Chapter 49 — When the Forest Listens
Shadeblade POV
The forest didn't feel accidental.
That was the first thing that bothered me.
Forests were supposed to be loud—birds arguing, insects whining, branches cracking under careless feet. This one was… selective. Sounds existed, but only when allowed. As if the trees themselves were listening first, then deciding what deserved to be heard.
Which raised a very unpleasant question.
Who were they listening for?
I slowed my steps slightly, letting the others move half a pace ahead. My sword rested loose in my grip—not ready, not relaxed. Volrag would've smacked the back of my head for that once.
"A sword held too tight is fear. A sword held too loose is arrogance."
I adjusted.
The boney white mask felt heavier today. The crack along its left side—from eye to cheek—caught a sliver of filtered sunlight, making the fracture glow faintly. I hated that crack. Not because it looked intimidating.
Because it reminded me the mask could break.
And I wasn't ready for that.
Ahead of me, Bran pushed through low branches like the forest personally offended him.
"I'm saying it now," he grumbled, "if this is another 'shortcut' suggested by a hooded creep, I'm throwing someone."
Selia, walking backward atop a fallen log, grinned. "Relax, muscle-brain. Worst case, we die horribly. Best case, we get paid."
"That's not comforting."
"It is to me."
Korran Veyle didn't speak. He never wasted words while traveling. His eyes tracked everything—ground, canopy, shadows—cold and precise. Late Tier-3 awareness. Possibly brushing early Tier-4 if he stopped holding back.
Which begged another question.
Why was someone like him still roaming mercenary routes?
Lysara walked near the rear, fingers occasionally brushing the air as if testing something invisible. She hadn't said much since morning.
That bothered me more than Bran's complaining.
We were in the forest because the road had rejected us.
Not collapsed. Not blocked.
Rejected.
Three hours earlier, the main trade path had simply… stopped feeling safe. No traps. No enemies. Just that instinctive pressure in my chest—like stepping forward would be agreeing to something I didn't understand.
Korran felt it too.
So did Lysara.
That was enough.
We diverted.
Forests remembered things roads forgot.
Selia was the first to notice the silence breaking.
She froze mid-step, hand raised casually. "So… either I'm imagining things, or something big just stopped pretending it doesn't care about us."
Bran grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Finally."
I exhaled slowly.
The ground shifted.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
Roots pulled free like muscles flexing beneath skin. Bark split. The earth bulged, then rose.
The first creature stood taller than Bran, its body a twisted knot of wood and stone, eyes glowing a sick amber from deep within hollow bark.
Behind it, two more followed.
Forest-bound monstrosities. Not summoned. Grown.
Tier-3 threats.
My pulse spiked.
No magic.
I reminded myself sharply.
I stepped forward.
The first creature lunged.
I moved—not fast, not flashy. Footwork first. Volrag's fundamentals. Angle, distance, timing.
My blade bit into bark.
It resisted.
Good.
Resistance meant feedback.
I pivoted, let momentum carry, nearly slipped on loose soil—
"Skeleton!" Selia yelled. "Your feet!"
I tripped.
Fully.
Face-first.
The monster's strike passed an inch over my head.
I rolled, slashed blindly—and severed one of its root-legs.
It crashed sideways.
I stared at it from the ground, breathing hard.
"…planned," I muttered.
Selia was laughing even as she vanished into motion, blades flashing. "You're going to revolutionize combat by accident!"
Bran barreled into the second creature, axe roaring as it tore into stone-laced wood. "COME ON THEN!"
Korran moved like winter—clean, minimal, devastating. Each strike cut joints, tendons, structural points. No wasted strength.
Lysara stayed back, mana flickering—but controlled. Defensive. Supportive. Never overt.
Good.
No witnesses.
The third creature charged me.
I rose, heart pounding.
No spell.
Just steel.
I didn't force a technique.
I let the sword move.
Low stance. Short arc. Step-in, twist, cut.
The blade slid through the creature's core.
It froze.
Then collapsed into inert wood.
Silence returned—this time earned.
Selia POV
Shadeblade stood there, chest heaving, sword dripping sap like blood.
No spell glow.
No aura flare.
Just… control.
Selia tilted her head.
That wasn't Tier-2 panic anymore.
That was someone learning.
She wiped her blades clean and strolled over. "You know, if you keep fighting like that, people might stop underestimating you."
He deadpanned, "That would ruin everything."
She laughed, then sobered.
The forest felt… offended.
Like something important had been disturbed.
Lysara POV
The mana residue twisted.
Not from the monsters.
From watching.
She felt it clearly now—an echo withdrawing, attention pulling back like a thread snapped too suddenly.
Someone had observed the fight.
Measured responses.
Counted mistakes.
Her gaze flicked to Shadeblade.
Especially his.
"This wasn't random," she said quietly.
Korran nodded. "Nothing ever is."
Night fell deeper in the forest than it should've.
They made camp anyway.
Fire burned. Meat roasted. Laughter returned—forced at first, then genuine.
Bran retold the fight with increasingly exaggerated versions of Shadeblade's fall.
Selia added commentary.
Even Korran allowed a brief smirk.
Shadeblade sat slightly apart, mask reflecting firelight.
Fifteen years old.
None of them knew.
Not yet.
Above them, the forest listened.
And far away—
Someone decided it was time to stop observing.
And start interfering.