The elders whispered among themselves, voices thick with dissatisfaction.

They hadn't gotten what they wanted out of Arden, and the sharpness in their stares said as much. Perhaps they had expected him to buckle under their pressure, or thought his tongue would loosen if they pressed hard enough. Instead, they were left with empty hands, and the frustration in the room was heavy.

The lord finally raised his hand, the chamber quieting at once.

His voice carried through the hall, low but commanding, the kind that left no space for argument.

"You will not be held here any longer. But Greyhold still has need of your strength.

The supply route to our city has seen too many disruptions, merchants robbed, wagons burned, and goods lost. You will take charge of its protection. If Creed is involved, you will discover it. If not, then at least our roads will run clean."

Arden met the man's eyes, reading what he didn't say. It wasn't about Creed. They didn't care much about the shadow stirring beyond their walls. What mattered was coin, trade, the flow of wealth into Greyhold. Still, Arden inclined his head with respect.

"We'll see it done."

The meeting ended there.

The elders muttered among themselves again as Arden's party turned to leave, their words fading into noise the farther they walked.

Outside the castle gates, the air felt lighter. Rael let out a long breath, clutching at his chest.

"Spirits, I thought my ribs would crack from that pressure."

Nyra rolled her eyes, though the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed she'd felt it too. "You were the one grinning like an idiot when we walked in."

Rael smirked. "Better to grin than show them I was choking."

Even Zephyra gave a low growl that almost passed for laughter, her tail sweeping across the dirt.

Arden allowed himself a faint smile, then shifted the talk back. "The mission isn't just a simple guard run. You've heard the stories, merchants keep vanishing on that road. Creed has a hand in this. I can feel it."

Nyra's expression sobered. "Then it's more than wagons and supplies. If they're bold enough to strike this close, it means their claws are deeper than anyone admits."

Arden nodded. "Which is why we'll take it. It keeps us busy until Boro is done with the elixirs, and it gives us a clearer path toward them. Think of it as training ground and hunt rolled into one."

With that, the group set out. The supply route cut through the first zone, so the danger wasn't pressing. Beasts still came, drawn by the scent of wagons or the flicker of aether, but they were nothing the party couldn't handle.

Nyra's ice blades pierced through scaled hides. Rael's lightning twisted into sharp bursts that stunned the monsters before they could even get close. Zephyra pounced on a stray wolfbeast, her claws tearing it apart in a single strike.

Arden only stepped in when the numbers grew larger, guiding them with short commands, his blade flashing whenever the fight leaned too heavily against his party.

When the road was quiet, they trained. Rael and Nyra sparred often, sometimes too fiercely, until Arden had to step in to break them apart before they destroyed half the camp.

Arden watched his range with a careful eye, his life sense always stretched outward, a net brushing against the world around him.

He felt the rhythm of merchants passing in and out of his range, their wagons creaking along, the faint flares of their guards' life energy. Most of it was ordinary. Days passed like that, quiet, almost dull.

Then, as Rael threw a playful grin Zephyra's way, fist raised for yet another spar, Arden's voice cut through the camp. Calm, steady, but sharp enough to still every movement.

"Not today." His eyes narrowed, gaze turning toward the road ahead. "Looks like we finally have something."

The road narrowed into a stretch of broken earth, trees leaning in on both sides, and that was when the shadows came.

Figures stepped out from the undergrowth, faces hidden behind cloth and crude masks, weapons glinting in the morning light.

By the time the wagons halted, the merchants were surrounded, the circle tight enough that not even a horse could break through.

"Drop the goods," their leader barked, his tone dripping with the kind of false confidence that came from years of preying on the weak. "And maybe you leave with your lives."

The guards didn't wait for a second threat. Steel hissed out of scabbards, aether flared across the line as they threw themselves forward, blades and elements cutting into the first wave. Screams burst through the air.

These weren't simple roadside thieves. The way they moved, the way they let themselves fall back only to strike with more precision, it was rehearsed.

The guards fought bravely, but the tide shifted too quickly.

Soon the bandits had them pinned, blades at throats, flames pressed too close to wagons. A few guards were on the ground, groaning, bleeding into the dirt.

The merchants began to panic, clutching their purses tight, some already fumbling coins from their sleeves.

"Goods for your lives," another bandit shouted, kicking a guard aside. "Empty the wagons, toss the coins. Move, or die where you stand!"

One by one, the merchants began to give in, their hands trembling as they reached for bags and boxes. The bandits sneered, already sorting through the spoils, like hyenas tearing apart a carcass.

And that was when Arden arrived.

He stepped forward, calm as ever, his boots sinking slightly into the dirt. His eyes swept over the bandits once, then narrowed. His voice carried across the still air, quiet but sharp enough to cut through the noise.

"That's enough."

Every head turned, and for a moment even the bandits hesitated, as though something heavier than his words alone pressed against their chests.

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