Mobius took out two sheets of fresh parchment and seated himself at the desk. With a quill pen, he carefully set down the formal terms of the contract. The document stated in clear terms: upon receipt of payment, departure would be immediate, and the task—slaying the Magibeast—was to be completed within three days.

  He signed his name at the bottom of the contract, then gathered the twenty-odd old silver coins and slipped them into a drawer of the desk.

  Illiterate as they were, the hunter brothers, Karu and Bain, stood before the two neatly written parchments with visible unease. Karu scratched at the back of his head, then extended a finger, lightly dipped it into the ink, and pressed it firmly onto the contract. The fingerprint, solemnly placed, served in place of a signature—marking the agreement as binding.

  Mobius rose to his feet, his tone calm and assured. “You may set out for home now.”

  Gru stepped forward, nuzzling affectionately against the wizard’s outstretched left hand. Mobius stroked the hound’s head, then turned slightly toward the hunter brothers and gave them a small nod.

  “We’ll depart shortly. The commission—will be completed before you reach your village.”

  Bain carefully tucked the contract into his satchel. Together with Karu, he offered the wizard a modest bow.

  “Thank you, sir. Then we’ll take our leave.”

  Perched upon the wizard’s shoulder, the black-furred monkey chimed in with a cheerful grin, “Safe travels~”

  After the hunter brothers departed the Stargazer Tower, Mobius and Chelorra each returned to their own rooms to prepare the gear needed for the journey ahead.

  Mobius shed his silk sleeping robe with practiced ease and pulled on a lightweight, close-fitting shirt. Over it went riding trousers and tall boots suited for long hours in the saddle. Last of all, he put on a finely made over-robe—its cuffs and hem embroidered with patterns traced in gold and silver thread. At his waist hung a specially crafted belt, not unlike a knight’s sword-belt, though the leather sheath on its left side was conspicuously empty.

  To a stranger meeting him for the first time, it would be difficult to associate this man with the word wizard at all.

  Did wizards truly need to carry swords?

  Of course not—he had something far more convenient at hand.

  He opened a delicate little box on the bedside table. Inside lay three rings, each set with a Mana Crystal of a different hue, resting in silence.

  These were items left behind from his years of study in Wizard City. In those days, Mobius had still been one of the most highly regarded students at the academy. The three rings were a gift crafted specifically for him by Darian, a close friend and fellow student whose talent for alchemy was exceptional—made on the eve of their graduation.

  When casting magic of intermediate tier or above, wizards typically rely on a magical medium to assist them. The most common form is an Arcane Focus, set with a Mana Crystal, used to guide the caster’s own power and establish a connection with the surrounding Mana Particles—the smallest functional units of the Magic Elements present in the natural world.

  What Darian created for Mobius, however, were three rings that compressed the function of an arcane focus down to the fingertips.

  The ring set with a red Mana Crystal allowed its wearer to cast offensive spells of intermediate tier or below swiftly, without the aid of an Arcane Focus.

  The ring inlaid with a green Mana Crystal was engraved with a stable defensive array.

  As for the ring bearing a blue Mana Crystal—it was a final safeguard, reserved for the most dangerous moment, granting its wearer a single chance to escape death itself.

  Mobius reached for his arcane focus beside the bed.

  It was an Arcane Rod, roughly sixty centimeters in length—the Lightning Serpent Rod. At its crown was set a flawless, smoothly polished Mana Crystal, round and full, without a trace of imperfection. A silver serpent coiled upward along the shaft, its jaws closed around the crystal, which now emitted a faint blue glow.

  Unlike many wizards, who favored towering Ritual Staffs taller than a man—symbols of rank as much as tools—Mobius preferred a shorter rod, one suited to movement and easily carried at his side.

  He slid the three rings onto his fingers, then fitted the rod into the empty leather sheath at the left side of his custom belt. From the wardrobe he took a small hanging satchel and fastened it at his waist, its interior neatly arranged with delicate tools and vials of magical potions.

  At last, he drew a black traveler’s cloak over his shoulders, concealing every lethal implement beneath its folds. The motions were practiced and decisive, the earlier air of languor gone without a trace.

  On the fourth floor of the Stargazer Tower, Chelorra was also changing into attire better suited for travel and combat.

  A close-fitting black long-sleeved linen shirt outlined her lean, fluid build, while a well-made leather jerkin provided both protection and warmth. High leather boots rose past her knees, securing her legs firmly while allowing swift, unhindered movement.

  She fastened a specialized tactical belt around her waist. Short blades and throwing knives hung at either side, while a pouch at her back held neatly arranged small glass vials—each containing poisons and antidotes whose formulas were known to her alone.

  Chelorra lifted the shamshir from the table and drew it from its scabbard. The blade caught the candlelight, gleaming with a faint green sheen—the unmistakable mark of poison. She flicked the edge lightly, checking its sharpness, then slid it back into the sheath.

  Gathering her loose white hair, she braided it swiftly at the nape of her neck, skillfully concealing a thin blade within the plait. For a former assassin, there was no such thing as too many weapons.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  At last, she took up a black headscarf and wrapped it around her hair, hiding its pale color completely, leaving only her calm, razor-sharp eyes exposed.

  When she stepped out onto the stone stairs, her footfalls made almost no sound—like a venomous serpent lying in wait within the dark: silent, and lethal.

  Outside the Stargazer Tower, the night was still deep.

  In the distance, the outline of the forest lay blurred and silent beneath the moonlight. Mobius and Chelorra stepped out of the tower in turn. Gru and Shadowling were already waiting by the door.

  As Chelorra lowered her head to lock the door, Mobius asked casually, “Chelorra—back when you were with the Desert Shadows, did you ever deal with Magibeasts?”

  Chelorra slipped the key into her coat and let her gaze sweep over the dark treeline beyond the tower. Her answer was calm and unadorned. “During assassinations, no. During training, yes.”

  She said it lightly, as though she were not speaking of Magibeasts at all—only ordinary practice targets.

  Mobius nodded, offering no further questions. He lowered himself to one knee and rested a hand on each of Gru’s two heads, his voice gentle, tinged with apology. “We’re pressed for time. I’m afraid you’ll have to work hard tonight.”

  “Yes… master.”

  Both heads answered at once, their voices deep and perfectly in sync. Gru’s throat structure was wholly unlike a human’s; though its intelligence was considerable, shaping human speech was no easy task. It spoke only when it had to.

  As the words faded, white vapor began to pour from its body, as though some powers were swelling within. The smoke carried with it waves of scorching heat, rolling outward in pulses. Grass and leaves nearby bent low beneath the hot wind.

  “Gru’s growing!”

  Shadowling cried out excitedly from Mobius’s shoulder, raising a hand to shield himself from the blast of heat.

  Mobius’s cloak billowed. He narrowed his eyes against the heat and smiled—clearly no stranger to such temperatures or the tremor that accompanied them.

  As the smoke gradually thinned, Gru’s form underwent a staggering change.

  Its body swelled to more than twice its original size, its height now rivaling that of a powerful warhorse. Muscle layered upon muscle like forged steel beneath its hide, and its white fur gleamed under the moonlight.

  The “watchdog” that had moments ago dozed by the hearth had become, in an instant, a massive two-headed beast fit to be ridden.

  In this enlarged form, Gru could sprint and leap through the forest at tremendous speed, adapting effortlessly to uneven ground and dense terrain. No ordinary horse could hope to match it. At full pace, Mobius estimated they would reach the Graypine before midday the following day.

  Mobius vaulted onto Gru’s back. Chelorra followed after, her landing light and precise. Shadowling clung tightly to one of Gru’s heads, his tail wound firmly into the thick fur.

  “Hold on tight, Shadowling,” Mobius said.

  “Yes, sir!” the little monkey replied with a grin.

  “Move out,” Mobius ordered softly.

  Gru slammed its four paws into the earth. Grass and dust exploded outward.

  The white shape shot into the depths of the forest like an arrow, sending roosting birds scattering into the night.

  Meanwhile, in Graypine Village.

  The night lay so heavy it felt as though it might swallow the entire settlement whole.

  Then, within that suffocating stillness, a watchman’s scream tore through the darkness above Graypine.

  “The Magibeast—it’s back!”

  The cry struck like a spark in dry powder.

  Wooden doors were thrown open. One torch after another flared to life. Barking dogs, frightened cries, and hurried footsteps collided in the narrow village lanes.

  “Grab your bows and weapons!”

  “Women and children—stay inside! Lock the doors!”

  “Don’t scatter—stick together!”

  In the livestock pens, cattle and sheep grew frantic, slamming against the wooden rails with creaking, splintering force. In the span of a few heartbeats, Graypine was dragged violently from sleep back into its recurring nightmare.

  Firelight twisted the men’s faces into harsh, uneven shapes as they seized whatever could serve as a weapon—

  rusted longswords, dulled knives, battered wooden shields, hunting bows, even pitchforks and hastily bound spears. They gathered along the torchlit road, forming a crooked, fragile line of defense.

