Rise of Tyrus

Apparently, Igneal didn’t need help at all. In reality, he was fully in charge of the situation.

Although Tyrus had only witnessed a fraction of Igneal’s power, his precise manipulation of fire took aback him. If Tyrus had just come across him at this moment, he would have thought Igneal had been using it his whole life.

Like a maniac, the Lockhart rushed at the swamp imps with a grin and unleashed the spell he had been brewing. A fireball smaller than a Lightning Bolt streaked by, yet instead of the usual wobbliness Tyrus had yet to remedy, it was more defined and steadier. The spell was slower, but that didn’t matter when the result followed.

Aimed for the legs of a large, lumbering swamp imp, the fireball hit the mark with the finesse of a trained assassin. In an instant, the fire ignited the imp like a match. Tyrus watched with interest as the fire spread up and down the body of the imp. With an inhuman cry, the imp began rolling around on the ground to put out the flames. It didn’t matter how much he rolled, though. The damage was done. The imp was as good as dead.

The other imps were not happy with what had happened to their friend. In perfect unison, the imps shifted their attention to Igneal, their eyes ablaze like an active volcano and their hisses echoing like a pit of snakes. They were furious, calling for blood.

They didn’t get the chance.

Tyrus made his move. His hand moved to his ring; a second later, he grabbed hold of the handle to a sword. He rushed to the nearest imp and was on it before it blinked.

Before the imp could make a move, Tyrus had already placed the blade threateningly against its throat. That split second, his eyes looked around; the rest of the imps were still advancing on Igneal. Without hesitating, Tyrus pulled the blade across the throat of the imp. As blood poured out of its wound, Tyrus took a step back and watched. The imp didn’t have time to even register what had happened. It perished without even realizing it.

“As expected, you fight beasts well. It’s in your blood,” Igneal said.

“I don’t need a fireball to do the trick. Also, I’m trying not to use magic because of the lizardmen, whom I mentioned before. Are you not wary of them? At all?”

When Igneal was about to answer, the remaining swamp imps–three in total–stopped dead in their tracks. They glanced at their fallen comrades, burned to a crisp and bleeding puddles of red, and turned. Swiftly and without pause, they fluttered their wings and zoomed towards the trees.

Igneal snickered and said, “As if I’ll let prey escape my grasp. An incompetent and weak hunter allows their prey to escape. And I am neither of those things.”

Out of nowhere, the Lockhart shifted his feet and bolted for the fleeing beasts. Tyrus could only shout in surprise, a step too slow in stopping Igneal from chasing. He had to follow. Even though he disliked Igneal, he knew better than to let him go alone. Who knew what kind of trouble he would get himself into?

Igneal was already ahead, but Tyrus was a fast runner and would have no problem catching up. Right as he started moving, an odd odor filled his nose. Tyrus’ body turned rigid as he flung his head toward the source–coming from the direction of the cave he was just in.

It was a fresh scent, that much he knew, but it was also one he had smelled before. Lurking within the already acrid smell of the Wasteful Wetlands was a scent that reminded him of a cool breeze. Yet, just like a breeze, it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

Weird of all was that it wasn’t just the average wind that comes and goes. It didn’t originate from a natural source from the sky but from somewhere else. At the least, it came from something, and that breeze latched onto that existence.

“Why was that smell coming from that direction?” Tyrus mumbled. “And why did it disappear in a snap? Something feels… off.”

Should he investigate? The oddity was definitely near the cave, if not inside. Thanks to his Beastfolk nature, his senses were heightened and more refined. Still, all he was aware of was the general direction. He recognized it from somewhere, but when and where was it? It reminded him of weak winds, yet there was something more that had yet to arrive, like the calm before the storm…

Suddenly, Tyrus’s body trembled. The air changed once more. In the next second, a surge of powerful magical energy encapsulated him. The wave was strong, like a rampaging dragon. But the most alarming thing was that it wasn’t normal.

It was odd, like something not belonging. It differed from when Igneal and he cast magic. Usually, he felt a sense of freedom and warmth whenever he used magic. However, this time, it felt… cold. Feeling trapped in a dark well, constricted and unable to escape.

