Accidental Healer-Chapter 51 - The trap is sprung

(Mischief)

For the past three days, Mischief had been gradually honing his new skills while Layton let him practice.

Could he have killed the bandits faster? Easily.

But that wasn’t the point.

He was learning. Refining. The more he used his abilities, the more he understood them—and more importantly, the more he understood his prey.

There was something else at play with his telepathy. Something deeper. He could sense it. Whispers of the Abyss wasn’t just a tool for communication—it was an instrument of corrosion. The more broken his victims became, the more potent his influence grew.

So he played with them.

He watches. Listenes. Strikes when their fear is at its peak. He doesn’t just kill them—he validates their terror. And each time, the next victim falls apart even faster.

Tonight would be no different.

As night falls, Mischief slips into the shadows and begins his approach. The palisade looms ahead, its wooden walls standing as the final, fragile defense between the hunted and the hunter.

He steps forward—and vanishes.

Shadowstep carries him to the top of the wall without a sound. His control had improved. The landing was perfect. One smooth motion, claws gripping the timber, then dropping down into the blackened shadowy spaces below.

Darkness welcomes him.

Inside, the camp stretches only two hundred yards across, its wooden cabins arranged around a central dirt plaza. Same as the others. Except something was… off. It was taking longer to find his prey tonight.

Then—movement.

A patrol. Five bandits, huddled together.

Mischief melts into the night, trailing them from the shadows. He takes his time. Practicing absolute silence. He observes every tiny detail—

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

The way their boots scrape against the dirt. The way their shoulders brush as they move, staying too close. The way they cast their eyes into the night, searching for death.

They didn’t need to look far.

Mischief let the thought spill into their minds. Soft. Gentle. Like a whisper from the abyss.

“I can see you searching the shadows. Why? Are you so eager to see your death?”

The rear guard freezes. With his sense stat it’s easy to smell the urine running down the bandits leg. A second passes—then another—before he reaches forward, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest bandit.

Then altogether–they bolt.

Running straight for the plaza. Each scrambling not to be at the rear of the pack. The rear bandit shoves his bandit ally aside just to get ahead.

Mischief lets them go. Most of them.

One wouldn’t make it.

The moment their backs turn, he lunges.

In a few quick bounds he leaps claws sinking deep into flesh, puncturing the spine. He clasps his jaws over the dark elf’s head and throat, crushing both in a single bite. Layton was right that this was becoming a favorite of his.

The body shudders briefly before Mischief drags it into the dark.

A satisfying crunch. The confirmation.

You have killed Dark Elf (Level 22).

Mischief doesn’t wait. Shadowstep. He slips into the void just as the group vanishes into the plaza.

Then—silence.

No search party. No scattered panic. No disorganized scrambling.

Strange.

Carefully, Mischief follows the path the other bandits fled, creeping along the perimeter of the plaza. The moment he came within range—he felt them.

Dozens of minds. With whispers of the abyss he can feel the minds.

The sheer volume of them sent a ripple through his telepathic senses. It was a trap.

They were baiting him.

Mischief expanded his awareness, piecing together what little impressions he could gather from their minds. Anxiety. Tension. A coiled anticipation. Dread.

The outer patrols were bait.

They wanted to draw him into the plaza. What were they planning?

Mischief’s ears flick as he considers his options. He could just avoid the trap. It would be the smart choice.

But that just didn’t feel right. Mischief is curious. If he avoids the ambush he will never get to see what it is.

Mischief makes his decision.

If they want him in the plaza… then he would give them exactly what they want.

-

(Maridus)

Maridus stood frozen behind the cracked door, his breath shallow, eyes locking on the darkness outside.

A minute passes, time crawling.

No sound. No attack.

His bait had run, just as planned—sprinting in blind terror toward the plaza, right where they needed the monster to follow. But nothing came.

Had it sensed the trap? Had it retreated?

No.

Maridus knows it's out there. Watching. Waiting.

Then, finally—movement.

A massive, shadowy form emerges from the night.

