Stay true to yourself. Damn oath.
The carriage jolted over the uneven road, the dull rhythm of wheels against stone echoing the turmoil gnawing at Kael's chest. Around him, a handful of soldiers rode on horseback, their eyes sharp and silent, while a dozen more marched steadily behind, boots crunching on the ground.
Chosen to swear the oath. The most noble thing that could happen to you. Becoming a mage.
That's what they said. What he was supposed to feel.
Now they had assigned him a role in the middle of nowhere, just so they wouldn't have to waste resources on him.
Chosen by the oath, huh?
Why do I feel like I got scammed?
But after a year of dead ends and false starts, stuck chasing power that never came, all he felt was... nothing.
From a distance came the pounding hooves of horses rushing toward them.
The carriage came to a stop, wheels scraping against the rocky path. A firm knock came at the door.
"Baron," a soldier's voice called from outside. "Scouts reported a pack of Dire wolves on the path ahead.
Kael's fingers clenched the edge of the carriage seat until his nails dug into the wood. His voice was calm, steady. "Defensive formation."
Outside, the soldiers began to stir. Horses were shifted behind the carriage, their nervous snorts betraying a sense of the danger closing in. Spears were raised, forming a tight semicircle in front of the carriage, their long shafts creating an unbreakable wall. Behind them, swordsmen stood ready, blades gleaming in the fading light, and archers, bows in hand, eyes sharp and focused.
Kael swung open the carriage door, boots crunching against the uneven ground beneath. A cold wind bit against his skin, sharpening his senses even as his heart hammered against his ribs, a wild, unrelenting drum. But his face remained calm.
It was just a few wolves. How hard could it be? If they'd given him combat training, it might have been easier… but all he'd ever been taught was oath guidance.
Shadows shifted between the trees as the Dire wolves emerged into the clearing. Their fur was as white as snow, eyes burning with feral hunger and intelligence beyond ordinary beasts. Every exhale steamed in the chill, white plumes rising like smoke. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intelligence, watching the men the way hunters watch trapped game.
Kael's breath hitched, a cold knot tightening in his chest. One spearman's hand trembled on the spear shaft, eyes flicking nervously to the charging wolves. He forced his jaw tight, as if the effort alone could steady the man.
Six wolves, and they were a lot bigger than he expected. No way to bluff this one.
Just keep calm... keep calm.
The wolves charged like shadows, teeth bared and eyes blazing with hunger.
A whistle of bowstrings cut through the air. Arrows streaked forward, thudding into fur and flesh. Three hit a single beast, and it tumbled with a pained yelp.
"Brace!" Kael barked, doubt flickering behind his steady voice.
The spearmen planted the backs of their spears firmly on the ground, blades leveled at neck height.
He raised his hand in the direction of the wolf. The cold seeped into his bones as moisture in the air condensed at his command. A faint hiss whispered as frost spiraled across the ground.
Just before the wolves could reach that spot, the icy surface solidified beneath their paws. Two wolves stumbled, their claws slipping on the sudden frost. They crashed down hard, right into the waiting spears.
Kael blinked once.
Huh. That… worked better than I thought.
The swordsmen surged forward, blades flashing in the fading light. With precise, merciless strikes, they slit the throats of the wolves skewered on the spears, ending their snarls in wet, choking silence.
Three more, focus.
The rest of the wolves hesitated, their charge faltering. They fanned out, pacing in a wide arc around the formation, hackles raised and eyes darting between the soldiers. Low growls rolled through the air like distant thunder as they searched for an opening.
The wolves were… making this more manageable for him. Kael's mind raced. If he took one while the archers struck the other, they could make it through this.
He glanced at the archers to his right, catching them already nocking their arrows, watching the wolf on the right. Everything was in place.
Kael shifted his stance, eyes locking on the wolf circling to the right. He extended his hand, fingers steady, pulling at the thin veil of moisture in the air. The cold gathered at his call, invisible until the moment it bit.
