Chapter 11: The Scent Of Blood

Kren had been satisfied with his test of the East Wind. Having a deterrent that powerful would keep him alive, and it seemed he was a lot more powerful than should be the norm for a tribesman at his level of cultivation. Bernice had confirmed as much, and that was more than enough for him — at least for now, until he could earn more Sovereign Points.

There were more tests to run, and not enough time. But Kren had managed to convince Bernice to delay just long enough to test each spirit one after the other. He needed to understand what they could all do before walking into battle, and, suffice to say, the tests had only solidified Bernice’s conviction — there was no need to wait for nightfall before pushing through the village and securing passage down the river.

The tests had been just as illuminating as the first. Each spirit, once summoned, seemed to bind itself to a particular part of his body. The Northern spirit’s markings settled on his left hand, manifesting as a condensed shield of wind he could deploy to stop an attack cold, or shove an attacker back on their heels. The South Wind took a spot on his chest, healing and restoring his Aura even while he moved. And the West Wind wrapped itself around his ankles, spiraling softly as it drove his speed to new heights.

If there was one thing Kren was grateful for, it was the ability to summon two wind spirits at once. Honestly, if this was how summoning spells generally worked, they seemed leagues better than anything else at his disposal — at least for sheer utility. But there were still limits. Each spirit could only stay manifested for five minutes at most, even accounting for his recent gains. He could summon them again immediately after that window closed, but in a real fight, that split-second gap could easily cost him his life.

Luckily, he had the Aura reserves to sustain them. Across every test — summoning, dismissing, summoning again — the Aura he could feel pooled within him never dropped below roughly 70% capacity. Kren had caught the look of open shock on Bernice’s face when he told her that. He had no illusions about who deserved the credit for his newfound prodigy status: the system.

"We’re here."

Kren came to a stop beside Bernice as Oro Village spread out below them. They’d taken a different route on the way to the capital, so he hadn’t had the dubious privilege of walking through it before. He was almost grateful for that now — he suspected he’d have shown Elyvara far less restraint than he had, though he doubted it would have changed anything. Kren shook his head and kept moving.

Oro Village was a fishing settlement, the last stop before the port town of Lasthold. It used to carry a different name, of course, before the N’korans were all driven there and it became something else entirely.

Oro was a sizable village — from the number of buildings he could count, it should have housed fifteen or twenty families at least. But it lay in ruins. Kren spotted the Snake-kin militia almost immediately. Just as quickly, he noticed the ragged state of his own people.

Feline tribesmen moved through the streets with exhaustion etched into their eyes. Their clothes hung filthy and torn, and most of them wore chains at their wrists and necks. Kren watched as a Snake-kin backhanded a young leopard-tribeswoman, spitting on her and shouting that she wasn’t shining his boots properly. Kren growled and turned toward them, but a hand snapped around his wrist.

"Don’t be stupid, Your Majesty." Aki’s voice came from beside him, the shorter cat-beast taking the lead and hauling Kren forward faster. "They already know you’re here. They’re drawing the snakes’ attention so we can slip through the village. Don’t you dare undermine their sacrifice by being a fool. Let’s go home. Now!"

Kren blinked, horror threatening to break across his face. He buried it beneath a wave of conviction and picked up his pace. This time, as they moved, he didn’t look at the state of his people — he watched their eyes instead. Saw the recognition pass through every feline he walked past. Somehow, they all knew. They could sense him. Sense the crest. So this was what it felt like, standing at the top of your species. Feline Sovereignty.

They would die for him. Even the children. It sat like a bitter taste on Kren’s tongue, and it did nothing to cool the blistering rage simmering in his chest. As they moved through the village, he watched felines carry out one small act of sabotage after another, each one designed to pull the snakes’ attention elsewhere.

Someone stumbled deliberately into the militia’s path, smearing mud across their uniforms. Kren forced himself not to shut his eyes, not to look away from the beating that followed. He needed to see it. Needed to understand it. Needed to remember it. There was no place on this earth where N’kora and N’Ale could coexist. That bastard snake bloodline deserved to be wiped from existence, their crest shattered along with them. He swore it, silently, right there.

"Hey! Stop there!"

A Snake tribesman stepped into their path. They were close to the boats now — one was already pulling away, the boatman watching the standoff unfold with obvious worry.

Kren didn’t hesitate. [Spirit of the East Wind]. The spell bloomed to life as he flicked his hand. A spinning disc of wind passed through the Snake tribesman’s neck with a whisper of sound, barely a breath, and carried on to shatter against a cart behind him — the crash drawing every eye in the village straight to them. Aki’s smile turned tired and resigned.

