Chapter 38: The Poisoned Trap
Year – 7002 A.A | Location: Valleys of Mount Pire — The Web-Laden Clearing | Time: Late morning, beneath a dim and filtered sun
The wind in the valley carried no birdsong, no rustle of small creatures—only the brittle crunch of paws and hooves pressing into the frost-patched earth. Each step seemed to echo faintly against the sheer cliffs that walled the clearing, as though the land itself were holding its breath. Overhead, slivers of pale sunlight seeped through the tangled canopy, thin and ghostly, turning the drifting mist into silver ribbons.
Adam walked at the front of the column, his black-booted steps slow and deliberate, every sense pricked. He was used to silence on the battlefield, but this was different. Silence was usually a space between two storms, a chance to breathe before the next clash. This was a silence with weight, with shape—like a hand pressing down on the back of his neck.
His gaze moved from the jagged cliffs to the sprawling threads that carpeted the ground and trailed from branch to branch. They were not ordinary webs—no delicate dew-jewelled spirals or soft, symmetrical patterns. These threads were thick, ropy, and almost rope-like, some as wide as a thumb, some so taut they hummed faintly in the wind. The pale strands caught the dim light and gave it back faintly, shimmering like the surface of still water.
Beside him, the young mountain goat tracient—walked with a restless gait, his cloven hooves clicking faintly against the harder patches of frost. The tracient's horns, still sharp with youthful pride, brushed against one of the thicker strands, and it clung stubbornly before snapping away with a sound like tearing parchment.
"I've never seen webs this thick before," He said, his voice low, almost as if speaking too loudly might summon whatever had woven them. His golden eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon for movement. "It's almost… unnatural."
Adam's reply was measured, but his hand, as if acting on its own, went to the Arya around his neck. The amulet was warm, faintly so, as though it too sensed the wrongness here. He turned it between his fingers once before letting it fall back against his chest.
"I agree," he said, though his eyes never left the path ahead. "But this is where we need to be. If we want to back up Kon's army immediately, this is the only path."
He spoke with calm authority, but in his mind, the words rang hollow. Only path or not, every instinct he had—every soldier's instinct honed over years—told him they were walking into something that had been waiting for them. The webs were not scattered, accidental intrusions upon the trail; they were layered, arranged, funneling them forward. Even the light above seemed to bend and thin in certain places, guiding the eye—and therefore the foot—into a particular direction.
The Goat slowed a fraction, lowering his head as if bowing to the weight of the unseen eyes he felt on him. He hesitated, just long enough for Adam to catch the motion, and then gave a curt nod. "Understood, my Lord."
Adam returned the nod, but his thoughts had already moved ahead. If this was a trap, it was not a crude one. Whoever had set it had patience, precision, and knowledge of how to corral prey without it knowing. And that meant the enemy had been here long before they arrived.
Still, the column pressed forward, each man and tracient forced to brush aside or cut through the pale strands that swayed lazily in the wind. Somewhere above, a line of web quivered—not from the wind, but from something else entirely. Adam saw it, but said nothing.
Not yet.
Trying to keep his mind from lingering too long on the slow, almost deliberate way the webbing narrowed their route, Adam let his gaze drop to the companion pacing at his side. The young goat tracient kept his chin high, eyes flicking constantly from left to right, his short breath forming faint clouds in the chill air. The earnestness in his every movement was almost endearing.
"What's your name, soldier?" Adam asked, his voice breaking through the hushed tension that hung over the marching column.
The tracient immediately straightened, shoulders pulling back, as though the question itself was an unspoken commendation. His voice was quick, but not careless.
"Karadir. Karadir Boga, my Lord."
Adam allowed a small smile, a rare break in the thin line his mouth had held since they entered the valley. The name was strong, solid—like a stone that would not roll from its place. "You have a strong will, Karadir. And you're still young. What made you decide to join the war?"
