NOVEL NEXT Chapter 57: Veldora Grows Stronger...
The morning light seeped through the cracks in the shutters, casting thin bars of gold across the wooden floor. Aleron stirred, his mind still holding the faint echo of last night's dream.
For a moment, he almost wished he could stay there—in that quiet place where battles did not exist.
But reality never allowed such luxuries.
Ashkar was already awake, his golden eyes fixed on the doorway. Veldora, however, remained curled beside Aleron, reluctant to move.
"You two," Aleron said quietly, his voice steady but carrying the undertone of command. "Today we begin."
Veldora lifted her head, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Training?" she guessed aleron's thoughts.
"Training," Aleron confirmed. "You will need to grow fast. The Silver Fang will not wait for the unprepared."
They left the small house behind, stepping into the cool morning air. The city was waking—smells of baking bread drifted from a nearby shop, merchants rolled carts into the streets, and distant church bells marked the first hour after sunrise.
The Silver hunters headquarters lay in the northern quarter, near the walls. Aleron had memorized its location from the overheard conversation the night before.
As they approached, the air grew sharper, filled with the sound of sparring steel and the occasional crack of magic.
The compound itself was a walled fortress, its gates guarded by two heavily armed sentinels wearing the faction's silver-and-black insignia.
One of them stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "State your business."
"I'm here to join," Aleron said simply.
The man's eyes flicked to Ashkar and Veldora. "And them?"
"They're with me."
The guard studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside. "Inside. The commander will judge if you're worthy."
They entered the training grounds—an expanse of packed dirt, target dummies, and sparring circles. Warriors of all shapes and sizes honed their craft. Some wielded swords that glowed faintly with enchantments, others commanded beasts or hurled bursts of elemental power.
From the center of the grounds, a tall figure approached. His armor was polished to a mirror sheen, and the wolf emblem of the Silver Fang gleamed on his breastplate. His eyes were a pale silver, like cold steel.
"You wish to join us?" the man asked, voice calm yet carrying authority.
Aleron met his gaze. "Yes."
The commander's expression didn't change. "Then you'll be tested. Here, we do not accept words—we accept strength. You will fight until either you yield… or you stand victorious."
"Fine," Aleron replied.
The commander motioned to the sparring circle. "Step inside."
Aleron moved to the center, Ashkar and Veldora watching from the sidelines. A warrior entered opposite him—a massive man wielding a greataxe nearly as tall as himself. His muscles were corded like steel cables, his eyes hungry for a fight.
The commander raised a hand. "Begin."
The axe came first, whistling through the air in a deadly arc. Aleron moved without thought, sidestepping and striking with a palm strike to the man's ribs. The warrior grunted, staggering back, but recovered quickly, swinging again.
The blows came faster, heavier. Sparks flew as the greataxe scraped the ground.
Aleron weaved through them, his movements sharp and precise. Then, in a flash, he closed the distance, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted—forcing the weapon to the ground before delivering a swift kick that sent the warrior sprawling.
The fight ended in seconds.
The commander's silver eyes narrowed slightly—not in doubt, but in consideration. "Efficient," he said. "Too efficient to waste on small tasks."
He stepped closer. "Welcome to the Silver hunter… Aleron."
The crowd around them murmured, some in respect, others in wary curiosity.
Aleron said nothing. He had taken the first step toward his goal. Now came the harder part—training Veldora, and hunting enough abominations to push her strength to its peak.
And when that day came, the Genesis Coil would learn the cost of crossing him.
The sun had barely touched its peak when the commander summoned him again. There was no ceremony, no speeches—just a rolled parchment containing coordinates, and a single order:
"Bring back its head."
The Silver hunter wasted no time on easing new recruits into their work.
Aleron left the compound with Ashkar and Veldora, heading for the northern outskirts where the cobblestone roads gave way to untamed wilds. The air here was different—colder, thinner, carrying with it a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat.
Abomination territory.
Birdsong was absent. The trees were unnaturally still, their branches drooping as though the forest itself held its breath. Even the wind seemed reluctant to pass through.
Ashkar's head shifted from side to side, nostrils flaring. "I smell it… rotten, heavy."
Veldora's wings twitched, a low growl building in her throat.
Aleron didn't respond. He could feel it too—that faint, wrong pulse at the edge of his senses, like the heartbeat of something that should not exist.
They found it in a clearing.
The abomination towered over the treeline, its body a warped amalgamation of flesh, bone, and chitin. Multiple jaws layered within each other, snapping in a wet, arrhythmic rhythm. Patches of black, glassy skin reflected the dull light like a mirror warped in boiling water.
The creature turned its many eyes toward them, and the clearing grew colder.
Veldora's instincts flared, her wings spreading wide.
"Wait," Aleron commanded softly. "We're testing your strength today."
Her head snapped toward him in surprise, but his gaze was unyielding.
"You'll face it. Ashkar and I will step in only if you're about to fall."
Veldora swallowed the growl in her throat, then turned back to the beast.
The abomination lunged, and the ground shook beneath its weight. Veldora met the charge head-on, her claws raking across its chest in a spray of dark ichor. The smell hit instantly—burnt iron and rot.
The creature shrieked, the sound burrowing into the skull like a drill. Veldora staggered but pressed forward, tearing into the joint of its forelimb.
Aleron watched closely. Every movement mattered—not just the blows she landed, but how she adapted. He saw hesitation in her tail sweeps, overcommitment in her wing strikes. Strength without precision was still weakness.
The abomination retaliated, a tendril of bone-tipped flesh whipping out and catching her across the flank. She roared in pain, skidding backward, but the wound only seemed to light a fire in her eyes.
She surged forward again, this time feinting low before slamming her jaws onto its neck. The crunch echoed through the forest.
Minutes felt like hours, but finally the abomination's movements slowed, ichor gushing from deep gashes. Veldora gave a final, brutal twist of her neck—and the thing collapsed with a sound like wet stone breaking.
Silence returned.
Veldora stood over the corpse, her chest heaving, sides slick with black blood.
Aleron stepped forward, placing a hand on her head. "Better," he said. "But not enough yet."
Ashkar moved in, his tail swiping the abomination's head clean from its shoulders. He dropped it at Aleron's feet, the many eyes now glassy and still.