The silence that followed the battle was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic drip-drop of the serpent blood falling from the overhead branches onto the crimson-stained snow.
Antares didn't move for a long time.
He remained seated leisurely atop the massive, severed head of the Alpha Stonefang, his long, wild black hair matted with gore and his piercing red eyes scanning the perimeter.
He looked less like a king and more like a dark deity of the woods, a silhouette of violence amidst the corpses of his enemies.
Footsteps crunched in the slush.
Yanrid approached, his icy blue eyes moving from the headless Alpha to his King. He had just finished a sweep of the clearing, checking the state of their unit.
"Report," Antares said, his voice rasping slightly from the adrenaline.
"The immediate area is clear, my Lord," Yanrid replied, bowing his head. "As for our own… we were fortunate. We have two soldiers severely injured—one with a crushed ribcage and another with a deep puncture from a Stonefang spike. The rest have sustained only minor lacerations and bruising. No fatalities."
Antares let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. The tension that had coiled in his chest since the first serpent lunged finally began to unspool. He wasn't a stranger to death; his previous life and the early days of his awakening had hardened him. But these were his men. Every life lost was a crack in the foundation of the empire he was trying to build. He knew that, eventually, he would have to lead men to their graves by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. But today, he wasn't ready to pay that price.
"Good," Antares muttered. "See that the wounded are stabilized."
With a sudden, fluid grace, Antares jumped off the Alpha's severed head.
He landed in front of Yanrid with a soft thud, the bear-fur coat billowing around him. He looked around the clearing. The hunters were already moving with practiced efficiency. They were the butchering the corpses, their sharp blades cutting the stone-like scales to get to the rich, mana-dense meat beneath.
However, Antares quickly realized they had a a hellish work on their hands. There were eight massive serpents, including the eighty-meter Alpha and other smaller serpents. Even with forty men, they couldn't carry the whole of this haul back to the camp. Leaving it would be a sin and a big loss; this meat could feed the camp for weeks, and the scales, fangs and other parts were worth their weight when traded.
We need reinforcements, Antares thought. But the camp is kilometers away.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the dormant biological structures within his own mind. From his forehead, two glowing slender, segmented antennae emerged, twitching as they caught the faint electromagnetic pulses of the world.
He tried to project his thoughts toward the camp, searching for the familiar "mental signatures" of Yajin and Velas.
He pushed his mana, but the distance was too great. The signals were muffled by the sheer density of the Iron-Oaks and the ambient mana of the forest. It was like trying to shout into a hurricane.
He looked at Yanrid. An idea, born of both Earth-logic and Ant-instinct, sparked in his mind.
"Yanrid, touch my shoulder," Antares commanded.
The Master of Scouts hesitated for a split second before obeying. As his hand met Antares's armored shoulder, Yanrid's own antennae emerged—a striking, icy blue that shimmered in the twilight.
Antares didn't just want Yanrid's strength; he wanted his frequency. He used Yanrid as a biological network booster,to amplify the signal and extend his range.
The world suddenly "opened up." The mental fog cleared, and Antares found the twin beacons of the camp's leadership. "Yajin. Velas. Listen well. The telepathic link won't last long." he paused before continuing "The hunt is successful. We have eight Stonefang carcasses, including an Alpha. I need every spare hand and every transport wagon and cart you can muster. Move to the northern edge of Stagfall at full speed. Do not delay."
The link buckled under the strain and snapped. Antares staggered back, his antennae retracting as a sharp, piercing migraine blossomed behind his eyes. He massaged his temples, his red eyes squinting against the sudden glare of the snow.
"Damn," he hissed. "That... actually stung."
He walked over to a nearby mossy stone and sat down, letting the cold air settle his stomach. He looked over at Levi and Eli, who were standing guard just a few feet away, their blades still drawn and their gazes fixed on the dark woods.
"You two," Antares called out, a faint, tired smirk playing on his lips. "That was impressive work during battle. I can see that you had a chance to exert your strength. You're better at flying than me."
