Pain woke him again—but this time it did not strike like a blade. It lingered, deep beneath the flesh, slow and consuming, like embers buried under skin that refused to die out. Every breath dragged heat through his chest, every movement sent waves of dull agony rolling through his body.
Ruger opened his eyes slowly.
The first thing he saw was wood—rough, uneven, badly cut. A ceiling. It swayed slightly, rising and falling in rhythm with something beneath him. For a moment, his mind struggled to catch up with reality. Then the next jolt came.
Pain surged.
"Damn it—!"
The sound tore out of him, hoarse and broken.
A second later, the curtain was pulled aside.
Eit's massive head pushed in.
"You're awake?"
Ruger blinked.
"…Where are we?"
"How long was I out?"
Another violent bump. His jaw tightened.
"…And why does this road feel like we're riding over corpses?"
Eit snorted.
"Relax. Two more hours. Falburg."
"No priest yet. Just potions."
He leaned closer, grinning.
"You smell like roasted meat."
A pause.
"We almost ate you."
Ruger exhaled slowly, eyes closing again.
"…Next time," he muttered,"we bring a priest."
"Even if we have to kidnap one."
Silence settled.
Then—
"The fight," Ruger said.
Eit's grin faded.
"We lost four."
"More badly injured."
A beat.
"And that was just a patrol."
Ruger didn't react immediately.
"Snow Fox," Eit continued.
"Elite unit."
"Three hundred."
"Maybe more."
Ruger let out a low breath.
Then—he laughed.
Quiet.
Cold.
"So…"
"We walked into a den of wolves."
They had captured one.
A captain.
Barely alive.
At first—he endured.
Cuts.
Broken fingers.
Burns pressed into skin.
He clenched his teeth through all of it.
Then Lens stepped forward.
Smiling.
He worked slowly.
Carefully.
Honey was spread—not on wounds at first, but across soft flesh, deliberate, patient. The man's breathing changed before the ants even came.
Then—
The first bite.
A twitch.
Then another.
Seconds passed.
The scream came late—
and then it didn't stop.
He thrashed.
Strained.
Begged.
His voice cracked into something animal, something raw, as the ants swarmed, as the honey drew them deeper, as pain layered over pain until there was no room left for resistance.
"I'll talk—!"
"In the manor—!"
"They're digging—!"
"A hidden chamber—!"
"A necromancer's lab—!"
Ruger's gaze sharpened instantly.
Necromancer.
Again.
Something shifted in his mind.
That thin layer he had felt before—
It trembled.
Lens watched a moment longer.
Then—without expression—
ended it.
They left immediately.
No hesitation.
No pride.
They ran.
Because they understood now—
they were not hunters.
They were prey.
Falburg greeted them with noise, light, and indifference. The city did not care how close they had come to dying. It never did.
Healing followed.
Slow.
Expensive.
The priest talked too much.
Smiled too often.
Asked for gratitude.
Ruger gave him gold instead.
And left.
Night fell.
Rhine Nights blazed to life.
Music.
Wine.
Gold.
They sat together again.
Not celebrating.
Planning.
"We can't beat them head-on," Kate said.
"Not even close," Eit added.
"We don't have the numbers," Franco said quietly.
Silence.
Ruger drank slowly.
Then set the glass down.
"We don't fight fair."
Heads lifted.
"We recruit."
"As many as possible."
"Cheap armor."
"Better weapons."
A pause.
"We bleed them."
No one spoke.
"Ambush."
"Poison."
"Traps."
"Hit."
"Run."
Lens smiled.
Sharp.
"Now that," he said,"I understand."
Something changed in the room.
Not confidence—
direction.
They were done pretending.
Recruitment began the next day.
Gold moved.
Men followed.
Mercenaries.
Bandits.
Killers.
Training was worse.
A man collapsed during cavalry drills—his horse stumbling beneath him. He didn't rise fast enough. The next rider didn't stop. Hooves came down.
Bone broke.
Training continued.
Eit pushed the infantry until formation held under exhaustion, until men moved without thinking, until mistakes disappeared—because those who made too many were removed.
Lens trained in silence.
One night, a recruit vanished.
The next morning, his body was found hanging from a tree—throat cut clean, no sign of struggle.
Lesson learned.
No one asked questions.
Franco changed too.
His strikes became precise.
Cruel.
He aimed for joints. Eyes. Gaps.
He didn't duel.
He ended.
Ruger focused on control.
Timing.
Certainty.
"I won't hesitate again."
The words became rule.
In the laboratory—
Smoke cleared.
Floya stood there.
Different.
Stronger.
Ruger watched it.
Long.
Silent.
Then—
it moved.
Not on command.
A slight shift of the head.
A fraction too early.
A fraction too aware.
Ruger's eyes narrowed.
For a moment—
he felt it.
Not obedience.
Attention.
As if the skeleton was not waiting for orders—
but watching him.
Measuring.
"Interesting…" Ruger whispered.
He tested it.
Armor.
Weapons.
It accepted.
Obeyed.
But when dismissed—
everything vanished.
Gone.
Ruger stood still for a moment longer.
Then spoke softly—
"Where do you go…"
No answer.
But something had changed.
Time passed.
The company grew.
Stronger.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
They were no longer reacting.
They were preparing—
to hunt.
Far away—
Cyrus Castle.
Digging continued.
Day.
Night.
Endless.
Beneath it—
something waited.
Something that had not died.
Something that remembered.
Ruger stood alone at the edge of the training grounds.
The wind shifted.
Cold.
Wrong.
He raised his hand slightly.
That thin layer—
still there.
Closer now.
Weaker.
As if something on the other side—
was pushing back.
Ruger smiled.
"Good."
"Let's see what breaks first."
Deep in the forest—
something opened its eyes.
This time—
it was not alone.
END OF CHAPTER 11