TALES OF THE SERPENT TAMER

Chapter 2 — The Serpent That Spoke

The iron spear missed Harold’s throat by less than an inch. It slammed into the tree behind him with enough force to split the bark apart, and the violent impact showered splinters across the rain-soaked forest floor. Harold stumbled backwards in shock, nearly slipping on the muddy slope beneath his feet as another shout erupted somewhere behind him.“Don’t let the cursed boy escape!”Torches flickered between the trees.

Their light danced wildly against the darkness of the forest, twisting the shadows into monstrous shapes that seemed to claw at Harold from every direction. The storm overhead had only grown worse since his escape from the execution grounds. Rain poured through the thick canopy in freezing sheets, soaking his torn clothes and washing blood down the side of his face.

Harold’s lungs burned as he forced himself forward. Every breath felt like swallowing knives. Branches whipped across his skin while roots snagged at his boots, yet he did not dare slow down. The members of the Ethel Tribe were still hunting him like an animal, and Harold understood exactly what would happen if they caught him again.

This time, there would be no trial. No accusations. No elders pretending justice mattered. Elder Mordain would cut off his head personally. Another spear flew through the darkness. Harold ducked instinctively, hearing the weapon slice through the air above him before vanishing into the storm behind him. Fear surged through his chest so violently that his heartbeat became deafening.

Why?

The question tormented him with every step. Why had everything become worse? He had already accepted humiliation. He had endured years of mockery, years of hearing the whispers whenever he passed through the tribe’s streets. Defective child.Broken bloodline.Worthless heir. Harold had survived all of it quietly because a part of him still believed he could eventually prove himself.

But the serpent had destroyed even that hope. The memory of the taming ceremony flashed inside his mind with painful clarity. The sacred altar.The glowing Taming Hand on his palm.The silence of the tribe. And then…The tiny black serpent emerged from the summoning gate while the entire tribe stared in disbelief.

Among monster tamers, serpents ranked among the lowest creatures imaginable. They possessed weak bodies, poor magical compatibility, and almost no combat potential. Children sometimes captured wild serpents for amusement. Yet Harold, descendant of the mighty Ethel bloodline, had summoned one before the entire tribe.

The humiliation alone would have ruined him. Unfortunately, the serpent had done something far worse. It had spoken during the execution. Harold still remembered the horror on Elder Mordain’s face.“Kill them all.”Those had been the serpent’s first words. Not growls.Not monster noises.Words.Human words.

A cold chill crawled down Harold’s spine even now. Monsters were not supposed to speak. Not unless they belonged to the highest mythical classifications buried deep inside forbidden records. Thunder exploded overhead.

The forest trembled beneath the storm’s fury while Harold pushed through another wall of tangled roots. However, exhaustion had begun to overtake his body. His legs felt heavier with every passing moment, and blood continued dripping from the wound across his shoulder where one of the guards had slashed him during his escape. He could not keep running much longer.

The realisation filled him with despair. Then he heard it again.“Pathetic.” He froze instantly. The voice had not come from behind him. It had come from beside him. Slowly, trembling despite himself, Harold lowered his gaze toward the serpent wrapped around his forearm.

The creature’s dark scales reflected faint silver beneath the stormlight. Its crimson eyes remained half-open, almost lazy in appearance, yet something ancient lingered inside that gaze. Something deeply unnatural. Harold’s mouth went dry. You…” he whispered weakly. The serpent lifted its head slightly. “I would appreciate it if you stopped shaking. Your terror is irritating.”

Harold nearly lost his footing again. His mind struggled to process what was happening. Every instinct screamed that this creature should not exist.“You can really talk…”The serpent stared at him for several moments before giving what looked disturbingly close to annoyance.“An exceptional observation.”Harold swallowed hard.“What… what are you?”The serpent’s eyes narrowed.“That question is dangerous.”

Before Harold could respond, a howl suddenly echoed through the forest. Both of them went still. The sound did not resemble a wolf. sounded deeper.Hungrier.The bushes ahead rustled violently. Harold’s expression paled as three massive creatures slowly emerged from the darkness between the trees. Nightfangs.

