Kael’s boots pressed deeper into the mud as he made his way closer to the swamp. The air thickened with the unmistakable stench of damp earth and decaying foliage. His enhanced senses, sharper than any normal man’s, caught the nauseous fumes of the swamp—rotting vegetation, stagnant waters, and the faint scent of something more... predatory. The wet, acidic smell of the swamp clung to the air, making it harder to breathe.

  The ground beneath his feet grew softer, the sloshing of his boots now accompanied by the occasional squelch of muck as he pressed forward. He could taste the tang of sulfur and decomposing plant matter in the back of his throat. The mist, which clung close to the ground, swirled around his legs like a slow-moving specter. Kael's red eyes, bright against the dim, foggy world, scanned the surrounding trees and waters, alert for any sign of danger.

  His enhanced senses were both a blessing and a curse in this environment. He could detect the slightest movement in the swamp, hear the softest rustle in the distance, but it also left him more attuned to the overwhelming stench of rot. The noise of the swamp—the croak of distant frogs, the buzz of unseen insects—was deafening, but Kael knew to focus through it all.

  Kael’s boots sank into the soft earth as he stepped into the swamp, and instantly, the freezing water surged over the tops of his boots, soaking through the thick leather. It was ice cold, the chill crawled up his legs, but he forced himself to ignore it, focusing instead on the mission at hand. The water inside his boots sloshed with every step, an unpleasant reminder.

  As the cold seeped into his bones, his enhanced senses flared to life. There was something else—something heavier in the air. The unmistakable scent of blood, thick and metallic, lingered on the damp wind. It clung to the mist like a foul perfume, guiding him deeper into the swamp. His sharp eyes scanned the murky waters, but all he could see was the fog rolling over the surface, obscuring anything beyond a few feet.

  The closer Kael got to the cave, the more the scent of blood assaulted his senses, thick and rancid, clinging to the damp air like a predator’s warning. The swamp seemed to grow more oppressive, the foul stench of decay hanging heavier with each step, and his boots squelched in the muck as he trudged through the dense, wet earth. He pushed forward, the blood scent guiding him, leading him to the edge of the swamp.

  At last, the thick fog parted slightly, revealing a patch of dry land ahead. Kael grunted in relief, stepping out of the swamp’s icy grasp. The water inside his boots swished with every movement as he made his way toward the firmer ground. Without hesitation, he bent down and pulled off his boots, letting the swamp water pour out, the chill already beginning to bite at his feet. He could feel the cold seeping into his toes, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the task ahead.

  He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area. Not far from where he stood, Kael spotted signs of a small, makeshift fire pit. The charred remains of wood and scattered ashes gave it away. No doubt, the mercenaries had set up camp here before their ill-fated expedition into the cave.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed as he approached the fire pit. He crouched down and examined the remnants, running his fingers through the ashes to confirm his suspicion. He stood up again, looking toward the cave.

  He found a decent-sized stick nearby, one that hadn’t burned all the way through, and gripped it in his hand. He held out his free hand and curled his thumb, index, and pinky fingers into his palm, leaving his ring and middle fingers extended. His voice was a low whisper as he muttered a word of magic, “Jarla.”

  At his command, sparks flew from his fingertips, igniting the stick into a small flame. The fire danced brightly in the swamp’s damp gloom, casting flickering light on his determined face. The warmth from the flame spread to his fingers, though the chill in his bones still remained.

  Kael’s enhanced eyes gave him the ability to see in low light, but the utter darkness of the cave was another matter. Even with his sharp vision, he would be as blind as any other mortal once he crossed the threshold. The shadows swallowed everything within the cave’s gaping maw, leaving only a sense of foreboding. He had no intention of stumbling around in the dark, unprepared.

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  His hand instinctively went to the short sword strapped to his waist. The blade was light, agile—perfect for tight spaces where the reach of his longsword would be more of a hindrance than a help. Kael knew the terrain of caves, the sudden turns and narrow passages, where every corner could be hiding danger. He would need to rely on precision and speed, not raw power.

  With a deep breath, Kael moved forward, the warmth of the fire stick fading quickly as he approached the darkness.

  Slowly, cautiously, Kael stepped into the cave's opening, the wet air heavy with the smell of earth and decay. The cave was dead silent, save for the distant echo of dripping water. A cold shiver ran down his spine, though not from fear. It was the strange sensation of entering the unknown.

