NOVEL WEB Chapter 27: The Notebook
The Blackstone Mountains loomed under a canopy of stars, their jagged peaks cutting into the night sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. The forest was dense, its air heavy with the scent of pine, ash, and the lingering tang of blood.
Old John crouched low, his weathered hands sifting through snapped twigs and smears of crimson on moonlit leaves. His sharp eyes traced the subtle signs of passage, crushed ferns, a scuff in the dirt, his decades as a guide making the trail as clear as a lit runway.
"This way," John whispered, pointing toward a shadowed path winding deeper into the valley. His voice was barely audible, but it carried the confidence of a man who knew every root and rock in these mountains. "Your boy Loken's not coverin' his tracks worth a damn. Even the fire didn't burn out his trail."
Edwyn grinned, his red hair glinting as he adjusted the greatsword strapped across his back.
"Good work, old man. Let's hunt this rat down." His eyes burned with cold fury. Loken had played him, dumped a deadly mess in his lap, and bolted. That kind of betrayal didn't slide, not with Edwyn.
Elia gripped her wand tightly, its sapphire tip flickering with latent mana. "He's gonna regret crossing us," she muttered, her voice steady despite the faint tremble in her hands. The fireball spell she'd unleashed earlier had shaken her, its raw power a reminder of the destruction she could wield.
The trio followed John's lead, their footsteps muffled by the forest's carpet of needles and moss. Soon, the trail led to a narrow valley, its sparse vegetation bathed in moonlight. Edwyn motioned for them to stop, crouching low and peering over a rocky ridge. Below, in a small clearing, Loken sat by a flickering campfire, its orange glow casting long shadows across his chubby frame. He was hunched over a tattered notebook, his eyes glinting with greed as he muttered to himself, oblivious to the predators closing in.
"Well, well, look at that," Edwyn whispered, his grin sharp as a blade. "Fat boy's got himself some bedtime reading. Wonder what's got him so hooked."
Elia squinted, her voice low. "That notebook's gotta be why he's in this mess. Looks important."
Edwyn nodded, his mind racing. "Alright, here's the play. I'm goin' in hot, full frontal, sword swingin'. Elia, you hang back and sling spells to cut off his escape. John, you vanish like you do. Ready?"
Elia gave a curt nod, her wand already glowing. "Got it. He's not slipping away."
John smirked, his white hair gleaming. "I'll be a ghost, mage lord. Good hunting." He melted into the shadows, his movements silent as a wraith.
Edwyn took a deep breath, activating his Black Iron Beast bloodline. Heat surged from his heart, pumping through his veins like molten iron. Black scales erupted across his skin, shimmering like polished obsidian in the moonlight. He cast a silencing spell, the mana weaving around him like a cloak, muffling his steps.
"Time to crash this party," he muttered, his grin feral as he gripped his greatsword.
He burst from the forest like a black bolt of lightning, his scaled form a blur of motion. The silencing spell made his approach deadly quiet, and Loken, engrossed in the notebook, didn't even flinch. Edwyn's sword flashed, a frost-etched arc aimed at Loken's neck. At the last second, the chubby apprentice sensed danger and rolled clumsily to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. The blade bit deep into his back, tearing a bloody gash. Loken screamed, blood splattering the dirt.
"Y-you're alive?!" Loken gasped, his face pale with shock as he scrambled to his feet, clutching the notebook.
Edwyn's face was ice-cold, his scales glinting as he raised his sword again. "Not just alive, tubby. I'm here to send you to the afterlife. Shouldn't have played me." His voice dripped with menace, a mocking edge that cut as deep as his blade.
Loken smirked, desperation giving way to defiance. Two shimmering force fields flared to life between them, their surfaces rippling with mana.
"Fool," he sneered. "Still swinging a sword as a Mage Apprentice? You're pathetic."
