Twilight draped the mountains in a veil of shadows as the caravan prepared for the trial that would decide its fate. Inside, the atmosphere was charged with tension—every occupant knew their role. There was no margin for error.
For the past few hours, the caravan's owner had been modifying the mobility spell, ensuring that once the signal was given, the wagons would surge forward at full speed. Soon, they would cross the point of no return.
The slaves were armed.
Their weapons were rudimentary—mundane tools that, in other contexts, would have been useless. A master sorcerer could crush thirty ordinary men with ease. But this time, they were not facing fellow sorcerers; their enemies were beasts.
In the realm of magic, beasts wield power on par with sorcerers. With luck, they would only confront common creatures, against which conventional weapons still held some value. But if a great beast appeared… then every resource they possessed would be rendered futile.
The slaves had barricaded themselves near the windows of the wagons, forming makeshift barriers with their own bodies. Meanwhile, the mercenaries had already taken up positions on the caravan's roof, weapons in hand, their eyes fixed on the encroaching jungle.
Fungi stood on the structure of one wagon, calmly reciting a spell. A thin layer of water covered the wagons—a curtain of water, meant as a diversion. While everyone assumed he was fortifying the caravan with aqueous magic, in truth, he was strengthening the very souls of each structure. He worked slowly and discreetly; if anyone were to suspect, his entire disguise would crumble. For a master of the soul, preserving his hidden identity was as vital as breathing.
Time ticked on.
The mercenaries wore varying expressions: some displayed absolute seriousness, while others appeared calm and focused. Only Han-Lee sported a smile, his eyes shining with excitement.
The plan had been discussed and reviewed several times:
Two melee fighters at each end.
Control sorcerers stationed in the center.
Archers in the intermediate position, with two additional fighters moving freely to provide support.
Additionally, they had agreed on one more thing: try to load as many carcasses as possible into an open compartment on the roof. Shell of Rage wanted to ensure that the ensuing carnage would be profitable.
The journey would be long. Their sole priority was to reach the commercial camp on the way to the southern port.
From his vantage point, Huo-Huo watched the jungle sprawling at the foot of the mountain. The subtle movements in the undergrowth were nearly imperceptible, but his trained eye detected hidden presences among the trees.
The mercenary captain didn't need to see more. Without turning, he gave a firm new order:
"— Do not let Master Fungi be interrupted."
No one objected. On the contrary, the mercenaries drew their weapons and began reciting their own spells.
Within minutes, the ground trembled. A wave of movement shook the jungle. The horde had arrived—all the creatures emerged from their hiding places.
"— Now!" roared Huo-Huo.
The caravan's owner wasted no time. The mobility spell activated in an instant, and the wagons accelerated with a sudden jolt. The occupants inside were thrown slightly backward but stabilized within seconds. The mercenaries remained motionless, knowing that losing their balance meant death.
The first beasts fell as they attempted to cling to the caravan. The speed worked against them, yet the true threat had yet to reveal itself. Some creatures managed to scratch the wagons with their claws, but they were repelled by the fighters stationed at the ends.
This was only the beginning.
Within minutes, the smaller, weaker beasts began to lag behind. But then, the real predators emerged.
A troop of silver-furred monkeys burst forth from the trees and began the chase. They were fast—far quicker than the caravan could maintain.
"— Get ready!" shouted Huo-Huo.
The control sorcerers acted immediately."— One of them altered the rocky terrain, making the ground more unstable."Another used air currents to push the simians back and slow their advance.
Meanwhile, Huo-Huo and the remaining archer fired with surgical precision. Every arrow felled a beast. Yet it wasn't enough. The monkeys started climbing onto the wagons. The fighters at the ends had to give their all to prevent them from boarding. But there were too many. From the front, another troop blocked their path.
Han-Lee, who up to that moment had barely moved, suddenly shouted, "— Boost me with air! Quick!"
The wind sorcerer didn't hesitate. In an instant, Han-Lee vanished from the caravan's roof. Fungi watched him calmly from his position. The swordsman had become a decoy, diverting most of the monkey troop away from the front so that the defenders could focus on the main assault.
But he didn't stop there. Rather than merely displacing the monkeys, he guided them toward a specific point. Huo-Huo understood his plan immediately. Without hesitation, he raised his massive heavy bow and shot an arrow at the mountain. The impact caused a collapse—rocks tumbled down behind the caravan, dragging a large number of beasts with them.
Han-Lee landed back on the roof, panting slightly from the exertion, but his triumphant expression soon faded upon seeing that the monkeys were scaling the mountain to avoid the collapse.
"— Damn it!"
The mercenaries gritted their teeth; respite was scarce. Huo-Huo, however, kept his composure.
"— Reinforce the rear defense."