  He reached out with his senses, listening for any sign of movement or sound, but the stillness was overwhelming. His grip tightened on his short sword as he moved deeper into the darkness, each step calculated and deliberate. The deeper he went, the more oppressive the air became, thick with the scent of blood and death, as though the cave itself were a tomb.

  Kael’s red eyes strained in the dark, but it was only when he stepped farther in that he felt the change—a shift in the air, as if something was waiting, watching. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  Kael held the torch in front of him, its flickering light casting long, wavering shadows on the jagged walls of the cave. His enhanced vision picked out the details others might have missed—the scattered remnants of old bones, pieces of clothing, boots half-rotted with age.

  His boots sank slightly into the soft, damp earth as he pressed forward, every step bringing him deeper into the heart of the darkness. His senses were heightened, the air thick with the stench of decay. The faint scent of blood, now stronger than ever, clung to his skin, making his stomach churn.

  Then, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing, Kael heard it—a faint, shuffling noise from the depths of the cave. His muscles tensed involuntarily, and he instinctively tightened his grip on his short sword, the steel cold and reassuring in his hand. The growl that escaped his throat was soft but filled with intent, a low warning to whatever was lurking ahead.

  He didn’t hesitate. With steady determination, he continued onward, eyes scanning every dark corner of the cave. The faint shuffle grew louder, but it was still too distant to place. His every sense was attuned, ready for the ambush that he knew was coming. Something— or someone—was moving just out of sight, waiting, perhaps hoping he would make a mistake.

  Kael turned a sharp corner, his senses assaulted by a pungent, sickly-sweet odor. It was the stench of flesh that had recently begun to rot, clinging to the stagnant air like a foul memory. His eyes narrowed as he followed the scent, each step making his stomach churn with the knowledge of what he would soon find.

  The body was slumped against the rough cave wall, barely recognizable as human. Its once-pristine armor was torn apart, its limbs mangled beyond repair. The sight was grisly—bones jutting out at odd angles, organs spilling out in grotesque pools of blood and viscera. The flesh that remained was bloated and discolored, the life drained from it long ago.

  Kael’s jaw tightened as he crouched beside the corpse, his red eyes scanning the damage. His sharp senses could pick out the details of the violent mutilation—the torn flesh, the missing limbs. Whoever—or whatever—had done this was ruthless.

  His gaze shifted to the neck, where a medallion hung loosely on a bloodstained cord. Setting his sword down with a soft clink, he carefully reached for the medallion. It was cold in his grip, the metal tarnished by the dampness of the cave and the blood of its previous owner.

  He held the circular medallion up to the flickering torchlight, the insignia clear even through the grime. The mark was unmistakable—the White Orchard Guild, the most renowned elite mercenary guild from Gardeen. Kael’s eyes narrowed in recognition. It seemed the mercenaries Kellan had mentioned hadn’t just been any band of soldiers—they had come from one of the most feared guilds in the region. That made the situation all the more troubling.

  With a sharp tug, Kael yanked the medallion free from the corpse’s neck. He would see it delivered back to Gardeen, the White Orchard Guild informed of their mercenaries' grisly end. Kael had no personal grudge against the guild, but he knew that such a loss would stir up trouble in the region.

  If he made his way to Gardeen in the future, he would drop these off, a grim reminder of the price of underestimating whatever haunted these caverns. With a final glance at the mangled body, Kael stood, slipping the medallion into a pouch at his side. It was a grim task, but one that had to be done.

  Kael froze, his sharp ears picking up the faintest sound of shuffling further ahead. His grip on his sword tightened instinctively as his crimson eyes scanned the darkness beyond the torchlight. He moved forward with deliberate, calculated steps, the faint crackle of the torch the only sound accompanying his cautious advance.

  His enhanced senses came alive, every fiber of his being attuned to the subtle shifts in the cave’s atmosphere. The shuffling grew clearer with each step, and soon, he could make out the guttural resonance of a low growl reverberating through the cavern. It was a sound that sent a chill down even his spine—not out of fear, but a primal warning of danger ahead.

  The growl wasn’t just a sound—it was a presence, lurking in the darkness. His nose caught the scent of damp fur and decaying meat, mixing with the stagnant air of the cave. Kael's instincts screamed that he was drawing closer to the source of the carnage.

  With his torch held steady in one hand and his sword in the other, Kael crept closer, letting the ambient sounds guide him. Each step was silent, his boots barely brushing the cave floor as he advanced toward the ominous noise. The growling grew louder, more distinct, joined by the faint sound of claws scraping against stone.

  Whatever waited ahead was aware of his presence—or would be soon.