"Damn it."

Kren couldn’t help himself. He turned, just for a second, and faced the militia and every Snake-kin occupying the village they’d passed through. He drew a breath. Then he ROARED.

The village shook. There was still youth threaded through that roar, but it didn’t matter — it was the roar of a king, and the village answered. Roars, meows, yowls, hisses rose up all around them. The felines answered the call of their sovereign, and turned on their captors as one.

Aki and Bernice’s eyes went wide at the chaos erupting in front of them — wider still when Kren slipped free of their grip, not toward the boat, but back into the melee. If he was going to die today, so be it. He was done running from these bastards.

[Spirit of the West Wind]

Wind coiled around Kren’s legs as he shot forward, kicking up a spray of mud that Bernice and Aki sidestepped without breaking stride. He crossed the distance to the militia and the feline they were beating far faster than he had any right to. One of the guards stepped into his path, a spear thrust angling for his throat.

Kren fed more Aura into the West spirit. Wind burst from his heels with an audible crack of pressure as he accelerated, blurring past the spear’s arc and straight into the guard’s stance. He savored the half-second the man’s serpentine eyes went wide — the moment he understood death had come far too close.

Kren’s right fist snapped upward and caught him under the jaw. The [East Wind Spirit] finished the job — a blade of wind punching clean through the Snake-kin’s skull. Kren barely blinked as the spray of blood painted his face. The rest of the militia scrambled into formation, weapons coming up.

He could sense the strongest among them sat at First Awakening, Ascension grade — a single step from Aura Awakening. He didn’t care. If this was what his people had been running from all these years, he’d rather die fighting it. There was probably someone stronger somewhere in this village, but Bernice and Aki could handle that. He’d seen what they were capable of.

"Attack!"

One of the militia bellowed the order, and they closed in around him. Kren stepped back, dodging the haft of a spear as another guard lunged with a sword aimed at his waist. He stepped into the strike instead of away from it, dismissing the East spirit and summoning [Spirit of the North Wind] in the same breath. Wind condensed into a shield that caught the blade dead, and Kren seized the man’s sword arm, yanking him forward and directly into the path of a second attacker’s blow.

"Ahh!"

The scream startled the militia around them as the guard who’d driven a spear toward Kren’s back yanked it free in shock, unwilling to run his own man further through. It was a moment’s hesitation — and a fatal one. Kren twisted the captured sword arm until the blade dropped free, then snapped his head forward into the bridge of the man’s nose. He crumpled without another sound.

"You bastard! Who are you?"

Kren looked down at the sword in his hand with something close to boredom. "My name is Kren. KRENN’KORABLACKMANE." He turned the blade toward the felines gathering behind the militia’s line, many of whom had already produced weapons of their own — old blades, farming tools, whatever they’d kept hidden and ready. It seemed his people had never truly stopped preparing to fight back. He turned to face the militia again. "And these are my people."

"Kill him!"

Kren flowed into the next exchange, speed and conviction fusing into something close to inevitability. Spears splintered under his blade before they could find him; the sword found the gap in armor and buried itself in the throat of the man who’d just called for his death. He stepped back, ducked beneath a wild swing, and hooked two fingers through his attacker’s sword belt.

He pulled the man along as he retreated, using him to break the militia’s attempt to encircle him — a living shield as the rest of Oro Village crashed into the soldiers’ flank. Kren answered by driving the sword into the man’s lower back again and again, before dropping him to bleed out in the mud.

Another came at him bare-handed, arms spread wide to catch him around the waist and drive him down — a poor decision against a bloodline of wrestlers. Kren drove his knee up into the man’s jaw, snapping his head back into his waiting grip, and the sword slid home into his throat before he even finished falling.

Kren watched the Snake-kin’s eyes go wide with shock. He couldn’t help the grin that split his face as he wrenched the blade sideways, tearing the throat open in a wide arc of blood. He let the body drop and turned, already searching for the next one — but a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.

"Enough! You’ve started a bloody revolution. Now let’s get out of here before their reinforcements arrive. They will come to you — but right now, we have to go. Now. Come!"

Bernice was not taking no for an answer, and honestly, Kren doubted he could have stopped her even if he’d wanted to. He followed, hands still locked white-knuckled around the sword — any tighter and his knuckles would have split the skin. They reached the pier, and Bernice laid a hand on both his and Aki’s shoulders. Darkness swallowed them whole for a heartbeat, and then they were standing on the deck of the boat.

They had escaped. But no matter how hard Kren tried, the scent of blood clung to him still — the thrill of battle, the feel of his blade parting flesh. It stayed with him.

And he liked it.