At first, it’s just the head, a sleek black silhouette peering from behind one of the wooden dwellings bordering the plaza. Its amber eyes burning.

Then—slowly, methodically—the rest of it follows, stepping into the open with unnatural grace.

Maridus holds his breath.

Even now, looking directly at it, something about the creature felt... wrong. His vision strains to hold it in focus, as if the shadows themselves bent to accommodate its presence.

Still, it took the bait. That was all that matters. Yes, it took the bait, and yet–looking at this demon–he almost wished it hadn’t.

Maridus’ fingers tighten on Torrens’ shoulder. Now.

He steps back and yanks the door open.

Torren wastes no time.

A blinding sphere of light erupts from his staff, rocketing skyward before bursting over the checkpoint—drenching everything in searing white radiance.

A sun in the dead of night.

The reaction was instantaneous—bandits all across the plaza cry out, stumbling, shielding their eyes. Even Maridus, prepared as he was, was momentarily blind, blinking furiously against the white-hot spots burning into his vision.

But when his sight returns—

The beast was still standing. And it's staring directly at him.

Maridus’ blood turns to ice. Internally he hopes it doesn’t show.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Now that he can see it fully–it is massive—easily five feet at the shoulder, its sleek black coat reflecting nothing in the light, as if the color itself was a void. But it isn’t just its size or appearance that unsettles him.

It's the stillness. The monster isn’t the least bit afraid. It isn’t panicking, not lashing out.

It's just… watching.

And then—a voice.

Cold. Calculating. Delivered not through sound, but directly into Maridus’ mind. It gently forces its way into his conscious

“Hello, dark elf.”

A shiver crawls down his spine.

Maridus knew the creature could speak this way. He even prepared for it. Yet the sheer weight of its presence in his mind made his skin crawl.

Still, he forces himself to respond, keeping his voice steady. “So, you’re the monster that’s been harassing my dungeon?”

“I have to admit, I find that hard to believe. Surely you had help. How many are in your party?”

Maridus is not a master with words. He controls with strength and fear. He doesn’t even believe his own words. His plan is to try and learn about the spellcaster before they kill the beast. And since it isn’t running he might as well see what he can learn.

The creature doesn’t answer his question. Instead, the voice in his head asks one of its own.

“I think you're the one I’ve been looking for… do you have an evolved class? Like your magic friend there?”

Maridus frowns.

“Typical.” he scoffs. It feels forced even to himself.

“Simple mind, simple priorities.” He sneers.

“Look around you. You are surrounded. If you have any intelligence at all, you will surrender. Or are you not able to understand your situation?”

The voice remains even, unfazed.

“What’s your name?”

Maridus blinks. “What?”

“Your name,” the beast repeats. “I’m Mischief. What’s yours?”

The question was so pointed, so direct—it sends a flicker of irritation through him.

“Are you not getting this?” Maridus snaps. “You are at my mercy, beast. You don’t get to demand anything.”

The response was immediate. Calm. Unshaken.

“I understand my situation. What is your name?”

Something about the way it asked—so deliberate, so unaffected—unnerves him in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“…Maridus,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now answer my question!”

“Alright, Maridus. I will make you a deal. Answer my question, and I will tell you everything you want to know about the challenger to your dungeon. Every little detail.”

Maridus narrows his eyes.

A trick. Surely.

Yet… why would it care if he had evolved or not?

And more importantly—what did it matter if he told it? He has nothing to lose.

“…Yes. I have evolved.”

“Good.”

The creature says simply. Maridus leans forward.

“Now—keep your promise. How many are in your party?”

The cat’s eerie, unreadable stare didn’t waver.

“I entered your dungeon with one other.”

“One?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

Maridus scowls. “And this ‘one other’—is the spellcaster who covers you in a shield?” He grinning wider. Yes that’s right, we know about your friend he thinks to himself. But the demon is unfazed.

“Yes actually. A healer, in fact.”

A healer?

Maridus almost laughs. Finally a stroke of good luck.

That explains everything. No wonder the beast fought alone. If it is telling the truth, then this is even easier than he thought.

