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Heavy is the Crown (Harry Potter) Chapter 128: Manticore of the Forbidden Forest (1)
🕑 Added 2025-12-19 23:44:25 +0000 UTC[Third Person Pov]
As both Lumineré and Hoofclaw watched Arthur and Merlin’s retreating figures fade deeper into the forest, the small pony finally turned toward his father, ears twitching with uncertainty.
“Papa… do you really think he’ll be able to take down the Manticore?” Hoofclaw asked softly, his young voice carrying a mixture of awe and worry.
“I do,” Lumineré answered without hesitation. There was no doubt, no flicker of wariness in either his tone or his gaze as he continued to stare into the darkened treeline.
“But how?” Hoofclaw pressed, tilting his tiny head. “Isn’t he just a kid just like me?” The question lingered as he searched his father’s expression, trying to understand where such unwavering confidence could possibly come from.
Lumineré finally looked down at his son, his expression solemn and heavy with meaning. “He may appear to be like you, little one,” he said slowly, “but appearances can be deceiving. Those eyes of his… they do not lie. They are not the eyes of a child. No child could possibly carry such a gaze.”
Hoofclaw’s curiosity only deepened. “What eyes?” he asked, inching closer as he continued to watch Arthur and Merlin disappear between the ancient trees.
“The eyes of a monarch,” Lumineré replied quietly. He turned and began walking in the opposite direction, his hooves crunching softly against the forest floor as Hoofclaw hurried after him. “And besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “he is not alone.”
“The Devil is his company.”
Hoofclaw abruptly stopped and glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening as the forest seemed to darken around him, shadows stretching unnaturally between the trees. A shiver ran down his spine before he quickly trotted after his father.
…
“You know,” Arthur said after a while, breaking the silence as he glanced over at Merlin with a hopeful smile, “this could actually be a really good opportunity for you to teach me about hunting and tracking. Nothing beats real-life experience, right?”
Merlin considered this for a moment before nodding. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It’ll also help you learn how to remain stealthy in difficult terrain. Reading about it is one thing—doing it is another.”
And so Arthur’s impromptu lesson began.
As Merlin guided him through the fundamentals, she quickly noticed something impressive. Arthur subtly adjusted the flow of his magic, directing it through his internal magic circuits and channeling it into his eyes, nose, and ears. The effect was immediate. His vision sharpened, allowing him to see clearly even in the dim forest light, details leaping out where shadows once obscured them. His sense of smell refined itself, separating layered scents into distinct trails, while his hearing grew acute enough to catch distant sounds that would otherwise be lost beneath the rustling leaves.
Merlin watched this with no small amount of surprise. It was clever—exceptionally so.
Arthur crouched low, examining impressions pressed into the dirt. “These prints don’t belong to a Manticore,” he said thoughtfully. “They’re more… horse-like. So maybe a Centaur?”
He straightened and continued forward, weaving between the trees with practiced ease, occasionally glancing back toward Merlin as she followed close behind.
“What?” Merlin asked, momentarily interrupting her lesson when she noticed Arthur’s lingering gaze.
“Nothing,” Arthur muttered quickly. “It’s just… your smell. It’s distracting.”
“Huh?” Merlin stopped, grabbed her robe, and sniffed herself suspiciously. “What, do I stink or something?”
“No—no! That’s not what I meant,” Arthur said hastily. “It’s just… sweet. In a way.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He turned away, face warming as he silently cursed himself for sounding like a creep.
“…Creep.”
“I didn’t mean anything bad by it!” Arthur protested, clearly flustered.
Merlin scoffed. “Then say scent instead of smell, you weirdo. You made it sound like I smelled awful.”
“Can we just move on, please—hm?” Arthur began, only to stop abruptly. His enhanced eyes picked up something unusual beneath the sounds of the forest. “I see something.”
He leapt from a thick branch above, landed in a smooth roll, and approached a nearby tree. Running his fingers along the bark, he examined a series of deep claw marks etched into the wood.
“Do these belong to a Manticore?” Arthur asked, studying the depth and length of the gashes.
“They do,” Merlin confirmed. “You can tell by the width and how deep the claws went into the bark, but also by the spacing between each mark. There are many factors that help you identify the beast you’re tracking—and not just its species. With enough experience, you can even determine its age and gender.”
She pointed to the longest groove. “See how long this is? Nearly ten inches. That suggests it only recently reached adulthood. A fully mature Manticore can have claws up to twelve or even thirteen inches long. And by the width and depth of the marks, we can tell it’s a male. Females are usually slimmer, and their sharper claws tend to leave deeper, cleaner cuts than these.”
Arthur nodded, carefully taking the lesson to heart as he continued forward through the dense forest. He lifted his head slightly and inhaled, attempting to catch the lingering scent again—only to immediately freeze. His face twisted in disgust as he clamped a hand over his nose.
