Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave slept little that night—enough to function without issue, but not much more. All of his time was spent studying the spell [Bloodfeud Bow]. The ‘how’ of things still eluded him—the B-rank matrix felt fragile, and his attempts to put it into motion simply made it break. It felt like he was trying to pick up a house of cards and move it elsewhere. It didn’t matter how he distributed the force, or if he applied it evenly across the whole thing—to set the spell matrix into motion was to break it.

Despite his failures, he was not discouraged. Never again, he repeated mentally time and time again. He could never again relax, never again fall into contentment. Everything could be taken from him in a heartbeat if he was not adequately prepared.

The expeditionary forces were rallied early in the morning. Orion brought with him ten of his Waxknights, and Argrave brought his three companions, plus Silvic. In total, that placed them at sixteen. All had plenty of rations. Orion brought a weapon along. It was an ornate flanged mace made of black metal and gilded with snakes on the shaft, and thoroughly enchanted.

Orion distributed backpacks full of rations to all, including Argrave and his companions—they had been diligently gathered and preserved. The Waxknights accompanying them were C-rank mages, one and all, and seemed to be skilled with their blades.

The morning was spent by Silvic—in truth, Anneliese—scouting out a proper path. The obfuscation was paranoid caution on Argrave’s part, concealing some of their abilities in case they needed them. Anneliese marked the trees in the vast wetlands ahead with her Starsparrow. Argrave repaid some of his debt to Erlebnis—the first hours of the journey would be safe, he knew. He would likely regain his ability to use the Blessing of Supersession the next morning.

After their preparations…

“If you stray too far from me, my power wanes. Barring Orion, perhaps, all will die. The wetlands themselves will consume you in hours, and none will find your body,” Silvic cautioned.

“How dangerous can it be for knights of the faithful?” a Waxknight rebuffed.

Silvic turned her head towards him. “I will not make you believe me. I see no reason to stop you from killing yourself.”

Orion crossed his arms. “Heeds the spirit’s words. We are allies against evil,” he commanded.

“Then we may go whenever you are ready,” Silvic directed.

Orion stepped away, peering through the trees into the vast wetlands beyond. A cold morning mist blocked much vision ahead. This fog seemed different, somehow—the wind did not affect it.

“Oh gods,” Orion sung. “As I walk through hardships, protect me, your Lordships…”

Orion stepped ahead first, heading into the wetlands. Argrave pulled his gloves a bit tighter and then walked forward just after him. Soon enough, the whole party disappeared into the cold morning mist, heading for the foul Plague Jester.

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towards the first fortress, the unnaturalness of

by the side of this slow-moving character, staying within the safe zone as they moved to the first fortress. Now… things were different, death was reality, and Argrave was tense. He and

A cold mist surrounded them just outside a boundary as though they were trapped in a bubble. This mist writhed and twisted into shapes, faces, and let out muffled screams that were horrifyingly intense. Beyond that, the wetlands themselves twisted and writhed and bubbled, mud and water stretching and contorting

fog shrouded them as though it were solid, and the light of the sun faded. The Waxknights were forced to light the way with spell light. The waters rose, and before long, everyone waded through knee-high muck. Well, mostly everyone—Argrave was glad to be tall more than ever as the ice-cold waters stung at his

passed… the

were the leopards. Their element of surprise was ruined by Silvic’s presence, who warned their party long before they came. Even still, their assault was a formidable thing—they came from the trees, jumping down from above, and simultaneously attacked from

of being blessed by 96 gods was no delusion. It was fact, and that was made wholly evident through the

to get at them, Orion raised his foot up and stamped the water. His foot did not sink back in the water—instead, it met something solid, and he stood up out of the water. In not seconds, a wall of ice formed around their

it to get at their party. Argrave attacked sparingly, making good use of his escort. He had

began to shake, and Silvic said, “The

coming!” Argrave relayed, but none treated this as seriously as they should have—most didn’t

had established, bringing with it a tidal wave of water. Its skin was black, reminiscent of volcanic rock. It slammed into two Waxknights in its charge, tossing them aside with ease. It

he started,

He held one hand out and caught the top of the hippo’s open mouth. His legs stayed firm, appearing indomitable. His elbow bent as it received and halted the hippo’s charge, enchantments sparking as they protested the great

may be strong…” Orion said, a foul anger in his

uppercut. It struck the hippo on the bottom of its jaw. It was

finished. He reached out his hand and finished the hippo, pressing through its eye to destroy the brain. Once he pulled his hand free, he looked beyond the breach in the ice wall, where two more of the gigantic creatures approached. Orion stepped atop

atop one of the ice walls, and his gaze locked onto it. A black gibbon as large as a man hung from one of the trees, one of its too-long arms clinging to the branch. The other held a stick

had a pouch on its neck—it inflated with air, letting out a quaint sound as it turned pinker. After, it let out a staccato call, several high-pitched hoos that filled the air. Argrave tensed, and as the gibbon called, the apes descended on them en masse, swinging from

immediately. A thread of his blood formed a circle before his hands as the Waxknights confronted the apes, immediately proving his caution warranted. The apes swung their light-imbued

mere knights. Their waxpox-ridden skin was as hard as stone, and they felt no pain. What few blows they did not parry with their enchanted blades were returned twofold, and the gibbons fell one after the other. Though they stemmed the tide

B-rank ward—her own magic, this time, and not from her ring—to confront the tide of apes that hunted them. The sticks slammed against the golden ward as the apes cried out angrily, and

his dark blood towards each and all that pressed further. It was an overwhelming slaughter, and Argrave did not need to use even a quarter as many as he had against the Sentinels in the Marred Hallowed Ground. A good thing, too—receiving a single blow

Argrave prepared to fight, only to see the hippo scrambled away on its back, feet swinging through the air as it