“Followed? By who?” Ansel asked, whirling around in an attempt to find their would-be stalkers. The road to Rockenfall was relatively well-kept, packed dirt from numerous travelers created a pathway through the forest, bordered by simple wooden fencing. They were a sizable distance from any town, so it would be nearly impossible for help to arrive should they be attacked by bandits. In fact, it was a common occurrence for merchants and travelers to hire adventuring teams for protection.

  An arrow suddenly whipped through the air, headed straight for Ansel’s head. If not for Orion’s quick reflexes—snatching the arrow and crushing it in his palm—Ansel would be dead. The boy flinched, instinctively grabbing the dagger at his side, clutching the weapon with a bone-crushing grip.

  I guess some of Orion’s “training” was useful after all. In the past few weeks, in addition to sharpening his physique, Ansel had also undergone some basic combat training, although it was difficult when the only practice partners were the two massive undead now looking out into the forest brush to spot their attackers.

  “Well, it seems like a sneak attack ain’t working today, huh?” A voice called out, and Ansel immediately recognized it. He watched as the gruff, older adventurer slipped down from a tree to their left, landing with an effortless grace as he brandished the bow he had just tried to kill Ansel with.

  “Fletcher?!” the boy cried out. Even as he said the name, the other three members of the man’s adventuring party—The Sparrows—slinked out from the shadows with sinister smiles on their faces. I know we kind of made a fool of him back there, but isn’t this a little much?

  Orion laughed at the sight, still not having drawn his greatsword. “Are adventurers in this time truly so petty?”

  Fletcher bared his teeth, and the members of his party began to close in. “I don’t know what ‘your time’ was, but these days, guys like us don’t take well to being disrespected.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be so disrespectable.”

  “Hey!” Ansel hissed under his breath. “Why are you antagonizing them? We can’t get into a fight out here!”

  “Why is that?” Orion questioned.

  “Killing monsters is one thing, we can’t go around killing humans, too!”

  “Who said anything about killing?” The skeleton laughed, then mimed cracking his knuckles, even though no sound could be heard through his massive gauntlets. “Why don’t I just teach these guys a lesson?”

  “I know you’re strong, but these guys are experienced! They’re the fifth-ranked team in Avon!”

  “This lot?” Orion laughed. “I sure hope the rest don’t disappoint then.”

  “Shut up, you bastard!” Fletcher roared, drawing his bow.

  [Arrow Storm]

  The adventurer aimed for the sky. Ansel traced the arrow's trajectory as it arced through the air, before splitting into a volley of projectiles raining back down like a heavy downpour.

  “I suggest you move,” Orion said bluntly, but Ansel had already sprung into action. He felt the muscles in his body working, reacting faster than he ever had before as he jumped out of the way, hearing the thud of arrows striking the ground behind him.

  “Archers! Aim for their legs!” The boy shouted, hoping that his undead were capable of understanding that he didn’t want to kill his fellow humans. Two arrows flew, but a member of The Sparrows ran forward, blocking the attack with a massive rectangular shield.

  The other two adventurers advanced, one wielding a spear and buckler while the other seemed like some sort of hand-to-hand combatant. Even though Ansel had adventured with them in the past, he never learned of any of their names besides Fletcher, but he knew their classes.

  The spear wielding Sentinel struck first, stabbing towards Orion with a simple thrust, but his weapon simply glanced off the warrior, drawing a cry of pain as the reverberation from the strike was sent back into the adventurer's hand.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Orion taunted disappointedly. “I’m pretty sure the child could hit me harder than that.” The Monk went next, activating a skill that caused two glowing hands to appear from behind her back. Her four limbs worked in tandem, sending a barrage of blue energy blasts towards Orion, who batted each one away with a simple movement of his hand.

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  Is he really that strong, even without any of his skills? How is that possible?

  “Oi, brat, I’d pay attention if I were you!” Fletcher spat, drawing a dagger. He had the Rogue class, and Ansel knew that the man was equally as dangerous with a dagger as he was with the bow.

  “Kortak! Take on the shield guy!” The orc nodded his affirmation, then cast Call of the Horde. Immediately, six glowing orcs materialized in a flash of light, snarling with their gnarled and decaying teeth.

