Chapter Forty-Eight: Blood

The hazy moonlight shone on the face of the Banshee, making her appear even more grotesque. Hughes did not disturb the Banshee but instead planned to lie in wait at the cave entrance, biding his time to deliver a fatal blow when the opportunity arose.

Returning quietly to the vicinity of the cave, Hughes found a concealed spot and hid himself, silently waiting for the Banshee's return.

With a soft crunch, Hughes crushed a centipede that was trying to crawl onto him. The creatures in the forest became particularly active at night, and poisonous insects abounded.

The night was filled with the sound of his own breath as he waited. Before long, the flapping of wings reached his ears. Hughes peeked out and saw the Banshee indeed returning, wings beating as she flew, clutching a wild boar in her talons. She must have failed to catch a human and could only feed the young Banshee Hughes had just slain with this boar.

He watched as the Banshee slowly approached, flying toward the cave entrance.

Just as Hughes was about to strike, the Banshee suddenly dropped her prey and charged straight at him.

What’s happening?! Hughes was startled, thinking she had spotted him from afar. If they faced off directly, he would have little chance of coming out ahead.

As Hughes prepared to move, the Banshee landed abruptly on the ground.

A series of cries, mingled with the sound of a woman weeping, reverberated through the mountains.

Suddenly, the Banshee whipped her head around and shot toward Hughes like an arrow from a bow.

Damn it! She really found me! Hughes saw that her trajectory was aimed directly at him. He didn’t know how she had discovered him, but at this point, escape was his only choice.

The thick undergrowth made it impossible to draw his sword, and charging with only a dagger would be suicide. Left with no other option, Hughes used the slope of the mountain to slide away.

The Banshee’s attack missed, but the gust from her wings knocked Hughes to the ground.

Coughing, Hughes felt his blood surging and a fiery pain in his chest. Leaning on his hand for support, he struggled to stand and noticed bloodstains on his sleeve.

So that’s why the Banshee went mad—when he killed the three young Banshees earlier, their blood had splattered on him.

Her sense of smell is terrifying—she could pick up the scent from that far away. Before he could finish his thought, the Banshee, seeing that Hughes was still standing, grew even more frenzied and charged again.

Her eyes, glowing green in the night, now burned like rubies.

Driven mad by bloodlust, she had smelled the blood of her young near the cave and realized their fate. Following the scent, she found Hughes.

The Banshee, wings beating, talons outstretched, swooped down on Hughes.

“Karola-Utara!”

Two seconds to cast the spell—by then, the Banshee was upon him. The lightning bolt struck her square in the chest.

The Banshee faltered, and Hughes seized the chance to leap onto her back, drawing his dagger to kill her. He expected her to be paralyzed and crash to the ground as before, but this time, aside from her feathers being singed, she seemed unharmed.

Sensing Hughes clinging to her, the Banshee began to crash madly through the mountains.

Damn it! Hughes was slammed into a tree, feeling his ribs crack.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Hughes plunged his dagger into the Banshee’s throat.

The Banshee’s shriek stabbed through his mind like a thousand needles, far more agonizing than the cries of ordinary Banshees. His grip nearly slipped from the sheer pain.

The dagger was buried deep in her throat. In agony, the Banshee thrashed violently and flung Hughes off.

He crashed onto a boulder and tumbled down, coughing up blood, his body wracked with pain.

The Banshee, unable to make a sound, could only emit a hoarse, hissing cry. The dagger had been thrown aside, and her condition was even worse than Hughes’s. Blood poured from her neck, pooling beneath her on the ground.

“Guloni-Bru,” Hughes chanted the Ice Spike incantation through bloodied lips.

Three ice spikes shot out—one struck her left wing, two pierced her right. The Banshee tried to dodge, but the blood loss from her neck had slowed her considerably.

The spikes drove through her wings, pinning them to the ground. The subsequent explosions left the wings shredded and covered in a mix of hot blood and shards of ice.

Despite her grievous wounds, the Banshee’s hatred for Hughes remained undiminished.

“Chip, show me my status,” Hughes croaked, lying almost immobile on the ground.

“Beep! Hughes Bruch—Strength: 1.4 (3.87), Agility: 1.14 (4.16), Constitution: 2.1 (4.7), Spirit: 4.13 (7.13), Mana: 4.13 (7.13). Mana and Spirit synchronized. Status: Fractured ribs, minor blood loss. Skills: Basic Swordsmanship, Potion Crafting (Stamina Potion, Hemostatic Potion). Sorcery: Lightning Strike—Level Zero, Casting Time: 2 seconds, Range: 10 meters, Cost: Spirit 1.5, Mana 1.5, Power: 8. Ice Spike—Level Zero, Casting Time: 3 seconds, Range: 10 meters, Cost: Spirit 1.5, Mana 1.5, Power: 5. Ice Armor: Forms a layer of ice on the body to resist attacks, increasing defense against fire, water, and ice elements.”

Hughes sighed, frustrated. Had he cast Ice Armor beforehand, he might not have been so badly injured, but there’d been no time in the heat of battle.

“When I return to the academy, I need to take on some assignments to hone my combat skills,” he resolved.

Lying on the ground with his hand pressed to his chest, Hughes retrieved a vial of Nature’s Elixir from his belt—the only one he had brought, having left his backpack behind.

He uncorked the potion with his teeth and drank it, feeling a cool energy spread from his abdomen throughout his body.

What a marvelous thing! No wonder it sells so well. Hughes was thoroughly satisfied with the potion’s effects—it truly could save lives.

After resting for half an hour, Hughes glanced at the Banshee not far away. Her body still trembled, and a pool of blood had formed beneath her.

Testing his strength, Hughes found he could stand, though the pain was still intense.

Catching the glint of his dagger in the moonlight, he slowly walked over and picked it up.

Approaching the Banshee, he saw her crimson eyes had faded but still burned with hatred.

She glared fiercely at him—the human who had slain her young.

“Die!” Hughes spoke without hesitation, raising his dagger high and plunging it into her skull.

Even then, he wasn’t reassured until the chip confirmed the Banshee’s life signs had ceased. Only then did he finally relax, collapsing onto the ground, utterly spent.

Using the last of his strength, Hughes gathered some wood and kindled a fire. Perhaps due to the Banshee’s presence—or the fact that she had already hunted them all—he saw no other dangerous beasts that night. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, but tonight, one more predator could have meant his doom.

Hughes lay beside the fire, unable to sit up without agony from his shattered ribs, so he could only rest on his back, which eased the pain a little.

There were still two hours until sunrise, and a thick fog had settled over the mountains. It looked as though it wouldn’t lift until midday.