The Lustforged Hero-Chapter 32: Drenvar

The sun climbed over Drenvar, a dull orange disk piercing the smoke that lingered above the mining town's rooftops.

Liam stood amid the carnage, his boots crunching on blood-soaked shale while his sword dripped red onto the dust. His chest heaved, his breath steady but sharp as his bay stamped nearby, snorting at the stillness.

Lysandra reined her horse beside him and wiped her blade clean with a rag. Her silver hair clung damp to her neck as her silver eyes scanned the streets.

"Enemies are down; town's ours again," she said, her voice low and firm while she sheathed her weapon. Blood flecked her pauldron, but her stance remained unbowed, steel forged in Drenvar's dust.

Selene prowled through the wreckage, retracting her claws as she kicked a corpse aside. Her tan skin gleamed with sweat and red smears; her tail flicked lazily. "They didn't stand a chance. Smell's better already—less rot," she said, grinning wide with crimson eyes glinting. She stepped over a shattered axe, her black gelding nosing the ground behind her.

Erynn dismounted, her staff tapping the earth as she approached. Her eyes softened at the sight of survivors creeping from alleys.

"They're coming out; we need to help them," she said, her voice lifting with urgency. Her cloak bore specks of blood, but her grip on her staff steadied, resolve sharpened by the fight.

Liam nodded and sheathed his sword with a slick rasp. His hands itched to move, to mend what Maltheris broke.

"Let's find them—survivors, hostages, anyone left," he said, his tone rough but certain. Drenvar's streets sprawled before them: slag heaps loomed like sentinels, ore carts tilted off tracks, and the clang of distant picks resumed as miners reclaimed their ground. He led the way, boots grinding stone.

They found the caravans at the town's edge—three hulking wagons, wood splintered and iron-barred, parked near a smoldering forge. Moans drifted from within; Liam pried the first lock open with his sword's edge, metal groaning as it gave. Inside, a dozen figures huddled—miners and families, wrists raw from ropes, eyes hollow but alive. Lysandra hauled open the second caravan, cutting ropes with swift slashes; her silver hair caught the sun as men and women spilled free, coughing and blinking at the light. Selene tore into the third, snapping chains with her claws; her snarl softened as a girl no older than ten hugged her leg, sobbing gratitude. Erynn knelt among them, passing water from her flask; her gentle hands steadied a miner's shaking grip, her green eyes warm with relief.

Word spread fast—Drenvar's folk emerged from homes and mines, picks and shovels in hand, their weathered faces breaking into shouts.

"The Hero! Summoned one—he's here!" a burly man roared, his beard dusted with coal as he surged forward. The crowd swelled—miners, smiths, kids—surrounding Liam in a tide of rough hands and hoarse cheers. They pressed close, clapping his shoulders and gripping his cloak; a woman with scarred knuckles shoved a dented ore chunk into his hands, saying, "For savin' us—Hero."

Liam froze, heat rising in his chest; Drenvar saw him, knew him. "Just did what I had to," he said, his voice gruff over the clamor, but his grin broke free, pride edged with grit. Lysandra smirked from the sidelines, her silver eyes glinting approval; Selene laughed, tail flicking as she leaned on her gelding; Erynn beamed, brushing curls from her face, her nod quiet but fierce.

A man stepped forward from the freed hostages—tall and broad, his gray hair cropped short, his tunic patched but proud. He carried a miner's weight, though his left hand trembled slightly as he extended it. "Name's Torren, head of this town," he said, his voice deep and worn, meeting Liam's gaze. "Owe you my people's lives. Never thought we'd see the summoned Hero in Drenvar."

Liam clasped his hand, grip firm. "Glad we got here in time. How'd this happen?" he asked, his tone steady but probing as the crowd hushed, listening.

Torren's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to the smoldering rooftops. "They attacked without warning—caught us off guard in the night. Came from the north, was so quiet we all thought it was a joke when they knocked on our doors," he said, his words clipped. "It's like they knew our weak points."

Liam frowned, glancing at the bodies strewn across the street. "Your guards, warriors—where were they?" he pressed, his voice sharpening.

Torren shook his head, his face darkening. "Taken out quietly—sentries first, then the watchposts. Didn't hear a damn thing 'til they started taking us hostages," he said, then paused, his breath catching as a memory struck. His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer, voice dropping. "They was a beast girl leading them—big, furred, claws like scythes. Never seen anything like her before. She was strong, incredibly strong —cold as stone."

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Liam's pulse quickened, his hand resting on his hilt. "Beast girl? What else—where'd she go?" he asked, leaning in, urgency threading his words.

Torren exhaled, shaking his head again. "Can't help you there. She left fast—right after Drenvar fell, before you rode in. Didn't stick around to gloat," he said, his tone flat, eyes distant. "Just gone."

Lysandra stepped closer, her hand on her hilt. "A captain—Maltheris has lieutenants running his chaos," she said, her tone sharpening as she scanned the horizon. Selene's claws flexed, her grin fading to a growl. "Wonder why Maltheris would send one of his lieutenants here? Should we haunt her?" she asked, her crimson eyes narrowing.

Erynn clutched her staff, green eyes flickering north. "If she's his, we can't wait," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor.

Hooves thundered before Liam could press more—a rider in palace livery burst through the smoke, his chestnut heaving as he reined up. His tabard bore the king's stag, gold thread frayed; his voice cut sharp. "Hero and company—palace summons, urgent!" He tossed a sealed scroll to Lysandra, then wheeled south, dust trailing.

Liam's blood surged—Maltheris wasn't waiting, and neither could they. "Palace it is—Drenvar's safe; we move," he said, his tone ringing as he swung onto his bay. The crowd parted, cheering still—miners raised picks, kids waved; Torren's words echoed—beast girl, claws like scythes—danger ahead.

Lysandra caught the scroll, breaking the wax with a flick; her silver eyes scanned it fast before tucking it away. "King's tracked Maltheris—south, past the border. We ride," she said, mounting her mare with a swift pull. Her hair caught the wind, her gaze locking his—team forged, trust solid.

Selene leapt astride her gelding, tail lashing as she growled low. "South? Good—closer to ripping his guts. Beast girl's mine," she said, claws glinting as her horse pawed shale—tan skin taut with hunt. Her smirk flashed, fierce and alive.

Erynn climbed up, staff secure; her golden curls bounced as she steadied her chestnut. "We'll stop him—together," she said, her voice lifting clear, green eyes meeting Liam's with bright resolve—softness honed by steel. Lustforge simmered faint, binding them.

Liam spurred his bay, hooves kicking dust; Drenvar's miners roared behind—ore clanged, voices rose—grit unbroken, reclaimed. Smoke thinned as they rode south, palace-bound—Maltheris' trail twisted, a beast girl lurking. His sword gleamed at his hip, blood-flecked—Hero recognized, not green—Drenvar's echo fueled him—he'd face her claws and break them.