Pain greeted him first.

  Not the sharp, sudden kind but the slow, grinding ache of a body that’s been thrown, crushed, and partially cooked, then told to walk it off.

  Alistair’s eyes opened to near-total blackness.

  A cave? No. The crevice.

  Cold stone against his back. Damp earth under his fingers. Moss and darkness all around.

  He tried to sit up. Immediately regretted it.

  [Status: Bleeding – Expired]

  [Status: Concussed – Fading]

  HP: 36 / 130

  Mana: 65 / 82

  Stamina: 45 / 132

  Every part of him screamed.

  Except his voice. That stayed silent.

  Still alive, he thought. That’s... something.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been out. Long enough for the burning in his limbs to fade into numbness. Long enough for the dark elf and the dwarf to stop poking around—hopefully.

  Alistair closed his eyes and focused inward.

  [Buff Active: Dew of Possibilities] – 6d 22h Remaining

  Affinities: Maxed

  Skill Evolution: Enabled

  Passive Skill: [Blood Sight] – Available

  Right. That. Still running.

  So despite being blasted into a trench and left to rot like discarded laundry, he was technically stronger now.

  Small wins.

  He blinked open his system interface. Skill trees no longer greyed out. Passive buffs glowing with soft, predatory promise.

  And still no plan.

  Which led him, of course, to a brief and very sincere strategy meeting... with himself.

  Option One:

  Stand up. Walk into the clearing. Introduce himself politely and ask if the nice champions would care to donate to the Alistair’s Emergency Blood Bank. Free pickup. Discreet collection. All types welcome.

  Option Two:

  Wait until one of them separated from the group, then shadow them like a creepy ex until they walked into just the right kill-zone. A bit more effort, but less chance of immediate decapitation.

  Option Three:

  Do nothing. Hide. Heal. Let the strong kill the strong until only the limping remained, then swoop in like a vulture with better hair.

  He rubbed a hand down his face, wincing as his fingers brushed a bruise blooming across his jaw.

  Gods, I’m an idiot.

  Of course it had been a trap. A treasure just lying there? Out in the open? With no one guarding it?

  Bait.

  Obvious bait.

  And he took it. Face-first. Like a toddler chasing after cake.

  He checked his belt. Still intact.

  The vial of [Dew of Possibilities] was safe. His sword still sheathed. The [Toxin Tide] bottle warm against his hip, ready to ruin someone’s day.

  He could move.

  Barely.

  He could think.

  Mostly.

  And he could kill.

  Eventually.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  A flicker in the darkness movement.

  A slow grin crept across his cracked lips.

  Let’s try something new.

  He activated [Blood Sight].

  The world didn’t brighten but it shifted.

  Shadows bled away. The darkness peeled back like a curtain. And there it was.

  Veins of glowing red threading through the stone above him. Like roots, no, like rivers of life-force. His eyes adjusted, tracking the rhythm of each pulse.

  A blur of movement.

  There.

  A humanoid outline, squat, heavy-footed. A dwarf.

  A second, taller, lean, graceful. Heartbeat steady. The dark elf.

  [Blood Sight – Active]

  Detection Range: 15 meters

  Identified Targets: 2

  Weak Points: Exposed

  They were still out there.

  Still searching.

  He didn’t know if they were waiting for him to crawl out, or if they’d set a trap. But he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of finding out.

  Let’s see who the real predator is, he thought.

  He slipped silently from the crevice, cloak dragging behind him like shadow, and began to stalk them.

  He moved like smoke.

  Low to the ground. Body bruised but silent. Eyes fixed on the glowing red threads that only he could see.

  [Blood Sight] turned the world into a map of pulsing life. Veins of crimson ran through the bodies ahead, two silhouettes threading cautiously through the foliage.

  The dwarf. Heavyset. Muscles thick with tension. Blood beating erratically from adrenaline.

  The dark elf. Leaner. Fluid. But his heart was faster than it should be.

  [Blood Sight – Active]

  Range: 30m

  Status: Stable

  Targets Detected:

  ? Level 15 Dwarf – Moderate vitality

  ? Level 17 Dark Elf – Minor injuries

  Weak Points: Identified

  Alistair followed them from a distance of twenty meters, slipping between roots and ferns, breath held, fingers brushing moss-slick bark.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  His ears picked up the murmured argument ahead.

