CHAPTER 311: CHAPTER 310 - THE POULTRY AND THE BEAST.

In the Ashen Expanse.

The moonlight stretched pale silver over the expanse, where silence never truly meant safety.

For two days, a sleek, shadow-black panther darted across the wastes with a small but regal rider perched between its shoulder blades.

The panther bounded like a child let loose, every flick of its muscles a burst of reckless glee.

They rarely found any other corrupt beasts, but whenever the faint scent of another corrupted beast touched the panther’s nose, it would veer off the trail in a blur, pouncing, biting, and tossing—apparently playing.

Unfortunately, the panther’s idea of "play" left nothing alive. Bones cracked, flesh split, and even the most feral of monsters were reduced to toys discarded in pools of blackened ichor.

They weren’t Graye, as that girl was the only person who could survive this panther’s play.

Upon its back, Cluckles the Sage sighed. The snow-white chicken’s red scarf fluttered in the wind as his beady eyes narrowed.

’We were supposed to let those beasts lead us to wherever they were going...’

Yes. That was their objective.

They had to search for the one responsible for these strange movements in the corrupt beasts by following another corrupt beast.

Then, after finding out whatever was going on, they had to return without engaging.

But the panther was killing all of their leads.

"Cluckles says—STOP!" The chicken clucked.

The panther skidded mid-bound, ears flattening, tail swishing guiltily.

Cluckles hopped down, talons clicking against the dead earth, and glared up at his mount.

"We are not here to play fetch with horrors. We are searching. Our companions are likely gnawing their nails with worry, and you—" his wing jabbed accusingly, "—treat this as a carnival."

The panther’s golden eyes widened, then lowered, head bowing.

For once, it seemed to realize it had made an error.

Then, without a purr, it started sniffing the dirt, nose twitching earnestly.

Cluckles groaned. "Not again. Every time you sniff, something dies."

As Cluckles said, whenever the panther did this, it would find a corrupt beast, but the problem was that the moment it found them, it started to "play" with them.

However, before Cluckles could lecture further, the panther stiffened.

Its body quivered like a bowstring drawn taut, its eyes sharp. In an instant, it lunged forward, carrying Cluckles in a blur of shadow and snow-white feathers.

"Cluckles demands an explanation!" The chicken squawked, clutching the scarf against the rush of wind.

But the panther did not explain.

It ran and ran and ran at a speed that made Cluckles stop speaking.

The panther, on the other hand, ran for some time without breaking a sweat, as this was its home ground, where it could recover faster and display its true powers.

Cluckles observed as the panther entered a cave-like structure that led underground.

The pathway from there was like a maze, as Cluckles couldn’t even remember how many turns they took until they reached a large clearing underground.

There, they saw it.

Hundreds—no, more than five hundred—beasts writhed and pressed together, their bodies a grotesque tapestry of scales, fur, fungus, and bone.

The air reeked of rot and fever, thick with a pressure that made even the panther hesitate.

At the lead stood twelve giants, each more nightmarish than the last.

A wolf with bleeding-moon eyes and bone antlers that scraped the sky. A serpent crowned with fungal horns that pulsed like diseased hearts. A hulking quadruped swathed in twitching, groping hands.

But the worst of them was the tallest of all, a winged thing whose ribcage yawned open and closed like a maw, breathing shadows with every beat.

The twelve did not fight. They herded. Smaller beasts were seized, tossed, and dragged toward the center, where a crater yawned like a wound in the earth.

In frantic waves, they were hurled inside, one after another, squealing and thrashing as they vanished into the pit.

The sound that rose from within was worse. Wet, sloshing. Something hungry was waiting below.

The twelve lead beasts seemed to be controlling the weaker ones, as even without them pushing the beasts into the crater, they jumped into it.

It was a scene that would send chills down anyone’s spine.

Even Cluckles, who had stared down horrors as calmly as sunrise, felt his feathers rise.

"This..." his voice was low and urgent, "is wrong."

The panther whined, restless.

Cluckles understood why it was uneasy.

Even if they were strong, they couldn’t engage in a fight with a horde of five hundred-plus corrupt beasts. That would be a suicide.

Worst of all were those twelve lead beasts. They were giving Cluckles and the panther a death vibe.

So, the chicken made a decision.

"Cluckles says we retreat. Now."

They turned—only to freeze.