“Ughhh—what is that smell?” he groaned, his voice muffled.
“Urine,” Merlin chuckled softly when she noticed his expression. “Claw marks aren’t the only way Manticores mark their territory.”
“That’s going to give me a headache…” Arthur grumbled. His eyes watered from the sheer intensity of the stench, the overpowering odor burning his sinuses.
Merlin’s amusement faded as she frowned slightly and gave him a stern look. “Be careful with how much you amplify your senses. If you push them too far, you risk suffering information overload. That can lead to severe migraines, brain damage… or even seizures.”
“…Duly noted,” Arthur muttered, flashing her a wary grin as he pressed onward. This time, he was far more cautious with how much magic he fed into his senses.
Before long, a new scent forced its way into his awareness—sharp, heavy, and unmistakable. His expression hardened.
“Iron?” he murmured, then stiffened. “No… blood.”
Without another word, Arthur took off running.
Merlin followed closely behind, seated effortlessly atop her staff as it glided forward. As she watched him move, she noted how he quietly activated a first-tier spell—[Muffle Steps]—silencing the sound of his footfalls entirely. Even against the crunching leaves and snapping twigs, Arthur moved like a ghost.
The metallic scent grew stronger with every step, soon accompanied by a sickening soundtrack. The unmistakable crack of bones being crushed echoed through the trees, followed by wet, squelching noises that churned Arthur’s stomach.
He burst through the undergrowth just in time to witness a grotesque, animalistic scene.
A mangled, unrecognizable beast lay sprawled across the forest floor, blood gushing freely as it pooled beneath its shattered body. Hovering over the carcass—its head buried deep within the remains—was the manticore.
It possessed the massive body of a lion covered in thick chestnut fur, its powerful limbs braced firmly against the ground. A long scorpion tail arched behind it, the venomous stinger twitching with idle menace. The creature was easily the size of a large jeep, its jaws slick with blood as it feasted with feverish delight.
Thanks to Arthur’s bloodline ability, the beast’s guttural growls translated clearly in his mind.
“Mmmh… so good… so bloody… so crunchy…”
The manticore suddenly froze.
Despite muffling his steps, Arthur hadn’t concealed his breathing—or his scent.
Slowly, the beast turned its massive head over its shoulder, thick muscles rippling beneath its fur. It audibly gulped down whatever flesh remained in its mouth before stretching its jaws wide in what almost resembled a yawn. Its crimson tongue dragged across its maw, lazily cleaning away the blood.
Its nose scrunched as it let out a low, threatening growl. “You’re disturbing my meal,” it rumbled. “Back away… or you’re next.”
Arthur didn’t flinch.
“I don’t want to discriminate and assume you’re the culprit just because you’re a manticore,” Arthur said calmly as he stepped forward, his gaze boring into the beast’s slit, feline eyes. “So I’ll politely ask instead—are you the one overfeeding and upsetting the balance of this forest?”
The manticore’s tail twitched sharply, which Arthur noticed and placed a hand over his sword hilt.
Then it let out an ear-piercing roar.
Arthur drew his sword in the same instant the beast dropped into a low stance and lashed out with its tail. The impact was far stronger than Arthur had anticipated. He was hurled backward, skidding across the forest floor before plunging his blade into the ground to halt his momentum.
Arthur exhaled slowly as he pushed himself upright, arms trembling from the sheer force of the blow. He rolled his shoulders, twirled his sword once, then casually placed a hand against the back his neck.
“Please answer my question,” he said evenly. “I’d hate to dispose of you if you were innocent and did nothing wrong.”
“How about I sink my fangs into your throat for an answer?” the beast snarled as it pounced.
Arthur vanished.
With a sharp flick of his sword, he disappeared from where he stood—Caliburn’s special ability activating in a blink.
The manticore skidded to a halt, snarling as it whipped its head around. Its eyes finally locked onto the treetops above, where Arthur now stood balanced on a thick branch, looking down with composed focus.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked calmly, the beast growling beneath him.
“He’s the one,” Merlin confirmed after searching his memory. “He hunts for sadistic pleasure, not hunger. He's practically bloodthirsty and savage so be careful”
“I see,” Arthur replied. “Then I’ll leave it to you to ensure our battle doesn’t draw attention.”
Merlin snapped her fingers.
Arthur took that as his signal.
He leapt from the branch, descending straight toward the battlefield below—diving headfirst into the lion’s den.
Comments
Bryan Vargas
I was thinking of making it a tier 2 spell already but I couldn't think of a good name, the name I was going to go for was Muffle Body which sucked
Ugly
He should make a tier 2 spell that’s called Muffle Movement, which… muffles movement
