Chapter 441: Dropping Them At Their Destination

The morning began quietly—too quietly for Damien’s liking. Mist clung to the undergrowth, soft and silver, turning the forest floor into a shifting ocean of fog.

Dew glistened on every branch. The air smelled faintly of moss and wild mint, but beneath that freshness lurked the same unease that had followed him since the northern gate.

The travelers—two women, two men, and three children—moved cautiously behind him. None spoke much.

The mercenary, now recovered from Damien’s accidental beating the previous night, kept to the front of the group, a short sword strapped to his back and a faint limp in his step. He’d insisted he could lead them, having crossed these woods before. Damien didn’t argue.

He preferred staying at the rear, his senses spread wide, listening for anything that didn’t belong—the faint scratch of claws on bark, the hum of unstable essence, or the subtle rustle of a predator stalking its prey.

Aquila glided low above them, her wings whispering through the treetops. Every now and then she gave a soft cry that echoed faintly through the forest—a sound that kept lesser beasts from getting too curious.

Fenrir padded beside Damien’s left, his paws silent despite his size. When the children began to lag, Damien whistled, and Aquila swooped down gracefully, lowering her back so they could climb on. The kids hesitated only a moment before scrambling up, their nervous laughter echoing faintly.

The two women clung to Fenrir’s fur, marveling at how soft and warm it was. “He’s not… dangerous?” one of them asked timidly.

“Not unless I say so,” Damien replied without looking back. His tone was casual, but there was comfort in it—the kind that made people believe him, even when he was half-distracted by his thoughts.

The mercenary led with quiet confidence, cutting aside branches when needed. His name, Damien learned, was Rhen—a journeyman swordsman who’d once worked as a caravan guard before most of the routes in this region became too dangerous.

He was good—alert, efficient, and surprisingly calm around the beasts they passed. Still, Damien could see the man’s unease whenever his eyes strayed toward Fenrir’s hulking shadow or Aquila’s silhouette circling above.

“I thought summons like that were myths,” Rehn admitted once, glancing back as they paused by a stream. “Never seen one up close.”

“They’re not myths,” Damien said, crouching to test the water with his fingers. “They’re partners.”

The man nodded awkwardly, unsure how to respond. The word “partner” didn’t quite fit the kind of power he’d just seen, but he didn’t press further.

The children, though, had no such restraint. The youngest girl—dark-haired, barely six—kept peeking over Aquila’s wing.

“Does she talk?” she asked in a whisper.

“Sometimes,” Damien said, smiling faintly. “When she wants to make fun of me.”

The girl gasped softly, then broke into giggles when Aquila turned her head and made a low chirping sound that could almost be mistaken for laughter.

For a while, the weight in Damien’s chest lightened. He could almost forget that this same forest might still hide whoever had murdered Veyne and that innocent child. Almost.

Hours passed uneventfully until the sun began to climb, burning off the fog and painting the leaves gold. Then, without warning, a sharp tremor ran through the ground.

Rehn froze mid-step. The others stopped too, tension snapping through the group. “Something’s coming,” Damien said quietly. Fenrir’s ears twitched, Aquila swooped lower, and even the children sensed it, gripping each other’s hands.

The beast emerged from between two stone outcroppings—a large, quadrupedal creature of dark chitin and luminous eyes, its back covered in jagged, bark-like plates that shimmered with mana. A Grade Six forest predator, rare this deep inside the Verge.

Damien recognized the way its essence rippled through the soil—pure mana, not demonic. Still dangerous.

“Get back,” Rehn hissed, drawing his blade. He shifted into a defensive stance while Damien stood still, measuring the creature’s power.

“Don’t,” Damien said simply, moving forward. “It’s mine.”

Before Rehn could respond, Fenrir lunged. The beast met him head-on, the impact shaking branches loose. Damien didn’t need to intervene; Fenrir’s strength dwarfed its opponent’s. In less than a minute, the forest fell silent again except for the faint panting of the travelers.

“Grade Six?” Rehn muttered, awed. “You dealt with it like—like a pest.”

Damien brushed leaves off his shoulder. “If it was Grade Four, maybe I’d have broken a sweat.”

That earned a small, nervous laugh from the group. It helped. The fear in their faces dimmed a little, replaced by weary relief.

