Chapter 46: Caravan
"Just some small fries." Isolde flicked her wrist, and a glowing red rune circle flared to life midair.
Before Oliver could even blink, a column of black flame roared up from the ground, engulfing the nearest Timberfang. The smell of scorched fur filled the air as the creature collapsed, whimpering once before going still.
The other wolves hesitated — then lunged.
Isolde didn’t so much as take a step. Another rune circle bloomed in front of her hand, then another, until five were orbiting her like a halo of death. They lit up in sequence, sending thin, surgical lines of fire and force slicing through the beasts as if they were nothing but smoke.
When the last Timberfang twitched and went limp, Oliver was still clutching his spear, frozen.
"Why aren’t you finishing them off?" he asked, baffled.
"You were supposed to at least try to stab one." Isolde crossed her arms and gave him a mock pout.
"Why should I? You killed them. I’m not gonna steal your exp points." Oliver snorted.
"Exp points?" Isolde arched an eyebrow. "You really think I care about such things?" With a lazy wave of her hand, the smoldering corpses were flung off the path by telekinesis. "I wanted you to gain experience, not me."
Oliver blinked, then scratched his head sheepishly. "...Right. Guess that makes sense. You’re already so strong a few points wouldn’t matter to you anyway."
"Exactly."
"Fine, next time I’ll stab something."
"Good boy." She started walking again, a smug little smile playing on her lips.
Oliver grumbled under his breath but followed. Despite the lingering smell of burnt fur, he felt strangely at ease walking beside her.
The trees grew thinner as they went, more sunlight streaming through the canopy. The air was fresher here, crisp, and the oppressive weight of the deep forest seemed to fade away.
"Almost out?" Oliver asked hopefully.
"Almost," Isolde confirmed. "If the lay of the land hasn’t changed in the last few centuries, we should hit open roads by afternoon."
"Good." Oliver sighed in relief — only to catch her amused glance.
"What?" she asked "You sound pretty sure nothing’s changed in hundreds of years. And you sound way too calm about it."
Oliver said with a shrug. "Actually, I think it’s the opposite. Humans are greedy. If this land’s been unclaimed all this time, odds are they’ve already expanded into it. If we’re lucky, that means the edge of the forest is closer than you think."
Isolde considered that, then nodded slowly. "Hmm. That is true. Humans never stop taking what isn’t theirs."
"You’re asking me? I’d say that’s our defining trait," Oliver replied dryly.
Their pace quickened after that. The rest of the journey passed quietly, with only the occasional distant cry of a beast — nothing that dared to approach them.
By late afternoon, they reached the foot of the mountain where the forest began to thin into scattered trees and open glades. Just an hour more, and they would be out.
Then —
A shrill female scream echoed through the forest.
Both of them froze.
The sound was sharp enough to make Oliver freeze mid-step.
"That was a scream, right?" he asked, gripping his spear tighter.
Isolde’s expression hardened instantly. "Yes. Human."
Without waiting for him, she dashed toward the source of the cry, her movements so fast that Oliver had to sprint to keep up. Branches whipped past his face as they tore through the underbrush, the sound of rustling leaves mixing with the faint, panicked voice calling for help.
They burst into a small clearing — and found chaos.
A young woman, barely older than Oliver, was cornered against a tree by a hulking beast. It was like a boar, but twice the size of the one they had eaten last night, with curved tusks glowing faintly with mana. Its hide looked thick enough to deflect ordinary weapons.
"A Tuskhorn," Isolde said sharply, raising a hand. "Mid-tier beast. Dangerous in packs... but even one can kill if you’re careless."
"Then what are we—"
Before Oliver could finish, the beast charged.
Isolde flicked her wrist, forming a magic circle in the air, but the creature was fast. It slammed into the tree just as the girl rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Bark splintered and rained down around her.
"Oliver, move!" Isolde barked.
This time he didn’t hesitate. Heart hammering, he lunged forward with his spear, jabbing at the beast’s flank. The tip barely scratched its hide, but it was enough to get its attention.
"Hey! Over here, ugly!" he shouted, stepping back quickly.
