Carine Forest — Angelus Ancestral Hunt Camp
The Angelus family's ancestral forest, Carine Forest, was old.
Not ancient in the way ruins were ancient.
Older.
The kind of old that had teeth.
The air pressed in—thick with damp earth, crushed leaves, and something metallic beneath it all. Blood. Old blood. The kind that had soaked into the soil over generations and never truly left.
The trees rose high and close, their branches choking out light. Even in the clearing, the shadows felt… deliberate.
Watching.
The hunting camp cut into that presence like a wound.
Wooden watchtowers ringed the perimeter. Torches burned with steady, controlled flames. Crimson tents bearing the Angelus crest stood in ordered rows. Hounds paced restlessly. Horses stamped and snorted.
Everything was precise.
Disciplined.
Prepared.
It was not a place meant for survival.
It was a place meant to dominate something that refused to be tamed.
"The place is old," Logos said, glancing toward Kleber. "You seem excited."
Kleber turned in a slow circle, practically glowing.
"This is the ancestral ground of one of the greatest knight orders on the continent."
He gestured broadly.
"Do you know how many famous duels happened here?"
"124," Logos replied. "Of which only 21 had political impact."
Kleber froze.
Then pointed.
"You do care."
"Not particularly."
Kleber looked offended.
"Some of the greatest warriors in history trained here."
"And now they are dead," Logos said flatly.
"That is usually how history works."
Kleber dragged a hand down his face.
"You are impossible."
"And you are romanticizing trees."
The camp itself reeked of wealth.
Not subtle wealth.
Displayed wealth.
Crimson canvas stitched with gold thread.
Weapon racks polished to mirror shine.
Tables carved with family sigils.
Even the hunting hounds wore decorated collars.
It was not a military encampment.
It was a statement.
War, refined into ceremony.
Violence, elevated into tradition.
Nearby—
Sous stood over a map table, tracing routes through the forest. He wore dark leathers instead of armor, but nothing about him looked less dangerous.
Mirelle stood beside him, calm and composed.
Darian was already loud.
Naturally.
Then—
Sous noticed Logos.
A flicker.
Small.
Controlled.
But there.
Interesting.
"You came," Sous said.
"You invited me."
"I thought there was a chance you would refuse."
"It sounded useful."
Kleber immediately looked away.
Sous noticed.
Interesting.
"You have hunted before?" Sous asked.
"No."
That made Sous pause.
"Never?"
"No."
Logos looked toward the forest line.
"I know how to shoot."
"I know how to set traps."
"I know how to dissect animals."
A pause.
"But I have never hunted for recreation."
Darian laughed.
"That might be the most disturbing thing I have heard all week."
Mirelle frowned.
"You dissect animals recreationally?"
"That is for research," Logos replied calmly. "You would be surprised how useful goremouse guts are."
"…That somehow makes it worse."
Sous's mouth twitched slightly.
"Then this should be interesting."
He pointed at the map.
"The deeper parts of Carine are dangerous."
"Most hunts stay near the outer rings."
"We are not doing that."
"Why?" Logos asked.
"Because the outer rings are boring," Darian said. "Nothing but deer and oversized wolves."
Sous nodded.
"The deeper forest has larger predators."
"Dire boars."
"Forest crawlers."
"Stonefang bears."
"Sometimes worse."
Logos looked down at the map.
"Interesting."
Mirelle narrowed her eyes.
"Do not look too excited. Some of those creatures are genuinely dangerous."
"Yes," Logos replied.
"That is why it is interesting."
Kleber sighed.
"I knew he was going to say that."
A horn echoed across the camp.
Low.
Commanding.
One of the Angelus knights stepped forward.
"My lord. The hounds are ready."
Sous nodded.
"Good."
He looked at the group.
"We leave in ten minutes."
Darian grinned.
"Finally."
Before the Hunt
The camp shifted instantly.
Knights moved.
Straps tightened.
