The road stretched ahead of us, empty and unclaimed. I did not slow Silvermane at once. You never slowed immediately after a pursuit, yet I knew deep down, we were safe. I knew how this worked. Cities like Aurelienth did not chase beyond their borders. They had to file incident reports before the jurisdictional review: did the alleged crime persist beyond municipal boundaries, or had it merely exited them? Then they would have to wait for the correspondence.

  If they wanted to pursue us properly, they would need permission from the eastern prefecture. If the prefecture objected, they would need a charter amendment or a special dispensation. If either of those succeeded, they would still need funding, manpower, and someone willing to sign their name beneath the words inter-regional pursuit of unknown Knight.

  That alone would take days. Bless bureaucracy!

  So, for now, I enjoyed peace and quiet, enough to inspect the new feature given to me, at least.

  Guild, huh?

  A guild was so very far below an Order, far from the formal hierarchy, the centuries of precedent, the reverence and bloodlines that buttressed a true Knighthood. Yet that very inferiority came with opportunity: the barrier to entry was lower, oversight less suffocating. Local councils tolerated them and townsfolks welcomed them.

  If I built from here, carefully, patiently, it could become a foundation.

  My eyes drifted back to the numbers. At this rate, there was no ambiguity in where I was headed.

  Fear was efficient. If I continued like this, Ceralis would reward me accordingly: an evil guild.

  I thought of Saint Merin. Of the stories that survived him, and the way his name had endured because people believed he meant to protect them. I could not build something steeped in fear and still dare to invoke that legacy. I would not tarnish it by convenience.

  Which meant the Samaritan route.

  I exhaled slowly. That path was, well, inconvenient. Worst of all, it ran directly counter to my strongest tools: Intimidation.

  Bah. Why think about building a guild now? To even open a provisional charter required a registered hall, a guarantor recognized by a local council, and a non-refundable bond of twenty thousand Kohns deposited into escrow. Such was how everything worked around these parts. I knew barely anyone of power and wealth to bypass that process. It might actually be more practical to just retrieve Saint Merin’s artifacts and see what power they would grant me. Power, after all, was its own credential. Demonstrative power created its own legitimacy. People followed what worked, guild or not.

  Yet, there was a reason why people didn’t travel to Mistveil Peaks.

  It wasn’t marked on most maps beyond a polite smear of ink and a warning symbol that varied by cartographer. Distance there behaved strangely. You could ride for a day and feel like you’d crossed a province, or ride for three and realize you were somehow farther from the coast than when you started.

  I now had a good reason for it, at least.

  I stared at the dungeon map given to me by Anabeth. If the estimation was to be trusted, we were four hundred miles away from the Peaks. We’d be heading towards the Eastern coast, which would be a bad idea. The further in you go, the further away you’d be from civilization. This would mean stronger and stronger creatures along the road. Starting with the one we saw before us, right now.

  I stared at the ox.

  This thing wasn’t meant to be killed quickly. Its entire existence was a slow, grinding argument against efficiency—trade AP for HP, trade terrain for dominance, trade my time for its patience. Trying to out-damage it would be expensive and probably fatal.

  But it wasn’t fast.

  Territorial Trample was the key. Bait the charge, force the displacement, break Ley-Fed Bulk for thirty seconds. After that, every mistake it made cost AP instead of blood. My slashes should be for drain, shaving points off its pool until even the hide started working against it. With my good Knightly Choreography, I should be able to simply get hits in, even if the hits were rubbish.

  For the first time since leaving the city, I had the advantage that mattered.

  Its DEX was lower than mine.

  As long as I didn’t get greedy, managed my stamina, and respected the ground it stood on, this was survivable.

  “What are you thinking about, Sir Henry?” Anabeth enquired from behind me. “You weren’t really thinking about fighting that ox, were you?”

  Silvermane snorted.

  I was, actually. I’d just unlocked this new Pathway-based Skill, and I was itching to test it out.

  I’d gained 1 PER and 1 RES for unlocking this alone, which put my PER at 28 and my RES at 6. With two extra attributes awaiting to be allocated, my instinct was to sink both of them straight into RES and call it a day. But PER was sitting at twenty-eight.

  Thirty was a breakpoint for being able to read one more skill on creatures like this was advance notice.

  I exhaled, then reassigned.

  The ox’s outline firmed, and the aether currents around it resolved into something less like haze and more like habit. Another line unfolded beneath the others.

  That actually made me smile. Slashing at the legs would burn a total of 3 AP if it counted as interrupting movements.

  “You know we can go around the ox, right?” Anabeth whispered.

  “You will be silent. When you speak again, it will be to explain the flying mage situation,” I commanded.

  Anabeth went silent for exactly two seconds. “Yes, I... uh...” Then she jumped from the horseback. “I’ll forage for herbs.”

  “Herbs?”

  “You wanted the ox meat, right? I assume you know this is an Aethertouched creature and not an Aetheric creature.”

  I knew of the distinction.

  Aetheric creatures weren’t born so much as leaking through the Aetherrealm, so they just dissolved and dropped loots upon being slain. Aethertouched creatures were actual native, ordinary animals that had lived too long near aether sources (which Anabeth called leylines) soaked in ambient aether until it rewrote their habits without erasing their biology. When they died, they stayed dead. Which meant meat that carried minor enchantments, horns that held charge, hides that could be worked into something far better than leather, if you knew what you were doing. Nothing about harvesting them was automated. If I wanted the horn, the hide, or the meat, I’d have to earn it the old way—with a blade, patience, and the uncomfortable knowledge that mistakes ruined value permanently.

  I simply nodded.

  “Then you handle the hunting and I’ll handle the foraging, and the cooking! If I get my hands on the right herbs, my culinary skill will not disappoint!” Then she just hopped off and gave me an apologetic wave before disappearing behind the bushes. I just prayed she didn’t plan on making me drink any more slime juice.

  I glanced down at Silvermane, then back at the ox.

  On horseback, I had speed, angles, and an easy escape, but my longsword was a liability there. On foot, I could dance.

  With the knowledge that I could always safely disengage, I dismounted and marched toward the creature.

  Oxen were territorial by nature. They weren’t aggressive until you crossed an invisible line they had memorized down to the inch.

  I stepped forward and felt it happen.

  The Aetherhorn’s head lifted as it ground a heavy hoof into the soil around it. It flared its nostril, squaring its bulk toward me.

  Good. It would charge.

  And charge it did.