Kael brushed the snow from the fallen tree before vaulting over it, a small cloud of powder puffing up as he landed.
'I really liked that tree…'
One of the strongest storms in over eighty years had swept over Velthoria the night before. Nearly five thousand hectares of forest had been snapped or torn from the ground, leaving the woods looking less like a forest and more like a battlefield.
The path he used to take to the cabin was completely buried beneath fresh snow and fallen trees. He moved forward on memory alone.
He stopped before another felled giant. If it had still been standing, the tree would have risen well over twenty-four meters.
Kael placed his palm against the trunk and activated Point Aegis, then drove his fingers into the wood. He heaved, dragging the tree aside before tossing it a few meters off the path.
'Should I just convert to the strength path?'
He flexed his hand, squeezing it into a fist a few times.
The Golden Horned Mote was only rank two, yet he had relied on it more than any of his others. Its effect was painfully simple. It enhanced his physical abilities to that of five wolves layered atop his own strength.
'Of course, I can't forget about Point Aegis.'
Even now, he could punch through a tree with brute force alone. But without Point Aegis, he would shatter every bone in his hand on impact.
Kael continued along the path.
It was no coincidence they worked so well together. After all, Emberveil Gale Demon Paragon had been a strength path Luminaire.
Birdsong echoed faintly through the forest, mingling with the crunch of snow beneath his steps.
'Strength path…'
His thoughts drifted.
He could convert, if he wanted to. But was it realistic?
Pathways were not interchangeable things. Everyone carried natural affinities, inclinations that shaped how easily one could walk a given path.
In theory, anyone could convert to any pathway. In practice, it was rarely worth the cost.
Conversion meant reshaping his motes. And after that, all that remained was talent. Even if he converted to the strength path, the cost per activation would rise. His Thoughts would drain faster, burdened by a lack of affinity, and advancement would grow harder, slower.
One advanced by understanding their pathway.
By abandoning his natural inclination and forcing himself into another, his ability to grasp that path would suffer. His progress would stall. What little advantage conversion offered would be paid back tenfold in stagnation.
It was theoretically possible.
But not realistic.
"Refinement pathway it is…"
He leaned his head back as he murmured the words to himself.
Fully converting to the strength path was unrealistic. Using motes from it, however, was not. Every pathway possessed what could be considered passive motes, or single-use motes. What those passives actually did, however, varied. The mind path might have a mote that cleared one's thoughts. Refinement might have one that simply increased success rates. The blade path might offer heightened intuition when wielding a weapon, and so on.
So even without converting, people still made use of foreign, single-use motes.
Kael was no exception.
The strength path was versatile, direct, and highly sought after. Single-use motes from it, ones that did not demand natural affinity, were far easier to obtain. As for other pathways, their single-use motes were nearly impossible to find.
In fact, Kael had never come across one. Not on the surface. Not in the underground markets either.
His thoughts were suddenly cut short by movement at the edge of his vision.
Kael turned his head.
A lone figure was moving through the forest.
He strained his sight behind the blindfold, forcing focus. A pale woman, her face smeared with blood, pushed through the trees. Several shapes followed close behind her.
Kael watched as she stumbled over fallen trunks. She crashed into the snow, crawled a few meters, then forced herself back to her feet and ran again. Each breath tore from her lungs in short bursts, mist blooming with every exhale.
Kael observed for another moment. When she drew within twenty meters, she finally saw him.
Horror flashed across her face, quickly chased by relief.
She changed direction at once and ran straight toward him.
"Help me," she forced out, before her legs gave way and she collapsed at Kael's feet.
Kael lifted his gaze to the men chasing her.
"GRAB HER!" one of them shouted. "THE BITCH IS A SPY FROM EIREINDAILE!"
Another echoed the cry behind him.
Kael crouched and pressed a knee into the woman's back, pinning her in place.
"Don't worry," he said calmly. "I've got her."
The three men slowed to a stop, bending over with their hands on their knees, breath coming out in ragged clouds.
