The morning sun over Oakhaven was choked by dark, heavy rainclouds, casting the Great Gate in a cold, metallic grey.
A sharp, biting wind whistled through the iron portcullis, carrying the scent of damp earth and coming storm from the wild expanses beyond the city walls. In the central cobblestone courtyard of the Mercenary Guild Vanguard, over fifty armored mercenaries, scout handlers, and supply porters had assembled in tight, disciplined rows.
Among them stood Kaelen Ashford.
He wore his frayed linen tunic under a patched leather vest, a heavy burlap pack slung over his shoulder. At his waist hung Old Bram’s crude iron hunting knife—the only weapon he was legally permitted to carry as a non-licensed civilian.
Around his neck hung a heavy brass collar tied to a coarse rope—the mark of an Auxiliary Supply Handler drafted under the Kingdom’s Emergency Conscription Edict.
"Keep moving, trash! Stack those crates by the transport wagons!"
A burly House Vance guard shoved a young dockworker behind Kaelen, making the boy stumble into the wet mud. The guard laughed, his iron-plated gauntlet resting heavily on the hilt of his broadsword.
Kaelen didn't blink. His expression remained a mask of dull, submissive exhaustion—the exact look expected of a hopeless, destitute dock laborer.
Beneath the hem of his trousers, resting completely imperceptible within the dark shadow cast by his boots, a faint ripple of cold energy stirred.
Master... these fragile fools smell like grease and fear, Nox's voice echoed directly into Kaelen’s mind through the Primitive Mental Mesh. The communication was completely soundless, bypassing the air entirely. Should I tear their throats out now?
Not yet, Nox, Kaelen replied silently, keeping his eyes fixed on the muddy cobblestones. Let them march us into the forest first. Outside the city walls, there are no guards, no Overseers, and no rules.
Nox let out a silent, contented purr in Kaelen's shadow. With Void Stealth II and Abyssal Cloak I active, the Ancestral Primal Void-Stalker—a creature boasting a terrifying True Combat Rating of 770—was utterly invisible to every scrying artifact and mana-lens in the courtyard. To the Guild's public evaluation crystal mounted above the gatehouse, Kaelen was still just a useless Failed Summoner carrying a CR 1 pest.
A sudden trumpet blast echoed off the high stone ramparts.
The heavy iron doors of the High Precinct guardhouse swung open, and the crowd of mercenaries parted, coming to sharp attention.
Riding at the head of a mounted vanguard was Valerius Vance.
The eighteen-year-old noble was clad in magnificent, crimson-and-gold plate armor forged from enchanted dwarven steel. Atop his chest sat the raised crest of House Vance. Beside his armored gelding strode his primary summon: the Crimson Flame Drake.
The beast had grown significantly over the past few days, now standing nine feet tall at the shoulder. Its ruby scales gleamed under the grey sky, smoke curling lazily from its nostrils, and its Combat Rating soared proudly on a hovering guild banner behind it: [CR 380 - GOLD GRADE].
Behind Valerius rode a dozen scions of wealthy merchant houses and minor noble families, all eager to earn military merit by joining House Vance's clearing expedition into the dangerous Gloom Ravine.
"Look at him," a young auxiliary porter beside Kaelen whispered in terror, his knees shaking. "That’s Lord Valerius... his Flame Drake could incinerate a whole village in seconds. We’re going into the Ravine with monsters like that?"
"We're not here to fight," Kaelen said softly, his voice low and flat. "We're here to carry their gear."
"Gear?" The porter swallowed hard. "I heard we’re carrying the Blood-Lure bags. The ones rubbed with dragon-gut oil to draw the apex predators out of their dens..."
Before Kaelen could answer, heavy iron boots slammed against the wet cobblestones in front of them.
Captain Vane—a scar-faced veteran mercenary with a jagged eye patch and a towering Steel-Hide Bear (CR 450) padded alongside him—halted before the row of auxiliary handlers.
"Listen up, dung-scrapers!" Vane barked, his voice like grinding stone. "You're the Auxiliary Vanguard for this hunting run into Gloom Ravine. Your job is simple: carry the supply crates, pitch the tents, and lay down the scent lines when we reach the target zones. You move when we say move, and you run where we say run. Anyone tries to desert or drop their pack gets a crossbow bolt through the spine! Understood?"
