The single, milky eye of the corrupted ogre snapped towards the thicket where Malrik hid. Time seemed to warp, stretching into an eternity as that vacant, yet somehow terrifying, gaze locked onto his location. A jolt of pure, instinctual terror shot through Malrik, freezing him in place. He was seen. Discovered. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to break cover, to vanish back into the concealing darkness of the Whisperwood.
But the ogre didn't move. It simply continued its grisly meal, its massive, clawed hand tearing another strip of flesh from the boar carcass with a wet, tearing sound. The milky eye remained fixed in his general direction, but the creature made no move to rise, no sound of challenge or aggression beyond its guttural eating noises.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: It saw me. It saw me! Why isn't it coming? Is it injured? That might explain why it's staying put, gorging itself to recover strength. Or is it simply… full? After devouring all that… it might be sated, at least for now. But what if it's a trap? Luring me out, confident I'll underestimate it. That eye… it feels like it's assessing me, playing with me. No. Don't anthropomorphize it. It's a corrupted beast, driven by instinct and taint. But its inaction is… unnatural. A creature this powerful, sensing prey… it should attack. Unless… it can't. Or it doesn't need to. The risk is too high. If it's injured, I might stand a sliver of a chance, but if it's merely sated, it could recover its full terrifying power in an instant and I'd be utterly helpless. Even if I could fight it, this isn't the environment, the conditions, or the state I want to face something like that. This isn't a hunting trip anymore. This is reconnaissance. I've learned what I needed to learn, and more. Retreat is the only logical option. Live to understand this threat another day.)
Holding his breath, Malrik slowly, meticulously, began to back away. Every movement was agonizingly deliberate, silent as falling snow. He didn't break eye contact with the ogre's horrifying gaze until the dense foliage of the thicket fully swallowed him. Once concealed, he turned and moved with the silent, swift grace honed by a month of nocturnal hunts, putting distance between himself and the monstrous figure in the clearing. The sounds of its feeding gradually faded behind him, replaced by the familiar, albeit still unsettling, night sounds of the Whisperwood.
He moved back towards the Lodge, his mind a whirlwind of fear and calculated analysis. That ogre… it wasn't just another corrupted creature. Its power level, the nature of its corruption, the sheer destructive force it represented – it was on a different scale entirely. It was an apex predator, a symptom of something far more wrong with the Whisperwood than he had previously imagined.
The return journey was swift, fueled by a desperate need to be back within the relative safety of the Lodge walls. He slipped through the window as silently as he had left, the cool night air giving way to the familiar, stale scent of his room. The wooden clone lay undisturbed in his bed, a silent testament to his double life. He carefully replaced the clone in its hiding place, his movements automatic, his mind still replaying the terrifying image of the corrupted ogre. He then lay down, pulling the blankets over himself, the soft mattress a stark contrast to the hard, damp ground of the forest. Sleep didn't come easily. The image of that single, milky eye haunted the edges of his vision.
Morning arrived with the usual soft light filtering through the window. Malrik went through the motions of waking, the performance of the frail boy sliding back into place. After a sparse breakfast, he returned to his room, the door closed, the world outside momentarily shut away. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, and began to breathe, slowing his heart rate, clearing his mind. This was his other practice, the quiet, internal work that complemented the brutal physicality of his nights.
He began the first cycle of Nexciva, the mana breathing method he had painstakingly taught himself. It wasn't just about circulating mana; it was about understanding its flow, refining its control, expanding his capacity. The familiar warmth began to spread through his limbs, a gentle hum of energy.
Suddenly, voices filtered through the thick door of his room. They were low, but distinct. One was Sir Kaelen's, the knight assigned to oversee his exile. The other was unfamiliar, crisp and authoritative.
"...yes, Sir Kaelen. The pointers registered significant corruption signatures converging on this area. That's why we've been dispatched," the unfamiliar voice said.
"Corruption pointers? Here?" Kaelen sounded surprised. "We deal with the occasional rogue beast, but nothing that would warrant a full Holy Church investigation."
"The readings are… concerning. Higher than anticipated. We believe there may be a significant source of corruption deep within the Whisperwood. Our mandate is to locate and neutralize it. We'll be establishing a temporary encampment near the forest edge and commencing patrols immediately."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Holy Church? Here? Corruption pointers… that must be how they track tainted magic. Efficient, I suppose. Locating a significant source of corruption? That ogre. It has to be related to that ogre. It was radiating a level of taint I've never encountered. They're here to hunt it. Or whatever caused it. This complicates everything. If the Holy Church knights are patrolling the Whisperwood, my nocturnal excursions are impossible. They'd detect my mana usage, even if I managed to evade them physically. They're trained to sense corruption, and while my mana isn't corrupted, its use in combat, especially against tainted creatures, leaves a distinct signature. My whole routine… shattered. I can't risk encountering them. Not now. Not when I'm supposed to be the frail, exiled prince.)
The muffled voices continued for a moment longer, discussing logistics and patrol routes, before fading away as they moved further down the corridor. Malrik remained still, the flow of Nexciva momentarily forgotten. His mind was already adapting, recalculating. The Whisperwood was now off-limits, at least until the Holy Church knights were gone. His source of practical knowledge, his training ground, his escape – all temporarily closed off.
The Holy Church knights. They were an arm of the central religious authority, sworn to protect humanity from supernatural threats and the insidious spread of corruption.
The Holy Church knights were the militant arm of the central religious authority, dedicated to combating supernatural threats and the taint of corruption that plagued the world. Trained from a young age in both martial combat and the detection and purging of tainted magic, they were equipped with specialized artifacts, such as the 'corruption pointers' mentioned, which could sense and track concentrations of dark or corrupted energy. Often operating in disciplined units, their methods were typically direct and forceful, focused on eradicating threats rather than studying them. Their arrival signaled a threat level that the local authorities, like Sir Kaelen, were not equipped to handle alone.
Malrik sighed internally, the sound barely a whisper of air. His month of mastery, his growing confidence in the Whisperwood, had collided with a new, unexpected reality. The hunt was paused. The deep, terrifying secret of the corrupted ogre would have to wait. For now, the performance of the frail prince was the only life available to him.