Chapter 370: Day weakness
Lyerin leaned forward again, his gaze flickering with renewed interest. “Tell again,” he said, his voice softer this ti, almost coaxing. “I need you to describe it once more. Every detail. Don’t leave anything out.”
The soldiers, though puzzled by his persistence, complied hesitantly, their voices overlapping at first until Caron spoke up to take the lead.
“It’s enormous,” Caron began, his voice steadier than before. “Taller than any beast I’ve ever seen, with those glistening black scales. They catch the sunlight, almost like they’re drinking it in.
“And when it moves, it doesn’t lumber like you’d expect sothing its size to. It’s… graceful, calculated, but not in a natural way. It’s like every step is deliberate, like it’s… sizing us up.”
“Those eyes,” Tessa interjected, shuddering visibly. “Amber, glowing, like molten gold. When it stares at you, it feels like it’s peering into your soul, reading every thought you have. It doesn’t just look at you—it studies you. It’s unnerving.”
“And its claws,” another soldier added, gesturing with trembling hands. “They’re massive, curved, like the sickles we use for harvesting, but sharper. They glint like they’re coated in so kind of poison or magic. It slashes through trees like they’re paper, and when it strikes, you barely have ti to react. It’s… devastating.”
“It’s not just the claws,” Caron continued, shaking his head. “Its tail is like a whip—long, powerful, and deadly. It can knock a man clean off his feet, or worse, break every bone in his body with a single swing.”
Tessa nodded, her voice gaining a sharper edge. “And it’s silent. When it moves, there’s no sound, no rustle of leaves, no snapping of twigs. It’s like a shadow, always there but never seen until it’s too late.”
“Not entirely silent,” the soldier from earlier added hesitantly. “It growls sotis, low and deep, like a rumble of thunder. It’s a warning, I think. A way to let us know that it’s close, that it’s watching, but it doesn’t care if we know because it’s so confident it can take us.”
“It doesn’t just fight,” Caron said bitterly, his voice filled with frustration. “It plays with us. It could end us, I know it could, but instead, it toys with us. It lets us think we’re making progress, only to snatch it away at the last mont.”
“It’s fast too,” another soldier chid in, shaking his head as though still disbelieving what he’d seen. “Unnaturally fast for sothing its size. One mont, it’s yards away, and the next, it’s right in front of you, striking before you can even blink.”
“It uses the environnt too,” Tessa said, her voice trembling slightly. “It doesn’t just rely on its strength or speed. It’s smart. It uses the terrain to its advantage, climbing, hiding, ambushing. It’s not just a beast—it’s a predator, a master hunter.”
The group fell silent again, their words hanging heavily in the air. They exchanged glances, their faces pale as they relived their encounters with the creature.
Lyerin, who had been listening intently, suddenly raised a hand, his eyes narrowing. “Wait,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through their collective unease. “You said it has scales that glisten in the sunlight? That it moves with precision and seems to thrive during the day?”
The soldiers nodded hesitantly, unsure of where he was going with this.
“And it watches, stalks, but never seems to strike the final blow?” Lyerin continued, his expression shifting into one of disbelief mixed with a faint trace of amusent.
“Yes,” Caron replied, his brow furrowing. “That’s exactly what we’ve been saying. Why?”
Lyerin leaned back slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose as a low chuckle escaped him. It was a sound that sent a ripple of unease through the soldiers.
“You idiots,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “That’s not just any beast. From your description, it’s a species that only wakes up during the day—one with a very particular weakness.”
The soldiers leaned in, their expressions a mix of confusion and anticipation.
“It’s a creature,” Lyerin continued, his tone turning almost mocking, “that, for all its strength and intelligence, cannot function properly at night. Its senses dull, its movents slow, and it becos vulnerable. And yet, here you are, repeatedly attacking it in broad daylight when it’s at its strongest.”
A stunned silence followed his words. The soldiers exchanged wide-eyed glances, the weight of Lyerin’s revelation sinking in like a stone.
“You’re telling us…” Caron began, his voice faltering. “We’ve been doing this wrong the entire ti?”
Lyerin’s smirk widened as he rose to his feet, his movents graceful and deliberate. “Precisely,” he said, brushing off his robes as though the conversation had bored him. “But don’t let stop you. By all ans, keep charging into battle during the day. It’s… entertaining.”