In an instant, Tyrus detected something in his field of vision. Whipping his head around, he focused on the water and then looked up. Through the thick fog, a dark mass oddly reminiscent of a black cloud had formed, swirling like a dust storm. And under that swirl was a figure that vanished beneath the layered fog.

Not long after, the swirling stopped, and the mass transformed into spiny tendrils that shot outward like swift arrows. Akin to shooting stars, the tendrils streaked by and into opposite directions, plummeting straight for the ground far away. The sky turned a shade darker, and there was a distinct shift in the air as a constricting energy enveloped Tyrus.

“What is this?” he murmured. He stood there for a moment, stunned by the spectacle. He didn’t know how, but he knew it was a bad sign. This wasn’t normal. Something bad was happening, and the culprit had to be none other than him.

Just then, Tyrus realized his hands were shaking. He stared down at them, clenching his fists to stop the trembling. What was this feeling he was experiencing? Fear? No, not quite. He wasn’t that afraid. If anything, he was curious. But curiosity and fear were different. And yet, why was his heart beating so fast?

No matter how much Tyrus tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t figure out why his body was reacting the way it was. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, and that he couldn’t control it unnerved him. Maybe he was scared after all. The strange energy remained, enveloping him, weighing him down, and as if that wasn’t enough, a growing pressure settled on his chest.

Tyrus shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on what was happening in the sky and that mysterious smell.

He looked back in the direction the swamp imps went. If he didn’t move, Igneal would be left without backup. It was dangerous for him to rush off alone, and he wasn’t sure if the lizardmen had sensed the rampant mana Igneal had been firing off without a care. Tyrus was dreading another encounter with those beasts.

He sighed and dashed off. Even as he ran, the constricting pressure persisted. Despite Tyrus’s efforts with Healing Touch, he couldn’t remove it.

The more Tyrus pondered on it, the more it bothered him. Although he hadn’t overexerted himself, he had the overwhelming sensation of his body being crushed by an invisible force. There was no way that was possible. Was it because of the mana he was sensing? But then again, that made little sense either. How was it affecting him when it wasn’t directed at him?

After running past trees and beasts, a burning smell lingered in the air. Knowing what that entailed, Tyrus picked up the pace and leaped off a small ledge. As soon as he landed in a puddle, the unmistakable high-pitched whistle cut through the moist air. His heart pounded even more while he sprinted.

More whistles followed. It was then that a water-logged screech joined the whistling. Tyrus recognized it anywhere. The moment he stepped out of the area and found himself in front of a worn-out bridge, the stench of charred meat smacked him. The heat washed over him, and his ears rang from the sizzling.

“A barrier?” said a voice, muffled.

Tyrus looked ahead and found Igneal standing in front of a bridge suspended over rippling water. He was looking up, his arms crossed. Behind him, three dead swamp imps were charred and smoking. Pinching his nose, Tyrus scrambled over to the Lockhart, avoiding his gaze at the cooked remains.

“We have to leave. Now. Didn’t you hear the whistling? They’re coming because of all the noise you made.”

Igneal turned his head and glared at Tyrus. “That’s none of your concern. If the lizardmen appear, then they appear. It’ll be good practice.”

“Practice? I thought the goal was to follow the source?”

“It is, but there’s nothing wrong with training a bit before we reach our destination. Besides, if they come, they’ll be nothing more than fodder. One can’t miss out on opportunities like this to prove themselves.”

“I think you’re being a little too confident.”

Igneal’s face turned stony, and his tone was ice. “Are you saying I can’t do it?”

“I’m not.” Tyrus rubbed his temple. “Look, we can’t stay here and argue. Let’s just keep on moving before-“

Tyrus bit his tongue as he looked off into the distance. There, a group of figures entered his view and came another piercing whistle. They were coming, and they were coming fast. Tyrus wanted to fling his arms and curse into the wind but held himself back. Instead, he focused his attention on the incoming enemies. They were still some ways off, but they would be upon them within seconds.

Turning back from where they came from didn’t sound like a great idea. For all he knew, the lizardmen had probably spread out by now and were scouring the Wetlands for intruders.