For the first time, Karadir's pace faltered. His eyes softened, the edge of constant alertness replaced with a distant thoughtfulness. "My whole life," he began slowly, "I've heard stories of Narn's golden days. The Grand Lords… the Aryas… the prophecy. The idea that Narn could be restored to what it once was." His voice warmed with quiet conviction, though it trembled faintly at the edges. "I've always wanted to fight for my people and my kingdom. To help you, Lord Adam, and the others make that prophecy a reality."
Adam listened without interruption, his gaze fixed ahead but his attention wholly on the tracient's words. There was a dangerous beauty in that kind of faith—the sort of faith that could make men unbreakable, but also lead them into the jaws of an enemy without hesitation. Still, there was a steadiness in Karadir's tone that he could not help but respect.
A swell of pride rose in Adam's chest, one that surprised him with its strength. "You've got a noble heart, Karadir," he said, reaching out to rest a firm hand on the young tracient's head. The coarse fur was warm beneath his palm, grounding him in a moment that felt almost removed from the cold, creeping danger of the valley. "And a resolve that many could learn from."
Karadir's cheeks flushed a deep, ruddy red beneath his short fur, his ears twitching in embarrassed surprise. "Thank you, my Lord," he stammered, his voice wavering between formality and youthful eagerness.
Adam chuckled softly, the sound carrying more warmth than he'd allowed himself since they had entered the webbed clearing. The laughter felt like sunlight breaking briefly through heavy cloud. But even as the mirth lingered, his eyes strayed forward again—to where the webbing grew thicker still, as though the path itself were pulling them into a narrow throat.
And somewhere, behind the thin veil of conversation, a thought settled into the back of his mind: noble hearts were often the ones the enemy was most eager to crush first.
The laughter between Adam and Karadir barely had time to settle before the air shifted—subtly at first, like the faint change before a storm.
Adam's step faltered. He had been walking with steady, deliberate rhythm, but now his weight froze mid-shift, the boot hovering for a fraction too long above the frost-stiff ground before he set it down again. A ripple went through him, starting somewhere deep in the gut, traveling up along the spine until it coiled cold fingers around the base of his skull.
That feeling had been there since they entered this valley—low and persistent, like the pressure of deep water—but now it had teeth.
He stopped altogether.
His hand moved without thought, palm opening, fingers curling in reflex. The answer came instantly: with a familiar whisper of steel and magic, his three-segment staff—Canvari—manifested in his grip. The weight settled into his hands with the comforting certainty of an old companion.
Karadir slowed beside him, sharp hooves crunching to a halt on a patch of frost-stiff moss. The goat tracient's ears flicked in alert confusion. "Something wrong, Lord Adam?"
Adam didn't answer—not because he didn't want to, but because words would require him to ease the tension in his jaw, and right now his entire body was locked in a silent readiness. His gaze swept the caves and the tangled webs hanging between it. He wasn't looking for movement so much as for discrepancies—the way one strand quivered while all the others lay still, or how a section of silk seemed to sink inwards, as though weighted by something unseen.
That was when it came—the sound.
A laugh.
It was high-pitched, soft at first, but it rang with a peculiar clarity that cut through the muffled stillness of the clearing. The tone was feminine, almost playful, yet every syllable dripped malice like venom from a fang. The echo of it bounced off the canyon walls, twisting in the reverberation so that it seemed to come from every direction at once.
Adam's shoulders tightened, and his fingers subtly adjusted their grip on Canvari. He let his breathing slow, listening for the next clue. Whoever she was, she wasn't hiding to stay hidden—she wanted them to hear her.
Karadir's eyes darted about, nostrils flaring as his instincts flinched at the predatory note in that laugh. "Lord Adam…?" he tried again, more quietly this time, as though lowering his voice might make the threat less real.
There—movement.
Just ahead, half concealed in shadow, the mouth of a small cavern revealed itself. Adam wouldn't have seen it if not for the slight tilt of light against the rock. Slender, pale fingers emerged from within, gloved in the faint shimmer of silk strands. The figure—still mostly unseen—gave one delicate tug at a particular web thread.
The effect was immediate and purposeful. The single pull set off a ripple through the interconnected network, strands tightening, twisting, constricting. It was like watching the slow, deliberate closing of a trapdoor spider's lair, only this trap spanned the entire clearing.