  "Are you sure he came this way?" the dwarf growled, voice low and tense. "You didn’t imagine the rustle?"

  "I’m telling you I heard something," the elf snapped. "We should’ve doubled back and checked the ridge."

  “We’ve been around that ridge twice already!” the dwarf spat. “The bastard’s either ash or halfway to the southern edge by now.”

  The elf didn’t answer. He kept walking, posture tense.

  Alistair stayed close.

  Closer.

  Each footstep was chosen like a prayer. [Blood Sight] made it easier, not just to track them, but to see how their weight shifted, when their attention drifted. When to move. When to freeze.

  He was the ghost now.

  And they were prey.

  [HP: 36 / 130]

  [MP: 62 / 82]

  [SP: 41 / 132]

  [Status: Critical Hunger – HP Regen Locked]

  [Passive: Blood Sight – Draining Mana Slowly]

  His wounds throbbed with each breath. He was one bad move away from collapsing. But still, he moved forward, every step a gamble he couldn’t afford to lose.

  Their voices filtered back through the trees.

  “Let’s go back to the ridge,” the dark elf muttered. “We’ll have a better view of the clearing. The next fool to wander in, we kill them cleanly.”

  The dwarf grunted. “And waste time waiting while someone else finds the Founding Crystal?”

  “There’s no proof it even exists.”

  The dwarf snorted. “There’s a god-damned portal glowing in the woods, and five medallions lighting it up like a festival gate. You think that’s for show?”

  The elf didn’t respond right away.

  “You go running toward fairy tales,” he said. “I’ll take the shot I can see.”

  The dwarf spat. “Suit yourself. But I’m not leaving until we open that thing. You seen what's inside magical vaults like that? Could be gold. Artifacts. Hell, maybe even a power boost. I'm not missing it.”

  Their conversation drifted as they pressed forward, weaving between root-thick ground and rising elevation.

  Alistair followed.

  And something in him shifted.

  His gaze locked on the flowing veins in their necks, the throb of blood in their wrists. He tracked every breath, every twitch of exposed muscle.

  His hunger growled.

  [Status: Critical Blood Deficiency]

  Blood Hunger: High

  Mental Distortion: Minor

  HP Regeneration Disabled

  He blinked hard, refocusing.

  But the thoughts didn’t leave.

  He wasn’t stalking two fellow champions.

  He was stalking prey.

  Meat. Warm and red and full of what he needed.

  His fingers twitched around the vial of [Toxin Tide], but another part of him, the older part, just wanted to close the distance with fangs and hands and tear something open.

  He hissed under his breath.

  Get a grip.

  He wasn’t feral. He was a Soulbinder. A vampire lord. A...

  His foot landed on a stone. The terrain had shifted.

  They were heading uphill now. A soft incline, but enough to expose more of the forest beyond the treeline.

  And there it was.

  Between two trees, half-hidden in mist and woven through with glowing runes stood the portal.

  Massive. Stone-framed. Carved with sigils that pulsed faintly with light. Five shallow grooves etched into the outer ring glowed in sequence, already lit with steady gold.

  It wasn’t open.

  But it was close.

  Alistair crouched in the brush, staring.

  And then he saw it...

  The medallion.

  Glinting faintly on the dark elf’s belt. A soft pulse of silver and gold with that distinct arcane shimmer.

  He clenched his jaw.

  One of five.

  His way out.

  His shot at survival.

  His chance at a kingdom.

  He kept his eyes locked on it. Each sway of the elf’s step brought it into better view. He was already plotting his approach, counting the brush strokes it would take to close the distance.

  He reached down slowly and unhooked the vial.

  [Item Ready: Toxin Tide]

  Status: Primed

  Range: 5m

  Effect Radius: High

  Poison Chance: Guaranteed

  Burn Chance: Moderate

  The weight in his hand was comforting. Cold. Reliable.

  The plan was simple: throw the vial, wait for the screams, grab the medallion, and vanish.

  Messy, he thought, but efficient.

  He stalked a little closer. Five meters now.

