CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Leading Without Control

Everything after Meris healed happened so fast I wasn't sure it even happened. That flicker of a foreign will—sharp, fleeting—left my head spinning. It felt like what I'd sensed at the bridge, when those beasts ate my flesh and twisted into something worse. Was that corruption? Was it tied to will somehow?

I'd thought I knew corruption, thought I had it figured out. Mine was stable, locked inside me, not spreading like it did in others. Beasts barely noticed it, their senses blind to whatever I carried. I'd called what happened to them "ongoing corruption" or "progressive corruption," like it was a process I'd dodged.

But I was wrong—my grip on it was shaky at best. Seeing pure mana in Meris shift under that strange will cracked my ideas wide open. Was corruption just wills fighting within mana? Did that foreign will twist it, or was Meris' mana ripe for it because she had no core to shield her? Maybe the apple's will weakened after healing her, leaving an opening or maybe that other will was just stronger, punching through like it owned her.

It had to be strong. The wards were failing—we knew that, but as far as we knew, only the most fearsome could challenge them, and even then, it came at a cost. For something to reach in from far off, fast as a blink, it had to pack power. My thoughts churned, questions piling up. Was it a will from beyond? My own, slipping out without me knowing? Or just my head messing with me, the beast part punishing my human side for caring too much? That last one stuck—maybe I was driving myself crazy, the split in me clawing itself apart, fighting for control.

I watched Meris close, her steady breaths mocking my doubts. I let my mana flow toward her again, gentle, probing for traces of that shift. Then I yanked it back, what if my free mana, loose as it was, twisted her too? I shook off the idea quick.

The mana I was harnessing outside wasn't raw and uncontrolled, shaped only by my will. So I tried again, pushing my senses deep, hunting for mana, corruption, anything different. Nothing stood out. Her body was a puzzle I couldn't read, sensing a human's insides still felt foreign, like groping in the dark. I wanted proof of that will, some leftover scar, but found nothing. She looked fine—better than fine, brimming with life. Her face even seemed softer, prettier somehow, and it hit me odd, a tug in my chest I couldn't place.

Jharim and Elina buzzed around her, practically glowing. "Thank you," Jharim said, his voice firm but heavy, like he hated owing anyone. "I don't know how I'll repay this, but I will."

Out here on the outskirts, folks traded coins—clunky metal, not the slick credit machines the district center used. Jharim shuffled to a corner, digging into a hidden nook, and pulled out a small pouch. A few coins clinked inside as he held it out. "I know it's not much. But I can get more, something like that fruit gotta cost a fortune."

It wouldn't buy a week's food within the district, and I'd bet it was all they had. My gut twisted—I had credits stacked up, enough to flood them with it. But Jharim's pride was steel; he'd never take it. He'd scraped by for his family forever, stubborn as a rock against handouts, even if he'd give his last bite to a stranger. Offering credits would just cut him deeper.

I waved off the pouch with a half-smile. "A little bird told me there's beast resources piling up in the district now. Different from regular metal, not many can craft with it. How about you make me a weapon when you've got time?"

It was a dodge—let him pay me without bruising his dignity. He'd done commissions for Chainrunners before; with all those resources I'd dumped, his forge would get busy. One weapon wouldn't slow him much.

He squinted, skeptical. "What, the Chainrunners took down some big beast and hauled it in?"

"Yep," I said, grinning. "They did."

His face lit up. "Then I will. My best work—you'll see!"

Elina finished checking Meris pulse, breathing, color and turned to me, pulling me into a hug. It was the first real warmth I'd felt since coming back, family in a way the Blackthorns never were. "Thank you," she said, voice thick. "You don't know what this means. We thought she'd die." Tears streaked her face, bright ones, and I felt a flicker of it too, until my mind library snuffed it out, cold and quick. I bristled at that, annoyed, but couldn't fight it.

"She's really okay?" I asked, fishing for anything she might've noticed, some hint of that will I'd felt.

"Okay?" Elina laughed, soft and relieved. "She's perfect—healthier than ever, far as I can tell."