The soldiers’ faces burned with humiliation, a mixture of anger and sha welling up within them. But before they could respond, Lyerin turned on his heel and strode away, his laughter echoing softly in the still night air.
Lyerin stopped in his tracks when he sensed the disbelief radiating from the soldiers behind him. He turned back slowly, his expression shifting to one of annoyance mixed with subtle amusent. His arms folded, and he sighed deeply, as if burdened by the need to explain sothing painfully obvious to those he deed too slow to comprehend.
“You don’t believe , do you?” Lyerin began, his voice calm yet carrying an undertone of exasperation. “Of course, you don’t. Why would you? After all, you’re so used to charging headfirst into problems, assuming brute force will solve everything. Let guess—your wounded pride tells you that you’ve tried everything. That this beast is simply too powerful for your ager skills. But the truth is far simpler and far more humiliating: you’ve been blind.”
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier frustration and humiliation still palpable. Caron, ever the bold one, took a hesitant step forward. “With all due respect, Chief,” he began, his tone carefully asured, “we’ve been fighting for days. We’ve seen what it’s capable of. How could a beast like that have any sort of weakness?”
Lyerin tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Caron like a predator assessing its prey. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on this creature?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Tell , Caron, how many nights have you spent observing it? How many hours have you dedicated to studying its behavior, its patterns, its limitations?”
Caron opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it, his face flushing with embarrassnt.
“Exactly,” Lyerin continued, stepping closer to the group, his tone growing more authoritative. “You’ve spent all your ti throwing yourselves at it in the daylight, when it’s at its peak, when it thrives. You see its strength, its agility, its intelligence, and you assu it’s unstoppable. But let educate you, since it seems no one else has bothered to teach you how the world truly works.”
He began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his voice steady and deliberate. “Every creature, no matter how strong, no matter how terrifying, has a weakness. A flaw. A chink in its armor. This particular beast, the one you’ve so gloriously failed to defeat ti and ti again, is no exception. Its power is derived from the sun. Its senses are heightened, its movents sharpened, its very essence energized by daylight. It is a creature of light and heat. But at night… oh, at night, it is a different story entirely.”
The soldiers leaned in slightly, their skepticism slowly being replaced by reluctant curiosity.
“At night,” Lyerin continued, his voice softening but never losing its commanding edge, “its vision falters. Its reflexes dull. Its strength wanes. It becos vulnerable, sluggish, almost lethargic. It is, quite literally, a shadow of the beast you’ve been battling during the day. And yet,” he paused, turning to face them directly, “you insist on fighting it when it’s strongest, when it has every advantage over you. Tell , does that sound like a sound strategy to you?”
The soldiers exchanged uneasy looks, their silence speaking volus.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Lyerin said, his gaze narrowing. “You’re wondering why I haven’t told you this sooner. You’re questioning why I let you flounder in your ignorance, why I didn’t step in to save you from your own stupidity. The answer is simple: I am not your babysitter. I’ve given you tools, resources, freedom. But it seems I overestimated your ability to use them effectively.”
His words cut deep, and the soldiers shifted uncomfortably, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his scorn.
“But let make this clear,” Lyerin continued, his tone growing colder. “I have no obligation to guide you through every challenge you face. I gave you freedom from the Borgias, a chance to build a new life. And yet, here you are, floundering like lost children because you refuse to think, to adapt, to learn.”
One soldier, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, spoke up. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you take care of the beast yourself?”
Lyerin’s eyes darkened, and an almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Because,” he said slowly, his voice dripping with disdain, “this is not my fight. I could snap my fingers and rid you of this problem in an instant, but what would you learn from that? Nothing. You’d continue to stumble through life, relying on others to solve your problems for you. No, this is your challenge, your test. And if you can’t overco it, then perhaps you’re not as deserving of your freedom as you thought.”
His words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. The soldiers’ faces were a mix of anger, sha, and grudging acceptance.
“But,” Lyerin said after a long pause, his tone softening slightly, “I am not entirely without rcy. I’ve given you the knowledge you need to succeed. Use it wisely, or don’t. The choice is yours. But do not mistake my patience for infinite tolerance. Fail again, and I will not be so generous next ti.”
With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, his cape billowing behind him. The soldiers watched him go, their minds racing with the weight of his words. For the first ti, they truly understood the depth of their own shortcomings—and the enormity of the challenge that lay ahead.
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