The alarm horn sounded twice, then silenced. Max stopped mid-conversation with the blacksmith's apprentice about sword balance and looked toward the eastern wall. The guards on the battlements exchanged casual glances, then resumed their positions.
Two short blasts—minor beast outbreak near the Serrated Ridge forest line. Nothing requiring immediate attention from the Drakhalis heirs. Guards would handle it.
Max handed the half-finished sword back to the apprentice. "Good weight distribution. Not too forward-heavy."
They will not deploy adequate forces, Cinder observed, pulsing in the back of his mind.
Max nodded slightly, checking the position of the sun. Two hours until midday. His siblings occupied elsewhere—Darius drilling with the elite guard, Ervan handling border disputes with merchants, Lily sequestered in the mage tower, Hazel hunting in the western hills, and Violet attending the Matriarch's council.
"Tell your master I'll return tomorrow," Max said, already heading toward his chambers.
He walked unhurriedly through the corridors, collected his pack with medical supplies, a hunting knife, and light leather armor strapped beneath his tunic. The guards at the eastern gate barely glanced at him—the weakest Drakhalis child, beneath their concern.
"Young lord, where are you headed?" one finally asked as Max approached.
"Herbalism research," Max answered, patting his pack. "Archivist Teller requested dusk bramble samples for the library collection."
The guard's eyes flickered with relief at having a simple explanation. "Stay within sight of the wall, young lord."
Max nodded, then walked directly toward the forest edge. Once beyond immediate view, he altered course, moving with purpose toward Serrated Ridge.
Three nests, based on migration patterns, Cinder calculated. Likely corrupted wolverines—they favor eastern territories this season.
Max mentally reviewed terrain features. "The ridge narrows at Hunter's Pass. If they're following game trails, they'll funnel through there."
Hunter becomes the hunted, Cinder agreed.
Max picked up his pace, running lightly over uneven ground. His younger body lacked endurance, but knowledge compensated for physical limitations. He knew precisely where to step, which roots would hold weight, which stones offered stable footing.
Birdsong silenced ahead—the first warning. Max slowed, crouching behind a fallen oak. Fresh claw marks scarred the trunk, wider and deeper than natural wolverine marks. Purple-tinged saliva glistened on exposed wood.
"Corruption's advanced," Max whispered, unsheathing his hunting knife. "Third stage at least."
In his previous life, these outbreaks had seemed random. Now he recognized them as precursors—demons testing defenses, sending corrupted beasts to probe for weaknesses before committing their main forces.
A low growl came from his left. Max remained motionless. Through undergrowth, he spotted movement—three corrupted wolverines, fur matted with purple ichor, eyes glowing unnatural violet. They moved with jerky coordination, as if puppeted by unseen hands.
Max backed away silently, circling toward Hunter's Pass. The narrowest point allowed only two beasts to move abreast. Reaching the pass, he climbed the eastern rock face, finding handholds where moss hadn't yet grown in this timeline.
From fifteen feet above, Max surveyed the terrain. He gathered fist-sized rocks, arranging them carefully. Then he waited.
The pack emerged from the trees—not three wolverines but seven. Max recalculated odds. They traveled in hunting formation, the largest taking point position.
They're herding something, Cinder observed.
A terrified doe burst from the treeline, pursued by the pack. The deer bounded toward the pass—toward Max's position.
Perfect.
As the doe raced through the narrow passage, Max remained still. The wolverines followed, bunching together in the confined space. Max waited until the fifth beast passed beneath him, then dropped directly onto its back.
His knife plunged into the junction between neck and shoulder. The wolverine howled, thrashing as Max rolled clear. The pack whirled, momentarily confused by the attack from above.
Max snatched up his first prepared rock and hurled it at the lead beast's face. It connected with a sickening crack. The wolverine staggered sideways, colliding with its packmate.
A second rock struck another beast's eye. A third glanced off thick skull, doing minimal damage.
The pack charged.
Max retreated deeper into the pass, where the walls narrowed further. Two rocks clattered down behind the wolverines, blocking quick retreat. The beasts snarled, forced to come at him one by one.
The first lunged. Max sidestepped, letting the beast's momentum carry it past him. His blade opened its flank, black-purple blood spraying the stone walls.
The second and third attacked simultaneously. Max dropped flat as they collided above him, then drove his blade up into exposed belly. Corrupted blood splashed his face, burning like acid.
He rolled clear as the fourth creature leapt. This time, he wasn't fast enough. Claws raked his shoulder, tearing through leather and skin. Max gritted his teeth against the pain, focusing on the next threat.
Behind you! Cinder warned.
Max spun. The first wounded wolverine circled back, limping but dangerous. Max backed against the rock wall, knife held before him. Blood trickled down his arm, weakening his grip.
Four beasts remained, eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. Max controlled his breathing, measuring distances. The lead wolverine tensed to spring—
Max hurled his knife directly into its throat.
The beast collapsed, thrashing. Max lunged forward, retrieved his blade, and faced the remaining three. One charged. Max ducked under snapping jaws and drove his knife into its chest, finding the heart.
Pain exploded across his back as another beast raked him with claws. Max stumbled, nearly falling. He caught himself against the rock wall, leaving a bloody handprint.
The last two wolverines circled, sensing weakness. Max fought to remain standing. His vision tunneled, focusing only on immediate threats.
Movement above, Cinder cautioned.
Max glanced up. Loose stones balanced on the ridge edge—rocks he'd positioned earlier. He launched himself forward, rolling between the wolverines. As they turned to pursue, Max grabbed a dangling root and pulled with all his strength.
Rocks cascaded down, crushing one beast instantly. The last wolverine howled, partly buried but still alive. Max finished it with a clean strike to the skull.
Silence returned to the forest.
Max sat heavily against the pass wall, breathing raggedly. Blood soaked his tunic, both his and the creatures'. He examined his wounds clinically—shoulder laceration, back claw marks, acid burns from corrupted blood. Painful but survivable.
He retrieved herbs from his pack, grinding them into poultice. The sting as he applied the mixture to his wounds grounded him in present reality.
Seven threats neutralized, Cinder noted. Guards would have lost at least two men.
"Two men and their families would mourn," Max agreed quietly. "Two more positions to fill. Two more graves to dig."
He bandaged his shoulder and gathered evidence of the corrupted beasts—a claw, samples of the purple-tinged saliva. The citadel scholars needed to understand corruption's progression.
Small disasters, Cinder observed, reading Max's thoughts.
"Yes," Max replied, rising painfully to his feet. "Small disasters now, so we never see another big one."
He collected his equipment, disguised the worst of his injuries beneath his cloak, and started back toward the citadel. Seven corrupted beasts eliminated without a single guard deployed. Seven threats handled before they grew into something worse.
No glory. No recognition. Just one more necessary step in rewriting fate.
The sun began its westward descent as Max limped homeward, mapping tomorrow's threats even as today's blood dried on his skin.