Chapter 165

A migrating herd of thunderhoofs was not something Nick felt equipped to handle. A single group made up of a dozen or so, even if led by an Alpha, sure. He knew he could come out on top with some preparation. But hundreds of the beasts? No, that was suicidal. And that didn’t even account for the more powerful presences he could sense further out.Even at this distance, he could sense the prickling ionization across his wind sense, as if an invisible thunderstorm grazed the grassland. With no easy cover for them to use, they would have to make a significant detour, but they had no other choice.

“Long way ’round?” Elia asked, twitching uneasily.

“The longest,” Nick answered. “Straight-line is suicide.” No one argued, watching in silence as thunder boomed from the center of the herd, and a massive lightning bolt struck the sky where a passing bird had gotten too close.

Thus, they began an oblique circling pattern, moving from slinking to crouching whenever the grass was too short to hide them completely. This made the whole process significantly longer than it would have taken, but they weren’t willing to take chances.

Twice, Rhea’s pockets rattled when one of the beasts closest to them unleashed its power and shook the ground, drawing curious gazes from the closest thunderhoofs.

Each time, Nick cast a gust that rattled rocks in the opposite direction. He would have preferred to keep a bubble of wind around them, but the thunderhoofs seemed surprisingly sensitive to wind mana. Given the grudge they seemed to have with the birds, Nick didn’t want to risk becoming a beacon.

The third time this happened, a massive bull swung its ponderous head away from them, horns bright with power as it charged, and hit. When it struck, a boulder the size of a shed was blown to smithereens.

Breathless minutes passed before it finally returned to grazing.

Near the herd’s western fringe, they encountered a nursery cluster where calves no heavier than ponies romped, guarded by a matriarch whose horns were longer than Nick’s arms.

That felt like something his mother should have warned him about, but to be fair, her hunts only lasted a couple of days at most, and she usually only took a few of the weaker ones. It was unlikely she had ever delved this deeply into the northern grasslands.

When a bramble crunched under Rhea’s foot, the massive monster pawed at the ground, preparing to charge despite not knowing its origin.

Nick snapped his fingers, pulling on his still-new connection to the lightning to enhance his wind. A hollow thunderclap echoed from the far side of the herd as compressed air detonated against a boulder. Both girls flinched, but the matriarch spun toward the phantom noise and lumbered after it, her calves trotting behind her.

It continued like that, with a dozen small improvisations. Misleading breezes, distant clacks of stone on stone, and the faint bawl of a scavenger cat carried through ventriloquy. Their path twisted so widely that the moon had risen high before the last staticky rumble faded behind them.

Finally, they collapsed against the sheltered side of a grassy mound, dotted with mossy stones and stubborn crab grass. Sweat cooled, leaving their skin clammy, while Nick’s thoughts felt cotton-wadded as the constant, silent tension drained him of his energy.

Eventually, he gathered enough strength to start setting up camp, noticing the hill was steep enough on three sides to deter prowlers and open to the south, where the clear moonlight would reveal any approach. He felt tempted to raise four stone walls to shield them from the elements, but weighed that comfort against the risk of attracting more attention and decided that subtlety was more important.

The nearby stream, which allowed him to avoid summoning enough water for all three of them to drink and wash, was merely a side benefit.

Rhea unbuckled her pack with fingers that trembled from more than just fatigue, yet she still set about creating a hearth with practiced skill: a circle of flint fragments, a handful of dried stalks of grass, a flick of grey dust, and soon enough, a flame crackled merrily.

“I’ll stew that wild turnip along with the hawks,” she said, voice heavy. “I’m nearly out of salt, but we should be able to find some in the tunnels if my senses are accurate. The soil should have enough for crystals to form.”

“I’ll fetch some water.” Elia’s tail hung limp; dust covered her from ears to ankles. Without waiting, she padded down the slope toward the silver sheen of a rivulet running through the reeds. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs N0veI.Fiɾe.net

The hilltop grew quiet, with only the crackling of the fire beneath Rhea’s small iron pot and the distant croaking of night insects breaking the silence. Nick knelt beside her, slicing root vegetables while she diced the meat.

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At last, Rhea exhaled. “I don’t actually care.”

Nick’s knife paused mid-stroke. “About…?”

“About what you are.” She did not look up; the fire painted copper streaks across her freckled cheeks. “It’s obvious you aren’t just a Mage, and certainly not an average one. The temple’s interest in you is excessive, even accounting for how rare mages are in Floria. But it’s not my business.” She flicked poultry cubes into the pot, causing the fat to sizzle. “We’re friends. That’s all that matters.”

Wind stirred, and embers danced. Nick eased the blade down, suddenly mindful of its point. A dozen answers jostled, but none felt adequate. Finally, he murmured, “Thanks for trusting me.”

Rhea’s shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Just don’t turn me into a newt, Crowley.”

He snorted. Some of the tension in his gut unclenched—then footsteps crunched; Elia returned with a full flask, scrubbed clean and shivering, hair damp. The moment died unspoken.

A bright blue flame blossomed momentarily as the foxgirl dried herself before winking out. Nick sighed softly at the light it emitted, rolling his eyes at Elia’s sheepish cough. Fortunately, nothing was disturbed by the commotion.