  Ansel steeled his will, trying to remember the lessons that Orion tried to teach him in the past two weeks, but his heart still pounded. Fighting another human, especially one who was so much older than him, was an entirely new experience.

  Fletcher went first, slicing with a flurry of blades as he activated his class skill, Agility, his movements taking on a predator-like quality. Ansel was slowly losing ground, using everything in him to parry each attack, his only saving grace being support from his two undead archers, who forced Fletcher to continue to dodge a seemingly unending supply of arrows as he attacked.

  “I admit, you have become faster, boy,” Fletcher muttered, dipping his head left and right as two more arrows whipped past. “But not nearly fast enough.” The older man swept Ansel’s feet from under him, causing the boy to land hard on his back. With a roar, Fletcher lunged, stabbing his dagger downwards at Ansel’s neck.

  But the boy was quick, rolling away at the last moment, suffering only a small cut on his left arm. Despite the shallowness of the wound, the pain was searing as he grit his teeth and retreated towards his archers. However, Ansel had managed to buy enough time, watching from the corner of his eye as the skeleton wrapped up his opponents.

  The monk lunged, but Orion caught her wrist mid-strike.

  The crack echoed through the forest as he slammed her into the dirt.

  The two adventurers were lying unconscious on the floor, their equipment battered and broken from where Orion had struck them. His sword was still sheathed along his back, not having even bothered to draw his weapon. Kortak had achieved victory over the shieldbearer as well, now closing in on Fletcher.

  The older, gruff man now suddenly found himself in a one-versus-eleven situation. He scoffed, then quickly grabbed something from his inventory space. Ansel could only barely make out what was said before the man activated the item.

  “I guess I have no choice but to use this,” He crushed the small, black stone in his hand, and for a moment, nothing happened.

  “Where did you receive that item?!” Orion suddenly cried out, his voice dripping with confusion.

  “What is it?” Ansel asked, his eyes trained on the man before him, whose eyes were beginning to glow with a fiery hatred.

  “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” He repeated, his voice growing deeper and harsher with each repetition.

  Three thick strands of blood shot out from the bodies of the other members of The Sparrows, coalescing into a blob of deep red liquid in the air above Fletcher. Somehow, the unconscious bodies, or perhaps corpses now, slid into a triangular shape around the older adventurer, as blood-carved markings slowly inscribed themselves into the ground.

  “What are you doing, Fletcher?” The monk slowly croaked, showing signs of life. “You said we’d just rough 'em up a bit, this… this is too far.”

  “Shut up!” Fletcher roared, his voice now deep, guttural, and entirely unrecognizable.

  “Orion, should we do something?” Ansel asked worriedly, his brow creasing in fear. He may have mustered the courage to fight only a moment ago, but this was something else entirely.

  “A demon summoning with only three sacrifices shouldn't be too much to handle,” Orion answered matter-of-factly.

  “Demon?!” Ansel cried out, eyes bulging. “Why would Fletcher have an item that could summon a demon?”

  Orion shrugged, eyes trained on the sight before them. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, then finally drew his sword—one glowing rune still inscribed into its blade—from his back.

  Fletcher’s body began to twist, his eyes darting around frantically as he dropped to all fours. The bloody mass above him shot three tendrils downwards, digging deep into the man’s back and producing a bone-chilling scream.

  “A demon summoning always requires a vessel,” Orion said, more to himself than to the boy standing beside him. “So why is it taking his life as well?”

  Finally, Fletcher’s body dropped to the ground, completely still.

  “Did… did it fail?” Ansel asked, hopeful.

  But Orion still held his sword. “Impossible…”

  The bloody markings on the floor began to glow, and in an instant, the ground almost erupted with red light that temporarily blinded the boy.

  “Oh, how long has it been since venturing into the mortal realm?” a sinister voice called out. “Well, I’m sure not much has changed after all this time.”

  “Who are you?” Ansel tried to ask, but his voice was stricken with fear. He couldn’t even move, his entire body paralyzed by some sort of invisible force.

  The demon seemed perceptive, matching the boy’s eyes with a beady, chaotic gaze. His facial expression morphed into a sadistic grin as he spoke. “They call me, Igren.”

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