Time passed on, the sun had set, leaving only the faint glow of a crescent moon to light the way. However, the moonlight was powerless against the dense canopy of the Forbidden Forest. Beneath the trees, the world was cloaked in near-total darkness, filled only with the smells of decay, damp leaves, and the occasional pungent hint of animal excrement. The eerie wind carried hoarse bird calls and strange whispers, lending the forest an atmosphere of oppressive loneliness.
Despite the unnerving environment, Alex moved with remarkable speed, weaving through trees and leaping over obstacles without breaking stride. Stones, roots, and uneven ground posed no challenge to him as he silently navigated the treacherous terrain.
Wimzy, on the other hand, was anything but calm. Pressed under Alex’s arm, she squirmed and clung to his robes as the wind whipped against her face. Her wide eyes darted nervously, catching fleeting glimpses of glowing shapes in the darkness. “Master! It’s so scary! There are… there are ghosts watching us!” Wimzy whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alex muttered sharply. “What you’re seeing are the eyes of night owls. Now stop talking. You’ll give away our position.”
“Y-yes, Master,” Wimzy stammered, clamping her hands over her mouth to stifle any further sounds.
Relying on his echo spell and tracking magic, Alex pursued the werewolves relentlessly. The air was thick with the acrid tang of blood, and the footprints on the forest floor were fresh and unmistakable. He was closing in. To avoid detection, Alex refrained from using any light spells, activating the silent module of his enchanted phase shoes instead. Now, his movements were ghost-like—silent and invisible in the forest’s gloom.
After over an hour of this grueling chase, covering at least ten kilometers, Alex finally spotted his targets. He came to an abrupt halt, causing Wimzy to lurch slightly. The sudden stop left her dizzy, her small head spinning from the abrupt change in momentum. “Master?” Wimzy whispered cautiously.
“Shh,” Alex hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. Gently placing Wimzy on the ground, Alex reached into his robes, sliding his fingers along a hidden seam. He pulled his index and middle fingers together, tracing a line down the fabric.
A faint magical shimmer rippled across his cloak, spreading from his neckline to the hem. The enchanted robe, now activated, emitted a soft glow before vanishing into the darkness. Only faint, intricate patterns remained visible, flickering momentarily before fading. “Wimzy, you can speak now,” Alex said in a hushed tone. “But stay close to me—within a meter. Otherwise, the werewolves’ noses and hearing might pick you up.”
“Yes, Master,” Wimzy nodded, her small hands clasped nervously. She looked at him curiously. “But, Master… where did you just go?”
Alex smiled faintly and gestured to his robe. “This is a Shadowveil. It blocks sound and scent within a meter and casts a disillusionment charm. With this, they won’t notice us.”
“Wow!” Wimzy’s eyes sparkled with awe. “Master is amazing! Wimzy has never seen such a magical treasure, even from the old master.”
“It’s not as impressive as it sounds,” Alex replied modestly. “The invisibility doesn’t last as long as the Invisibility Cloak, but it’s useful as long as the illusion spell is refreshed regularly.” He handed Wimzy a piece of jerky from his pocket. “Here, eat this. We’ll need our strength.”
Wimzy hesitated, holding the jerky gingerly. “Master… is this meat? Wimzy doesn’t deserve to eat meat. Wimzy only ate meat once a year with the old master…”
“Stop talking nonsense and eat,” Alex said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ll need energy for what’s coming.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master!” Wimzy’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she bit into the jerky, savoring the rare treat.
Alex used the brief pause to activate his echo spell, focusing on the sounds ahead. The air was filled with guttural growls and faint snapping sounds. The distinct stench of the werewolves had grown stronger, even without the tracking spell. After quickly finishing his own portion of jerky, Alex picked Wimzy up again and leapt onto the nearest tree trunk. His movements were swift and precise, scaling the trunk as easily as walking on flat ground.
At a sufficient height, he kicked off and leapt to the next tree, repeating the process until he reached a vantage point. From this height, he could hear the chaos ahead more clearly. About thirty meters away, the unmistakable sounds of werewolves growling and centaurs firing their bows broke through the forest’s eerie silence. “It sounds like they’ve engaged,” Alex muttered, placing Wimzy down on a sturdy branch.
Through the thick branches and the darkness of the night, he could make out faint movements but couldn’t discern any clear details. “Wimzy,” Alex whispered, keeping his voice low. “Can you see the wizard who attacked your master?”
“No, Master,” Wimzy whispered, shaking her head in frustration. “It’s too dark, and the trees are blocking my view. I’m sorry… Is Wimzy very useless?”
“You are not allowed to say such things,” Alex said sternly, fixing her with a firm gaze. Without another word, he picked her up again. “We’ll move closer. Be careful not to make any noise.” He leapt forward, deftly moving through the trees with silent precision. After advancing a few dozen meters, he landed on a branch high above the ground, where the view was much clearer.
Ahead, the battle unfolded in a low-lying clearing. The first sight that caught Alex’s eye was the group of centaurs, their torchlight revealing their towering forms. They were imposing, standing on average about three meters tall. Among them, Alex counted seven or eight centaurs, but three were smaller, lacking the beards of the adults. Clearly, they were underage.
The centaurs were backed against a rocky highland that rose three to four meters. Fallen tree trunks littered the path behind them, creating an improvised barricade and leaving them effectively cornered. Alex and Wimzy had landed on a tree overlooking this rocky area, their position offering a near-perfect vantage point.
On the opposite side of the clearing, a pack of werewolves stood in their full wolf forms, their feral eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. At their center was a figure Alex immediately identified as the werewolf wizard—a hulking man with thick, matted black hair and unnaturally long fangs.
The centaurs had formed a defensive line against the werewolves. Five adults stood at the front, their muscular arms gripping long spears, while the three younger centaurs held bows in the back row. The archers had their bows drawn, arrows taut against the strings, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
The werewolves, however, didn’t charge recklessly. They seemed to understand the danger posed by the centaurs’ bows and arrows. Many of them bore broken arrows lodged in their bodies, and blood splatters dotted the ground between the two groups.
Yet the centaurs were clearly struggling as well. Their breaths were labored, and their once-proud stances were marred by exhaustion and wounds. One centaur, in particular, seemed on the verge of collapse, his hands trembling as he tried to steady his bowstring.
The werewolves had cornered the centaurs cleverly, using the terrain to their advantage. The centaurs’ natural speed was their greatest asset, but in this confined space, their ability to run was nullified.
Alex observed the situation carefully. The werewolves and centaurs had clearly clashed multiple times, leaving both sides injured. However, the werewolves’ innate healing abilities gave them the upper hand. Alex watched as one werewolf pulled an arrow from its shoulder, the wound already beginning to close.