Chapter 253: Horned Ride
Darion looked at the group. The forest between here and Percvale’s edge was the same forest they had come through: the Bogoarts, the wolves, the Horned Yuimons, the fifty angry birds.
Walking back through it meant walking back through all of that, plus whatever else had moved into the area since they passed through.
The forest didn’t stay still. Predators followed prey. Territories shifted. The path they had taken in might not be safe on the way out.
Who knows what deadly creatures they might encounter now.
How many of them, and maybe it would end up taking an archer’s life unexpectedly. Darion remembered the hunts he went on when he first became Baron.
While they were good, he had lost knights. It happened in hunts. The forest was unpredictable, and no matter how skilled you were, there was always a chance that something would go wrong.
Who knew if it would happen now? Meet creatures so strong that you had to at least lose something. The thought was grim, but it was real. The forest didn’t care about your plans or your training. It just was.
And why trek all the long distance and exhaust energy when you could just use an undead? For some reason, the undead animals ran so fast, even faster than when they were just normal animals.
It would be a great time saver, like taking a bike or a car like back on Earth. The logic was simple: faster travel meant less time exposed to danger. The undead were tools, and using them to get out of the forest quickly was just common sense.
He gave them a choice.
"We’ll ride back to Percvale," he said. "I can summon undead Horned Olfs for each of you. Fast, less than a minute, probably. The creatures cover ground at a speed that the forest can’t threaten if you’re moving through it quickly enough.
Or walk back through the forest the regular way and encounter whatever is there."
He let the words hang. The archers exchanged glances. The idea of riding undead creatures was unsettling, but the alternative was walking through a forest that had just sent fifty birds at them.
They turned it over in their minds. Trekking back with all the dangerous creatures in this forest? It would have been scary if it was only them, but with the Baron? Easy...
The Baron would protect them. He had proven that already, had stood in front of them and fought off creatures that would have killed them in seconds.
With him, they felt safe. But walking back would still take hours. Hours of being exposed, hours of waiting for something to go wrong.
Seren’s face did something when he said ride. She had ridden an undead before, when she hunted with him not long ago.
Her body clearly remembered how it felt: the speed, the unnatural movement, the sensation of being carried by something that shouldn’t exist.
She had a strong opinion about repeating the experience. She didn’t say anything, but her expression said enough. Then she had been so dizzy she had to be carried by Darion when they arrived. The memory was fresh, and she didn’t want to relive it.
Several archers made immediate sounds of reluctance. One of them said something about how undeads felt wrong to sit on even though they had never done so.
"It’s cold," he said. "It doesn’t move right. It feels like it’s going to throw you off at any moment." Another said they’d rather walk. "At least on the ground, I can see what’s coming."
Pannett was quiet, assessing. She didn’t voice her opinion either way. Her face was calm, her eyes fixed on Darion. She was waiting, watching, letting the others speak first.
Darion shrugged. "If you won’t ride, I’ll go ahead," he said. "I’m not waiting in the forest." He let the words sink in. He needed rest now. His aim for following them to the forest had been completed, protect them through the training. Now that it was done, it was time for him to go back.
The threat of being left alone in the deep forest with whatever just sent fifty birds at them worked faster than the offer of a fast ride did.
The reluctance shifted into reluctant agreement. Sitting on an undead would definitely be better than dying here. Anything was better than dying at this point. The forest was dangerous, and staying in it longer than necessary was a risk none of them wanted to take.
"I guess we have no choice," one of them said. "We’ll ride."
The others nodded. They didn’t like it, but they liked the alternative even less.
Darion smiled. "Good choice."
He summoned a Horned Olf for each of them.
The Archers approached the Horned Olfs with the careful body language of people doing something they had committed to but not accepted.
Their steps were hesitant, their eyes fixed on the creatures that stood waiting, their green eyes glowing in the dim forest light.
The Horned Olfs were smaller than Yuimons, about the size of large wolves, but their presence was still intimidating.
Their bodies were lean and muscular, their downward-curving horns glinting in the filtered light. They stood still, patient, waiting for their riders to mount.
The archers moved slowly, their hands reaching out to touch the creatures’ sides.
The touch was met with cold, unyielding flesh. The Horned Olfs didn’t flinch, didn’t react. They just stood there, their green eyes fixed on nothing, their bodies still and waiting.
One of the archers, a young man with a nervous expression, approached his assigned Horned Olf.
He hesitated, his hand hovering over the creature’s back.
He looked at the others, then back at the creature. He took a deep breath and climbed onto its back, using the horns as handholds because there was nothing else to hold onto and the horns were there and solid.
He settled into position, his legs gripping the creature’s sides, his hands wrapped tightly around the horns.
It looked undignified. The archer’s body was awkward, his legs spread too wide, his back hunched. But nobody said anything about how it looked. They were all in the same position, all struggling to find a comfortable way to sit on the creatures.
Another archer, a woman with a determined expression, mounted her Horned Olf with more confidence.
She moved quickly, her body finding a rhythm with the creature’s movements.
She settled into position, her hands gripping the horns, her eyes fixed ahead. She looked more comfortable than the others, but her jaw was tight, her body tense.
The rest of the archers followed, each one mounting their Horned Olf with varying degrees of confidence.
Some moved quickly, others hesitated, but they all eventually found their positions. They sat on the creatures, their bodies awkward, their hands gripping the horns, their eyes fixed on Darion.
Seren approached her Horned Olf with visible reluctance. She had ridden an undead before, and her body clearly remembered how it felt.
She mounted slowly, her movements stiff, her face pale. She settled into position, her hands gripping the horns, her eyes fixed on the ground.
Darion mounted the large undead wolf. The creature was massive, its body covered in patchy fur, its green eyes glowing.
He settled into position, his legs gripping the wolf’s sides, his hands resting on its back. He was used to this. He had done it many times before.
He looked back at the group. Eleven archers and Seren, distributed across several Horned Olfs, holding on with varying degrees of confidence. Some of them looked terrified. Others looked determined. A few looked like they were trying not to throw up.
He told them through the binding to move. The Horned Olfs moved.
The forest blurred. The trees became a continuous wall of green, the ground disappearing beneath them.
The Horned Olfs moved with terrifying speed, their bodies cutting through the undergrowth, their paws pounding against the earth.
The wind rushed past their faces, the leaves whipping against their skin.
It was fast. Faster than anything they had ever experienced.
The Horned Olfs were built for speed, their powerful legs propelling them forward with each stride.
They moved through the forest like ghosts, their bodies barely touching the ground.
The archers held on tight, their bodies pressed low against the creatures’ backs. They didn’t speak. They couldn’t speak. The wind was too loud, the speed too intense. They just held on and prayed.
Because anyone that fell off the creatures at this speed?
Severe injuries or maybe death.
They were at Percvale’s edge in under a minute. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but it felt like the truth.
The ride was so fast that it felt like they had teleported.
One moment they were deep in the forest, surrounded by trees and shadows. The next moment, they were at the edge of Percvale, the familiar fields stretching out before them.
The Horned Olfs slowed to a stop.
The archers dismounted slowly, their legs shaking, their faces pale. They had made it. They were back.
Darion dismounted the wolf and looked at the group. They were alive. They were safe. And they had made it back in record time.
He smiled. "See? That wasn’t so bad."