Armor plates locked into place.
Hounds were brought forward, restless and eager.
Weapons were checked.
The atmosphere sharpened.
This was no longer ceremony.
This was intent.
Darian emerged first.
Green armor.
Heavy.
Built for impact.
A pole-hammer rested easily in his grip.
"Everyone ready?"
"Yes," Mirelle replied, stepping forward in blue armor, sleek and controlled.
Her guards formed around her with quiet precision.
Then—
Sous.
Penelope unfolded around him.
Crimson plates.
Gold veins.
Fluid.
Alive.
The Cardinal units aligned behind him like an extension of his will.
"Where is Logos?" he asked.
"Right behind you," came the reply.
Black moved.
Twenty figures stepped from shadow.
Uniform.
Silent.
Each clad in black armor with white, tusked faceplates.
Each carrying heavy weapons—mauls, axes, hammers.
Cannons mounted across their backs.
They did not look like knights.
They looked like executioners.
They moved in perfect synchronization.
Not one step out of place.
Not one unnecessary motion.
Kleber followed.
Furcas gleamed dark purple, refined and sharp.
"Line up," he ordered.
They obeyed instantly.
Sous watched carefully.
Interesting.
Because this—
This was not a noble's retinue.
This was something else.
Then—
Another presence emerged.
Heavier.
Slower.
Wrong.
Logos stepped forward.
His armor did not resemble the others.
Not even remotely.
Where Penelope was elegant—
Where Furcas was refined—
Where the Bane units were monstrous—
This…
This looked assembled.
Bolted.
Layered.
Functional to the point of brutality.
Plates overlapped without symmetry.
Joints reinforced beyond necessity.
Segments folded and locked with audible clicks.
It looked like something that had been built, dismantled, rebuilt—
And then optimized without regard for appearance.
A machine.
Not armor.
"What is that?" Darian asked.
"It is my armor," Logos replied.
"We can see that," Mirelle said slowly. "But…"
Sous's gaze sharpened.
He stepped slightly closer.
Studying it.
No ornament.
No heraldry.
No symbolism.
Just purpose.
"Where are the weapons?" Mirelle asked.
"You do not need to know."
Silence followed.
Short.
But heavy.
Sous did not look away.
That was not what he had expected.
Not at all.
From everything he had seen—
He expected something refined.
Precise.
Controlled.
Instead—
This was something stripped down to intent.
No identity.
No pride.
No statement.
Just capability.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Into the Forest
"Form up," Sous ordered.
The lines shifted.
Angelus knights at the front.
Hounds between.
Support units behind.
Laos formation remained intact.
Separate.
Distinct.
Not blending.
Not yielding position.
Two forces moving together—
But not as one.
The forest swallowed them quickly.
Light dimmed.
Sound changed.
The camp disappeared behind them like it had never existed.
Branches closed overhead.
The ground softened.
Every step became quieter.
More careful.
Even the hounds lowered their voices.
Because this—
This was no longer controlled space.
This was Carine.
Kleber's voice came through the channel.
"…This place feels wrong."
"Yes," Logos replied.
"That is because it is not domesticated."
"That is not reassuring."
"It is not meant to be."
Ahead—
Sous raised a hand.
The entire formation halted.
Instantly.
Silently.
Even Logos's units stopped without delay.
Sous crouched slightly.
One hand brushing the ground.
Tracks.
Deep.
Fresh.
Large.
He stood.
"Boar," he said.
A pause.
Then—
"Big."
Darian grinned inside his helm.
"Finally."
Mirelle adjusted her stance.
"Formation holds."
Kleber's grip tightened on his blade.
"…Of course the first thing we run into is something that can kill us."
Logos's voice remained calm.
"Then do not die."
"Very helpful."
Sous glanced back once.
Toward Logos.
Their eyes met through steel and shadow.
Then—
"Advance," Sous ordered.
The hunt had begun.
And deep within Carine—
Something had already noticed them.