The monsters resembled wolves stripped of fur, exposing black flesh lined with glowing veins beneath their skin. Their elongated jaws dripped with saliva while pale blue eyes locked onto Harold with predatory intelligence. Harold’s breathing faltered. Nightfangs usually hunted in packs. If three had appeared…There were probably more nearby.“You have terrible luck,” the serpent muttered.

Harold backed away slowly. “I can’t fight those things.”The Nightfangs growled lowly as they circled him. Rainwater hissed against their overheated bodies. Harold’s hand trembled uncontrollably as he reached for the dagger hanging at his waist, though deep down he already understood the truth. He would die here.

Even trained hunters struggled against Nightfangs, and Harold had never properly learned combat due to his status within the tribe. Nobody wasted resources training a failure. The largest Nightfang suddenly lunged. Harold barely reacted in time. He threw himself sideways while claws tore through the space where his chest had been moments earlier. Mud exploded upward as he crashed against the ground.

Pain shot through his injured shoulder. The other two monsters charged immediately. Harold’s heartbeat exploded with panic. Then the serpent sighed.“You truly are hopeless.”Darkness erupted from its body. eyes widened. Black energy poured from the serpent like liquid smoke, wrapping around his arm before condensing rapidly. The creature’s body stretched unnaturally while metallic shrieks echoed through the air.

And then A sword appeared in Harold’s hand. The blade was pitch black from hilt to edge, with crimson lines pulsing across its surface like veins carrying blood. The weapon radiated such overwhelming malice that even the Nightfangs abruptly stopped moving. Harold stared at it in complete disbelief.

The serpent’s voice echoed directly inside his mind now.“Try not to embarrass me.”One of the Nightfangs attacked again. Pure instinct took over. Harold swung the blade desperately. Black light flashed through the rain. The monster’s body split apart instantly. Harold froze. The Nightfang collapsed in two clean pieces before dissolving into dark ash moments later.

The remaining Nightfangs whimpered. Not growled.Whimpered.Fear filled their glowing eyes. Harold could barely breathe.“What… was that?”“The beginning,” the serpent answered quietly. The forest suddenly became silent. Too silent. Even the storm seemed distant now. Then Harold noticed the blood.

The black sword was drinking it. Thin crimson threads rose from the dead monster’s remains before flowing directly into the blade itself. The pulsing veins along the weapon glowed brighter with every second. Harold felt his stomach twist uneasily.“That isn’t normal…”Of course it isn’t.”The remaining Nightfangs fled into the darkness moments later, disappearing so quickly that Harold almost questioned whether they had ever been there at all.

He stood motionless beneath the storm, gripping the sword with trembling hands. The weapon felt alive. Not metaphorically. Actually alive. A heartbeat pulsed faintly beneath the hilt.“What are you?” Harold whispered again. This time, the serpent answered.“I am Nyros.”The name itself seemed to make the air colder. Harold frowned slightly. “Nyros…”

“You should remember it well,” the serpent said calmly. “Entire civilisations once feared that name.”

Before Harold could question him further, Nyros suddenly went quiet. Then the sword trembled violently. Harold nearly dropped it.“What’s wrong?”Nyros’ voice became dangerously sharp.“Run.”Harold’s pulse quickened instantly.“Why?”I smell death.”The trees ahead exploded apart. A gigantic figure emerged from the darkness with enough force to shake the earth beneath Harold’s feet. Harold’s face lost all colour.

The creature standing before him was at least fifteen feet tall. Its body resembled a twisted fusion between a human and some monstrous insect. Jagged bone armour covered its limbs while dozens of glowing red eyes opened across its torso. Most horrifying of all…Chains hung from its neck. Slave chains.

Harold recognised them immediately. His tribe used those chains only for one purpose. To control execution beasts. Behind the monster stood Elder Mordain himself. Rain poured down the elder’s scarred face while fury burned inside his eyes.“You should have died quietly,” Mordain said coldly. Harold’s body stiffened.

Several tribal hunters emerged behind the elder, each carrying weapons coated with glowing runes. Their expressions varied between hatred and fear as they stared toward the sword in Harold’s hand. Mordain noticed it too. For the first time since Harold had known him, uncertainty crossed the elder’s face.“What exactly did you summon?”Nyros laughed softly inside Harold’s mind. The sound carried no warmth whatsoever.“Now this,” the serpent whispered, “is where things become interesting.”