The ogre mage's charge ended three steps later.
Minsc met it head-on.
Steel crashed against flesh and leather. The ogre staggered, roaring in outrage as more belts snapped loose under the blow.
"MY COLLECTION!"
Its fist swung wildly. Minsc ducked beneath it and drove his shoulder forward like a battering ram.
The ogre toppled backward into the freezing water.
Rasaad moved immediately.
He crossed the distance in two silent strides and brought his heel down sharply against the creature's wrist as it tried to rise again. Bone cracked.
The ogre howled.
Branwen did not hesitate.
"Helm guide my hand."
Her mace came down with a brutal finality that echoed across the flooded ruin.
The ogre mage went still.
For a moment, only the sound of dripping water and ragged breathing remained.
Then the remaining ghoul—its master fallen—staggered aimlessly through the marsh.
Imoen buried a dagger in its spine.
"Alright," she said cheerfully. "Now it's quiet."
The swamp returned to stillness.
Ice cracked softly where the ogre's magic had frozen the water, thin sheets fracturing under their own weight. One of the belts drifted loose across the surface, half-submerged, turning slowly in the current.
The air smelled sharper now—cold rot and stagnant water stirred together.
Minsc wiped frost from his beard and planted his sword into the mud.
"Ha! Boo approves of this victory!"
The hamster squeaked triumphantly from his shoulder.
Xan exhaled slowly.
"Well," he said, rubbing his temple, "that could have gone worse."
He glanced toward the patch of marsh where unnatural frost still clung to the reeds, ice spreading in jagged patterns across the water's surface.
"…though not much."
Branwen stepped toward the fallen ogre and nudged the body with the end of her mace.
"Corruption," she said quietly.
Xan crouched beside the corpse, examining the belts layered across its chest.
His expression tightened.
"Yes," he murmured. "Something about this creature was… altered."
He ran his fingers along one of the buckles.
"Ogre mages are intelligent," he continued. "But this sort of obsessive fixation—"
He gestured vaguely at the ruin.
"—this is something else."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"This was learned," Xan added quietly. "Or imposed."
Imoen snorted.
"You're telling me the undead parade didn't tip you off?"
Xan ignored her.
My attention had drifted elsewhere.
The swamp felt strangely… quieter now.
Not just silent.
Settled.
Like something had shifted.
The sensation was faint, but familiar.
The same strange internal movement I had felt after earlier trials.
A subtle adjustment.
A quiet reinforcement.
I exhaled slowly and turned back to the ogre's corpse.
"Let's see what all the fuss was about."
--
It took several minutes to sort through the belts.
There were dozens.
Most were ordinary leather straps—weathered, stolen, or simply torn from previous victims.
But one stood out.
The belt was heavier than the others, reinforced with overlapping plates of thick leather stitched with unusually fine craftsmanship.
Xan examined it closely.
"Interesting."
He turned the buckle over in his hand.
"This is enchanted."
Imoen leaned closer.
"Of course it is."
Xan nodded toward me.
"It should reduce the harm from piercing weapons," he said.
"Arrows. Spears. Daggers."
He handed it over.
The leather felt denser than it should have—firm, almost resistant beneath my grip, as though the material itself carried weight beyond its stitching.
"A practical item," Xan said.
Minsc squinted at it.
"…but not very impressive looking."
"Your opinion has been noted," Xan replied dryly.
Nearby, Branwen sifted through the remains of a crude satchel the ogre had kept near the collapsed ruin.
She held up a scroll.
"This was among its possessions."
Xan accepted it and scanned the script.
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Mirror Image."
He handed it toward me.
"You should take this."
I blinked.
"You already know the spell."
"Exactly," Xan said.
"Which makes it redundant for me."
He folded his arms.
"You, however, are far more likely to benefit from learning it."
Imoen grinned.
"Oh this is gonna be good."
"Or disastrous," Xan said calmly.
"Possibly both."
I slipped the scroll carefully into my satchel.
That would take time.
Scribing spells wasn't something done casually.
It meant long evenings by the fire.
Trial.
Failure.
More trial.
But the idea had already taken root.
Another small advantage.
--
Minsc had wandered toward the edge of the marsh.
He stood staring out across the distant hills.
Rasaad joined him.
"You follow the same path we do," the monk said calmly.
Minsc nodded once.
"Yes."
He tapped the pommel of his sword.
"Boo and I seek a witch."
Imoen perked up.
"A witch?"
"A strong one," Minsc said proudly.
"She was taken by gnolls."
"Taken where?" Branwen asked.
Minsc pointed.
Southwest.
"Stone fortress."
The Gnoll Stronghold.
Rasaad glanced toward me.
"That would place it beyond the hills."
Minsc folded his arms.
"I wished to see the strength of warriors I might travel beside."
Imoen grinned.
"Oh."
"You were watching us?"
"I was fighting beside you," Minsc corrected proudly.
"And witnessing."
He nodded once.
"You did well."
Xan sighed deeply.
"…did he just assess us?"
I shrugged.
Minsc beamed.
"Excellent!"
He clapped his hands once.
"We go rescue the witch!"
Boo squeaked in agreement.
--
The road back out of the marsh was quieter than the one that had brought us in.
Victory had a way of doing that.
The sky had cleared slightly.
Wind moved through the reeds.
After a while, Minsc spoke again.
"I have also heard troubling news."
Xan groaned softly.
"Of course you have."
"Beregost suffers from spiders."
Imoen blinked.
"…spiders?"
"Large ones," Minsc said gravely.
"Very large."
Rasaad frowned.
"That town lies along the road we passed."
"Yes."
Minsc nodded.
"Many people frightened."
He looked at us seriously.
"But gnolls still hold the witch."
The implication hung in the air.
Two problems.
Two directions.
Branwen spoke first.
"The imprisoned must come before the threatened."
Rasaad nodded.
"Rescue takes priority."
Xan rubbed his eyes.
"Marvelous."
"Gnolls."
"Exactly what every wizard hopes to deal with after fighting undead in a swamp."
Imoen clapped him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up."
"At least this time the enemy probably won't be wearing belts."
We turned southwest.
And somewhere beyond the hills—
the gnolls were waiting.