Just as the archers drew to release, frost snapped into being around the wolf's legs, jagged bands locking it in place.
It thrashed violently on the ground, claws scraping uselessly, before the arrows found their mark. Its snarls fractured into ragged gasps, eyes glassing over as the light dimmed, each movement grew weaker, its snarls fading as life bled out of its eyes.
Two more.
Before the other wolves could react, Kael summoned the cold with sharp precision. Frost swirled and hardened in the air before him, condensing into a jagged spear of ice. With a snap of his arm, he hurled it at the wolf to his left, the closest threat.
The wolf lunged, muscles coiling as it dodged the incoming spear. It twisted too sharply to the side, and the jagged ice grazed its leg.
The beast yelped, stumbling, but it did not fall. He cursed under his breath. Missed.
Kael's heart hammered. He glanced back at the archers, and they were almost ready to release.
The wolf in the center lunged straight at the spearman.
Kael's mind raced.
He could bind the leg of the grazed wolf and let the archers finish it off. Or he could try to help the spearman face down the charge. What was the best move…
Time slowed, every heartbeat loud in his ears. No room for hesitation.
He focused on the center wolf, pulling the moisture from the air tighter and tighter. A thin but solid wall of ice erupted just inches ahead of the wolf, catching its legs before it could reach the spearman.
The beast stumbled, claws scraping the ice as it tried to keep its footing. The spearman didn't hesitate, raising his spear with steady hands, he drove it deep into the wolf's side. Then the others joined him.
Only one left… they could do it!
Just as Kael held his breath, the archers released their arrows. The wolf lunged forward, attempting to dodge the deadly hail, but its grazed leg betrayed it, keeping it from leaping far enough.
Two arrows struck true, sinking deep into its thick fur and flesh, and the beast stumbled, growling in pain as its charge faltered.
Kael's eyes swept the battlefield; four of the beasts lay still, their lifeless forms sprawled across the dirt. Two were alive, breath ragged, bodies broken but alive.
Kael swallowed his doubt. "Charge!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the cold air.
The spearmen surged forward, boots pounding the earth, spears leveled like the fangs. They drove their points into the wounded wolves without hesitation, each thrust precise. Behind them, the swordsmen hung back just outside reach, letting the spears do the work.
The last wolf fell, its body thudding against the earth. Silence dropped over the clearing like a heavy cloak, broken only by ragged breaths.
Kael's legs trembled slightly, adrenaline draining. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow despite the cold, his mind spinning.
I did it.
He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, the cold air rushing past his lips. The forest was still again, except for the wet sound of steel being pulled from flesh and the heavy breathing of men.
Cold sweat trickled down his cheek, and a sharp headache throbbed behind his eyes. Signs of mana exhaustion.
Around him, the tension snapped, replaced by the low rumble of laughter and relief. Spears thudded against the ground, and blades were wiped clean on the grass. Someone clapped another man on the shoulder, the two of them grinning like boys fresh from mischief.
A spearman stepped forward, the grin still on his face, but when he spoke, it was all clipped formality. "Orders, Baron?"
Kael gave a small, tired smile. At least they acted as if he knew what he was doing. It could be worse.
They had even made him a noble, Baron Kael. The title of Baron lingered in his mind like something spoiled. It was probably better than being a mage with no future. Maybe it would be easier for others to forget him if he were a lord in the middle of nowhere.
He straightened his back. "Harvest the pelts and prepare camp."
"Yes, sir." The man gave the smallest nod before turning sharply, passing the order down the line.
When he left, Kael was finally able to take a deep breath.
That had been scary. And he was out of mana. Luckily, the soldiers weren't useless. They had stayed calmer than he had. Hah. Maybe he was the useless one.
He only had enough mana for four spells. How generous of his oath.
Going back to the carriage, he gritted his teeth.
Maybe he shouldn't have sworn that damn oath. What did it even mean to stay true to himself?