Kill the beast. Find the healer. Done.

A full on toothy smile spreads across Maridus’ face.

“So what you’re saying is—you’re the only real threat here?”

The cat tilts its head.

“No” it says, slow and deliberate. “I didn’t say that.”

Something in its tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“In fact,” the voice continues, its presence in his mind as cold as ice, “It’s probably the opposite.”

The grin slid from Maridus’ face.

“You might even say… I’m the only reason you’re still alive.”

Silence.

The doubt comes crashing back. What is this monster talking about?

“…Stupid beast,” he growls, stepping forward, drawing his sword. “Care to tell me where your friend is hiding before I cut you down?”

The cat met his gaze, completely unmoving.

“I wouldn’t worry about finding him,” the voice in his mind said. “I’m certain you’ll meet him sooner than you want.”

Then—it moves. A blur of shadow.

Maridus reacts instantly—his sword lashing out, three piercing lunges aimed exactly where the cat had been—

It's no longer there. The ethereal blades slamming into the wood of the shelter behind where it had been.

All around him, bandits launch their own attacks. Magic. Arrows. Skills.

Not a single one lands.

Maridus catches a final glimpse of the beast as it bounds onto a rooftop, then launches itself toward the palisade walls.

It’s so fast. Maridus was not about to let it get away. He gives chase using every single point of agility he has.

It's getting too far away.

By the time Maridus reaches the walls, sword clenched in frustration, the beast is already gone, disappearing into the night.

Something doesn’t sit right though…If the beast had incredible stealth…why didn’t it use it until Maridus reached the wall?

…No. His heart drops into his stomach.

Not gone. It had led him away from its true target.

Behind him—the screams start.

Shouts of panic.

And then—the light above the plaza flickers—

—and dies.

The checkpoint plunges into darkness.

And Maridus knows–the nightmare they had known was merely an appetizer the real nightmare had just begun.

The broken screams bleed into the night.

Meridus runs.

His feet pounding against the dirt, his lungs burning, his mind racing—but it doesn’t matter.

He is too late.

By the time he reaches the source of the first scream, the truth has already settled deep in his gut.

Torren is gone. No body. No blood trail. Just… gone.

His men had seen it happen. Seen one of their strongest yanked into the dark, screaming like an animal in a trap. And after that?

Everything fell apart.

No one knew where the next attack would come from. No one knew where to run.

Every time Meridus turned—another scream. Another body dragged into the abyss.

Another gurgling death, choked off before it could even finish.

This wasn’t a fight. This was a massacre.

It felt impossible that they were only fighting one monster.

It moved like a shadow. Never where he expects it to be.

At some point, Meridus stops running. Stops trying to prevent the inevitable.

Whenever he sprinted toward a cry for help, another scream came from the opposite direction. By the time he arrived?

The fight was already over. So he stopped.

He walked to the plaza. And just sits down in the dirt. Then he waits.

Waits as the screams fade, one by one.

Waits as his men—his army—his friends, are picked apart like cattle in a slaughterhouse.

The screams fading to the back of his mind, Meridus had time to think.

Was this karma?

Had all the men and women he’d killed—all the lives he’d shattered—finally come back for him?

Or was he simply fuel for someone else’s rise to power?

What shit luck.

And then, at last, the night fell silent. Still, he sat.

Then—it came. A low, predatory growl.

Meridus lifts his head.

From the ruined buildings to his right, the beast prowled into view. A specter of death wrapped in fur and shadow.

Moonlight kisses its jet-black coat, revealing the monstrous shape that had haunted him for days.

Meridus doesn’t flinch.

He just stares. Why did it have to go this way? He had planned everything.

He was supposed to be the one who ascended. The one who took power. The king of this new world.

And now?

Now he was sitting in the dirt like a dog, waiting for the end.

The voice comes again as Maridus hangs his head.

“I told you my friend would come to you.”

“Now you will join all your men.”

Meridus looks up at that.

And there he was. The man in grey.

A breeze catches the edges of his cloak, but he stands unmoving, unreadable.