Judging by his previous encounters with them, they seemed close-knit, intelligent, and precise with their strategies. Making it back to the other side in one piece looked bleak. And besides, who knows how far the lizardmen had traveled already? The two options present were to take the bridge and try their hand at escaping their sights or to stay and fight. Knowing Igneal, he would choose the latter if given the choice.

For whatever reason, his actions so far were nothing short of reckless. Paying no mind to the dire warnings Tyrus had mentioned and strongly advised the noble to heed, he ignored them. He had even gone so far as to attack the imps with little regard for the pair’s safety. Did he even think about the consequences of his actions? All he was worried about was proving himself to whoever. There weren’t any spectators to witness his deeds and grabbing an ‘artifact’, as he called it, would be nearly impossible when a powerful sorcerer was guarding it.

There was also that sky event to worry about. Tyrus had a lingering sense that something ominous was imminent. The peculiar air phenomenon still troubled him, and so did the blockage in his chest. Igneal didn’t seem all that bothered about what had just happened. On the contrary, he seemed to be in perfect health and acted as if he wasn’t receiving any pain. In addition, he mentioned something about a barrier a short while ago. Perhaps the event he had witnessed was a barrier. He’d had to ask Igneal about it later.

“Look, I know you came here to fight and all, but can you just listen to me for once? I really don’t want to die here today, and I don’t want to fight whatever is coming toward us. And as your... friend, I can’t leave you behind. Just for now, let’s get out of here and find another way to the source, alright?”

Before Igneal could open his mouth, Tyrus grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bridge. The noble resisted at first, glowering at his arm but after Tyrus gave him a pointed look, he stopped struggling. With the enemy on their heels, Tyrus couldn’t care less about being too rough.

Each step they took, the boards creaked in protest. Green and gray moss had overgrown and spread over the wooden beams. The wood was rotten and had splintered. A few boards were damaged, while others were completely gone. The bridge wasn’t the only thing that needed repair. The other end was no better.

During their cross, they noticed something odd. It was quiet. Too quiet. Except for the occasional creak from the bridge and the buzzing insects, there was complete silence. What happened to all the whistling just a while ago? The lizardmen were right on their heels, yet an eerie silence replaced their presence. That bad feeling Tyrus had felt grew at an alarming rate.

Just then, a whip-like crack resounded from below. Both Tyrus and Igneal froze and looked downward. The board Igneal had stepped on gave out under his weight, crashing alongside him into the murky waters below. Fortunately, Igneal latched onto a nearby rope just in time, hoisting himself up as he muttered curses.

At the same time Igneal was climbing to safety, a sudden and powerful force struck the back of Tyrus’s head, sending him flying. His body twitched, and the world spun as he plummeted down. The next thing he knew, his face slammed into the wooden surface.

In a daze, Tyrus’s vision spun. His body ached, and his mind was a mess. He tried to regain his bearings, but his thoughts were incoherent and scattered. His vision was blurry, and his throat burned. Tyrus coughed and choked as his senses returned. The water churned and rippled as pieces of the bridge collapsed and broke into pieces.

Groaning, Tyrus touched the back of his hair and felt something warm stain his fingertips. Retracting his arm, a scarlet finger greeted him. And when he glanced at the side, he found a bone club lying beside him.

A club hit me? But how? Shouldn’t the coat have protected me?

Tyrus jerked his head upward. His body was sluggish, but he pushed himself up. Standing a few meters away was a lizardman, wielding a bone club and a spear on its back. With an upturned mouth, it pitched its head to the sky and unleashed a piercing whistle that had Tyrus wincing from the noise.

“If you’re done admiring the impeccable craftsmanship of this bridge, now is the best time for a tactical retreat,” Igneal said. “Fighting in such unfavorable conditions is not the way.”

“...Let me catch my breath for a moment,” Tyrus groggily replied.

Gradually, he stood up and grasped his pulsing head. Peering past the gaping hole, he noticed the fog shifting strangely. Not even a second had passed before a large shadow running on all fours emerged from the mist. And as the fog cleared, the figure sprang forward, fixated on the duo.