"What are you planning to do, boy?"
Kuzma's voice cut through the air like steel against stone. He stepped forward, eyes narrowed, muscles tense — not from anger, but from pure apprehension.
"What you're proposing… it's impossible."
He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, staring at Nikolai as if looking at a madman.
"You can't split a magic arrow between five targets. If you try, you'll drop to the ground. No energy. No protection. And we won't be able to retreat from this field and save you at the same time."
Ekaterina watched silently. Her analytical gaze shifted between Nikolai and the group, as if calculating invisible variables. At last, she crossed her arms.
"Are you really trying to play the hero now? Think just because you read some theory in an old book, you can rewrite the rules of magic?"
Nikolai didn't answer immediately. The air felt heavier, charged not just with sulfur, but with the tension hanging over them.
Then he spoke, without raising his voice:
"I've done it before. I need you to trust me."
"Shut up!"
Kuzma roared, stepping forward.
"No one's going to die under my command. Pack your things. We're heading back."
His tone was final. But Daria, who had been watching from a distance, seemed lost in her own thoughts. She took two steps forward, approaching, eyes locked on the boy.
"Nikolai… what makes you think you can do this?"
Before he could answer, Ekaterina cut in:
"Daria, please. He's just excited. You know as well as I do that this is…"
"Wait."
Nikolai, with a calm gesture, pulled something from inside his coat. A small notebook, its leather cover darkened by time.
"Marya Sobolev gave me this. It has spells… including the one I mentioned. It was with this material that I trained, alone, in the rehearsal room."
He held out the notebook. Daria took it with both hands and quickly flipped through the pages, her eyes devouring whatever was written. Her face went from confused to grim… serious.
Ekaterina stepped closer to see as well, but one glance at the pages was enough for her expression to sour.
"This is a joke, right? This is…"
"Try to kill the enemies."
Daria cut in, with a firmness that chilled everyone around.
Silence. Even Ekaterina froze. Never, ever, had anyone seen Daria interrupt someone like that.
"Sister… what are you doing?"
Kuzma murmured.
"He's going to get us all killed!"
"I believe him, and I think you should too,"
Daria replied, turning toward the plains as if already anticipating the shot.
Andrei broke into a wide grin, almost excited by the imminent chaos.
"That's it! Let's crush them."
Kuzma and Ekaterina still looked stunned. But with no other option, they began to take position. The entire group now waited… for Nikolai.
Daria turned to him one last time.
"When you're ready, shoot."
Nikolai felt his throat go dry. His heart was beating too fast. Everyone's words still echoed — criticisms, doubts, fears. But now… there was no room for more thoughts.
He took a deep breath.
"Just like in training… only I'll use half the power. Just to be safe."
The creatures Nikolai had killed in the room were, in theory, higher-level — which meant they were much stronger than the Simargl. He didn't want to use all his energy — if he couldn't kill them, he'd still have enough strength to run. Although he was almost sure it would work, it was precisely that "almost" that made him tremble.
His hand touched the bow. His fingers glowed with concentrated energy as the ethereal string and the arrow of light began to form. The Cristerina sensed the unusual energy and responded, hissing in bright yellow, like an electric filament.
He pulled. The string screeched. The condensed light at the center flickered like a star on the verge of exploding.
Then, he released it.
The arrow of light flew high, leaving a trail of yellow brightness against the grey-ceilinged sky. The Simargl sentries turned their serrated eyes, drawn to the glow.
That was their last movement.
The arrow exploded a few meters in the air… and then split into six perfectly symmetrical beams, each screaming through the air like blades from the heavens.
Six flashes. Six dry cracks, like coconuts splitting in half. Each Simargl had its skull shattered, driven into the ground with such force that the rocks cracked beneath their grotesque bodies. A sixth beam dove straight into the nest's edge, causing a partial collapse of the entrance and lifting a cloud of dust and energy that rippled across the plain.
Silence.
The entire group stood in shock.
"Let's get on with it,"
said Nikolai, voice steady as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The adrenaline still made his fingers tremble… but the first part of the plan was done. Now came the hard part: surviving whatever would come out of the nest.
Andrei let out a battle cry that echoed like thunder across the plain.
"LET'S GOOOO!"
Without waiting for orders or caution, he charged like a starving bear toward the nest entrance — now half-collapsed, the hole groaned and crumbled under the pressure of the bodies trying to escape. But the first creature that dared to emerge barely had time to make a sound.