By midday, they reached a small clearing and decided to rest. Fenrir stretched out like a mountain beside them while Aquila perched on a low cliff, preening her feathers.

The children sat near Damien, too fascinated by Luton’s small, jelly-like body as it bounced around in the grass.

The slime had appeared quietly from Damien’s blue summoning portal when he called it. “You can pet it,” he told the youngest, who hesitated until Luton made a cheerful, bubbling sound and extended a tendril like an invitation.

Her laughter was pure and bright when she touched it. “It’s soft!”

“Of course it is,” Damien said, leaning back against a tree. “He’s the friendliest one I’ve got.”

The slime’s surface shimmered faintly, reflecting her face in red liquid. For a moment, even Damien found himself smiling.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed this calm—this reminder that there were still things in the world untouched by all the rot he’d seen.

—

By afternoon, they resumed their march. The trees thinned gradually until rays of sunlight broke through the canopy. Keren pointed ahead, voice tinged with relief. “We’re close. The town’s just beyond those hills—another three hours if we keep steady.”

The women smiled. The children began to chatter again, hope bright in their eyes. Even Damien relaxed slightly; his instincts had quieted, no longer humming with that edge of danger.

Then came another tremor—stronger this time.

Damien stopped mid-step. Every muscle in his body tensed. The travelers went silent. Fenrir’s fur bristled, Aquila screeched overhead. From between the roots of an enormous oak, something crawled out—a Grade Four mana beast, serpent-like, its scales etched with glowing lines of blue essence.

Rehn swore under his breath. “We can’t fight that thing—”

“You don’t have to,” Damien cut in, summoning with a flick of his wrist.

The ground rippled. Luton expanded, its small, playful shape ballooning in size until it towered over the serpent. Before anyone could process what was happening, the slime engulfed the beast whole.

A muffled roar came from inside, followed by silence. Then Luton contracted again, its jelly surface pristine, the mana beast completely gone. It bounced twice and rolled back toward Damien’s boots like an obedient pet.

The entire group stared, speechless.

Damien crouched, patting the slime. “Good job.”

Then he looked at the others, completely deadpan. “See? Nothing to worry about. I told you—you’re safe with me.”

The travelers exchanged looks somewhere between awe and fear. The little girl, however, clapped. “He’s funny!” she said, pointing at Luton, who wobbled happily at the attention.

The tension broke. Even the women chuckled softly, the absurdity of the scene lightening what could’ve been terror.

By late afternoon, the forest began to thin entirely. The line of trees gave way to open grasslands, dotted with pale flowers. In the distance, the structures that resembled buildings marked the town they’d been heading for.

Rehn exhaled. “We made it.”

The women hugged their children. The air tasted different here—free of that heavy, wild mana that dominated the forest.

Damien stopped near the last cluster of trees. “You should reach the gates in about an hour,” he said. “Follow the main road and keep to the lanterns.”

Rehn frowned. “You’re not coming?”

Damien shook his head. “No. I can’t exactly walk into another city unannounced. Too many questions, too much paperwork.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” said one of the women, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, truly.”

The children waved at him from Aquila’s back, smiling wide. “Bye, Mister! Bye, big dog! Bye, squishy!”

Damien chuckled softly. “Take care of yourselves.”

He gestured, and Fenrir began padding forward again, carrying them the rest of the way. Aquila took to the skies above, guiding from the air.

Damien followed silently for a while, keeping a distant watch until he saw them crest the last hill, where the town’s watchlights flickered like stars. Only then did he raise a hand and release his summons.

Aquila and Fenrir faded into light, leaving behind only the echo of wings and the faint shimmer of dissolving essence. The group, now a safe distance away, would never even notice.

Damien exhaled deeply. The world fell quiet again.

He stood alone on the edge of the forest, moonlight filtering through the canopy. For a moment, he just listened—the wind, the rustle of leaves, the slow, steady beat of his own heart.

He’d done good today. But it wasn’t enough. Somewhere out here, someone had staged the murder at the northern gate, and they’d made him chase shadows into these woods while they slipped by.

His gaze turned back toward the dark horizon, where the Verdant Verge stretched endlessly like a sleeping beast.

“I let them play me,” he muttered. “Fine.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep