"A joint patrol?"

Xam grins. "Afraid, Fang-born?"

"Yeah—afraid they'll steal my kills," I say, spinning my swords around my wrists with a lazy smile. Then I launch them upward and keep them circling using my waves, the blades weaving smoothly around me like rings in orbit.

"Tohol is joining today too."

What?!

My control falters for a moment—one of the blades trembles in the air before I steady the pattern again. "Captain Tohol? Are we expecting elite Xok'al today?"

Xam nods, her expression shifting. "Black Serpent outpost reported two elite-class moving south. Command marked it as a low-threat, so they left it to us. But what's minor to them…" she shrugs. "Is a big deal for us. Only a Lord of Sparks can take one of those things alone."

I frown slightly. "Do we have a fix on them, or is this a search and hunt mission?"

"We picked up strange movement down Route 14—a quarter sun cycle ago. Patrols also marked a few gathering spots nearby. Chances are high they're nesting somewhere in that zone."

I narrow my eyes. So it's finally getting serious, huh.

"Which squad are we linking up with?"

"Ixchel."

Ixchel… not Arjun's squad. Not Imani's either. Don't know much about her.

"So both squad captains are coming?"

"Yes. They'll handle the elite-class. We focus on the rest."

I nod slowly.

I've just crossed the 10% Stage Progress threshold… but I'm not ready to take on something on par with a Lord of Sparks. Not yet.

I steady my thoughts and glance around.

Kahul sharpens his blades. Kinam sits cross-legged, eyes closed—breathing slow, locked in focus. Tziib tightens the straps on his buckler, checking each connection with practiced tension.

The air feels heavier than usual. No one speaks.

Then—there it is.

A faint pressure in the ambient EM field. Controlled. Dense. Familiar.

Captain Tohol is here.

He's fully geared—wearing the distinct patterned armor only Lords of Sparks carry. It fits him like a second skin, the etched plates humming faintly with charge. He holds a long spear—thicker and broader than Kinam's—and walks with balance.

Beside him moves a woman. Same type of armor, but different pattern—more compact, two curved daggers at her waist. The moment I see her, I know: she's captain too. Ixchel.

Behind her, seven move in formation.

As they approach, we all rise without needing to be told.

Tohol stops just ahead, gaze sweeping over us.

"Today's mission is critical," he says. "Dangerous. Stay close. Stay alert."

We nod as one.

And just like that… we move out.

The terrain is rough. Cracked ridges, pockets of tall, wire-thin grass that sway without wind. Old stone markers jut from the soil at odd angles—half-buried. I recognise some from past patrols, which means we're nearing the outer fringe of known territory.

Kinam takes point for our squad, moving ahead in steady rhythm. Tziib holds the right flank, crouched low, buckler angled outward and eyes sharp.

Behind me, I hear the soft tread of two from Ixchel's side—long-range types, each carrying K'uhul-lances strapped across their backs. The weapons resemble elongated atlatls fused with spine-embedded coils—EM-channelled, silent, and brutal at range.

Kahul walks just to my left—silent, composed, and alert as always. He gives me a subtle nod. Xam moves behind us, anchoring the middle.

Tohol remains at the rear, guarding the backline. Ixchel leads from the front, flanked by two of her fighters, scanning the terrain ahead.

It's a tight setup. Efficient.

And I've been placed dead center between both squads. Not as safe as it looks—Xok'al ambushes often come from the sides. But they trust me. I've earned a name in recent skirmishes, and they know I'm stronger than the average Stone Jaguar—arguably the third strongest member present today.

We keep moving, minutes stretching into hours as we cover several miles with steady speed. No irregularities. No contact.

Two hours in, we reach the first designated zone.

Everyone halts. The formation compresses.

Front and rear units close in, shifting from extended scout spread into a compressed perimeter pattern.

Tohol raises a hand and sends an encrypted wave across the squads. A map—attack vectors, fallback paths, counterstrike patterns—along with one clear instruction: No scouting waves.

Ixchel moves immediately. She leaps down the ridge without a sound, four of her squad following. Their footsteps are nearly silent, barely disturbing the terrain. Since we're not allowed to send waves, I can't track what they're doing—but I feel the faint tremors through the ground.

We wait.

Minutes pass.

Then Ixchel returns. A soft pulse reaches us all.

Clear.

We keep going.

At the second marked point, Ixchel moves in to check—nothing. We repeat the process several more times, sweeping carefully through the designated grid. Still no sign of the Xok'al.

And yet… something doesn't sit right.

The formation is tight, the search methodical, but we're looking for two elite Xok'al who perhaps don't want to be found. The region is vast. It's not all open plains—there are gorges, crevices, even small cave networks scattered across the zone. Some areas are covered in thick grass patches or soft dirt—enough for the Xok'al to submerge and mask themselves from wave detection. Can we really locate two elites if they've chosen to go dark?

Don't the Ajnal have something better than this?

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

But well, what would I know? Maybe the captains are using something I'm not privy to.

I just follow.

And like that, over ten hours pass. No anomalies. No tracks. Not even a hint of movement. Nothing that says the Xok'al were ever here.

From experience, patrols usually stay under twelve hours to conserve energy and avoid attrition. But this joint op might push past that.

An hour later, we stop—not at a marked point, but at a natural checkpoint between Routes 14 and 15.

"We camp here," Ixchel says.

I see. So this is going to be a long one.

I sigh and shrug my backpack off.

The location is easily defensible and hard to flank. The terrain forms a natural choke—two steep ridges to the east and west, with only narrow approaches from the north and south. Good elevation, solid coverage from the higher grass to the southeast.

I'm not on the first shift, so I settle down next to Xam and unpack my rations.

"Lunch?" I offer.

She nods, already pulling out hers.

"Do you know how long this is going to be?"