  In the darkness, a massive shadow hurtled between the clustered houses.

  The Magibeast crashed through the lanes, its passing stirring a crushing gust that made the torchlight shudder and sway.

  In the dead of night, all anyone could see was the shadow’s fleeting blur—its true shape impossible to grasp.

  “There—!”

  Bowstrings snapped taut. Arrows tore through the air.

  But the Magibeast was far faster than anyone had expected. Some arrows flew wide; others struck only to glance off its thick hide, leaving nothing more than shallow marks. A handful of spears were hurled, only to be swept aside by a single swing of its arm and smashed deep into the mud.

  A wooden house took the blow head-on. Beams splintered, the roof caved in. Inside, a woman clutched her child as a piercing scream ripped through the night.

  The Magibeast paused—just for a heartbeat.

  In the flickering firelight, its blurred, almost human face came into view—a grief-stricken expression, twisted and grotesque in the dancing flames.

  “Don’t let it get any closer!” someone roared.

  As the Magibeast raised a claw, ready to strike at the helpless mother and child—

  A bowstring rang out, crisp and forceful. The arrow struck true, burying itself deep in the Magibeast’s shoulder.

  The Magibeast shrieked, a piercing, unnatural cry, and staggered back. The firelight flared—and revealed the archer at last.

  Old hunter Orin Evan.

  “Fall back!” Orin barked in a low, commanding shout.

  But the enraged Magibeast had already fixed its gaze on him.

  Its short, thick legs slammed into the ground. With a burst of terrifying force, the massive body lunged forward at astonishing speed.

  There was no time for a second shot.

  Orin dropped his bow without hesitation, yanked the short sword from his belt, and raised his wooden shield in front of him.

  The next instant—

  An overwhelming impact crashed head-on into the shield.

  The shield shattered at once, splinters exploding outward.

  Orin was hurled backward, his body tumbling across the ground as a tearing pain ripped through his left arm. He hit the earth hard. A savage gash had been torn open by claws, blood pouring freely and soaking his sleeve in red.

  The Magibeast did not slow.

  A vast shadow fell over him. A claw rose high.

  The certainty of death flooded Orin’s chest like ice water.

  —So this is it?

  The thought flickered through his mind, brief as a spark.

  Then—

  “Get away, you damn beast!”

  A hoarse yet thunderous roar burst in from the flank.

  Village chief Matus charged forward, longsword raised, throwing the full weight of his body into the strike.

  Steel bit into flesh with a harsh, ringing sound.

  A deep, ragged wound tore open along the Magibeast’s side. Dark blood spilled at once, matting its fur.

  The Magibeast unleashed a deafening roar, pain and fury tangled together.

  “Now!” Matus bellowed. “Drive it back!”

  Fear still lingered—but that single blow had sparked the villagers’ courage.

  Spears, pitchforks, and torches surged forward as one. They shouted and swung their weapons, legs trembling, yet not a single step was given back.

  The Magibeast clearly felt both pain and threat. It grew agitated.

  It retreated a few paces, loosing a resentful, rumbling growl—then suddenly spun around. With a burst of astonishing power, it bounded away and vanished into the dark forest beyond the village.

  The air fell abruptly silent, broken only by harsh, ragged breathing.

  Torches flickered, casting light over faces drained pale with exhaustion. Some villagers collapsed to the ground. Others clung to their weapons with white-knuckled grips, unable—unwilling—to let go just yet.

  Matus hurried forward and hauled Orin up from the ground.

  “How’s your arm?”

  Orin clenched his teeth, his face drained of color. “…Thank you, Matus. For a moment there, I truly thought I was done for.”

  Matus stared toward the direction where the Magibeast had vanished, his brow drawn tight. “We can’t hold out much longer.”

  His voice was low, worn thin by fatigue. “It’s coming more and more often… May the gods watch over Karu and Bain, and bring that wizard back to us quickly.”

  Orin breathed hard, falling silent for a time. Then his brow furrowed.

  “Matus… did you notice—” he said slowly. “That thing… didn’t it seem… a little bigger than before?”

  The night wind swept through the village, carrying away the smell of blood and snuffing out the last oil lamp at the gate.

  The darkness deepened once more…

  once a week, every Friday.I wanted to add a little extra chapter here to keep the story moving and to thank everyone who has started reading so early.

  And feel free to share which part of the story caught your attention most—I do read all comments.

  — Janus Twelve