The Honorable Head Chef (6): Flames in the Fog
We pressed northward along the dark northern road, where thick fog was slowly rolling in. Night cicadas, grasshoppers, and the cries of mountain birds echoed chaotically from every direction. From the banks of the Buren River, already shrouded in heavy mist, came intermittent splashes of fish leaping to the surface.
The humid summer night air carried its signature chill yet sticky scent, and the dense fog gradually soaked our faces and clothes. Before long, we were drenched in sweat.
"It's insanely muggy," one mercenary grumbled, flapping the front of his shirt.
"Tell me about it. If only a breeze would pick up..."
"Fog like this kills the wind."
After some banal chatter about the weather, the mercenary turned to me. "From what I know, southern moose are the biggest breed out there, right? And you're really planning to take one down solo?"
"That's the idea."
"Well... we're just following the captain's orders since he's getting paid. But honestly, I'm a bit worried."
"Don't sweat it. Like I said a dozen times, when the moose shows up, you all hang back. I'll handle it."
The mercenary scratched his cheek, looking utterly baffled. "You a mage or something?"
"Nah. Just your average guy who knows his way around a blade."
"Even if you say that, you seem like you've got some real skill in a fight."
Another mercenary, perched on the wagon driver's seat, chimed in. The rest all turned to stare at me—they'd clearly been wondering the same thing.
"Nothing special. Just enough to keep myself alive. Can't compare to pros like you mercenaries living off the sword."
"What if you're a descendant of Vengeance King Blavane? Or some giantkin throwback?"
The guy next to him snorted. "Idiot, even a bachelor like Blavane had kids. Crack a history book for once."
"Oh yeah? Then who's the current king descended from?"
"Uh..."
"What, you don't know either, asshole?"
Hardo let out a low sigh as the mercenaries started bickering. According to solid records, Vengeance King Blavane did have heirs. But after a few upheavals, that line died out, and the current royals stem from a different bloodline. Pretenders still pop up claiming Blavane's legacy now and then, but no one's verified it.
Documents say Blavane had special powers passed down genetically. The catch? No one recorded what those powers were. Claimants show off parlor tricks like smashing pot lids barehanded, yanking nails with fingers, or chomping rocks. Impressive, sure—but even I could pull those off without breaking a sweat. So whatever Blavane's bloodline gift is, it ain't just brute strength. Something higher-order, maybe. Hell, maybe he had the Goddess's blessing like me.
We kept north like a real caravan, trading idle gossip. The summer night's bugs and owls still buzzed thickly, with the occasional rustle of small mountain critters fleeing our noise.
The fog from the Buren River's day-night temp shift grew heavier, and by the spot where we'd found the corpse earlier, it felt like swimming underwater. A pale veil draped our surroundings, shrinking our vision to near zero. The murk was so thick I couldn't even see my palm when I held it up.
"Feels like the fog's crushing down on us. Must be worse by the river."
"Yeah. Never crossed here at night—didn't expect this."
One of the wagon mercenaries cut in, voice tense. "Captain. The grasshoppers just went quiet."
We all shut up and strained our ears. He was right—the sounds from moments ago had vanished.
Bugs and beasts go dead silent to hide when danger lurks. Which meant...
"Boss. Looks like the worst-case scenario," Hardo whispered, hand on the hilt of his short sword at his waist.
We were spaced out around the central wagon, but the dead stillness and choking fog carried his words clearly. The mercenaries tensed, checking their weapons.
I spurred my horse ahead of the wagons. "Like I said—if it's a moose, you pull back. I'll take care of it. Don't get hurt playing hero."
"Got it."
"Yes, sir."
Moose are terrestrial beasts with monochrome vision. In this fog-choked night, it'd be practically blind. Short of complications, I'd gut it, load the head on a wagon, and head back to the city. Done.
I activated Night Vision. But the fog was too dense for daylight clarity—it amplifies scant light, not conjures it for x-ray vision. Still, I could make out shapes, and that's when I spotted the massive silhouette looming beyond the mist.
