Chapter 16: Ferocity

Night had fallen, and a chill mist began to coil through the wild encampment. The air in the Season of Water was especially damp, and there was little dry wood to burn. To ward off the cold, people huddled together under thick cloaks around the few campfires, crowding close for warmth and rest.

Unseen by any, a pair of savage eyes watched the camp in silence—a Nightblade Panther. This fearsome predator, armed with claws as sharp as blades, was shrouded in pitch-black fur, swift and silent in its movements. It was the darling of the night, the nightmare lurking in the fog.

Cunning and cruel, the Nightblade Panther was notorious for its vengeance; once it marked its prey, it would not relent until one of them perished. Thus, adventurers had come to call it the Black Reaper. Tonight, it had set its sights on this camp.

The beast had been observing for some time. Instinct warned it that some of the prey within were dangerous—enemies who could kill it outright in a direct fight. Yet it did not intend to give up, for ambush in darkness was its specialty.

Armed guards patrolled the camp’s perimeter, but that posed little challenge for a predator both ruthless and bloodthirsty. The panther knew that fear would stir chaos among the weaker prey, and chaos would bring hunting opportunities. A single strike would be enough to drag a panicked, fleeing victim into the darkness for a feast.

“Narson, there are four fires at the edge of camp with hardly anyone around them. Why not let some of the people warm themselves there?” Victor frowned as he watched the crowd pressed around the few central fires. Those on the outskirts shivered violently in the cold.

“My lord, the outer fires are for deterring beasts,” Narson replied. Clad head to toe in armor, two heavy battle axes slung across his back, he kept a vigilant eye on the darkness beyond the camp. “Our scouts found Nightblade Panther tracks nearby. These beasts grow bold at night, often attacking travelers—especially now, with the fog so thick. Without the fires, our guards would struggle to defend against such a predator.”

“You think a Nightblade Panther would dare attack a camp with so many people?” Victor was surprised.

“It will attack, my lord. The beast isn’t the strongest, but it’s most active at night. If we’re the least bit careless, it’ll snatch some poor soul for a midnight meal.” As a seasoned mercenary, Narson knew these creatures well.

“Should I ask Sir Bruce to send two apprentice knights to help you defend against it?” Victor was worried they might be undermanned.

“Do not fret, my lord. My men are all experienced veterans. If that beast shows itself tonight, we’ll finish it,” Narson said, brimming with confidence.

“My lord, you and the scholar should remain in the carriage. The knights will protect you there,” he added, hoping to keep his liege out of harm’s way.

Victor nodded, climbed into the carriage, and found Master Edwin.

“Master, how much do you know about Nightblade Panthers?” Victor saw an opportunity to converse with the scholar.

“Why, has our camp drawn the attention of such a troublesome beast?” Before Edwin could finish his question, the mournful howl of a hound and the terrified whinnying of horses echoed from outside.

Both men hurried from the carriage and saw Sir Bruce approaching, sword in hand, followed by several knightly retainers.

“What has happened, my lord?” Bruce asked Victor.

“It might be a Nightblade Panther, attacking the camp,” Victor replied uncertainly, heading toward the commotion.

At the edge of the camp, guards stood close together with spears and round shields, facing the darkness. Nothing could be seen, but the sounds of a beast gnawing flesh and bone reached their ears. It seemed the creature had been detected by a vigilant hound, caught the unlucky animal, and was now devouring its prey just beyond the firelight.

“The Nightblade Panther is a master of stealth and ambush. It always finds its prey’s weakness and strikes under cover of night. Once it makes a kill among a group, it will continue to hunt them until you either leave its territory or destroy it,” Edwin explained, frowning at the troublesome predator.

“Sir Bruce, it seems we must ask you to dispatch this beast,” Victor requested.

“My pleasure,” Sir Bruce replied with a knight’s salute.

Just then, a guard at the perimeter, seized by fear, dropped his spear and fled toward the camp. His exposed back awakened the panther’s hunting instinct. The mist surged, and the massive beast lunged from the shadows, moving with blinding speed toward the fleeing man.

The enormous black form was almost upon its target—Sir Bruce was too far to intervene in time.

Just as everyone thought the militiaman was doomed, he suddenly rolled to the ground and vanished from the beast’s sight. Startled by this unexpected move, the panther hesitated. In that instant, a furious shout erupted from nearby. Narson charged with axe and shield at the stunned predator, smashing its head with a powerful shield blow that sent the beast somersaulting through the air. Before it could land, Narson’s axe swept through its soft belly, slamming it against the hard ground.

In a flash, it was over.

Victor and Edwin approached the still-twitching corpse as Narson dragged the “fleeing” guard out of a nearby pit.

“A brilliant tactic—having someone feign panic to provoke the beast, then jump into a prepared pit, while the ambush party delivered the killing blow,” the scholar praised the strategy.

“Captain Narson was able to fell such a ferocious beast with ease. If I’m not mistaken, he must be a Berserker,” Sir Bruce remarked quietly.

“Berserker?” Victor’s gaze shifted from the dead panther to Narson.

“Berserkers are a rare mutation among fierce creatures. They possess greater strength and agility than their kin. Their bones are as hard as metal, their muscles and hide especially dense, even able to resist ordinary attacks. They heal with remarkable speed, recovering from most wounds quickly. But the chance of such a mutation is very low, and among humans, it’s even rarer. It’s said that adult barbarians in the northern Trelle Mountains commonly become Berserkers, though their low birthrate spares the rest of us from constant raids,” the scholar observed, casting an interested glance at Narson.

“Oh? And what causes berserker transformation in humans?” Victor asked, intrigued.

“There’s no conclusion. For a hundred years, the White Tower has investigated over a hundred human berserker cases, but found no pattern. It appears random—mercenaries, tailors, bards, even nuns have undergone it. The degree varies: some are as strong as knights, others only a bit tougher than elite soldiers,” Edwin said with a shrug.

“Indeed, berserker strength varies, but Captain Narson’s case is formidable—comparable to a newly awakened bronze knight,” Sir Bruce added, his pride softened by respect for true strength.

Victor’s eyes gleamed. Though a noble, he had not awakened the bloodline of the knights—but perhaps berserkers offered a new path for him.