The Tuskhorn snorted, pawing the ground before charging at him.
Oliver cursed under his breath — and then Isolde’s rune flared to life. A barrier of glowing red energy erupted between Oliver and the beast, and when it struck, the barrier absorbed most of the impact before shattering into sparks.
"Good bait," Isolde said coolly. "Now get behind me."
Oliver didn’t need telling twice. He dove out of the way as Isolde summoned three more circles, each one humming with power.
The Tuskhorn turned toward her, readying another charge.
This time, Isolde was ready.
[Sever]
A sharp line of red light lanced forward, striking the creature’s front leg. It stumbled with a bellow, blood spraying from the wound.
It didn’t go down, though — instead, it roared louder, its tusks glowing even brighter, steam hissing from its nostrils.
"It’s going berserk!" Oliver shouted.
"Then we finish it quickly."
The beast charged again, faster this time despite its injured leg. Isolde leapt sideways, landing gracefully, while Oliver instinctively thrust his spear as it passed. The tip sank deeper this time, making the creature squeal in pain.
"Again!" Isolde commanded.
Oliver obeyed, darting forward to stab at its exposed side. This time, the spear left a deep gouge.
The beast turned sluggishly toward him, but before it could lunge, Isolde’s final rune activated.
A wave of red fire swept over the clearing, washing over the Tuskhorn. When the flames vanished, the creature collapsed to the ground, smoking and still.
Oliver stood there panting, sweat dripping down his face.
"That..." he said between breaths, "was terrifying."
Isolde smirked. "You did well for someone who refused to fight earlier."
"Yeah, well... I like living." He grinned weakly, lowering his spear.
The young woman they’d saved slowly stood, her face pale and her clothes torn from her near-death struggle.
"T-Thank you..." she said shakily. "I... I thought I was going to die."
"You nearly did," Isolde replied flatly, though there was no malice in her tone. "What are you doing in a forest like this alone?"
"I-I was with a caravan," the girl explained, trembling. "We were attacked by beasts. I got separated... I’ve been running ever since."
Oliver glanced at Isolde. "Caravan means a road can’t be far."
"Correct." Isolde nodded, turning her gaze toward the girl. "Take us there. If there are survivors, they might have news of the area."
The girl nodded quickly, still shaken, and began leading them toward the direction she had come from.
Oliver exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing. "Half a day, you said. We might actually make it."
"Assuming the caravan wasn’t completely wiped out," Isolde replied calmly, following behind the girl.
"Great," Oliver muttered. "No pressure."
The caravan wasn’t far — maybe a ten-minute walk from where they had fought the Tuskhorn.
But when they arrived, the sight that greeted them was grim.
Wagons lay splintered and overturned, crates cracked open, their contents scattered across the dirt. Blood streaked the ground in dark trails, and the air smelled of iron and smoke. Here and there, people sat or lay groaning, clutching bandaged arms or legs. At least a dozen of them were still breathing, though most looked badly wounded.
Oliver exhaled in relief. At least no one’s dead.
As soon as the girl saw the camp, she broke into a run.
"Dad!" she cried.
A middle-aged man, who had been crouched by an injured guard, turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes went wide, and he dropped what he was holding, rushing toward her.
"Mia!" He swept her up in a crushing hug, tears welling in his eyes. "Thank the Gods—you’re safe!"
Oliver, standing a few steps behind, scratched his cheek and muttered under his breath, "You should be thanking us, not the Gods..."
But the man must have heard, because he quickly turned — and froze when he saw Oliver and Isolde standing there.
Before he could speak, Mia pointed back at them eagerly.
"Dad, they saved me! They killed the beast so easily, you should’ve seen it!"
The man’s expression softened, then shifted to one of deep respect. He released his daughter gently and walked toward them.
"Then it is I who owe you my deepest gratitude," he said, bowing low despite his ragged state. "Thank you for saving my daughter. I do not know how I can repay this kindness."
Isolde waved her hand dismissively, looking bored. "No need for repayment. We just happened to be passing through."
Oliver scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by the man’s deep bow. "Seriously, it’s fine. Just... focus on patching your people up. There are still injured."