"This fucker sure knows how to run," one of them laughed after catching his breath.
"Thank you, sir," another said as he stepped closer.
As Kael rose to his feet, one of the men lashed out, kicking the woman hard in the stomach. She gagged and curled inward as he spat on her.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"Solian," Kael replied.
His gaze flicked to the crests sewn into their shoulders. Valthorne.
"I see," the man said. "Write your name down and I'll make sure you get paid."
Kael gave a small nod.
The moment two of them bent down to lift the woman, Kael aligned his fingers and drew his arm across his chest. He carved a sharp arc through the air.
A wet, cracking sound tore through the forest. Two bodies dropped into the snow beside the woman, their heads rolling once before sinking into white.
"What the—"
The last man never finished.
Kael drove his arm straight through the man's chest. Blood burst outward in thick chunks as the man fell to his knees, eyes wide, hands clawing uselessly at the wound. For a heartbeat he stayed there, trembling, before collapsing face-first into the snow.
Kael drew his arm back and cut another clean arc through the air, flinging the blood from it as if it were nothing more than water.
He bent down and slung her over his shoulder, then continued on his way.
Once inside the cabin, Kael laid her down on the bed. He stepped back without lingering and moved into the living room. A few pieces of firewood went into the fireplace. A match struck. Flames caught and spread with a low crackle.
He filled a pot with snow and set it on the fire stove, lighting that as well.
Kael hung his coat on the hanger and returned to the bedroom.
He stood there for a moment, gaze steady behind the blindfold as he looked down at the young woman.
She was his age, had a slim build and natural red hair, now dulled and matted. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, drained by blood loss.
Kael rolled his shoulders once, then began to strip away what remained of her outer clothes. Fabric came free stiff with frozen blood, torn seams giving way under his hands. He paused only to assess, his gaze sweeping over bruises, cuts, and torn skin before moving on.
From a drawer, he pulled an old curtain and tore it into long strips.
He worked with focused precision.
Lukewarm water washed over her wounds, carrying away grime and dried blood. With a pair of tweezers, he leaned in close, plucking splinters of wood, bits of stone, and packed dirt from torn flesh. Some came free easily. Others resisted, drawing thin lines of blood as they were pulled loose.
He pressed the cloth down afterward, firm but careful, binding what needed to be bound, leaving what needed air exposed.
When he was finished, her breathing had steadied, faint but even. The worst of the damage had been laid bare and addressed.
Kael rested a hand against her forehead.
'Fever…'
He withdrew and moved back into the cabin, going through what remained of the drawers. When he returned, he stripped away her ruined clothes and replaced them with old ones, clean and dry. He wrapped his coat around her for warmth, then tucked her in, careful not to disturb the bindings.
Only once she was settled did he step back.
"Don't die on me now."
He closed the door behind him as he left the bedroom.
—
Kael glanced toward the sun, half-hidden behind the treetops.
'It should've been around four hours now?'
He closed his book and returned to the bedroom.
He had checked on her regularly. Each time, cold beads of sweat clung to her skin, her expression twisted with discomfort even in unconsciousness. This time was no different.
Kael stepped closer and leaned over her. Thin strands of hair were plastered to her face, darkened by sweat.
Just as he began to pull away, her hand moved.
For a fraction of a second, Kael's attention sharpened.
The candlestick she thrust upward shattered against his palm, exploding into splinters that scattered across the cabin. In the same motion, her other hand shot for his throat.
Kael caught her wrist effortlessly.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock as his grip closed around her arm.
"Calm,"
Kael whispered, his voice cold and steady.
Her breathing was fast and uneven, her eyes wide with naked horror.
"Please don't kill me," she rasped.
Kael let out a deliberate sigh and released her wrist.
"I won't..."
He pulled a chair closer and sat down beside the bed.
She said nothing. Only watched him.
"I'm a mercenary from Eireindaile,"
Kael continued.