SMACK.
A dull thud echoed as Andrei's club came down with brutality, crushing the Simargl's skull. The impact was so violent the monster got stuck on top of the weapon like a grotesque crown. Andrei shook it hard, and the dead body flew off to the side like a sack of bones.
"One!"
he shouted, laughing, eyes gleaming with blood and adrenaline.
Hell had begun.
Every Simargl that climbed up was immediately met with a storm of steel, magic, and fury. Ekaterina summoned ice spears that snapped into being and pierced two, sometimes three bodies at once, leaving blue crystals tinged with red wherever they passed.
Kuzma, silent, held the front line with Andrei — his light, sharp sword cut through everything that came out of the hole as if it were made of paper. Andrei, for his part, was like a living wall, dodging, striking, pushing back the tide of teeth and claws.
Nikolai, still silent, kept the bow steady. His eyes calculated vectors, distances, angles — each arrow was an execution command. But the magic he'd used to begin the battle limited him: he could only shoot one arrow every few seconds, with just enough power to stop a creature — and even so, he was already at his limit. His main goal at that moment was simple: don't pass out.
For nearly twenty minutes, the group didn't stop. The ground turned into a sludge of flesh and blood. The creatures' cries turned into shrieks of despair — they no longer wanted to come out. They could feel it. Something out there wasn't just winning… it was annihilating.
The hole, once a hunting path, was now a trap. An execution field.
Until… silence.
Only the sound of heavy breathing, of flesh sliding from weapons, of blood dripping from clothes.
The last creature tried to retreat — and was impaled from below, straight through the abdomen, by an ice spear that pierced its body and left it pinned at the edge of the burrow, like a grim trophy.
"This seems to be the last one,"
announced Ekaterina, exhausted, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove.
Kuzma and Andrei were filthy, their faces and chests covered in clotted blood and remains of the battle. But smiles were beginning to appear. The first came from Andrei — wide, dumb, genuine.
"That was our biggest hunt since when, huh?!"
Kuzma let out a more restrained laugh, still trying to catch his breath.
"I don't think we've ever gotten this many at once. How many were there?"
Daria, already kneeling among the bodies, answered without hesitation:
"Forty-two Simargl."
Her voice was neutral, almost monotone.
"I'll begin the collection."
She was the only one who never celebrated the slaughter. She was the healer. The one who gave life, not took it. That's why she felt no fondness for the massacre. From the ring on her finger, a pale light shone, activating the automatic collection spell. One by one, the bodies vanished into gray particles, magically stored for later sale or consumption. It took a few more minutes, but no corpse was left behind.
"Done,"
she said.
"We can go back."
Kuzma nodded, still smiling. But his eyes turned to his sister. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the question that had throbbed in his mind since the start of the fight returned.
"Daria… how did you know?"
She hesitated. In silence, she opened the notebook she still held against her chest. She handed it to her brother. Kuzma looked, confused. But when his eyes fixed on the words… his face changed.
He went pale.
"This… this isn't possible."
Daria whispered:
"Yes. It's impossible. But I think he — just like his mother — can read and speak the Ancient Tongue."
Andrei, curious as ever, came closer to peek at the book. He tried to decipher the letters… but his eyes slipped over the symbols like water on oil. None of it made sense. It was like staring into another dimension.
"I don't understand any of this… what does it say?"
No one answered — truthfully, no one could say for sure what it meant.
Daria was the first to move. She approached Nikolai in silence and handed the notebook back. Nikolai nodded with a quiet "thank you"; she simply turned her face away, her eyes already scanning the trail back — not out of indifference, but out of fear of saying out loud what she thought might be happening.
The mood on the return was different. Bringing back forty-two kills, they'd have food and coin for weeks. Even so, the group's gazes weighed on Nikolai in a new way: curiosity, reverence, a touch of fear.
Daria walked two steps behind him, mulling over the words of Kolya Feodorovna that hadn't made sense before: "give wings to this bird that has never flown." Now, everything was clear as a blade. Even after using the magic arrow more than once, Nikolai wasn't staggering, wasn't panting, didn't have the dull, exhausted eyes. His reserve simply didn't drop like anyone else's. Not even Ekaterina, who mastered area spells, could replicate what he had done — and she was a specialist.