Behind them, more than ten beasts blocked the path, hulking silhouettes with eyes like lanterns of blood. Their growls vibrated in the dirt. The panther’s muscles coiled, claws sliding free.

Even the panther, cornered, growled, ready to fight, its objective clear: kill and escape.

Above all, the corrupt gathered around the craters shouldn’t notice it—especially not the lead corrupts.

But before it could move—

"Not yet," Cluckles whispered. His tone carried the patience of ages. "Retract claws, and when you see me make my move, run."

The panther blinked, confused—but obeyed.

Cluckles hopped onto its back again. He closed his eyes, wings outstretched. With a flick, frost spread across the ground like lightning cracks.

Then, dramatically, wings raised high, Cluckles struck a pose that would have made mortals question reality. "Behold—the elegance of poultry sorcery!"

The beasts lunged.

The panther, on the other hand, knew that this was the moment Cluckles was talking about, so it sprang.

Its paws slid over the conjured ice like skates, shooting forward in a sleek blur. The corrupted behind tried to give chase, but their talons scraped uselessly, their massive forms pitching forward.

Their snarls turned into panicked yelps as they face-planted into the ice, clawing and thrashing, going nowhere.

By the time the horde regained balance, the white scarf and sleek black silhouette were long gone, swallowed by night.

Only the faint echo of a chicken’s voice remained, carried on the cold wind. "Cluckles says—retreat achieved."

The horde of beasts around the crater had noticed the movements by now, and even the twelve giants did, but with a scoff, they turned back to the work they had to do.

The only thing they cared about was the job they had.

However, unlike the noisy chaos in the Ashen Expanse, a sentient and deadly storm was brewing somewhere else.

............................

Unknown location.

The chamber was drowned in shadow.

No torches burned, no windows let in light—only the faint gleam of eyes punctured the dark, cold as stars staring from a void.

Ten pairs. Ten generals. Each pair glimmered with malice, their voices the only sound as the heavy air pressed down like a coffin lid.

A low, rasping voice broke the silence first. "Velmoria stands too tall still. When do we strike? The kingdom must be brought to its knees while the mortals stagger."

Another voice, sharper and impatient, answered. "Now is the time. Our spies whisper that Crisaius and Argon—the only two who could wound us—have withdrawn into retreat."

A ripple of motion shivered through the room, eyes narrowing, flashing like blades.

"...How certain?" Came a cold murmur, doubt dripping from the syllables.

A slow, confident chuckle followed. "I confirmed it myself. Their absence leaves the kingdom like a carcass with no teeth."

The air thickened with hunger.

Then, another voice rose, low and guttural. "Velric. The fledgling king. Remove him, and Velmoria will not stagger—it will collapse. We would only have to devour the kingdom then."

But the words stirred bitterness. From the far end of the table, a pair of eyes gleamed crimson as their owner snarled. "Remove him? We’ve tried. Every dagger, every assassin, every hidden strike has failed. That whelp wears protection thicker than any armor. Kill him? Hah. Not unless one of us walks into his palace and does the deed."

Silence followed. Heavy. Suffocating.

Because they all knew what that meant.

Finally, a voice like shifting gravel answered, measured and grim. "With war pressing at our borders, we cannot afford to risk our strength on one mortal king. One blade cannot be spared when the battlefield waits."

The tension eased, faintly. Eyes blinked slowly, like predators retreating into the tall grass.

Another voice whispered, almost amused, though it crawled like frost down the spine. "Then the king lives... for now. Let the war itself strangle him."

Agreement rumbled through the dark, voices overlapping like the hiss of serpents.

Then came the final decision, sharp and unanimous.

"We gather our armies."

"Where?" Someone asked, though the answer was already heavy in the air.

A deep voice, ancient and resonant, carved through the chamber. "Kolombre Dukedom. Its fields are wide, its towns spread thin. Space enough for our legions to gather unseen. From there, Velmoria will watch its doom march forward."

Those words echoed, final.

One by one, the eyes dimmed, their glow retreating into blackness as if swallowed by the dark itself.

The chamber fell silent once more. But the silence was not empty—no, it was heavy with the promise of blood.

What those demons were yet unaware of was that this meeting would continue the next day, when they would receive the news of their forces taking a huge hit overnight.

They would realize that the kids they weren’t even focusing on were doing them more harm than anyone else has ever done.

Yes, they knew that Raven wasn’t someone they should ignore, and that was why this war was happening, but they were still underestimating him, or more like, his companions.