"Hold up. It's right ahead."
The wagons halted. Swords rasped from their sheaths behind me, ragged breaths betraying their nerves.
I drew the Holy Sword. Its blade sensed the monster and gleamed white.
"Gah! What the hell's that sword?!"
Forgetting their fear, the mercenaries gasped at the glow. I lowered the blade and nudged my horse's flank, advancing on foot.
The moose-like bulk stood stock-still in the road's center. Just as I thought—blind as a bat at night. It heard us but couldn't pinpoint us, frozen in confusion.
One clean slash and...
Wait—what?
Instinct kicked in before thought. I snapped the Holy Sword horizontal before my face.
Whoosh!
A blinding blaze erupted from the fog, scorching heat slamming in like roasting flesh. The raised sword deflected the flame jet—I was spared incineration, but my horse wasn't. Its head charred black, it collapsed in a thunderous heap.
I leaped clear mid-fall, landing smoothly.
"Arghhh!"
The mercenaries screamed as the deflected flames veered harmlessly. Flames? A moose with fire breath?!
The superheated air boiled the fog away. Now I saw it clearly.
Blocking the road wasn't a southern moose. Nothing so trivial.
Two serpentine heads split wide, four eyes glaring down with feral light. The mercenaries panicked at the Holy Sword's glow revealing the beast, yanking wagons and horses back.
"It's a chimera...!" Hardo cried in despair.
Chimeras: hulking lizards with multiple heads, freakish mutations. Forms vary—some dragon-like like this one, others lion-goat hybrids, even human-headed horrors. Small mercy: no wings. Those would've been a nightmare.
"Boss! We'll help! You can't solo a chimera!"
"Fall back! Especially because it's a chimera!"
Moose? Fine with backup. But chimeras play by different rules. Their breath is lethal on a graze. And this one had two heads—one fire, the other... unknown. Acid? The mercenaries wouldn't even leave corpses.
Before the second head could fire, I charged, Holy Sword raised.
Both maws gaped, unleashing twin blasts: fire and—yep—acid.
The blade sensed peril, tip flaring white. The light arced out, forming a protective dome.
Acid hit first, splattering wildly. Trees rotted to mush on contact. Fire followed, vaporizing it into toxic steam.
"Fall back! Everyone—that gas kills!"
Glancing back, I saw Hardo bellowing. The mercenaries vaulted from wagons, bolting south without a look.
Hardo knew chimera acid breath? Guy's no ordinary merc. Starting to wonder about him.
The chimera, breaths spent, charged earth-shakingly, jaws charging anew. Standard MO: soften with breath, then chomp or crush. Breath failed? Straight to stomp.
Perfect—exactly what I wanted.
It reared a house-sized foot over me. I sidestepped the descending claw, diving between its legs, Holy Sword thrust vertical.
The tip pierced deep into its underbelly. Both heads shrieked, necks craning down between forelegs.
Realizing the dumb lizard would blast its own legs with breath, I yanked the embedded sword and bolted tailward.
Its gut split with a wet rip, hot innards spilling. Guts and blood gushed amid searing heat.
"Kreeeeaaagh!"
Reaching the tail base, I slashed down, severing genitals, and slid free beneath.
Gutted from chest to crotch, the chimera dumped its viscera and crumpled. Sensing death, heads thrashed wildly, spewing random fire and acid. Trees charred to ash, rocks shattered.
I scrambled up its collapsing torso, leaped from a foreleg shoulder, Holy Sword aloft.
I dropped between the necks; the blade flashed holy radiance. Breath sprays cut off.
Two thick necks severed clean. I scanned with Night Vision.
Southern moose tracks—impossible habitat here. And a chimera, same day. Hero career spanning a decade, first such absurd combo.
No natural cause sans intervention. Someone meddled.
And if so, watching nearby.
Scanning, I spotted it—and bared my teeth.
Sure enough...
"Hey, you fucking bastard!"