The twins stiffened. They were used to orders, to reprimands, and to the silent weight of duty. A direct compliment from the King was a foreign territory but one that they welcomed gladly.
"Thank you, Sire," Eli managed to say, his voice thick with pride.
"Don't get too comfortable," Antares joked, leaning back against the stone. "When we get back to the camp, we have another mission which we will have to take care of and you guys might be overworked to death during the process."
The twins exchanged a wide-eyed, horrified glance. They couldn't tell if the King was serious or if this was one of his strange jokes.
Yanrid approached again, his expression grave. "My Lord, the scent of blood is heavy. The Stonefangs are one of the apex predators here, but scavengers will be circling waiting to claim their part. We shouldn't stay in the open for long. If a terror wolves smell this massacre..."
"Relax, Yanrid," Antares said, closing his eyes. "Help is already on the way. Besides, look at the men. They need a moment to breathe."
He gestured to the two heavily wounded soldiers being tended to by the healers. "How are they?"
"The bleeding has been stopped" Yanrid reported. "But they'll need a full recovery time back in the underground settlement. They're green boys, Sire. Ambitious. They rushed in to prove their worth before they knew how to stand their ground. If the veterans hadn't stepped in to parry for them, they'd be in serpent's belly right now."
Antares nodded slowly. "Ambition is a double-edged sword. It builds empires and kingdoms, but it fills graveyards. The moment they're stabilized send them back to the settlement. They survived a battle against Stonefang serpents, that's more than most can say."
Forty minutes passed. The forest was starting to grow restless. Shadows seemed to lengthen, and the distant howls of unknown beasts echoed through the forest. Then, the sound of the wind changed.
From the north, a high-pitched whistling sound grew into a roar.
"Incoming!" a scout yelled.
A figure descended from the sky like a falling star. It was Velas. He wasn't using wings; instead, he was encased in a swirling vortex of emerald wind magic, his heavy cloak snapping violently behind him. He landed in the center of the clearing with the practiced grace of a true lord, the wind dissipating in a soft, controlled puff that didn't even disturb the snow.
A split second later, Yajin emerged, running at a speed that blurred the senses. For a being of his massive, muscular build, the force he generated was staggering. He wasn't just running; he was tearing through the landscape, each step shattering the frozen peat beneath him. He skidded to a halt beside Velas, a cloud of steam rising from his overheated skin and coming out of his mouth and nostrils as well.
Antares watched them from his stone seat, an amused glint in his eyes. Over-dramatic as always, he thought.
Yajin took one look at the clearing and froze. His jaw tightened as his eyes swept over the eight decapitated and dismantled serpents. He had seen battlefields—he had fought on the frontlines of the Goblin Wars where blood ran like rivers—but this? This was a slaughter of mythical proportions.
"Lord Yajin, Lord Velas," Antares greeted them, not bothering to stand. "You're late. The party's over."
Velas looked at Antares, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and profound relief. He saw the King—covered from head to toe in gore, his red eyes glowing through the filth, sitting calmly amidst a mountain of dead monsters.
The two clan leaders didn't say a word at first. They simply walked to the center of the clearing and dropped to one knee, their fists striking their chest plates in a heavy, rhythmic thud.
"Sire," Velas said, his voice unusually soft. "We received your message. We brought two hundred laborers and enough transport carts to take everything back."
Yajin looked up, his scarred face twisted into a grim, respectful smile. "I see we were worried for nothing. I won't question your excursions again, Your Majesty."
Antares felt a wave of smug satisfaction wash over him. The "babysitting" era was officially over. He had proven, in the bloodiest way possible, that he didn't need a shield—he was the shield.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the dark forest, and waved them off.
"Enough with the kneeling," Antares said, standing up and stretching his sore limbs. "Go supervise the harvest. I want every scrap of meat and every scale back at the camp by moonrise. And Yajin? Make sure those wounded get a proper escort back. I'm going to find a clean patch of snow and try to get this smell out of my hair."