Adam's chest tightened—not with fear, but with the acute understanding of exactly how many lives could be lost here if he hesitated.
His voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
"Kurt Style: Fifth Fang—Kasırga Kesik!"
Canvari split into its three segments with a metallic snarl, the chains between them alive with crackling mana. The air hummed under the sudden surge of power, and frost along the ground shattered in tiny bursts under the pressure.
Then he moved.
The chain segments blurred, sweeping in broad, intersecting arcs. The sound was a blend of steel slicing air and the deep thrum of condensed energy releasing in controlled bursts. The slashes came omnidirectionally—forward, back, to the sides, even cutting above.
The webbing stood no chance.
Mana-infused strikes shredded the silk, the force of the cuts turning them into drifting ash and glittering strands that fluttered in the mana wind before dissolving entirely. It was as though the clearing exhaled for the first time since they'd entered.
The shockwave of the assault sent the nearest soldiers stumbling back, shields lifting instinctively as loose debris and slashed silk fell like strange snow. The air smelled faintly burnt—a mingling of scorched silk and raw mana discharge.
Adam's boots dug in, stance wide, staff segments spinning in slow, deliberate rotations now that the initial burst had cleared the trap. His eyes locked on the cavern mouth. He didn't relax; this much silk wasn't the work of a single moment. Whoever was inside had been preparing for someone.
Karadir had already shifted into a defensive stance beside him, short spear leveled toward the dark opening. The young tracient's eyes were bright, but Adam could see the flicker of nerves under the determination. He could feel the same tension running through the ranks behind him—the strange stillness that comes in the seconds after an attack, when no one yet knows whether the danger has passed or only begun.
The laugh returned—louder now, richer, the way a predator might draw closer to savor the moment before the pounce. It filled the clearing in waves, spilling into every corner like slow-moving smoke. The soldiers shifted uneasily, glancing at the shadows as if the very darkness might reach for them.
From between the stone pillars and the half-ruined arch of webbing, a shape detached itself from the gloom. Her steps were slow but not hesitant; they were deliberate, choreographed, the way a dancer might enter a stage she knows is hers.
She was tall, but her movements made her seem taller still—her limbs gliding with that impossible grace that comes from more than simple balance. The silk threads clung to her kimono as she moved, the fabric patterned in intricate webs that seemed to shift with the faint light, giving the unsettling illusion that the designs were alive.
When the hem swayed open, it revealed long, elegant legs—each movement of them precise, like the pull of a marionette string. Across the pale skin of her thigh was a mark no soldier in Adam's army could mistake: the black-edged emblem of a Hazël, etched deep, bearing the number 14. High upon her back, just visible as her sleeves slid down, was the inked silhouette of a scorpion—its tail curling in perpetual threat.
Her eyes—childishly wide, impossibly bright—fixed on Adam, and the corners of her mouth curled upward into a grin far too sweet for the moment. She clapped her hands together, the sound crisp in the stillness.
"Oh goody!" she chirped, her voice light and lilting. "I get to meet the great wolf tracient first. Yaaay!"
Adam's expression didn't change. If anything, it became even more unreadable—his sapphire eyes narrowing just slightly, watching the subtle shifts of her body, the tilt of her hips, the faint flex of fingers that never stopped feeling for invisible threads.
Karadir, young but unyielding, stepped forward. His hooves pressed into the frosted soil, leaving half-moon prints. His voice came firm and steady, though a faint quiver at its edge betrayed his own awareness of the danger before them.
"Who are you?"
It was like striking a match in a room filled with gas.
Her cheerfulness evaporated in an instant. The smile slid from her face, and something darker took its place—her lips pressing into a thin, hard line, her gaze sharpening to cold points of steel.
The change in the air was immediate. The atmosphere seemed to condense, pressing down upon the clearing until the frost underfoot cracked with tiny, sharp pops. Her presence rolled out in a suffocating wave—an aura so heavy that several of Adam's soldiers dropped to their knees, hands braced on the ground as if holding themselves from being crushed entirely. The sharp tang of fear tainted the air, mixing with the lingering scent of frost and silk.
