Chapter 359: Sylvan Shaman

A dozen hunters fell in by Jahn’s side, each with their own steel spear. Their feet shifted and their weapons moved into a defensive formation.

Stryg stiffened. It was different, they wielded spears instead of longswords, but he recognized the stance. One of the advanced blade forms, used only as a group. The Gale Style’s Blade Wall.

“If you cannot see reason, then we’ll make you see it by the edge of a spear!” Jahn yelled.

Stryg said nothing and simply stared at the hunters with a steady gaze.

Tauri found herself wishing she had her flail with her, but the goblins had taken all their weapons but Stryg’s. She glanced at the relic sword lying on the ground next to their remaining belongings and bit her lip in regret. She couldn’t even pick up the sword if she wanted to.

Plum swallowed hard, “Um, maybe we should run? I can make some illusions to buy us time?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good idea,” Tauri nodded anxiously. “I don’t have my weapons and we definitely don’t have enough mana to fight off an entire tribe.”

“Stryg?” Plum and Tauri glanced at him nervously.

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, “…No, I think I’ll stay.”

Plum recognized the small changes in his expression and smiled. “Finally,” she whispered.

“Kill the orc and drow but leave the boy alive!” Jahn raised his spear.

The hunters shouted in reply and followed suit.

Jahn bared his fangs and hissed, “Atta—!”

The village square suddenly started to tremble. The ground crumbled apart like sand and the goblins began to sink into the dirt. They cried out in fear and flung their hands around for help to no avail.

Plum and Tauri stared in mute shock as the entire village square broke apart save for a small patch of dirt that remained stable underneath their feet. Stryg stood over the crumbling dirt, but the earth shifted around his feet in a constant ripple, keeping him afloat. His shoulders heaved quietly and a bead of sweat slipped down his brow, but his breath was steady and his lilac eyes were calm.

“Stryg…?” Tauri muttered in awe.

The sheer level of green mana it would require to cast a stone spell of such a magnitude was more than even two or three masters could muster together.

How vast are his mana reserves? Tauri thought in wonder.

The hunters that remained atop the Moon Hall’s roof silently pulled back their bows and fired. A red sphere flared to life around the outsiders. The arrowheads broke harmlessly against the magical wall.

Wards?! Tauri glanced at Stryg. When did he…?

Stryg glanced at the rooftop and flicked his hand. A gust of wind slammed against the hunters from the back and sent them toppling down in panicked screams.

Plum flinched back in fear of the inevitable splatter of blood and breaking of bones, but a second gust caught the hunters at the last moment, slowing their fall. They slammed into the dirt with a hard thud and began to sink into the ground with the rest. The ground kept shifting in a myriad scene until every goblin in the village square was waist-deep in the earth.

The crumbling soil settled once more but the goblins' screams of fear and panic turned into screams of outrage as they began to try and claw themselves out from the ground. Only the Mothers did not try to escape. First Mother held a calm expression and had her arms crossed as if waiting for the whole debacle to end. The other Mothers glanced at one another and tried their best to imitate First’s calm demeanor, albeit with a trace of anxiety.

Jahn roared in frustration. He slammed his spear into the ground, gripped it with both hands, and pulled himself out of the dirt with sheer strength.

Plum took a step back, “Uh, how did he just do that?”

Stryg narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Stay close.”

Plum looked at him as if he was insane. “Where else am I supposed to go? We’re literally surrounded by hundreds of pissed off goblins!”

Jahn heaved deep angry breaths and glared at Stryg. “So you’re a shaman, too? I should have guessed,” he laughed bitterly. “Shamans are supposed to protect the tribe… It is why the Mother Moon blesses them with power! Is this what you call protecting your people!?”

Stryg leveled his gaze, “The Mother Moon did not bless me with magic. This power, my magic, is mine, and mine alone.”

Jahn growled and lunged at him. Stryg channeled yellow mana into his skin in the blink of an eye. Yellow scales formed over his body as he raised his arms to block. Jahn’s spear suddenly blurred and disappeared. Stryg gasped with a grimace. A burning sensation lashed across his chest and the world spun around him.

Stryg flew back and crashed into the Moon Hall’s wall, the wood splintering underneath the force of the blow. He fell to his knees and coughed painfully as he tried sucking in deep breaths of air. The scales of light on his chest crumbled to yellow dust and faded away.

Stryg slowly looked up at Jahn and frowned. He had his suspicions of the chief, but he was certain of it now. The man was a spear master of the Gale Style, a powerful one at that, more skilled than even Clypeus’ sister or Lysaila.

“Why?” Stryg muttered. “If you were so strong, why did you ever let Crovor get away with abusing his power!? Why did you ever let us go to that damned cave!”

Jahn clenched his jaw, “…Sylvan shamans are protected under our sacred laws, boy. Even that sorry excuse of a shaman was safe under Sylvan law… But you! You dare spit on the Mother Moon’s blessing! You are no Sylvan!”

The words cut deeper than Stryg thought possible. It was as if all the doubts he had ever had about his place among the Sylvan were suddenly given form, called out into existence in the dark recesses of his mind.