"Yes, Captain!" the porters quavered in unison.
Vane’s single eye swept down the line of draft workers until it locked onto Kaelen. A cruel, knowing smirk touched the captain's lips.
"Ah. Kaelen Ashford," Vane sneered, stepping closer until the stench of stale ale and pipe tobacco wafted over Kaelen. "Young Lord Valerius specifically requested your presence on the forward scout squad. He said a dockworker who handles beast dung all day should be expert at handling blood-lure."
Vane reached into a heavy leather pouch at his hip and tossed a greasy, foul-smelling burlap sack directly onto Kaelen's chest.
Kaelen caught it cleanly. The bag was soaked in a thick, dark crimson paste that reeked of rotten bile, crushed copper, and musk.
[WARNING: HIGH-CONCENTRATION BLOOD-LURE PASTE DETECTED] [EFFECT: ATTRACTS APEX CARNIVORES WITHIN A 3-MILE RADIUS] [SYSTEM EVALUATION: DANGEROUS HIGH-RISK BAIT MATERIAL]
"You carry the primary lure bag at the front of the scout line, Ashford," Vane instructed with a harsh laugh. "When we reach the throat of Gloom Ravine, you'll walk two hundred paces ahead of the main column to lay the trail. If a monster comes out, you hold your ground and blow this horn. Lord Valerius will then swoop in and claim the kill."
It was a death sentence disguised as a supply duty.
Walking two hundred paces ahead of an armored column while drenched in Blood-Lure Paste meant that any CR 300+ apex predator lurking in Gloom Ravine would hit the bait handler first—tearing them apart before the nobles even drew their swords.
Valerius Vance trotted his mount over, coming to a halt beside Captain Vane. The noble boy looked down at Kaelen from his high saddle, his eyes filled with cold, condescending mockery.
"Well, well, Ashford," Valerius purred, resting his gloved hand on the pommel of his jeweled broadsword. "I promised you back at the Awakening Altar that you'd find your proper place in this world. A Failed Summoner with a CR 1 rat is worthless in a real fight, but as human bait? You might actually contribute something to the kingdom before you die."
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The surrounding noble youths chuckled arrogantly, their Silver-Grade mounts snorting in agreement.
Kaelen slowly lowered his head, bowing slightly to conceal the razor-sharp glint of cold amusement in his eyes.
"I will follow your orders, Lord Valerius," Kaelen said quietly, his voice devoid of anger or trembling.
Valerius frowned slightly, seemingly disappointed by Kaelen's lack of panic, but quickly shrugged it off. He turned his horse back toward the gate. "Forward column, move out! Next stop, Gloom Ravine!"
The heavy iron gates of Oakhaven groaned open, and the expedition force marched out into the mist.
The trek from the city gates to the jagged perimeter of Gloom Ravine took nearly three hours.
As the column penetrated deeper into the ancient, untouched stretches of the Whispering Woods, the forest canopy thickened until sunlight was reduced to a dim, greenish twilight. The atmospheric pressure grew heavy, laden with swamp gas and the underlying aura of wild, untamed monsters.
Gloom Ravine was a massive, subterranean fissure carved into the earth centuries ago—a sprawling labyrinth of narrow granite canyons, subterranean rivers, and dense briar thickets known to harbour territorial, high-CR beasts.
At the edge of the gorge cliff, Captain Vane raised his iron gauntlet, bringing the fifty-man column to a halt.
"This is the drop zone!" Vane shouted. "Scout squad, prepare the lure!"
Vane gestured toward Kaelen and three other terrified auxiliary handlers. "Ashford! Take your bag and lead your squad down into the canyon pass. Walk two hundred paces into the narrow ravine and smear that paste along the rock walls! The rest of the column will wait up here on the high ridge to set up an ambush!"
The three other porters turned pale as chalk, one of them bursting into tears. "Captain, please! That's suicide! There are Blood-Spined Manticores down in that ravine! If we go down there with lure bags, we'll be dead before you can even ride down!"
CRACK!
Captain Vane drew his heavy whip and lashed the weeping porter across the shoulders, sending the boy screaming to the muddy ground.