Edwyn's eyes glinted with amusement. "Pathetic? Buddy, you ain't seen nothing yet." He swung again, channeling the Wind Crow Slash, a technique he'd learned from the First Baron of Black Forest. The blade shrieked through the air, its speed a blur, slicing through both barriers like they were paper. The force fields shattered with a sound like breaking glass, and Loken's smirk vanished as the sword came down. His head flew, hitting the ground with a dull thud, his eyes frozen in disbelief.
"How… two force fields…" Loken's severed head seemed to mutter, even in death.
Edwyn sheathed his sword, his grin returning. "That's what you get for underestimating a badass." He kicked the headless corpse lightly, just to sure it wasn't getting up.
Elia emerged from the trees, her wand still glowing, her face pale but determined. Old John followed, his eyes scanning the clearing for threats. Elia stared at Loken's body, her breath shaky. "Time to test this curse spell," she said, her voice a mix of nerves and resolve. She began chanting, her words soft but laced with dark intent. Mana surged from her core, a stream of black energy flowing from her fingertip into the corpse.
The body twitched, then deflated like a punctured balloon, its flesh shriveling into a husk of skin and bone. Moments later, a lump bulged under the skin, and a pale, worm-like creature emerged, curled into a fist-sized ball. Elia's eyes widened, a grin breaking through her nerves. "I did it!" she cheered, carefully picking up the creature. It lay still in her hand, unnaturally docile.
Edwyn raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. "What's that creepy crawly?"
"Curse worm," Elia said, her voice steadier now. "Common material for curse spells, casting or warding. This one's a big boy. Could fetch five Mana Stones easy." She tucked it into a pouch at her waist, her smile triumphant.
Edwyn whistled, impressed. "Five stones? Not bad for a first try, voodoo queen. You're gonna be a terror with that curse stuff someday."
Elia blushed but rolled her eyes. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not cursing you… yet."
Edwyn chuckled, bending down to snatch the notebook from Loken's lifeless hand. Its leather cover was caked in mud, the pages yellowed and wrinkled from years in the wild. The text was in Mage script, faded but mostly legible, sparing him the effort of spell-extracting it.
"Let's see what got you in so much trouble, fatso," he muttered, flipping it open by the campfire's glow.
The first pages were mundane, almost laughably so.
July 10 – Heavy rain. Mushrooms will grow in my room at this rate.
Edwyn snorted. "This guy's got the soul of a poet." He flipped further.
July 15 – Sunny. Black Tower's got a new massage parlor. Supposed to ease mental fatigue. Gonna check it out.
The entries went on, detailing an obsessive love affair with the parlor.
July 19 – Sunny. Those wenches used aphrodisiac incense!
July 20 – Went again.
Edwyn groaned, flipping faster. "Man, this dude's got a one-track mind."
He skipped the massage rants, landing on something juicier. The author, a High Apprentice from the Evocation School, had documented experiments with the Flaming Hand spell, boosting its power by one energy level and cutting its mana cost by a tenth.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Edwyn said, his grin widening. "One level's like an extra magic missile. This alone was worth the fight."
He read on.
May 12 – Sunny. Down to one Mana Stone. Those massage witches bled me dry.
Edwyn chuckled. "Sucker." The entries turned to a job in the Blackstone Mountains, gathering herbs for the Alchemy Faction, twenty stones plus expenses.
May 19 – Light rain. Found jack. No wonder the pay's high.
Then, the diary stopped. Blank pages followed, until a frantic scrawl appeared, written in blood.
"What is that thing?! What did that landslide unleash?! Living Iron Webs in the Blackstone Mountains?! Guardian Golems, I've stumbled into a Mage's lab!"
Edwyn's heart skipped, his eyes turning greedy. "A Mage's lab?"
Rare materials, magical instruments, maybe even forbidden spells, a find like that could set an apprentice up for life. He flipped to the final page, where a single line, scrawled in blood by a trembling finger: The Mage is dead!
He closed the notebook, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Elia, John, we just hit the motherlode. A dead Mage's lab in these mountains? We're goin' treasure huntin'." His grin was pure Dante, ready to dive headfirst into danger and come out swinging.