He would handle the front. The leading troops were overrun—the volley of Huo-Huo's arrows dismembered dozens of bodies, each shot so powerful that it struck multiple beasts at once. Yet when his quiver began to empty, he changed tactics. He put the bow away and unleashed his martial strength, delivering brutal blows that sent monkeys flying and shattered bones with each punch. The Force Path proved remarkably effective in this close-quarters situation.
Fungi, meanwhile, remained stationed, unmoving, his gaze fixed into the distance. His lips whispered a constant chant—a melody repeated over and over, as if it would never end. He was building something. This was no ordinary spell.
He had been ceaselessly conjuring even before the battle began. Thirty minutes of preparation had passed, and now, with forty minutes of combat already underway, he still hadn't finished his work.
If he only had to reinforce one soul, he could have done it in seconds—seize the soul, mold it, eliminate its imperfections, and restore it. But this time, there were too many. Not only did he have to revitalize more than thirty souls simultaneously, he had to weave an ethereal veil over them—a spell capable of integrating into each one and altering their structure without collapsing in the process.
Normally, within the sect, he would have had support materials—souls contained in artifacts or relics—that would have allowed him to channel the spell more efficiently. But now, he had nothing.
He couldn't simply dominate the souls with his will. They weren't beasts caged in a pen. If he attempted to force his control without the proper framework, the spell would crumble, and all his effort would have been for nothing.
What he was doing was akin to weaving an invisible cloak over thirty moving bodies, ensuring that each thread fit without breaking, even as the entire loom was shaken by battle.
The problem was that the caravan wouldn't stop trembling. Every jolt, every shake, caused his spell to lose stability. If he made a mistake and the veil broke before it was completed, all the souls he was uniting would be left unstable. And in that state, any further impact on the caravan could permanently damage them.
Everything depended on his speed. If he managed to finish before the situation spiraled out of control, the reinforced souls would withstand the battle. But if he delayed…
Fungi refused to think about it. He inhaled deeply, maintained the rhythm of his incantation, and continued weaving.
Meanwhile, the team gradually recovered and the formation stabilized. Huo-Huo moved with calculated precision, firing his last arrows with the same lethality he'd begun with once there was nothing ahead—supporting the team. Every projectile found its target with crushing force, felling the beasts that attempted to corner them.
At the same time, Han-Lee remained on the front line, his sword tracing swift arcs in the air, cutting down any creature that dared climb onto the caravan. There wasn't a moment's respite, but the team functioned. Despite their numerical disadvantage—just eight men and a handful of slaves armed with mundane tools—they managed to contain the onslaught through strategy and coordination.
Then, the monkey troop began to falter. It wasn't an immediate retreat but a series of subtle signals. The silver-furred simians ceased their relentless attack. Some stopped leaping onto the caravan, lingering a few steps back to observe. Others moved away, grumbling among themselves, as if reconsidering whether the hunt was worth the risk.
Fungi, still focused on his spell, noticed this change before the others did. It wasn't that the monkeys had lost interest—they were gauging their losses, or worse. They were planning another assault.
Some beasts retreated a few more steps; then others did as well.
And then, almost simultaneously, the entire troop began to disperse into the jungle.
Huo-Huo kept his bow raised, tracking the last stragglers still visible in the distance. He did not lower his guard until the final creature vanished into the undergrowth. He sighed—for after all that, the first assault had ended. The mercenaries now displayed signs of exhaustion. Their wounds weren't severe, but the fatigue was evident in their expressions. They couldn't endure many more charges without reinforcements or rest.
Seizing the pause, Huo-Huo briefly descended to retrieve the arrows he'd stashed before the fight. Before leaving, he issued a quick command to Han-Lee:
"— Maintain the defense. If anything else attempts to board, do not let them succeed."
Han-Lee, still catching his breath, nodded with a faint smile. He didn't seem tired at all.
Unhesitatingly, he began patrolling the caravan's roof, sword in hand, eliminating any lingering creatures still trying to climb aboard. Meanwhile, the rest of the team regrouped, guarding all access points from their respective positions.
The night was still young. The road ahead remained perilous, and the battle was far from over. They were merely catching their breath.
Fungi kept his concentration on his spell, though for a moment his gaze drifted toward the dark jungle. He sensed something—beasts weren't simple instinct-driven creatures. At least, not all of them. He could perceive scattered souls: some weakened, others ravenous. But there was one that was distinct—a presence that was larger and denser. It was approaching with signs of intelligence. The monkeys hadn't fled out of fear or disinterest; they were regrouping. And next time, they wouldn't come alone.
Fungi wished he could warn the others, but he couldn't stop now. The spell was still unfinished.
All he could do was wait—and hope that whatever emerged from that jungle next time wouldn't be too enormous.