We lingered, them filling me in on district gossip. I slipped some beast meat from my ring, and Elina cooked it up, rich and strong. Meris slept through it, healthy but wiped out, her body still reeling from the shift. My ring was nearly empty now, most of the haul gone to the Chainrunners. But I'd kept enough to avoid starving, since what they gave me at the Blackthorn estate was nowhere near enough.

I left after we ate, saying goodbye as the day held clear. But that flicker with Meris gnawed at me. From a ledge atop a nearby residential building, I watched their window, feeling like a creep but needing to know. I flared my senses—mana, corruption, anything—straining to catch a change. All day and night, I stayed, eyes locked on her still form. She didn't stir, and I found nothing, no trace of that will, no twist of mana. Just silence, and my own nagging fear.

…

The next day dawned with no changes, Meris still slept, steady but out cold. I'd stayed up watching, but nothing shifted, no answers came. Time to head back to the Blackthorn estate. I could already feel Lirien's glare waiting for me—sharp and hot after I'd dumped those beasts on the training ground, claimed them for the Chainrunners, and bolted for a day. She wouldn't have slept, not with that mess. Dain either, probably buried in papers.

My head buzzed as I walked. Out in the fog, I was a beast—killing, surviving, following the world's rules. Here, I played human—saving, helping, twisting those same rules to fit. What'd happen when it all caught up? I couldn't guess, but the dread sat heavy in my gut.

It was early when I reached the mansion. A few servants spotted me, their eyes flicking away fast, and before I could duck to my room, Lirien stepped into my path. She stood tall, arms crossed, her face a storm barely held back. "You know," she said, voice low and edged, "it's rude to drop a mess like that in someone's lap and vanish."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Sorry," I said, keeping it simple, honest. "I had urgent stuff to handle."

"More urgent than explaining what you meant by 'distribute it with the district'?" Her eyes narrowed, pinning me. "You forgot the Law of the Finders, didn't you? It's strict—finder's rights over fog spoils. I had to scramble, act like I knew you'd pull this stunt from the start."

I winced. "Sorry. Should've been clearer."

Her stare hardened, fierce enough to scorch if it could. "I'm not done," she snapped, pausing just long enough to let it sink in. "Couldn't you have warned me? That ring of yours—fine, whatever, but slaying all those beasts? Do you even get what that means?"

I hadn't planned it that way. The beasts were just what I'd killed coming back, nothing special, few strong, just a haul to test the ring. Now they'd eclipsed the storage ring entirely. "No," I said, keeping it plain. "I don't fully grasp it. I wanted to prove the ring's worth, show we can transport goods through the fog with ease now, hunt beasts, and feed the district."

She sighed, sharp and loud. "Transport goods through the fog with ease, you say?" She stared like I'd lost it. "You talk about hunting beasts like it's a normal thing to say—do you hear yourself? There's nothing easy about the fog."

It was normal for me, routine even, but I couldn't let that slip.

"I'm not asking for help hunting—not at first, anyway," I said, my voice firm with confidence. "I can handle it."

I meant it. Filling the ring twice a month could change everything—target bigger beasts, keep their cores, grow stronger. The meat'd feed people; the hides and bones could make weapons, gear. It'd take time to master crafting with them, but it was progress. Lirien saw it too—her eyes softened a fraction, but I could tell she hated not being in control. She'd been blindsided, control slipping through her fingers, and it burned her.

She went quiet for a long minute, just standing there, thinking. I didn't dare break it, she wasn't hiding that she needed space to chew it over. Finally, she spoke, softer now, hand brushing my cheek—a stiff, awkward move for her, but it felt warm anyway. "Look… what you did, bringing all that in—it's hope. I never thought I'd see it like this. Some Chainrunners even seem less scared of the fog now."

I nodded, her touch odd but steadying. She pulled her hand back, frowning. "But shattered hope's worse than despair. You say you can hunt out there and I won't insult you by calling you a kid with silly dreams, but what if you die?"

Her worry was real, fair too, if not for my long sleeps, it'd be risky out there, even without beasts always hunting me. But death didn't scare me; it came, I went, and I always came back.

Then it struck me: wasn't I breaking the cycle too? The thought muddled me. Was that okay somehow? My own existence defied life and death—how was that fine, but saving Meris wasn't?

