Weylan woke with a prickle of unease crawling along his spine. Something felt off. Like the heavy pressure in the air before a storm breaks.
Today was the final day to register for the Hunt. Tonight, the headmaster would make the official announcement.
He had put off telling the priestesses what he suspected. Or rather, what Malvorik suspected. And he still needed to gather everyone and formally enroll their team.
He dressed quickly in the dim pre-dawn light and slipped outside for his morning exercises.
When he reached the small courtyard behind the dormitory, he slowed in surprise. Not only Aldrich was there, but Erik as well, both already deep into their stretching routine. Weylan grimaced inwardly, annoyed at himself for not noticing their absence when he had slipped out. At least Darken had still been asleep, snoring loudly enough to cover for half the floor.
Erik yawned and gave him a tired bow.
“Good to see I’m not the only one forced to stand up in the middle of the night. My team leader was quite insistent.”
Aldrich ignored the jab and inclined his head loftily toward Weylan.
“You may join us. Today is the last day to sign up for the Hunt. I intend to head to the administration building after breakfast. We should look sharp. There will be plenty of last-minute applications. The drama queens will emerge in force.”
Weylan nodded, carefully refraining from commenting on Aldrich’s “invitation.” As if he needed permission. And Aldrich, of all people, speaking about drama queens.
“I’ll wager at least one more revenant team shows up,” Weylan said.
Erik snapped his fingers.
“And the teams from the monastery and the Arcane Order haven’t revealed themselves yet. They’re probably planning an entrance.”
* * *
After training, washing, and a quick change of clothes, Weylan gathered the priestesses, Darken, Selvara, and Ulmenglanz in a private study room.
Aldrich had given him a strange, knowing smile when he left. Weylan decided to ignore it.
Beyond the academy walls, the Wildewood loomed. Even from here it seemed alive, a dark, breathing presence on the horizon.
When Weylan called, they came quickly. No jokes. No idle chatter. Everyone had felt it. The tightening in the air. The sense of something large sliding into place.
“They’ll announce the Hunt soon,” Weylan began. “I wanted to warn you about what I suspect the target is. So no one freaks out during the announcement,” Weylan said once they were all present.
Faya blinked at him. “You know? Since when?”
“I suspect,” he corrected. “The ingredients they want to trade to the goblins for peace may be for the Elixir of Youth. That requires a component from a very special creature. One that isn’t normally hunted.”
He looked directly at Faya. “And you really won’t like it. So now, don’t get mad. I have a plan. If it works, we don’t need to kill the beast and still get our peace treaty with the goblins. Problem is, we need to be the team to catch it. If anyone else gets the target, they’ll probably kill it. But if you start screaming at the announcement, the headmaster won’t even let us join the hunt.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Get to the point. Is it one of the fuzzy little snakes?”
“No.” He took a breath. “I think we’re going after… a unicorn.”
Faya blinked.
Then her face flushed crimson. Her hands clenched. Everyone instinctively stepped back.
Mirabelle silently moved her lips, mentally sorting through known ingredients. Alina merely shrugged, unfazed.
Faya drew a slow breath. Then another.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Good idea to warn me. Any chance we can convince them to abandon this madness?”
Weylan shook his head. “The war is going badly. And it’s not even open warfare yet. If the goblins attack in force, the northern kingdom collapses. They would sacrifice a human virgin if that would work. Much less some beast, no matter how majestic.”
Silence fell, as everyone tried to think of an alternative. None came to mind and the silence stretched.
Alina broke it.
She stood with her arms folded, eyes distant for a heartbeat longer than usual. Then she nodded, as if confirming a decision already made.
“I’m switching teams.”
Several heads turned.
“Aldrich’s group needs a healer,” she continued calmly. “And they respect what I bring to a fight. Lately…” Her mouth curved faintly. “I seem very easy to overlook here.”
It was not an accusation.
Just a fact.
Weylan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He searched for the right words and found only that she was not wrong. He had been occupied. Each of them had been. Each with their own little projects. He'd barely talked to her for days. Maybe even longer.
If anyone argued, it was only with their expressions. No one stopped her. She wasn’t wrong.
Alina adjusted her satchel, met Weylan’s eyes once, inclined her head, and left.
The space she vacated felt colder.
Mirabelle made a move to follow her, then stopped. “There’s no changing her mind,” she said softly.
Faya looked around. “So. That leaves you, me, Mirabelle, Ulmenglanz, our two familiars and… Darken?”
Weylan nodded. “He asked to join Team Black again and we can surely use his special kinds of magic. I’ll also ask Stitch to join us, if you don’t mind.” He sounded a little reluctant.
Mirabelle nodded vigorously. “Of course she can join. I’ve read up on the class description. A monster-cracker is extremely useful. And I like her.”
Weylan filled out the registration form.
Team Black
Weylan, human, house servant
Selvara, raven, familiar
Mirabelle, human, priestess of Lieselotte
Faya, human, priestess of Lieselotte
Sir Cloverton, verdant hare, familiar
Ulmenglanz, dryad, healer
Darken, human, master of the dark arts
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Stitch, flesh-golem, monster-cracker
He folded the paper with a decisive snap.
