  "Outmatched implies a limitation. I merely chose to allocate resources differently," Xiao Ling stated, his tone devoid of emotion. "Your blade was a tool, no different from my own. And tools are expendable."

  "Expendable? You dare—" Pyrrhus began, his face flushed with anger, but Xiao Ling cut him off.

  "I dare state a fact. We are done here. I have no further use for your… assistance," Xiao Ling said, turning and walking towards the depths of the portal.

  Meanwhile, back with the other Silver Falcons, the group looked very worried for their leader's arrival. Jordan ran up, very excited, saying, "Hey, welcome back!"

  "Yeah, we heard all the explosions and didn't know if you were coming back or not," Jordan worried.

  "Not to worry, Jordan," Pyrrhus waved his hand. "The beast was just another obstacle in our way.

  We'll be back with the cargo as soon as we bring the loot down here."

  Pyrrhus laughed maniacally. "I would love to see the diner girl's face when he sees the amount of collateral we unleashed on them. Her face is going to be priceless."

  Xiao Ling didn't respond any further and just walked through the portal without saying another word.

  Pyrrhus looked at him, very perturbed that this bounty hunter was so ungrateful towards his cause. Then he let out a small snicker, knowing that lone wolves like that wouldn't last very long in this world.

  Jordan turned and told the other Silver Falcons, "All right, let's head out. Take this gear and let's head back to the cargo." All of them walked one by one, carrying their trophies and their loot back with them. Loot from the centaurs and their fallen comrades.

  Pyrrhus turned and asked Jordan with a commanding shout, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "Jordan, that battle made me tired. After this, fetch me something to drink when we get to our location."

  Jordan replied, "Yes, boss."

  As Jordan and Pyrrhus walked through the portal, confident in their stride, they saw the bard and his companions were still alive.

  They were sitting up against a tree,

  one of his companions, a woman in an apron, tending his wounds, rubbing some kind of solution on his back.

  Pyrrhus was befuddled that this amateur was still alive after all this. He shook his head in utter confusion and disgust, narrowing his brow.

  And he walked up to this pathetic worm to confront him.

  Ebony had his eyes closed, his head hunched, trying to relax and not agitate his bruises.

  While Vicky rubbed a solution on the scars on Ebony's back, tending to them to prevent them from reopening.

  Pyrrhus walked up to them, towering over them disrespectfully, and kicked Ebony in the leg as if he were lifeless.

  "Don't even bother," he sneered. "He's already dead. Rubbing that paste on his body won't bring him back to life."

  Vicky responded in a dismissive manner, "Be quiet," and continued her work.

  Pyrrhus persisted. Jordan came over, giggling and laughing at Ebony's sorry state.

  Pyrrhus turned and pointed at Ebony, talking to Jordan. "I knew all along. I knew this stupid little waste of coin couldn't handle the true terror of this country, let alone one centaur. And now he's dead as fast as he lived. It is typical to underestimate how lousy an adventurer like him could last. Typical."

  "I'm not dead, you donkey," Ebony replied, his voice somber but still a little sore.

  "Oh, so you can still speak?" Pyrrhus retorted. "Well, that's just delaying the inevitable."

  "And you, Pyrrhus, are delaying the inevitable realization that your arrogance will be your downfall," Ebony countered, his voice steady.

  "You mistake noise for power and bluster for skill. A loud crow is still just a crow."

  "A crow? I'll have you know I'm a falcon! A predator! You, on the other hand, are a worm, wriggling in the dirt," Pyrrhus spat.

  "Indeed," Ebony replied, a slight smile playing on his lips. "A worm, perhaps, but one that burrows deep, unseen, while a falcon, however magnificent, is easily brought down by a well-placed snare.

  You, Pyrrhus, have all the subtlety of a boar in a bramble patch."

  "Subtlety? I don't need subtlety! I have strength! I have power!" Pyrrhus roared, his face reddening.

  "And yet," Ebony continued, his voice calm, "you rely on bragging about your greatness and the illusion of command. A true leader inspires loyalty, not fear. You inspire… heartburn."

  Vicky, feeling very concerned, whispered, "Ebony, please stop. Stop it, please."

  Jordan interjected, "Hey, you shut your mouth, bard!" earning a glare from Pyrrhus.

  "Heartburn? You dare—" Pyrrhus began, but Ebony cut him off.

  "Dare? I merely point out the obvious. You strut and preen, but your victories are built on the backs of others, and your 'skill' is merely the shine of someone else's blade.

  You are a gilded cage, Pyrrhus, beautiful on the outside, empty within."

  "Empty!? How dare you call me empty!" Pyrrhus sputtered, his face now a shade of furious crimson.

  Pyrrhus shouted, taking a step towards Ebony. "I'll show you what real power looks like!"