  The dwarf stopped walking.

  Sniffed the air.

  "Feel that?" he asked.

  The dark elf didn’t answer.

  He was already turning.

  Not fast, slow. Instinctual.

  Alistair ducked behind a moss-covered stump, breath locked in his throat.

  Seconds passed.

  Alistair froze.

  Then the dark elf turned away again.

  "I don’t like this," the elf muttered. "Feels... too quiet."

  “Yeah, well,” the dwarf grumbled, “I’m ready to kill the next tree that sneezes.”

  They started walking again.

  Alistair exhaled slowly. Every muscle tense.

  One throw, he told himself. One moment, and I’m out.

  He raised the vial.

  Before he could act, the air shimmered.

  It was subtle, barely a ripple, but something in Alistair’s spine stiffened. Magic. Old magic. The kind that made his skin itch.

  He held his breath, crouched low in the brush, vial of [Toxin Tide] sweating in his palm.

  Another figure stepped into the clearing.

  Tall. Pale. Beautiful in the uncanny, untouchable way only high elves could manage. His armor was enchanted silk woven with enchanted steel... His steps didn’t make a sound. He moved like a man born to command silence.

  [Enemy Champion Detected: High Elf (Unknown Class)]

  Level: 19

  Status: Uninjured

  Buffs: Active (Unidentified)

  Threat Level: High

  Alistair’s pupils narrowed.

  He stayed perfectly still. Shadows wrapped around him like armor.

  The dark elf and dwarf didn’t notice the high elf at first, they were too busy bickering near the crystalline structure that pulsed with latent energy. The portal. It stood quiet, inert… but not for long.

  "Have you managed to gather any more medallions?" the high elf asked, voice calm, cutting.

  Both champions jumped.

  The dark elf turned sharply, hand drifting toward his weapon, but stilled himself when he saw who it was.

  "We’ve acquired one more," he said, voice laced with cautious defiance. "And you?"

  The high elf didn’t answer. He took out of his jacket three medallions and then he simply held out his other hand.

  Commanding. Dismissive. Like a noble expecting tribute.

  Three medallions. That wasn’t lucky. That was lethal.

  The dwarf tensed. The dark elf clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a fourth medallion.

  He handed it over with fingers that looked like they wanted to break something.

  The high elf inspected it with a slight frown.

  And then he smirked.

  Finally turned his back on them.

  "Good. That makes four. We need just one more to open the portal."

  Alistair didn’t move.

  His thoughts, however, were screaming.

  Four medallions.

  They’ve killed. Traded. Hunted.

  Even the necromancer didn’t get that many.

  His gaze flicked to the portal. He didn’t know what was inside, but if that many medallions were the key? It wasn’t going to be a chest full of gold.

  Founding Crystal, he thought. It has to be.

  His goal.

  His freedom.

  And it was right there, within reach.

  He could slip away. Vanish into the trees. Live to plan another day.

  But that part of him, the one that whispered vengeance and pride, was louder now.

  He reached down and touched the vial at his side.

  [Toxin Tide] – Active

  Range: Moderate (5m)

  Status Effects: Corrosion, Poison, Panic

  Drop the poison. Cause chaos. Grab the medallions. Run.

  It wasn’t a good plan. It was barely a plan at all.

  But it was better than hiding in a crevice and bleeding.

  He crept forward.

  Each step was slow, deliberate. He moved like a wraith, his breath steady despite the ache in his limbs. [Blood Sight] outlined his targets in vivid crimson, arterial maps of where to strike.

  Closer. Closer still.

  The portal shimmered ahead, its energy flaring slightly with every passing second.

  He could hear the hum now, magic threading the air like tension before a thunderclap.

  His fingers tightened on the vial.

  He raised it.

  Then...

  The high elf turned.

  Eyes like frozen starlight locked onto him with surgical precision.

  For a second, Alistair thought he’d imagined it.

  Then he realized the elf wasn’t looking at the trees.

  He was looking straight at him.

  Time froze.

  “Oh... shit,” Alistair whispered.

  The vial trembled in his grip.

  The finale he'd been building toward, the dramatic, deadly reveal he’d crafted so carefully...

  Slipped through his fingers.

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