Dinner vanished with astonishing speed. They spoke little and only about the route: at least three hours awaited them through mixed scrub, after which they would reach a limestone ridge that contained the entrance to the secret tunnel leading beneath the next temple. Elia’s maps revealed nothing about the dangers that might lurk, but they all agreed that they needed to be prepared for further attacks.

The general consensus was that the thunderhoofs were driven south by something, and whatever it was must be powerful.

Afterward, Nick set the owl figurine on a lichen-speckled rock, unfurling his sleeping set behind it and sitting with his back to it. He took a piece of parchment from his backpack and carefully tore out a square before returning the rest. His new spell didn’t necessarily require an actual ofuda to work, but it would certainly benefit from sticking to the proper shapes, at least until he got the hang of it.

The girls slept back-to-back, Rhea’s hair cascading like ink over her luxurious setup, while Elia was cocooned in her blanket. This, more than Rhea’s words, demonstrated just how much they trusted him.

Night stretched on. Stars wheeled in the sky. Yet, Nick’s eyes kept flicking to the sleeping shapes, replaying that discussion.

Probably. Rhea knew much more than he did about the world. Her promise not to pry carried weight precisely because prying was in her nature. He let the thought settle, uncomfortable yet warm, and when his preparations were complete, he slept deeply.

Dawn found them on their feet, the hill already far behind. The Thunderhoof herd lay miles to the south, a low rumble beneath the earth that Nick could still almost feel. However, the grassland around them had come to life again: distant critters whined, and fresh claw marks scored the rocks where something had patrolled overnight.

Nick flexed his stiff fingers. He had tested his newborn craft the previous evening, and the results met his expectations. His first ofuda was no larger than a playing card, made with charcoal from burnt fox fur.

Four ideograms formed their matrix, as he didn't want to reach for the stars when simple concepts could still be just as useful: Ignorance / Unseen / Passing-Through / Clouded-Mind, arranged around the stripped-down matrix of .

Giving up on the spell felt like a waste, but he couldn’t justify training it when even simple adventurers could see through it. He hoped this would shine new light on its usefulness.

He pressed the tag to his chest and whispered, "Emakimono, bloom." The parchment vanished with a soft whisper, turning invisible yet vividly present to his senses, like a polite “ignore me” smile embedded in reality.

Minutes later, tremors rustled the leaf litter. A quartet of burrowing moles—each the size of terriers, their fur bristling with territorial anger—waddled from a rise, sniffing. They halted, snuffled, circled… then turned ninety degrees and pattered off, arguing in high-pitched squeaks about why they had bothered to come this way.

Elia grinned, having observed his actions with a tilted head. “Handy.”

“The field test was successful,” Nick agreed, pocketing the used slip.

They pressed northeast. The grass thickened, and granitic boulders appeared like the discarded teeth of titans. By mid-morning, a chalk white ridge jutted from the earth, riddled with swallow nests: the tunnel, according to the old map, sat beneath its western foot.

Nick’s senses stretched outward, searching for the emptiness that marked worked stone, when the sky screamed.

A mass of wind crashed down a hundred feet from them; chunks of rock exploded skyward, and the trio staggered.

Fortunately, Nick’s reflexes were already heightened, and he slammed both palms outward.

A translucent dome blossomed just as hurricane pressure descended. Dust whirlpooled off the grass, and pebbles ricocheted off the barrier like musket shots. Above, a shadow blotted the sun with wings wider than a roof beam and feathers tipped with emerald.

An apex predator cried a challenge and angled its talons, expecting soft prey crushed flat by its down-gust.

It met unmoved air instead. The massive bird screeched, banking. Wind roared across its pinions, and the barrier shrieked in protest but held.

“Move!” Nick barked. They dove toward a cleft beside the cliff base as the eagle wheeled, gaining altitude for another strafing run.

In that instant, Nick’s hand touched the second paper tag in his pocket, the one he hadn’t yet primed, and inspiration struck him.

, he thought, drawing the parchment and summoning a flickering flame to the tip of his finger even as he ran. He slashed a single ideogram—Blind—across the blank and fed it with the deep pool of mana still coiled inside him.

The eagle stooped, and the air churned as it prepared to unleash its fury.

Nick flung the tag into its flight path and followed his instincts, shouting, “Emakimono: veil!”

The parchment erupted into a plume of purple smoke. The eagle shrieked, its golden eyes clouded with a milky cataract. Wings thrashed, and the wind shear swayed.

Pointing directly at the monster who dared to use the wind against him, Nick felt no compunction about unleashing his strongest spell. came to life easily, as the frustration and rage he felt fed it.

As soon as he felt it come together, Nick heard the eagle scream, and he knew his ofuda was about to be overcome.

“Go.” He whispered with feral desire, and the spell shot upward.

The eagle must have sensed something because, even in the midst of its struggle with the blinding magic, it banked left, trying to avoid being struck by the mass of wind.

Its actions were as successful as an ant’s efforts to stop a boot. bloomed to life, and its churning winds exploded outward, shearing half of its body into nothingness.

A dull thump followed, as what little remained of it fell to gravity.

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