  "By all means, Pyrrhus," Ebony said, his eyes still closed, his voice laced with amusement. "Demonstrate your 'power.' But be warned, a show of force often reveals the weakness beneath. And you, my dear Pyrrhus, are as transparent as a poorly blown glass."

  Pyrrhus, his face flushing with anger, grabbed Ebony from the tree, interrupting Vicky's ministrations. He hauled the bard up and punched him in the face, sending Ebony crashing to the ground, dealing 5 damage.

  Vicky, horrified, covered Ebony's body with her own. "Stop, you bastard! He hasn't even gotten to his feet yet!"

  Pyrrhus scoffed, "No, no, shut up, woman. I don't want to hear it. This stupid wannabe adventurer, this maggot, decided he wanted to play adventurer and steal my job. When he couldn't even kill one horse-man. And then had the nerve to talk back to me. Coming in here talking to me like he's done this stuff before. A fool. A stupid fool. What level are you? Five, four, three?! You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter what level you are, because no matter what, you came all this way just to waste your time, trying to chase a job that was never yours in the first place. Stupid asshole. Go back to playing street performer."

  Pyrrhus walked away, his stride filled with self-satisfaction, heading back towards the carriage.

  Ebony got up slowly, wincing in pain. Vicky tried to help him to his feet. Ebony gently put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away gently to give him some space. He told her, "Thanks, Vicky. I'm fine. Thank you."

  As he stood tall, revealing his scars. He turned back to Pyrrhus, his left foot engulfed in flames.

  Ebony's eyes burned with righteous anger as his left foot ignited. Vicky stepped back in dismay.

  Taking this opportunity, Ebony charged, an energy-charged attack.

  Pyrrhus heard footsteps and turned around, seeing Ebony charging at him. With the intent of righteous fury, Ebony spun and wheeled, using a fiery roundhouse kick.

  In a moment's notice, he blocked the fiery kick with his armored left arm. His armor emitted a pinkish glow, a barrier protecting the man from Ebony's attack. He was shocked. He had never seen such a thing before, blocking a fiery, devastating kick like that, but Pyrrhus, with his armor, managed to evade this attack.

  And after the attack was over, Ebony's kick was still pressed against Pyrrhus's right arm. Pyrrhus opened his eyes, feeling it. Very unamused.

  Pyrrhus, his face contorted in a mask of disdain, grabbed Ebony's fiery leg, the pinkish glow of his armor flickering as it absorbed the heat. With a grunt, he slammed Ebony to the ground, the impact jarring the earth, dealing 10 damage.

  "You are a bard," Pyrrhus stated, his voice dripping with contempt. "A textbook example of biting off more than you can chew and then blaming the table when you choke. Look at you, thinking you're some kind of hero. You're nothing but a stage prop in your own little play, and the audience has left."

  He continued, his words laced with a condescending, yet self-aggrandizing tone, "You think you're special, don't you? That you're here for some grand purpose?

  Well, let me tell you something, kid: the world doesn't care about your 'purpose.' It spins on, whether you're here or not. You're just a speck of dust, a blip on the radar. I, on the other hand," he gestured to himself, "I'm the example. I'm the one people should be looking up to. I'm the main event, and you're just… the warm-up act that nobody asked for."

  "To be honest," Pyrrhus said, his voice now laced with a cold indifference, "You know, I usually kill stupid people who make an attempt on my life. But frankly, you're not even worth the effort. You're like a bad joke that keeps repeating itself.

  But since I'm such a nice guy, here's some advice, free of charge: go back to your little shows, your little songs. Pretend to be a hero on a stage, where it doesn't matter.

  You're not cut out for the real world. You're just… a waste of talent, if you even had any to begin with. You're not worthy of my time, or my anger. You're just… there."

  Pyrrhus turned and walked away, not out of pride, but out of a profound sense of dismissive pity for the pathetic figure sprawled on the ground.

  He didn't even want to look at Ebony, as if the mere sight of him would be a waste of his precious time. He had considered killing him, but Ebony simply wasn't worth the effort.

  Ebony lay on the ground, the ache in his body a dull throb against the sharper sting of his wounded pride. It wasn't the bruises that truly hurt; it was the crushing weight of Pyrrhus's words, the cold, dismissive finality of his departure.

  Ebony didn't even feel the pain. He lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, his mind strangely detached from the throbbing in his body.

  He felt a wave of humiliation, as if he had been stripped bare, his illusions of grandeur shattered like fragile glass. He felt like a fool to challenge a man like Pyrrhus.

  And yet, despite it all, the pain and humiliation,

  He wasn't one for grinding; he craved the excitement of the impossible. He wasn't built for slow progress; he lived for the heat of the fight. He was impulsive, drawn to the thrill of the challenge, regardless of the odds.