Karadir remained standing. His jaw was tight, his shoulders trembling under the invisible weight, sweat beading at his brow, but his legs did not buckle.
The spider tracient tilted her head, her glare pinning him in place. When she spoke, it was with a hiss that carried the venom of a hundred fangs.
"Mind how you address me… you insignificant thing."
Adam's voice cut through the stifling air like the first crack of thunder before a storm.
"That's enough."
The words weren't shouted, but they rang. His aura flared, colliding head-on with hers, and the oppressive pressure that had been smothering the clearing shattered in an instant—like a frost-heavy branch snapping clean under its own weight. Soldiers around them gasped as if surfacing from deep water, their limbs regaining movement, their chests filling with air.
Adam didn't break eye contact with her. His voice was steady—calm in the way that carried an unspoken warning.
"Who are you?"
For the briefest heartbeat, her glare lingered. Then—like a chameleon flicking colors—her childish mask returned in full. She clasped her hands together, giggling with a sound that grated against the ears like glass beads clinking in a jar.
"Aww," she cooed, "it's not fair that I know your name without you introducing yourself, but you don't know mine, Lord Kurt."
Adam's reply came without hesitation. "Your name is irrelevant. Why are you here?"
The smile widened, and this time it revealed more than teeth—long, sharp fangs caught the dim light, gleaming in deliberate threat.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm here to kill you all."
A single brow lifted. "Bold of you to assume you could do that."
She tilted her head, the corners of her lips twitching as if holding back a laugh she couldn't quite contain. Then it came—a chuckle that did not match the feigned innocence of before. Her six eyes caught the light one by one, each gleam like a drop of oil catching flame.
"Oh? But I already am. I'm shocked you haven't realized it yet."
Adam's pulse thudded. And then he felt it.
It started as a faint, traitorous tremor in his hands. A heat—not from exertion but from within—spreading along his veins. His muscles began to ache as though weighed down by lead, his vision swimming slightly, narrowing at the edges. Breath came harder.
Poison.
The word was a knife in his mind.
His knee hit the frozen earth. Mana roiled in him instinctively, trying to burn the intruder out of his system. Around him, the sound of bodies hitting the ground filled the clearing—thuds and muffled groans as his soldiers collapsed one by one.
She watched it all as if observing insects in a jar.
"I can't believe you couldn't sense it all this while," she said with mock surprise. "That is actually a huge disappointment."
Adam's jaw tightened. He forced his mana into his bloodstream, counteracting, isolating, pushing back against the invading toxin.
But then—
She raised a single finger.
It was such a small gesture, yet the strand that shot toward him moved with a speed and precision that defied the eye. A line of shimmering web, slicing through the air like a silver needle aimed at the heart.
Adam's body moved—too late.
The web never touched him. It snapped mid-flight, curling to the ground in harmless coils.
And between him and the spider tracient stood Karadir.
Only—Karadir wasn't the same as moments ago. His entire form seemed carved from the mountain itself—stone-like skin glinting under a thin sheen of frost, his white horns ablaze with golden light. Mana seeped from him in visible streams, pooling around his hooves in a faint shimmer, the air vibrating faintly with its presence.
The spider tracient's eyes narrowed. Her voice shed all pretense of playfulness.
"It's you again?" she hissed.
Adam's breath caught. "Karadir?!"
The goat tracient didn't turn immediately. When he did, his glowing eyes locked onto Adam's with steady, unshaken resolve.
"Rest and recover quickly, Lord Adam," he said, voice low but carrying. "I may be able to buy a little time, but she is a Hazël. I can't beat her."
Adam froze—not from the poison this time, but from the sudden, jarring impression that struck him. In Karadir's stance, in the way he set himself between danger and his commander, Adam saw not just a soldier. He saw a memory.
Daruis.
And behind Daruis, further still—Kon.
"No matter what happens," Karadir continued, his tone like hammered steel, "I will protect you with my life until you are ready to fight."
Adam could only stare, the taste of metal sharp on his tongue, as the young goat tracient squared himself against a predator far beyond his reach.