"Shut your trap, rat!" Vane roared. "You move now, or I’ll gut you here and bleed you over the rocks myself! Get moving!"
Kaelen didn't wait for another whip strike. He hoisted the heavy, oil-soaked lure bag onto his shoulder and began descending the slippery stone steps cut into the canyon wall.
"Follow me," Kaelen called back quietly to the three terrified handlers. "Keep your mouths shut and stay five paces behind me."
Reluctantly, trembling uncontrollably, the three boys scrambled down after him.
Above them on the high ridge, Valerius Vance and his noble entourage lined up along the cliff edge, their bows drawn and summons ready, watching the bait squad walk into the shadow of the ravine like spectators at a blood sport.
"Watch closely, gentlemen," Valerius chuckled, stroking the neck of his flaming drake. "When the Manticore bursts out, Ashford will scream like a pig. That's our cue to fire."
Down in the gloom of the canyon floor, the air was freezing cold and damp. High stone walls rose sixty feet on either side, blocking out all sky and trapping the thick mist in the narrow corridor.
Kaelen stopped two hundred paces inside the gorge, right at a narrow choke point where the granite walls pinched close together.
He unslung the burlap lure bag and smeared a glob of the thick crimson paste onto a large lichen-covered boulder. The pungent odor exploded into the air, instantly wafting through the canyon breeze like a beacon of fresh blood.
"K-Kaelen..." one of the porters whimpered, staring into the pitch-black cavern mouth twenty yards ahead. "The ground... the ground is shaking..."
THUMP.
THUMP.
Deep within the subterranean cavern, a heavy, rhythmic footfall echoed out. The gravel on the canyon floor vibrated, small pebbles bouncing.
Red, glowing compound eyes ignited in the pitch darkness of the cave mouth.
A terrifying screech tore through the canyon—a high-pitched, metallic shriek that vibrated through the marrow of Kaelen's bones.
Out from the darkness slithered a massive, monstrous beast.
It was over twenty feet long, its body covered in jagged, iron-hard obsidian scales. Its head resembled a nightmare hybrid of a viper and an armored centipede, dripping green corrosive venom from four mandibles. Attached to its spine were six muscular, membrane wings that rattled like dry bones.
The System evaluation window flashed violently in front of Kaelen's eyes:
[MONSTER DETECTED: ABLATIVE GLOOM-WYRM] [TIER: GOLD-GRADE APEX CARNIVORE] [COMBAT RATING: 420] [STATUS: FRENZIED BY BLOOD-LURE PASTE]
"A Gloom-Wyrm! CR 420!" the porters shrieked in absolute terror, dropping their packs and scrambling back toward the cliff trail in blind panic. "RUN! IT'S A GOLD-GRADE MONSTER!"
Up on the high cliff, Valerius Vance’s eyes widened in shock as he looked down. "A CR 420 Wyrm?! Captain, that beast's rating is higher than my Flame Drake!"
"Hold your ground, My Lord!" Vane shouted, drawing his broadsword. "Let the Wyrm strike the bait first! Once its jaws are locked into Ashford, we fire everything we have!"
Down in the canyon, Kaelen stood completely alone before the twenty-foot armored monster.
The Gloom-Wyrm hissed, its four venomous mandibles spreading wide as it reared back, its tail whipping through the air to crush the solitary human standing before it.
Kaelen didn't run. He didn't scream.
He slowly unbuttoned the brass collar around his neck, letting the heavy metal ring fall onto the blood-soaked mud.
He looked up at the towering CR 420 beast with cold, unwavering eyes, a faint, razor-thin smile touching his lips.
Nox, Kaelen whispered through the mental mesh. It's time to feed.
From the deep shadow beneath Kaelen's boots, a tide of pure, light-devouring darkness exploded upward.
ROAAAAAAAR!
A primordial roar—one that had not echoed upon the earth for ten thousand years—shattered the quiet of Gloom Ravine.
The massive Gloom-Wyrm froze mid-strike, its frenzied red eyes dilating in instant, instinctive, paralyzing terror.
Up on the cliff top, Valerius’s Gold-Grade Flame Drake let out a pitiful screech, collapsing onto its knees as its entire body trembled violently in unadulterated dread.
The hunter had just realized it was standing in front of the ultimate predator.