At first glance, he doesn’t look like much. Not compared to the monster beside him.

But that doesn’t matter. Because Maridus hates him.

Not because he is an enemy. Not because his beast of a friend had killed all his men.

But because—He is a nobody.

A nameless, faceless nothing. Some random bastard in a robe who had no business standing where Maridus should have been.

This is who the beast said would come? This simple man was supposed to kill me?

Meridus laughs—a bitter, broken thing.

“This?” he spits. “This is the one who is supposed to take everything from me?”

His voice cracks. No.

No, this isn’t right.

Meridus had crawled his way up from filth. He had earned every piece of power—through blood and fire.

And now? Now some nameless piece of trash was going to take it all away?

No.

His hands shake with fury as he climbs to his feet. He ignores the cat.

Maridus' fight was meant to be with the man in grey.

He charges.

His sword gleaming in the torchlight, and as he closes the gap, he activates his skill—Piercing lunge but multiplied by three.

Three ethereal blades tear through the air, all aiming for the grey robed man.

The man moves.

One step. One precise motion.

His sword flashes, catching the middle blade and deflecting it cleanly.

At the same time, he twists his body—the two remaining blades whistle past his front and back.

Maridus had expected that. He was already closing the distance.

This time, he unleashes Sweeping Blade his passive skill again multiplying the number of blades—a skill designed for close-quarters combat. The blade multiplier is an ability earned at his evolution.

The man doesn’t parry. This time he ducks low, avoiding all three strikes by inches, shifting position to eliminate any chance of a follow-up attack.

He’s fast. Nearly as fast as Maridus.

But it doesn’t matter. Maridus had fought dozens of duels.

This man had skill, but his movements weren’t as refined. He was raw. Most likely gaining his skills from a skill book.

Skill Books are a good start but they are a poor replacement for real life combat. Maridus had both.

The fight wears on. Swords swinging in blurs. Enhanced senses combine with agility giving each fighter inhuman reaction time.

Clash. Parry. Counter.

Strike. Deflect. Reset.

Maridus can feel it. Countless victories before tell him the tide is shifting. The boy is on his heels barely able to counter anymore.

Just a matter of time now.

Then—The opening.

Maridus uses a skill piercing lunge, forcing the man to block the incoming blades.

There it is. The moment he needs to end this fight. Victory near at hand he starts planning his attack on the horrible beast.

The man in the grey cloak swipes his blade trying to deflect the projectiles, Maridus lunges—real sword aiming straight for his exposed torso.

Die.

But the blade never reaches the man. Maridus' blade stops mid-air.

An invisible force preventing the strike from ever landing. A shield. Barrier Magic. Of course, how had he forgotten this detail?

Realization strikes too late.

The world moves in slow motion. Maridus watches the shift in the man’s stance—The trap snapping shut.

A flash of steel. Pain explodes in his chest.

Maridus staggers and looks down in shocked disbelief. The man’s sword is buried deep between his ribs.

He tries to inhale—air doesn’t come. His body refuses to move.

His knees buckle. He hits the dirt. His hands move to his chest where the sword still resides.

He looks up at the man standing over him. Bright blue blade gleaming in the moonlight. The blade is blue? What a strange thing to notice as his thoughts begin to betray him. His mind slips away into an inky black nothing.

Rage boils in his blood, giving him a moment more clarity.

He tries to lift his sword—tries to moves

His strength is already leaving him. The man in grey robes crouches slightly.

Meeting his gaze. The voice...

that damned voice enters his mind again as the corners of his eyes begin to close in.

“You asked for my friend. Do you regret that now?”

Maridus chokes on his own blood coughing and spitting. His anger is no longer enough to keep him lucid. Frothing anger replaced with icy terror.

NO, it wasn’t supposed to end like this. He was supposed to be the one who ascended to power here. He tries to will himself to stand, this isn't the end.

The world blurs. His fingers tremble. Then, the voice comes—one last time. They are the last words he will ever hear.

“Goodbye, Maridus.”

Terror and anger flicker before the sword slips free.

And the bandit Maridus is no more.