Chapter 62 - Concealment

The air in the forest grows heavier with each step we take, my cheeks feel flush as a heat rises under the canopy of trees. 

Through the lens, there is an abundance of colour, but the one strand we are following is becoming alarmingly dominant. 

Thin, angry wisps of red mana, that were almost imperceivable by the gate, are now a constant presence. Even when I lower the lens I can’t get the image out of my head. 

The deeper we venture, the more the forest itself seems to scream out to us. Great trees are snapped in half, their splintered remains pointing to the sky like broken bones. 

The ground is gouged with deep furrows, as if something immense and furious has torn its way through, churning the rich earth into a wasteland of mud and uprooted ferns. 

The soldiers, who were marching stoically, are now visibly unsettled. Their eyes are visibly darting at the areas of the woods where the morning sun hasn’t quite been able to penetrate the cover of leaves; leaving me with my own feelings of unease. 

It's the kind of carnage I imagine would be left behind from the Jougalin that chased me, but it’s too wide spread to be a singular incident. 

We press on, the silence broken only by the crunch of our boots on shattered branches. 

I raise the lens intermittently, scanning the path ahead. The red strands are getting thicker as we continue to follow this dominant strain.

As we approach the clearing up ahead I notice the strand split in two perfectly down the centre.

It seems to flow around the clearing, but doesn’t dare to cross into it. 

“Clovis there’s something you need to see.” The expedition party halts at my words.

I pass her the lens. She peers through it, her expression hardening as she takes in the scene. "It’s avoiding the clearing?" she whispers, more to herself than to me.

 I turn to Arrian and Roach and try to project some level of confidence. "If you want to take a rest. The sickness in the air doesn't seem to enter this space."

Arrian gives me a skeptical look but doesn't argue. He can tell his men look like their nerves have been frayed. Roach nods in agreement. "Alright. Check your gear and drink some water."

The clearing itself is a void, an island of normalcy in a sea of tainted magic. The grass within is a vibrant green untouched by a single thing. 

The relief among the soldiers is palpable. They begin to file into the clearing, the tension in their shoulders easing slightly as they lower their packs and lie down on the grass. 

As the last man steps over the invisible threshold and the expedition begins to settle down for a much-needed break, the world erupts.

From the mangled treeline, a wave of guttural snarls and high-pitched shrieks shatters the chit-chat that had only just begun. 

A horde of monsters burst past the treeline, an amalgamation of shapes and sizes. 

A large pack of what look like angry purple racoons begin to run towards us. They might be the Turshades Orville told me about, they sort of fit the description.

But with them are creatures I don’t need to be introduced to, my passing interest in fantasy tells me what they are immediately. They’re small, wiry beings with green skin and faces that are a grotesque parody of a child's, all sharp teeth and malicious glee.

Goblins. 

"Ambush!" Roach roars, his sword already drawn. "Protective formation! Protect the lens!"

Instantly, the soldiers snap into action, their brief rest forgotten. 

“What the fuck are those green things.” I hear one of the men say before falling in line.

They form a circle around me, their backs to me, their shields and spears facing outward. Clovis and Aniro are inside the circle with me, their hands already glowing with nascent spells.

"A fine 'safe' place you've chosen for us, Lens." Arrian snarls, parrying the wild swing of a goblin's slash with a contemptuous flick of his blade.

"Focus on the fight at hand Arrian!" Roach barks, shoving his shield into the face of a lunging Turshade.

The thing’s eyes slump off the top of his shield but the jaw stays attached, in a frightening display of evolutionary versatility. 

I try to follow the fight, but it's a maelstrom of depraved motion.

This green glade has become the battleground. The soldiers attempt to hold the line, a disciplined wall of iron against the frenzied tide, but the sheer number of monsters is overwhelming. 

I can only watch in horror as one of the soldiers staggers back, his arm sliced open by a goblin's jagged claw. 

Clovis is diligent with her incantations, they’re a melodic counterpoint to the din of battle. 

A shimmering green aura surrounds the wounded soldier, his bleeding cut sealing immediately. I want to help but I can’t risk passing out here, I’ve been given my duty and I must uphold it. 

Aniro raises his hands, and a web of crackling lightning erupts from his fingertips, arcing between three goblins and leaving them twitching on the ground. 

Despite his arrogant nature, Arrian is a standout fighter. He moves with a deadly, baltic grace. He takes on three, four monsters at a time, his sword a chosen instrument of death.

Where the other soldiers are fighting for survival, he seems to be in his element, a predator relishing the hunt. I’m genuinely impressed, watching him hold his section of the line almost single-handedly.

The fight rages on for what feels like an eternity as I am trapped in the epicenter of the entropy. 

Slowly and agonizingly, the tide turns. The number of monsters dwindles, their frenzied charge breaking against the unyielding wall. 

The last goblin is cut down by Roach, its shriek cut short.

Our victory secured.

The ground littered with the grotesque corpses of monsters.

No one dares to utter a cry for victory as the cost of victory has not yet been seen.

Men and women look at each other trying to figure who is who and who is lost.

“You’re all fine!” Clovis shouts in a deep tone I’ve never heard her use before.

At which point a cheer erupts from the soldiers. But I can’t bring myself to join in on their triumph after all I was the one who put them into this mess with my half-formed understanding. 

If I’m going to fully understand why they attacked us so quickly I need to see what happens to the monster’s mana stones after they’ve been slain.

Even with my hands still trembling I manage to find the focus to channel my mana into the lens once again and the sight that greets me makes me hold my breath.

Thick streams of dull, murky red erupt in a torrential flood. It's not a gentle release; it's a violent expulsion of energy.

It doesn't rise into the air or sink into the earth.

Every single strand of energy, from the faintest wisp to the vibrant currents, is being drawn in a single direction. Leaping and bounding for the edge of the treeline to conform back to the great, invisible river of multicoloured mana. 

But that’s the least of my concern as I notice it’s not only the monster’s mana being dragged away, it’s everyone else’s too.