Chapter 47 — When the Ground Chooses a Side
Shadeblade POV
The problem with planning is that the world rarely respects it.
Dawn broke thin and pale, light filtering through the forest canopy like it wasn't entirely convinced we deserved it. We moved out quietly—no jokes, no noise. Even Bran kept his mouth shut, which told me more about the tension than any words could.
My mask felt heavier today.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Every step echoed Volrag's lessons in my skull.
Grip before strength.
Balance before speed.
Survive first. Understand later.
I rolled my shoulders, sword resting easily in my right hand. No magic. No aura tricks. Just steel, breath, and ground beneath my feet.
Tier-2. Disciplined.
Still mortal. Still breakable.
Ahead of us, the forest dipped toward a shallow basin—a natural choke point. Korran slowed, fist raised.
"Too quiet," he murmured.
Selia vanished into the branches without a sound. Aris stopped beside a tree, fingers brushing bark as if listening to something deeper than sound. Bran shifted his grip on his axe.
That's when the ground gave way.
Not collapsed.
Opened.
Sigils flared beneath our boots—old, buried, waiting. The earth lurched, throwing us apart as the basin reshaped itself into a ring.
A trap.
Perfectly measured.
"CONTACT—!" Korran shouted.
Too late.
Figures emerged from the trees—not monsters.
People.
Mercenaries.
Guild-trained.
Tier-3.
My stomach dropped.
Someone had sold us cleanly.
Selia POV
I was already moving when it happened.
Downward angle. Two hostiles left flank. One archer high.
I cut the archer's throat before he realized I was there.
But there were too many.
That's when I saw the signal.
A raised hand. Two fingers.
Noble code.
My blood went cold.
"Shadeblade!" I shouted. "He—!"
The spell detonated before I could finish.
The world folded inward, pressure slamming into my ribs as something heavy struck the ground in the center of the ring.
A summoning anchor.
No.
A breaker.
Someone wanted this fight messy.
Korran POV
The enemy formation was disciplined.
Too disciplined for coincidence.
I adjusted instantly—shield forward, blade low—cutting a path toward Bran before the heavier fighters could isolate him.
"Bran! Left!"
"I SEE IT!"
Good.
Aris raised her staff, mana rippling outward—not attacking, not flashy—stabilizing. The ground stopped shifting. The sigils flickered.
Someone cursed.
That was when I saw Vaelric.
He stood at the far edge of the basin.
Watching.
Not attacking.
Not retreating.
Just… standing there.
Our eyes met.
His expression wasn't smug.
It was conflicted.
That made it worse.
Vaelric POV
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
The hooded man had promised control. Pressure. A test.
Not slaughter.
When the breaker activated, I felt it in my bones—the way the magic twisted, hungry and unstable.
Too many variables.
Shadeblade was fighting already—too fast, too sharp. Not panicking. Adapting.
Damn it.
Bran barreled through a Tier-3 merc like a living battering ram. Selia danced between shadows, lethal and laughing like this was all a joke. Korran anchored the line, unyielding.
They weren't supposed to be this cohesive.
And Shadeblade—
He slipped.
For a heartbeat.
And instead of falling…
He turned it into motion.
Shadeblade POV
My foot caught on uneven stone.
Old me would have gone down.
Instead, I let it pull me.
I dropped low, rolled under a blade, came up inside the enemy's guard and struck—not hard, not wild—precise.
The motion flowed.
Step. Turn. Cut.
Something clicked.
Not power.
Pattern.
This wasn't Volrag's teaching anymore.
This was mine.
I felt it—balance shifting, timing aligning, my body understanding what my mind hadn't yet named.
The breaker pulsed again.
The summoning tore open.
Something wrong started climbing out.
Tier-3.
Late.
Almost Tier-4.
My breath hitched.
"SELIA!" I shouted. "NOW!"
She didn't ask.
Didn't hesitate.
She threw herself into the chaos, blade flashing, laughter sharp. "Hey ugly! Your ritual's showing!"
Aris stepped forward.
Mana surged.
Clear. Controlled. Tier-2—but refined.
A barrier slammed down, locking the creature halfway out of reality.
Bran roared. "I LIKE THIS PART!"
Korran struck the anchor.
I didn't think.
I moved.
Sword cutting along the line my instincts demanded.
Steel met concept.
The breaker shattered.
The creature screamed—and collapsed inward.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Breathing echoed.
Bodies lay still.
And then—
Vaelric stepped forward.
Selia POV
I wanted to stab him.
Just… get it over with.
Instead, I watched.
He looked wrecked.
Torn.
Ash smeared his coat. Blood—not his—on his sleeve.
"I didn't know it would go this far," he said.
Bran laughed harshly. "Funny. That's what everyone says right before they get punched."
Shadeblade raised a hand.
We all froze.
He stepped closer to Vaelric.
Slow.
Measured.
"You chose fear," Shadeblade said quietly. "I get that."
Vaelric swallowed. "You shouldn't."
"Maybe not," Shadeblade replied. "But you're not my enemy."
That stunned everyone.
Even Vaelric.
"For now," Shadeblade added.
Good.
Very good.
Korran POV
We regrouped in silence.
No celebration.
No relief.
Just understanding.
This was the turning point.
The mercenary arc was ending.
Something larger had noticed us.
And Shadeblade—
He stood differently now.
Still Tier-2.
But closer.
Mid-Tier.
Not because of power.
Because of clarity.
The forest exhaled.
As if satisfied.