“I’ll submit this. Meet at the clearing near the spawnpoint. It has the best view for late arrivals as well as any teams arriving on the road.”
Faya rubbed her hands eagerly. “I’ll bring a blanket and snacks.”
Soon, much of the academy drifted outside, claiming grass patches and benches around the courtyard to wait for new arrivals.
They did not have to wait long.
The spawnpoint flared to life, and a motley crew of adventurers appeared. Weylan did not recognize a single face, but there was no doubt what they were. Only revenants could produce such a chaotic mix of races, cultures, and classes.
Next came eight young knights in steel-grey plate. Erik identified their banner as belonging to a mercenary order from the capital, known for training wealthy revenants since right after the Plague began. They eyed their heraldry with thinly veiled skepticism: a diagonally split shield, one half bearing a bag of gold coins, the other a sword. Subtlety was clearly not their strength, but at least they were honest about their motives.
The knights of the Arcane Order arrived on foot, singing as they marched. Three knights in red and gold armor, five in simple chainmail. Squires, most likely.
Then another group emerged from the tree line, this time coming from a more northern direction.
Weylan went pale and stepped behind a tree.
He recognized them instantly.
They were led by a grinning knight in plate armor painted in a mottled camouflage pattern. His bright orange hair was unmistakable; his helmet tucked casually under one arm. Most eyes were drawn away from him, however, caught by two of his companions.
One was a sorceress in a scandalously short robe that was wildly inappropriate for the biting wind. Her long hair streamed freely as she raised a staff whose crystal scattered prismatic light. The other was a troll, broad as a doorway, wearing a wool sweater that shimmered like spun metal and carrying a massive, metal-banded club.
The Anubian with them drew little notice.
Kane, the muscled mage and alchemist and Lyriel stood up from where the two had watched the newly arriving. They went over and Kane greeted them. “Well, that is a handsome group of adventurers,” Kane said cheerfully.
OrcSlayer bowed slightly. “As are you. Well, strangers, you seem trustworthy. Will you join our noble quest?”
Kane nodded, grinning broadly. “Aye. With pleasure.”
They laughed and walked off together.
Weylan swallowed.
This Hunt was about to become far more complicated.
* * *
Valen Aldrich watched the new arrivals with disdain.
“They brought a tame troll. What next? Mobile siege engines? Dragons?”
Eric chuckled and took a swig from his hip flask. “Revenants are full of surprises.”
Alina grimaced. “Just once, I wish there would be a positive surprise for us.”
A voice behind them replied, amused, “If that isn’t a perfect cue, I don’t know what is.”
They turned.
A female goblin with one ear half missing stood there, flanked by four book-goblins carrying absurdly oversized packs.
Aldrich groaned. “I thought the goblins were allowed only one team. And we were supposed to meet them at the hunting ground.”
Grrlka nodded gravely. “Correct, but we are book-goblins. We do not belong to the empire’s goblins. But we were not granted permission to form our own team regardless.”
Aldrich’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t seem fair, does it.”
“No. It doesn’t. Which is why I have a proposal for you.” The Grrlka pointed at herself and the group of goblins. “No one can deny us to join another team. You’re the smallest. You have room for five more members.”
Eric looked amused. “You want to fight at our side? You don’t seem like battle hardened warriors.”
Grrlka wasn’t amused. “You’d be surprised. But we offer our services as baggage train. We’ll carry equipment, cook meals, sew torn clothes, repair armor.”
Alina leaned toward Aldrich. “She had me at cooking.”
Aldrich gave the goblins a suspicious glance. “And what’s in it for you?”
Grrlka met his gaze steadily. “I intend to witness and record the Hunt truthfully. For the library.”
Aldrich looked at his two teammates. Eric shrugged and Alina nodded eagerly.
“Well, I see no reason to reject you. Welcome to Team Crimson. I’ll change our registration right away. What are your names?
Team Crimson
Valen Aldrich, human, combat mage
Erik, human, mage
Alina, human, priestess of Lieselotte
Grrlka, book-goblin, scholar
Grik, book-goblin, servant
Snub, book-goblin, servant
Razz, book-goblin, servant
Klek, book-goblin, servant
* * *
After lunch, the were-folk arrived.
They got a warm reaction. Cheers rose from the crowd, mixed with heartfelt greetings from several locals. Someone shouted, “Skandi!” Judging by his pleased reaction, that had to be the were-beaver with the axe.
Weylan checked that none of the Harbingers were near, then jogged over to greet three familiar faces from the Everdark Canyon expedition.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
The were-she-bear laughed and clapped his shoulder hard enough to nearly buckle his knees.
“Honey doesn’t gather itself, does it?”
Faya and the others joined them as Ursa introduced her team.
Darken snorted. “And they claim revenant teams are wild mixes.”
