God's Tree-Chapter 111: The War Beasts in the Grass

The night was deep, the sky a vast canvas of blackness streaked with faint silver light. The moons were half-full, casting long, flickering shadows across the rolling landscape.

The air was crisp, filled with the scent of damp earth, wild herbs, and the lingering traces of distant storms.

And through it all—they ran.

Malakar was at the front, moving with a calm, unshaken rhythm. His skeletal frame needed no rest, no food, no water. His violet-flamed eyes remained focused, ever watching, ever calculating.

Argolaith kept close behind, feeling the slow burn of exertion creep into his limbs. He wasn't slowing yet—he refused to slow. But he wasn't Malakar. He was flesh and blood, and no matter how strong, fatigue would eventually catch up to him.

So he adapted.

With one hand, he reached into the satchel at his waist, pulling free a bloodbloom root. It was deep red, its surface marked with faint gold veins. Without hesitation, he bit into it.

The taste was sharp—bitter and metallic—but the effect was immediate. Warmth spread through his veins, dulling the burn in his muscles, feeding his stamina with raw, wild energy.

Kaelred, trailing just behind, was not having an easy time.

He lifted Malakar's stamina elixir, taking a small sip before grimacing. "Tastes like old boots and lightning."

Argolaith smirked, chewing the root. "It works, doesn't it?"

Kaelred sighed but took another small sip before capping the bottle and continuing forward. "Remind me to never let you two talk me into running for three days straight again."

Malakar's voice came calmly from the front. "You were never given a choice."

Kaelred muttered something under his breath, but he didn't stop running.

The landscape had changed.

The hills had given way to a vast open plain, dotted with towering, bone-white trees that stretched unnaturally tall toward the sky. Their bark was smooth, almost polished, and their leaves shimmered with a faint bioluminescent glow.

The wind howled across the field, carrying the distant cries of predators.

Malakar's steps slowed.

Argolaith and Kaelred followed his gaze toward the swaying grasses ahead. The field was vast, seemingly empty—but it wasn't.

Something was moving.

Low. Stalking.

Waiting.

Then—a growl.

Argolaith's hand moved toward his sword as a shadow rose from the tall grass.

Then another.

And another.

They were war beasts.

But not the same as the ones they had slain before. These were built for endurance.

Their forms were lean but powerful, their bodies covered in black, bristling fur that gleamed faintly under the moonlight.

Each beast had two sets of eyes—one high on the skull, the other lower near the jaw—perfect for tracking prey in the dark.

Their front limbs were longer than their back, built for lunging and tearing.

Their spines arched unnaturally, and along their backs ran a ridge of pulsing, glowing tendrils—marking them as creatures that had been touched by magic.

The largest among them—clearly the alpha—stepped forward, lips curling back to reveal jagged, bone-colored fangs.

Argolaith could feel its intelligence.

It was measuring them.

Calculating if they were prey.

Kaelred sighed. "We're not stopping to fight, are we?"

Argolaith drew his sword.

Kaelred groaned. "Didn't think so."

The alpha war beast lunged first.

Malakar was faster.

He moved like a shadow, his blade already drawn before the beast left the ground. A single, precise stroke parted flesh from bone, and the beast collapsed in a heap—its glowing tendrils flickering before darkening completely.

The rest of the pack charged.

Argolaith met the second beast mid-lunge, his sword carving cleanly through its ribs before he twisted, slamming his boot against its corpse to free his blade.

Kaelred ducked low, daggers flashing. He slid under one of the beasts, slashing deep into its exposed belly before rolling back to his feet. The creature stumbled, shrieking, before Malakar ended it with a flick of his wrist.

Three down.

Five to go.

Another beast snapped at Argolaith's leg. He sidestepped, driving his elbow into the creature's skull before spinning his blade into an upward strike. The war beast collapsed, blood pooling beneath it.

Kaelred kicked another back, twirling his dagger before jamming it into the beast's throat.

Malakar…

Malakar was untouched.

His blade barely moved—but when it did, something died.

One by one, the beasts fell.

Silence settled once more.

The pack had been annihilated.

Argolaith flicked the blood from his sword, stepping over the corpses. The scent of iron and scorched flesh filled the air, mixing with the natural dampness of the wild plains.

Kaelred sighed. "You know, most people avoid war beast packs."

Argolaith knelt beside one of the corpses, pressing a hand against its hide.

"Most people don't have a storage ring that has infinite space."

With a flash of silver light, the bodies vanished—each one sealed inside Argolaith's ring.

Kaelred raised a brow. "Hoarding them for later?"

Argolaith smirked. "You never know when you'll need extra supplies."

Malakar dusted off his cloak. "We should keep moving."

Kaelred groaned. "You just want to run more."

Malakar smirked. "You are improving."

Kaelred muttered a string of very creative curses.

Argolaith turned toward the horizon, adjusting the grip on his sword.

The battle had barely slowed them.

The road to Volcrest was still long.

But step by step, they were getting closer.

And no matter how many beasts stood in their way—they would cut them all down.

The war beasts had been dealt with, their bodies safely stored within Argolaith's storage ring, but the journey pressed on.

The second day of non-stop running had begun.

The landscape had shifted again, trading the vast, open plains for rolling, uneven terrain littered with jagged obsidian-like rock formations.

Some jutted from the earth like the broken ribs of a fallen giant, others stood in eerie, spiraling formations that seemed unnatural, as if something had shaped them long ago.

The air was drier now, hotter, filled with a strange, lingering scent of burnt minerals.

There was something wrong about this place.

But they had no time to dwell on it.

They had to keep moving.

Malakar remained at the front, his undead body immune to the exhaustion of flesh and bone. His movements were fluid, effortless—an eternal runner with no need for rest.

Argolaith had adjusted well to the rhythm of their relentless sprint.

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He no longer fought against the strain. Instead, he moved with it, his breathing controlled, his mind sharp.

Whenever the ache in his limbs grew too strong, he chewed another magic root from his pouch, letting its effects pulse through his body like a second wind.

Kaelred…

Kaelred was suffering.

He was keeping up—barely. But even with the stamina elixir, even with his stubbornness, he was starting to break down.

His breaths were ragged, his steps just a fraction slower than before. He no longer had the energy to complain, only to keep his legs moving forward.

Malakar glanced back at him. "You will collapse if you keep running like that."

Kaelred let out a hoarse breath. "Good. Let me die."

Argolaith smirked. "You're not dying yet."

Kaelred wheezed. "Yet? That's not comforting."

As they crested a particularly steep ridge, Argolaith spotted something in the distance.

A dark line against the horizon.

Not natural. Not just another stretch of wilderness.

A road.

His pulse quickened. "There's something ahead."

Kaelred groaned. "If it's another monster, I'm retiring."

Malakar studied the distant mark. "No. That is a path."

As they approached, it became clear.

A worn, uneven stone road, cracked and weathered from centuries of neglect. Some sections were barely visible beneath layers of dust and dried moss. Others were broken apart entirely, massive stones shifted from their original placements as if torn apart by time itself.

And across that road…

Tracks.