  And he got what he wanted. He finally became an adventurer. A real adventurer's experience. So close to death three times, only to still be alive. That's a life worth living for Ebony.

  Vicky walked over, very exhausted cleaning up his wounds. She took a deep breath and pulled Ebony out of the crater that he put himself in.

  Ebony whispered to himself. "The monastery."

  ◇

  Back at the exit of Serpent's Pass, where the centaurs had set up camp to ambush passing travelers, a scene of utter devastation unfolded.

  Fires raged, and the lifeless bodies of centaurs and Silver Falcons alike were strewn across the ravaged landscape. Complete carnage permeated the entire entranceway.

  Then, the ominous clatter of hooves echoed through the pass, heralding the arrival of another centaur army. Reinforcements, summoned by the fleeing survivors, had arrived too late. They halted, their expressions a mix of disbelief and simmering rage, surveying the ruin.

  One of the centaur leaders, his voice a gravelly command, addressed his warriors. "Spread out! Find their trail! We will hunt these vermin down and make them pay in blood!"

  Moments later, a scout discovered the portal, the point of ingress for the invaders. He gestured towards it, drawing the leader's attention.

  The leader surveyed the portal, his expression darkening. "Damn it! They found the hidden portal near the Border Way in the serpent crossroads.

  This is a grave oversight." He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of profound disappointment.

  The air crackled with the raw energy of the portal, a shimmering tear in reality. A young, battle-scarred centaur, his eyes burning with vengeful fury, took a step towards it. "We'll follow them! We'll rip their limbs off!"

  The leader, his expression grim, seized the younger centaur's arm, halting his advance. "FOOL!

  Do you think we charge blindly into the unknown? We don't know what awaits us on the other side. There could be a thousand more of them for all we know!"

  He gestured towards the ravaged encampment, the smoke still curling into the sky.

  "Besides, they've been gone for hours. They won't be standing by the portal, waiting for us. They could be anywhere by now. It would be a fool's errand to chase shadows that don't stay in the same place. A waste of our strength."

  He looked at his warriors, his voice firm. "We regroup. We strategize. We find another way to make these invaders pay. We will not be led into a trap by our own rage. Now, shut down the portal."

  Two centaurs stepped forward, their hands outstretched. As they placed their hands on the shimmering surface of the portal, the "O K" symbol etched into the tree vanished, the portal's energy dissipating into the air, leaving only the faint scent of ozone.

  Then, a centaur cried out, "Leader! Lapith's Bane! He's still alive! He breathes!"

  "What? Impossible!" the leader exclaimed. "Take me to him, now!"

  The centaurs rushed to Lapith's Bane's side, finding him still breathing, albeit weakly.

  Lapith stood, swaying in pain, his stab wounds a testament to the brutal fight.

  Then, a soft whisper echoed in his ear: "Rise. You know neither pain nor death."

  His eyes snapped open, the bruising on his face failing to dim his fierce gaze. He rose, his hooves finding purchase, pulling him to his feet.

  A fellow centaur approached, concern etched on his features. "Your stable is ready, Leader. Are you alright?"

  Lapith's Bane, his voice a low growl, responded, "Life is pain." He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto his comrade. He placed his hand on the centaur's shoulder, his grip tightening.

  As the comrade blinked, Lapith's Bane wrapped his hands around his fellow's neck in an unexpected move.

  The ally gasped, trying to pry Lapith's hands off his neck, struggling for air.

  The grip was so tight, the pressure so intense, he never got a chance to draw another breath. Then Lapith snapped his neck, the sound of cracking bone echoing through the air.

  The centaur collapsed, his life extinguished in an instant.

  The other centaurs froze, fear and awe mingling in their eyes. They stood at attention, awaiting their leader's command.

  The centaur leading the reinforcements went up and saw that Lapith's Bane had just killed another of their brethren. He looked up and bowed to Lapith's Bane, and the others soon followed.

  Lapith's Bane's gaze swept across them, his eyes like chips of ice. He began to scratch at his skin, peeling away his old, damaged human flesh.

  The piercing, deadly stab wounds caused by Xiao Ling and Pyrrhus vanished completely.

  As he shed his skin like a cold-blooded reptile, the scars and bruises he had sustained vanished, replaced by smooth, unblemished hide. His old skin fell to the ground, a discarded husk.

  He looked at the centaurs, his voice a chilling command. "We return to Serpent's Pass. We will find those warriors."

  He picked up his mace. "Follow me. Now."

  The centaurs surged forward, their hooves thundering as they began the ascent back up Serpent's Pass. The destruction of their encampment lay behind them, a silent promise of the vengeance to come.