“You’re wrong…” Stryg whispered shakily.

Jahn glared at him, “Am I—?”

Stryg dashed away abruptly, agility magic pouring into his veins. Jahn snarled and chased after him, life force flooding into his muscles. Stryg reached his pack and grasped the relic sword’s steel-white hilt. With a single fluid motion, he drew the blade, spun around, and met Jahn’s spear in a clash of steel. Sparks flew and the spear screeched in a high pitch as the jagged blade sliced through it with one clean swipe.

Jahn stiffened to a halt, his spear cleaved in two, the relic blade’s tip held at his throat.

Stryg breathed heavily but his grip was steady. “You may be a spear master, but without a spear, I can and will cut you down.”

Jahn’s angry expression softened and he smiled begrudgingly, “…Do it then. Kill me and take your place as chieftain of the tribe.”

Stryg’s eyes widened in shock, “What?”

Jahn looked him over and nodded in satisfaction, “You’re finally strong enough to protect our people. Many of the Blood Fang hate you, but they will learn to respect you… in time. I have done my part.”

Stryg shook his head, “What are you saying?”

“It is time you take your place among the tribe. It is your birthright.”

“No, this… this isn’t what I wanted!”

“You always dreamed of being chieftain, did you not? You always wanted to lead our people to glory, like the Sylvan heroes of old. Now is your chance.”

“No, not like this! I don’t want to kill you!” his voice cracked.

Jahn placed his hand over Stryg’s shoulder, “It is our way. A chieftain must die before a new one can take his place. If you truly wish to be Sylvan you will do what is needed.”

Stryg’s hand trembled and the blade shook. He bit his lip, “You’re wrong…”

“Are you Sylvan or are you not?!”

“You’re wrong!” he screamed and threw the blade aside. “I am Sylvan! And I will not kill you.”

Jahn blinked numbly. “This is not our way.”

“No, it's mine. What of it?” Stryg glared at him.

“…Is that so?” Jahn smiled softly, “First Mother was right about you, the boy is no longer a boy… Very well, you win.”

“Then you mean?”

“As chieftain, I swear under the light of the Mother Moon, you and your friends shall be safe in our village,” Jahn bowed his head in acquiescence. “Welcome home, Stryg, son of Blood Fang.” He winked, “I missed you, kid.”

Something warm bloomed in Stryg’s chest. A deep longing ache broke inside him. He hadn’t realized how desperately he had wanted to hear those words.

His bottom lip quivered and tears burned his eyes. Stryg bowed his head and his pale white hair fell across his face, hiding his quiet sobbing, though the tears still fell to the ground.

Jahn noticed what was happening and sighed. He stepped between Stryg and the other goblins, keeping him from their view. “If you are to earn their respect you mustn't forget our ways. What did First Mother always say?”

“Goblins… goblins don’t cry,” he sniffed.

“Good, then clean yourself up before the others see you. You already cried during your Night Challenge, best not to make a habit of it.”

“…Right.”

“And get these goblins out of the ground, some of them still have to cook dinner, you know.”

Stryg laughed softly, “Right.”

~~~

Grolm hunched over his desk, scribbling word after word of ink onto the 181st page of the night, or was it the 182nd? He had lost track. Work in Hollow Shade had become far more strained thanks to the ongoing war between the city and the Valley Tribes.

Recent caravan travel had grown difficult due to the constant skirmishes. Which meant fewer caravans, which meant fewer traded commodities, which meant more demand and more money to be made. Which all basically boiled down to more work for a simple scribe like him.

Just this week he had already filled out two ledgers regarding every single stocked goods and shipment, along with the payments of every man and woman who was hired to work on fourteen caravan wagons.

Grolm groaned and leaned backwards, his back popping with welcomed relief. The work was exhausting, but he was more than happy to do it for his family. His son was studying at the prestigious civics academy. It was difficult to gain admission into the academy and it was a rare sight for any dwarf to attend, but it was a sight Grolm and his wife were very proud of and more than willing to pay for.

His son wasn’t the only impressive child in the family. Grolm’s daughter had recently graduated from the magic academy and had become a full-fledged adept, or so she said. He wasn’t entirely sure what adept meant, but he knew it was an important accomplishment for any mageborn.

Soon, she would start her work in the city. Grolm smiled, he could see it now, his daughter striding through the streets, black robes billowing in the wind behind her, orange fiery hair shining bright under the sun, head held high.

A sudden knock at the door broke him from his daydream. Grolm got up from his seat with a heavy groan and went to get the door.

He wondered to himself who would be visiting at this late hour and grabbed the fire poker for his own protection.

He pushed the door open just a crack. “Who is it?”

“A friend of Kithina.”

Grolm slowly looked up in mute surprise. His eyes widened to saucers and his jaw went slack. A towering cloaked figure loomed before him, but where there might have been legs, instead there was only a sapphire tail.

Grolm stumbled backwards and pointed at her with a shaky finger, “L-l-lami-i-i-aaaa!”

Lysaila rolled her eyes at the terrified ramble and pushed the door open. She slithered inside the small home and glanced about, “I heard this is where Kithina lives. Kitty, are you here?”