The cycle felt flimsy in my head, but I couldn't dwell on it now. I locked eyes with Lirien and spoke from deep inside. "Death is a companion, ever nigh, abiding in the shadows—born of light and darkness entwined. I fear it not, for it ought not be feared, but claimed as thine own. In embracing its hold as part of thee, one shall live." The words rolled out, heavy, natural, like they'd always been there. Mana swept through them, a faint pulse I felt in my throat, and for a split second, I saw something—runes, flickering in the air, gone fast.

Lirien blinked, her argument dying on her lips. She didn't push back about me dying out there—just nodded, slow, like my words had settled it. Whatever I'd tapped, it hit her true, and the room felt stiller for it.

"So you plan to start hunting in the fog?" Lirien asked next, her tone shifting as if she'd shelved her earlier doubts, curiosity taking over.

"That's my idea," I said, keeping it simple. "With the ring, it's possible. Think about it—the haul from yesterday could boost ration production, maybe even make real meals for the dining halls."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "I figured that's what you meant by 'distribute it.' But those resources could fund Chainrunner incursions for years—new gear, better weapons. Are you sure you want most of it just given away?"

"Yeah," I said, firm. "I do. Besides, won't the council up our funding if we keep bringing in dead magical beasts?" I didn't get why she'd push back, more mana imbued meat should mean more support, right?

Lirien snorted, a dry laugh. "You'd think that, but the council's packed with tough bastards from big families. If you're handing it out free and they're not profiting, why would they care enough to boost our funds? It's not how they work."

Her words hit like a cold splash. Maybe I was naive, expecting people to act just because it was right. Talking to Lirien made my hopes feel childish, a kid dreaming of a better district. But then I thought of Jharim and Elina, scrimping to help others despite their own hunger. They hadn't given up. How could I, without even trying? My jaw tightened—I wouldn't.

"Beasts fetch a high price, don't they?" I asked, fishing for a way forward.

"They do," she said, leaning in. "We raise some meat here, but it's small batches, tastes like dirt compared to magical beasts—low nutrition too. If you flood the dining halls with this, even noble houses might show up." She half-laughed, like it was absurd but possible.

"What if we hold some back for profit?" I scrambled, ideas clicking. "Let the nobles buy it—boost our funding that way. Or strike a deal with the council? They wouldn't need much, and they'd never touch rations."

Lirien's brows shot up, surprised. "A deal with the council might actually work."

I'd never met those council types, but it seemed like a win for them, profit without effort. Hope crept in, maybe they'd bite. "You think they'd go for it?"

A rare smile flickered on Lirien's face, sharp and brief. "They already did," she said, then tossed a badge my way. It spun through the air, glinting—similar to hers, engraved simply: Artifact Holder, Omen Blackthorn. "That show of yours left them no choice. They had to grant you the title. Congratulations. Next time, stick around—you might've been honored properly. I had to accept it for you."

I caught it, staring, stunned despite her earlier hints. The weight of it sank in, I was an Artifact Holder now, official. Honestly, I didn't know what it meant, what it demanded, or how it differed from being an Apprentice Chainrunner. I barely cared about the title, out there in the fog—it wouldn't make my fists hit harder or stop a beast mid-charge if I waved it around. Useless against claws and teeth.

Inside the ward, though, it shifted everything. Invisible titles bent—less scorn as the bad omen, more respect as someone who belonged. No honor I knew topped this. It meant the district relied on me or at least on the artifacts I found. A ward breach? They'd turn to me to hold the line. My chest tightened at that.

I wasn't ready. Strong enough to punch and heal, sure, but not to defend a district. I needed more, some way to tap the mana piled in my core, turn it into real force, not just survival tricks. The badge wasn't just pride; it was a call to grow stronger. I realized I did care—cared that people depended on me. And knowing Lirien had read my intent, sealed that council deal for the beasts I'd hauled in? That struck deep. My first family might feel pride too, maybe draw others from the outskirts to our side as Chainrunners. A real chance at something better warmed me inside.

"Still," Lirien cut through, her voice hardening as she fixed me with a suspicious stare. "You owe me something."

I straightened. "What?"

"Tell me the truth," she said, her tone unyielding, eyes fierce and defiant. "The whole truth."

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.