* * *
While students traded friendly boasts and measured glances with their competition, the final team arrived quietly.
Three monks in white robes appeared first, walking with measured calm.
Behind them, five acolytes in red robes emerged. For a heartbeat they walked with the same measured pace.
Then the tempo changed.
One acolyte planted a foot and vaulted into the air, spinning once before landing in a crouch without sound. Another rolled forward and snapped into a handstand, robes flaring like banners before settling. Two more crossed paths mid-run, flipping past one another with blade-like precision. The last spun a staff in a blur that hummed low in the air before resting it calmly against his shoulder.
The leading trio ignored the acrobatics entirely. They halted and bowed deeply toward Professor Dulmere, who seemed to step around a corner at exactly the right moment.
“This unworthy junior of the Mountain That Breathes greets the venerable senior,” the foremost monk intoned. “We arrive late and beg forgiveness. May the winds of fate be gentle upon this gathering.”
Dulmere inclined his head, hands folded within his sleeves.
“The academy receives all who walk the righteous path. Since you have come, then destiny has already been appeased.”
The monk smiled serenely.
“Then this junior’s heart is at peace. We shall temper body and spirit in this Hunt, and accept heaven’s judgment, whether it grants glory or humble retreat.”
The Hunt was fully assembled now.
* * *
Dusk fell.
Lanterns flared to life along the academy’s terraces as students, revenants, and staff assembled in the grand courtyard. The air buzzed with restrained excitement and poorly hidden dread. Armor was checked and rechecked. Spell focuses were weighed in hands. Creatures unfamiliar and unsettling shifted beside their bonded partners.
When Headmaster Vaelcor Valtanis stepped onto the dais, silence fell.
He stood straight-backed, robes unadorned save for the sigil of the academy at his chest. No theatrics. His voice carried.
“Tomorrow at sunrise,” he said, “the Great Hunt begins.”
A ripple passed through the crowd.
“You will travel through the Wildewood. You will need about two weeks to reach the designated hunting grounds.” His gaze swept across the assembled teams. “Do not mistake this for a race. The forest will decide your pace.”
He let that settle before continuing.
“Know that we have chosen to call this hunt after long deliberation. We have thought much about alternatives. Other tithes and presents we could offer the Goblin Empire. We have not found anything that would tempt them. For even as I loath to concede this, they are on the path to winning this war. For years, they have replenished their troops faster, leveled quicker and refined their potions. With the Krigesti threat in the south, we have no allies able to offer aid. To win, we would have to use revenants in great numbers. And you know well what chaos that would cause.”
Mumbling and some snickering from the revenants present followed, until he continued.
“Therefore, with great reluctance, we have decided to sacrifice a noble beast for our own survival. For the final ingredient we will offer in exchange for peace, will be…” He made a dramatic pause. “…the horn of a unicorn.”
From near the edge of the assembled spectators he heard a loud. “Son of a…” followed by mumbling. He could see a glimpse of a blonde woman in white robes being dragged away by other students.
Others also raised their voices. From mild protests to some shouting obscene insults. The teachers and staff quickly intervened and returned order.
The headmaster gave his audience a sincere and sad nod of understanding. “I know unicorns are holy to some churches and revered by many others. Any who cannot tolerate this target, may withdraw their participation in the hunt without having to fear any negative consequences. For those who will take on this grim task, know that your target is an ancient unicorn residing within the deep north of the Wildewood. It is intelligent. Territorial. And older than most recorded magic within these walls. This is no harmless prey you will easily slaughter. It will resist you. It will fight back and it will take you to your limits. The prizes we will grant the victor, will be commensurately.”
Greedy silence followed that announcement.
“Along your path,” Vaelcor said, “you will encounter monsters in abundance. Some known. Some not. You will also encounter the remains of earlier ages. Ruins buried by time. Mausoleums built to be forgotten. Many of them trapped. All of them dangerous.”
A pause.
“There is another matter,” he said. “Know that this hunt has been formally blessed by a priest of Golgoroth.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly silenced by the headmaster’s steady presence.
“By this blessing,” he continued, “your prey will be unable to escape the designated hunting grounds. The forest itself will deny it flight beyond those bounds.”
A pause.
“But blessings are never gifts without cost. You will be bound to the tenets of Golgoroth. Teams may coordinate loosely. Information may be shared. Temporary cooperation is permitted.” His eyes sharpened. “However, teams may not merge into a single force to overwhelm the target through sheer numbers.”
He gave the audience a severe gaze.
“This is not a slaughter,” Vaelcor said. “It is a contest of will, talent, and mettle. Those who attempt to circumvent that truth will find Golgoroth and his priest very attentive to such behavior.”
The headmaster inclined his head once.
“Prepare yourselves, for when the sun rises next time, you shall venture forth!”
The assembly dispersed, conversations low and urgent, excitement braided tightly with fear.
Beyond the walls, the Wildewood waited.
And somewhere within it, something ancient lifted its head and frowned as its danger sense triggered for the first time in centuries.
