There was no way of telling whether Veil succeeded or not. In the course of the day he approached the Cleric, then walked back to the volunteer group without a word. Dallion suspected that a longer conversation had taken place, possibly accompanied with a trial as well, all in the awakened state. The results remained unknown, but based on Veil’s expression they can’t have been too good.

So much for getting to level four, Dallion thought. That didn’t change their previous conversation, though. Dallion did have to become stronger before they ran into the beast. The only question was how. Given the training regimen there was no time for further awakenings, so Dallion couldn’t improve objects for personal practice. Furthermore, thanks to Veil’s blunder, Dallion didn’t think asking the Cleric was a good idea.

To make matters worse, by order of the Dame, Gloria along with all other level fours, was moved further to the front of the group. When Dallion tried to ask about the reason for this change, he was only told to shut up and keep walking—not the most trust inspiring reaction one could get.

“Don’t worry,” Havoc approached. “She’s in better hands than the lot of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a four. Parties tend to protect those. At least more than us losers,” the large man laughed. “Shouldn’t complain too much, though. Could have been worse. We could have been twos.”

That didn’t sound too encouraging either.

“What happens to twos?” Dallion asked.

“Nothing much. The soldiers won’t go out of their way to save them if things get bad. Then again, you can’t be sure about anything during hunts. What happens happens, so why waste time worrying about it, right?” He gave Dallion a pat on the back, almost knocking him to the ground.

A few steps away Veil snorted, though didn’t voice any comments.

“You know a lot about hunts,” Dallion grumbled.

“You live a long life, you pick up a thing or two. Also, this isn’t my first party.”

“Oh?” This sparked Dallion’s interest, and not only his. Veil along with another few people within earshot casually moved closer, trying to listen in on the conversation.

“It’s no big deal.” Havoc shrugged. “Every few years some bad beastie starts causing problems and one troop or other has to go and kill it. It’s inevitable to happen, even in the middle of nowhere. I guess you’re just been lucky so far.”

“Does that mean—”

“On guard!” Dame Vesuvia shouted.

The hunting party reacted immediately. Like a well-oiled machine the soldiers spread out, forming a circle. Kalis along with one other went to the volunteers and started giving out bolts and strings.

“You’ve got five shots,” he said, handing the bolt pack to Dallion. “Make them count.”

“What’s going on?” Dallion whispered.

Kalis looked him in the eyes for several seconds, then gave a pack to Veil.

“Don’t get yourselves killed.”

Dallion felt shivers down his spine.

The bolt pack was made to fit the dartbow perfectly. Dallion watched the people around him click it in place with one swift action, then place the string to the sides of the weapon’s limb. Silently, he did the same.

Five shots… not nearly as many as he’d used in training. Both he and Veil had been generous at the number of shots, often using the weapon as a repeater gun. Only Gloria had tried to be more conservative, just shooting when she absolutely had to. Even so, Dallion doubted she’d be able to manage with such an amount.

“Don’t waste your bolts,” Kalis shouted for all to hear. “Shoot only if your life is in danger! Don’t charge out or try to help us!”

More clicks followed, as the group prepped their weapons, followed by silence. Dallion stood up, trying to see over the circle of soldiers. With the exception of a few hills nearby and a chain of snow-covered mountains in the distance, there was nothing remarkable in the area—just cold grassy plains continuing on and on.

There has to be something, Dallion thought. A city, a village, or even…

Smoke. It took him a while to notice it. Little more than a black thread, it rose into the sky, originating from relatively close by. Dallion rose on his toes to try and see more, but Havoc grabbed him by the shoulder, slamming him back down.

“Don’t,” the red haired whispered. “You’ll see it soon enough.”

The entire group fell silent to the point that steps, even the occasional movement of chainmail could be heard.

“How close is it?” Vesuvia asked, drawing a two-piece sword. Back on Earth the weapon would be pegged as a cheap movie prop and completely ignored. Here, though, Dallion could feel its power even from this distance; the two blade parts—shaped like a tuning fork—were never meant to be the cutting part, they merely held the real blade, created from what could only be described as hardened air.

“Half a day,” the cleric said, removing his hood. “Fifteen hours at most. It did it’s thing and moved on.”

“By the Crippled’s luck! That’s the last thing I needed!” The Dame scowled. “Did it heal?”

“Maybe. I’ll need to check the spot to know more. Either way, if we don’t hurry it’ll get stronger.”

“You’re sure it’s not hiding?”

There was a long pause. Dallion, like many others, held his breath. He didn’t know the specifics of the conversation, but his imagination did a pretty good job of filling in the blanks.

“It’s nowhere near,” the Cleric replied after a while. “I’ll go and check.”

“No. We all go. I’ll need you close in case we lose the trail again.”

“We can’t waste time, Initiate. I’ll go see. You need to continue on its trail. If it finds more health bags, you might not be able to take it down.”

“That is not your decision to make, Cleric!” The woman’s voice had a force behind it that could make steel snap. Dallion felt as if a dust of wind had hit him in the chest. By the reaction of the people nearby, he wasn’t the only one.

“Yes, Initiate.” The Cleric bowed only. “By the Seven Moons.”

“By the Seven.” The Dame sheathed her sword. “Double march forward!” she ordered. “Heavy troops in front, volunteers in the back! Keep your eyes peeled and don’t stop until ordered!”