On the way back, a few stray Upyr emerged from the shadows — thin, bony, drooling, starving for any scrap of life. Andrei, still half-shifted, met them with a short laugh and the club dangling from his shoulder. Each beast that came was swept off the ground with a single blow, a dry crack, and dust swallowing the remains. His raw joy was impossible to contain.
"Tonight I'm gonna eat until the cook begs for mercy!"
he roared, laughing.
"Try not to make a mess of the table, if you can,"
grumbled Ekaterina, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
Kuzma came in silence, eyes on the horizon, as if replaying every decision made. The weight of command pressed heavier on his shoulders than the armor. He approached Ekaterina without looking at her.
"I was too harsh,"
he said, at last.
"I think I should've given the boy a chance to prove himself."
"I was wrong too,"
she replied quietly.
"I was arrogant. We forget that sometimes… geniuses appear. And with them, we remember that experience doesn't weigh as much as we think."
Two more Upyr, two more strikes — the path back became a corridor of echoes and muffled steps. The Cristerina floated above the group, pale and calm, as if also resting after the massacre.
Nikolai walked in silence, the notebook clutched tightly to his chest. The more he held it, the more he felt the weight of things he didn't understand — why his magic felt different from the others', why Daria had believed in him before anyone else.
"Hey, kid,"
Andrei came up to him, his eyes still a little wild.
"That was a sight. Next time, leave one or two for me to drop before your light eats everything, yeah?"
"I'll try,"
Nikolai replied, forcing a smile that, for the first time, came out almost naturally.
When the plain finally opened up, they saw again the spiral staircase leading toward the exit. They were filthy, exhausted — but smiling. Smiling enough to ignore the break they had agreed upon: they went straight up, their footsteps echoing against the stone like drums of victory.
On the frozen plain outside the cave, the sun was already touching the horizon, signaling the end of the afternoon — and time to start retreating. But that wasn't what caught the group's attention.
Near the tower entrance, a small crowd was gathered around a man reading aloud from a scroll. They caught the speech halfway through; fragmented phrases were lost in the murmuring:
"…voluntary enlistment…"
"…granted artifacts…"
"…partial tax exemption…"
Kuzma was the first to react, wiping dried blood from his face with the back of his glove.
"I think the Truce Agreement finally got approved."
"I'd love to hear it,"
Ekaterina muttered, cracking her spine,
"but my exhaustion wants to bury me in a bed first."
Kuzma gave a brief nod, already slipping back into the role of leader.
"Alright, everyone. Daria and I will settle the group's debts and speak with Stepan about the dismemberment. Dinner at the usual time. Get some rest; you've all earned it."
He cast a look at Nikolai and nodded — a simple gesture, but full of meaning. Nikolai returned the nod and took the corridor toward the dorms. Only then did he notice he was limping: the prosthesis rubbed against the stump with every step, metal scraping skin, a small fire throbbing with each movement.
"Ashen, we were productive today. Bath time. And I'm taking this thing off before it kills me."
The bear wagged his tail enthusiastically and bolted ahead, clearing the way as if he also knew that the worst — for today — was over.
He still seemed upset about being left out of the adventure. Nikolai, as an archer, had ended up stealing Ashen's opportunities. And, added to the fact that the bear had no kind of protection, that made him someone whose role would only be used in extreme emergencies. For everyone's sake, nothing had happened — but that also meant he did absolutely nothing.
Svarog's hallways smelled of damp stone, smoke, and roasted grease. Nikolai cast one last look toward the man reading the scroll; curiosity itched at his mind, but not enough to steer him from his immediate goal: hot water and silence. The agreement wouldn't run away. Sleep, on the other hand, would.
In his room, he untied the leather straps of the prosthesis. The relief came as a long sigh, almost a moan. The metal hit the floor with a clunk that echoed in his chest. Ashen pressed his snout against his hand, and Nikolai smiled without showing teeth — that calm smile of someone who knows they've survived a hard day.
"I'll read whatever I need to tomorrow. Today, just a bath… and pay,"
he said, and the word lit a childlike gleam in his eyes.
His first payment. The feeling of belonging, of having contributed, of bringing something back beyond blood and exhaustion — and the certainty of having been useful.
Above, beyond the windows, the Observer stood as motionless as ever — and yet, watchful. Svarog breathed, voices rose from the mess hall, and life went on.
Nikolai closed the door, let his shoulders drop, and let the hot water take care of the rest.
Tonight would bring deals, rumors, and reckoning. But for now, there was victory — and the simple promise of a full plate.