"As long as it takes, Fang-born." Her voice is calm. "Until those two elite Xok'al are taken down, normal patrols can't resume."

"So we could be out for days?"

"No. We could be out for a full sun and moon cycle. Then two other squads will take our place."

Makes sense.

I chew in silence for a while before speaking again.

"I wonder… have you ever encountered a three-tailed Xok'al?"

"Yes," she says without pause. "More than one."

"And how was it?"

Her jaw stills mid-bite.

Silence stretches.

Then, slowly, she swallows and looks toward the horizon.

"Not a good experience, Fang-born."

She doesn't look at me when she continues.

"Worst one was two years back. No captain. We were seven. Orders came after strange disappearances—whole clusters of wildlife, gone. No trails. No signs of struggle. Like they were plucked clean out of existence."

She pulls a strip of dried meat and tears it with her teeth.

"We assumed it was a juvenile nest. A small group of Xok'al warriors—reckless ones, the type that kill wildlife without caution. It was supposed to be an easy sweep."

Her grip tightens.

"But we didn't find a nest. We found bones. Blood. Tufts of fur braided into knots. Stomachs cut open and left folded like sacks. And not just creatures—Ajnal too. Brothers. One had been nailed upright to a tree using his own broken femurs."

My breath stills.

"The soil stank like metal. Too much blood. We couldn't smell the trees anymore. The air was wrong."

She lifts her eyes.

"Then it stepped out."

She doesn't blink.

"Three tails. Dark red carapace. Long legs. It walked like it didn't care. Wave field was thick, layered. It didn't pulse—it pressed. Our blades felt heavy. Our javelins bent. Sync fell apart."

Her voice stays steady, but quiet.

"My partner… Yahal. He was vice-lead back then. Best pulse-timer I've ever met. We synced across two hundred patrols. Trusted him more than my own reflexes."

A silence.

"It baited him. Walked right into his blade, let him cut deep. Then it grabbed his arm, snapped it at the elbow, and shoved a claw through his throat. Pulled his jaw off. I saw it."

Her gaze doesn't waver.

"It didn't kill him. Not right away. Just… disassembled him. Made him scream as long as his lungs could manage it. Then crushed his head like fruit."

I say nothing. My chest tightens, but I don't interrupt.

"I got the kill. Somehow. I don't remember it clearly—but I was the only one who made it out of the seven. I dragged back what was left of Yahal. Bleeding from six wounds, ribs shattered, half my blade gone."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Fang-born. That's the life of a warrior. Some go early. Others suffer longer," she says calmly.

"And you?" she asks. "Have you ever seen someone you cared about die in front of you?"

"I have."

She nods once, slowly. "Then you understand."

She lifts her water flask, takes a sip, and sets it down.

"Eat well, Fang-born. With the captains here, your first encounter won't be too bad."

She set her flask down and met my gaze again.

"Normally, they don't travel alone. But sometimes—rarely—one goes mad. No one knows why. They stop coordinating, start acting like wild beasts. Easier to kill, yes… but far harder to predict."

Her eyes narrowed.

"So one day…" Her voice dropped lower.

She looked me dead in the eye.

"If you ever meet one like that—alone—run."

I stare at her firmly and nod.

A wild Xok'al… I'd heard rumors before, but her story hits harder.

I stay quiet for the rest of the meal, drink some water, and lean back against the wall. Letting my thoughts drift, I keep my mind light and calm—until the guard shifts, another hour passes, and we start moving again.

The sun is low now. Dusk creeping in.

But we don't rely much on sight. It makes little difference.

We follow Route 15 for a while, then shift course midway toward Route 16.

The path is quiet.

But no one drops their guard.

Everyone marches with practiced calm—the quiet alertness of seasoned hunters.

It's boring. I'm not going to lie. Walking like this for a full day feels like I somehow wasted valuable time I could be training, aiming toward the Second Pillar and Body State, or practicing my wave control… yet now it's just walk and walk and walk, always alert.

Feels very different from the life I got used to in the last stage… but it's not like I have much of a choice. I'm still improving—slowly—learning from the Ajnal, fighting the Xok'al, increasing my SP. Just not as quickly as I'd like.

Perhaps soon, when—

BOOM!!!

I sidestep as the dirt erupts. The sound is loud.

Overdrive flares.

Rocks are in the air… and blood too.

They are here.

I throw my backpack and press down hard, anchoring my stance.

The noise—both mechanical and EM—is too strong. I can barely separate anything.

But still…

My swords angle forward, deflecting an incoming bullet.

I catch hold of the surroundings. Everyone is moving. One man was hit—bleeding.

I see a remnant field where Ixchel was—but she's already dashed straight ahead.

Clang!!

Metal against metal rings in the air.

They've engaged.

Tohol shifts to cover the rest of us. I feel his field press forward, making all incoming projectiles tilt slightly off course.

Damn… that's badass.

I focus on my waves, layering through the static. I combine the signal with mechanical vibrations in the air and finally get a sense of what's happening.

Ixchel is engaged—with it.

A three-tailed Xok'al.

Its figure is blurred—less from speed, more from field distortion. The EM envelope around it fractures my readings, bending signal returns and scrambling outlines.

I can still track the limbs. The footwork. The angles.

But that's only half the fight.

The space around them thrums with layered interference—overlapping pulse harmonics, timed distortions, forced resonance loops. Their waves don't just sense—they command. Redirecting projectiles. Accelerating strikes. Disrupting each other's flow.

The Xok'al and Ixchel are fighting on two fronts.

One—blades and movement.

The other—waveform compression, neural targeting, signal interference.

Two forces locked in a contest for control of the space itself.

So this is what it means to fight at that level…

Impressive.

But my heart is tense.

That's one of the three-tailed…

Where's the other?

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.