The hounds below had begun to howl again. They tasted blood in the air. Jack felt it too, metallic and thick in his mouth, clinging to his tongue like smoke.

  Dozens of deerhounds barked and strained against leather leashes, their handlers dragging them back with shouts and whips. Among them, the three lymer hounds bayed deeper and crueller, their growls like war drums echoing up the mountainside.

  Baron Greaves stood still, his lips pressed thin with obvious displeasure. Beside him, Baron Argil radiated fury, his fists clenched so tight that blood dripped from his palms. Baroness Vampese smiled like she’d already watched them die in her dreams. Fenton lingered behind them, licking his teeth, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his blade.

  Greaves barked orders.

  A hundred metres downslope, the remaining eighteen guards assembled under his command. Beastkin, mostly. Broad-shouldered warriors and spear-wielders with leather armour, some with fangs, others with claws. Two archers moved into flanking positions, their bows in hand, ready. One foxkin carried a folded net across his back. Another had manacles swinging from his belt.

  “Go,” Greaves ordered, his voice calm as if discussing the weather. “Do not kill the scribe. Wound him. Arms, legs only. I want him alive and screaming.”

  Behind the guards, Jack could make out the four nobles: Greaves, Argil, Vampese, and Fenton… the hawk-faced noble brat who had glared at him through the hunt and over dinner. The only young noble to survive the ritual chamber massacre. His blond hair was wild, his expression one of greedy anticipation.

  Jack’s gaze locked on Greaves. “I fucking hate you,” he whispered. He imagined loosing an arrow straight into the Baron’s black heart, but he knew the Mage Shield would deflect it. Greaves couldn’t be harmed by blades or arrows. He turned to Cain. “They’re sending everything at us.”

  Cain spat a glob of blood and grinned. “Only eighteen left. Almost not worth sharpening my sword for.”

  Jack grinned back despite himself. So many mistakes. This would be his second death in as many weeks. He took a breath and muttered a prayer to the Gods. “I’ve failed them again. Please… protect my family from Greaves.”

  The guards began to ascend. The foxkin with the net jeered. “Drop your bow, boy, and we’ll only break your legs.”

  Jack smiled at the taunt, though inwardly he was fighting back a rising panic. Good. They still believe I’m weak.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  A hulking bullkin smacked his mace into a gloved palm. “I want the scribe. Bet he squeals when I crack his fucking knees.”

  Jack glared at the bullkin. I didn’t squeal when Greaves killed me. I won’t even grunt for pig like you.

  Cain’s eyes never left the path. “Stay focused, Jack. Kill what you can. We meet the Gods with a smile.”

  Meet the Gods with a smile. Jack shook his head. Maybe this time I’ll actually meet the Gods. His hands trembled as he nocked an arrow. He was breathing hard, his legs were braced wide on the narrow path that edged the rocky cliff. One wrong step would see him plunge dozens of metres into the raging river that carved its voice into the valley below.

  With his heart hammering, he took a slow breath, drew back the arrow while activating True Aim. The skill charged, and the air seemed to tighten. He picked the fastest target; it was a wiry jackalkin leaping ahead of the pack. Come on… grant me a little luck. He was hoping Tyche, the Goddess of luck, chance, and fortune, would give him a helping hand.

  Six seconds passed, and the skill triggered. Jack loosed the arrow. The arrow wooshed through the air towards the fast-moving target.

  The jackalkin saw the shot coming and shouted, “Shit!” His body blurred with a skill. A burst of agility, but he overstepped. His foot slid on shale, and he toppled with a scream. A heartbeat later, he vanished into the river below. There was no splash… just the sound of the turbulent water.

  Jack’s eyes widened in shock as he nocked another arrow. No time for a skill.

  Cain gave a hearty laugh. “Never seen a man dodge into his own grave.”

  The foxkin with a net chuckled.

  Jack pulled the bowstring back, aimed for two seconds, and shot. It missed a lionkin by half a metre. The lionkin smiled, showing his sharp canines.

  Then the first wave arrived.

  Cain surged forward, his blade moved like a whisper, and the first guard, a pantherkin with a spiked shield, caught the tip under his jaw. The sword ripped up into his mouth and out the top of his skull. He died gargling on his own tongue.

  Another, a hyenakin, lunged from the side. Cain turned, stepped inside the reach, and hacked the guard’s arm clean off at the elbow. Blood sprayed in an arc as the beastkin wailed in pain and shock. Cain silenced him with a thrust through the chest. The man spasmed and collapsed.

  This is it. No more holding back, Jack thought as he pulled a [Chronos Sphere] scroll and activated it. The world blurred, and time slowed. He ducked under the swing of a badgerkin’s slow-moving hammer, circled behind, and rammed his dagger into the gap under the guard’s ribs. He felt it scrape bone and push into a lung. Warm blood spilt across his itching hand. The beastkin gasped in slow motion as Jack twisted the blade; something tore inside. The man dropped to his knees, still clutching his hammer, then fell still.

  Time resumed. Jack gasped as power flooded his body. Another pseudo skill joined the rest. He stepped back, only for pain to explode in his shoulder. An arrow buried itself deep into his left shoulder blade. He cried out and fell, his vision flashing red from pain, but then it eased to an ache. His new passive skill, Endure Pain, dulled the sharp edge to something he could handle.

  Below, Greaves shouted, “No chest shots! Wound only! He must live!”

  “Yes, my lord,” the archer replied. “Sorry, my lord.”

  Jack rolled, the arrow shaft snapping as he hit the ground.

  Heron's Hearth In Another World

  TweekZ