"You should all head back."
The scouts froze, their gazes meeting Atticus's cold one. After everything he had just shown and done, the bloodlust that radiated from him was still thick. They each instinctively took a step back.
It took a second for the statement to register, and when it finally did: "A-Apex Atticus… you mean without you?"
It went without saying that after everything that had just occurred, the scouts were beyond scared. What if they ran into another Vampyros grandmaster on the way? What the hell were they supposed to do? Atticus's presence was currently beyond terrifying, but it was still better than facing a Vampyros.
Atticus sensed their intent and addressed them calmly.
"I still have to continue moving forward, and I can't guarantee that more won't attack. I'll be blunt: you all slow me down. Head back to the fortress. I can assure you that there are no Vampyros on the way back."
Atticus didn't wait for a response. As quickly as he spoke, he disappeared from their view, shocking the scouts.
They each took a moment to gain their bearings before turning and running back toward the fortress at full speed.
There was trouble brewing.
…
On the other side of the buffer zone, in a towering fortress made of blackened materials, the atmosphere was filled with the metallic scent of blood.
Within this fortress, a room that was utterly simple yet sophisticated stood. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient-looking tomes and scrolls. A single crimson chandelier cast a dim light across the study.
At the center of the room sat an elderly man.
His posture was upright, commanding. He had a cleanly shaven beard, and his piercing blood-red eyes flickered with intelligence and cruelty.
His long black robe, trimmed with dark silver embroidery, draped over his wiry frame, and a black cane rested by the polished table in front of him, its handle shaped like a coiled serpent.
He was Grand Elder Yorowin.
The only sound in the room was the soft flipping of a page as he read. His fingers moved rhythmically, his expression calm and calculated.
The silence broke as he suddenly paused.
He raised his eyes, closed the book slowly, and reached for his cane. His eyes shut for a brief moment, as if waiting.
It came.
A knock at the door.
"Enter," his voice commanded, sharp yet quiet.
The door creaked open, revealing a kneeling figure clad in red armor. The warrior bowed deeply, his head nearly touching the floor.
"Grand Elder Yorowin," the warrior said, his voice filled with reverence.
Yorowin opened his eyes, their crimson glow piercing through the dim light.
"Speak," he said coldly. "And this better be good."
The warrior hesitated, bowing even lower. "The three Blood Shadow warriors, my lord… they're dead."
The room's temperature plummeted.
Frost crept along the edges of the table. Yorowin's piercing gaze darkened, and his cane struck the floor once.
Crack.
"Are you sure?" His voice was soft, but it cut like ice.
The warrior nodded quickly. "Their life crystals, my lord. They have shattered."
Yorowin didn't respond immediately. He tapped his cane against the floor rhythmically, the sound reverberating through the room like a heartbeat. The frost thickened, spreading across the walls.
"Who?"
The warrior hesitated, his voice cracking. "We… we believe it was the target, my lord. The other escorts were too weak to pose any threat to Blood Shadows of their caliber."
The tapping stopped.
The room trembled.
The air grew heavier, colder.
"Where is he now?" Yorowin asked, his voice even softer, yet it carried a weight that made the warrior shudder.
The kneeling figure didn't dare lift his head. "We believe he's heading northeast, my lord. Toward our side of the buffer zone."
Yorowin's grip on the cane tightened. His crimson eyes glinted with cold intent.
"How many Blood Shadows remain in the fortress?"
"Forty, my lord."
The elder's expression didn't change.
"Send half," he ordered. "Kill him. Do not fail me."
The warrior bowed lower, his forehead nearly touching the icy floor. "By your orders, my lord."
Yorowin didn't move, his cold gaze fixed on the retreating figure as the warrior exited the room.
The door shut softly, leaving the elder alone.
His cane struck the floor once more.
His crimson eyes flickered dangerously.
A thought crossed his mind, sharp and calculating.
'He's dangerous.'
…
A figure zipped through the green forest with impossible speed.
Atticus's presence was nonexistent. He made not a single sound as he moved. If not for the white streak, it was as though he wasn't even in the forest.
'They're very bold,' Atticus thought.
'That's what happens when you leave your enemies alive the instant you identify them.'
Atticus went silent. He didn't even try to refute Ozeroth's words. In all honesty, the spirit was speaking nothing but the truth.
The only reason the Vampyros knew of his arrival and plans was because he had allowed it. If he had taken care of Vyn and the others the instant he spotted them, none of this would've happened.
'I've started getting cocky,' Atticus realized.
'You have. It's a terrible feeling. Get rid of it, or else it'll get you killed.'
Atticus exhaled deeply as he thought about his thought process at the time. He had assumed that he was near invincible below the paragon rank and that anything they could throw at him could be easily handled.
That hadn't been wrong, but it was a very wrong way to think, and as Ozeroth said, it could get him killed.
Now, Atticus had no idea who had sent those assassins after him. He knew that the last Vampyros who blamed the Blood Council had lied, he had felt it.
He didn't even bother trying to torture them. At this point, it was well known: anyone trying to torture a Vampyros was just wasting their time.
To truly find this person, he would have to bait them out.
Atticus inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.
'It's fine. Silently plotting has never been my thing in the first place. I'll handle it as I see it.'
'Bond.'
His gaze snapped open, his eyes turning icy.
'I know.'
The forest blurred around Atticus, the trees little more than streaks of green as he moved at an impossible speed. His figure was reduced to a faint white streak cutting through the dense foliage.
No sound.
No presence.
It was as though he didn't exist.
But he knew.
They were coming.
'Twenty of them,' Atticus thought. 'Grandmaster+. Vampyros warriors.'
'I can feel them.'
The intent was suffocating. Bloodthirsty. Their presence polluted the forest, spreading like a wave of rot.
His mana swirled, rising to the surface as his center of balance shifted.
And then—
He disappeared.