-----Chapter 25: The Weight of Blood-----
The first strike came fast.
Varen parried, boots skidding over the dirt. Sparks spat from the clash, metal grinding, the force rattling up his arm.
A second blow—sharp, relentless. He barely twisted in time.
Samantha's sword carved through the air, missing his head by a breath. Wind scraped his cheek. He stumbled back, weight shifting, grip tightening.
She was getting faster.
A moment. A heartbeat.
Then—
He moved.
Varen lunged, sword arcing toward her side. A feint. A test.
She saw through it.
Samantha stepped in instead of back—too close, too fast. Her boot snapped up, aiming for his temple.
Varen cursed. Ducking wasn't an option. Blocking would leave him open.
So he took the hit.
Her foot slammed into his shoulder instead of his skull. The impact jolted through his bones. He twisted with it, rolling to break the force, then landed in a crouch, breath sharp.
Samantha had already reset her stance. Sword raised. Steady.
Varen exhaled, shaking out his arm. His muscles ached, but his grin came easy.
"The hell, Varen?" Samantha lowered her blade, irritation flickering in her eyes. "That was reckless."
Varen stretched his shoulder, smirking. "In the battlefield, nobody's gonna go easy on you."
Samantha scoffed. "Yeah, yeah."
She stepped back. The fight was over.
No winner. No loser. Just the burn of exertion and the cold morning air pressing against them.
---
Varen sat on a crate, leaning against a wooden post. The ruined city stretched behind them—broken towers, collapsed bridges, walls worn by war.
A city reclaimed. But not a home.
Samantha stood nearby, arms crossed, gaze on the training ground.
"We leave at dawn."
Varen knew that already. They'd known for days.
He tipped his head back, staring at the sky. "I know."
A pause.
"Still feels strange, doesn't it?"
Varen lifted his flask. Took a slow drink. The water was ice-cold, burning down his throat.
"We don't even know what we're walking into."
Not fear. Not hesitation. Just truth.
Varen lowered the flask. His smirk stayed, but thinner now.
"At least you'll get a proper burial."
Samantha frowned.
Something in his voice felt off.
The humor was there, but beneath it—something else. She studied him.
How much had he seen? How much had he lost? How much is he suffering that every word of his carries a scar of the past?
There was always a scar in his words.
But she didn't ask.
She just exhaled.
---
"Enough rest."
Sir Aldric's voice cut through the stillness.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching.
"Make sure your squads are ready."
Varen sighed. "They'll be ready."
Aldric nodded. His expression didn't change, but his gaze lingered—just a second too long.
"Stay sharp. Both of you."
Then he turned. Walked away.
Varen watched him go.
The weight in his chest didn't leave.
Because that feeling again—
That quiet, unshakable feeling—
Something was coming.
---
The night was still.
Varen sat where he was, the cold pressing against his back. The flask hung loosely in his grip, the last drops of water clinging to the rim. He rolled it between his fingers, listening to the faint hum of sharpening steel in the distance.
The knights were still awake. Preparing. Adjusting. Moving.
It felt different tonight.
Not like before a battle. Not like before a slaughter.
This was something else.
A shift.
He felt it in his bones.
Samantha hadn't moved either from where she stood, arms still crossed, watching the training ground like she could find an answer in the dirt.
She wouldn't. Neither of them would.
"You should get some rest."
Varen glanced up. Sir Aldric stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
Varen scoffed, stretching his arms behind his head. "You're telling me to rest? That's new."
Aldric didn't smirk. Didn't play along.
"Big day tomorrow." His voice was steady, carrying weight Varen didn't want to acknowledge. "You'll need it."
Varen sighed through his nose. He knew. They all knew.
Without another word, Aldric turned, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt as he walked towards the chamber. The light inside flickered, torches burning low.
Varen sat there a moment longer.
Then he stood, exhaling as he followed.
---
The discussion chamber was dimly lit.
The air inside was heavier, thick with something unspoken. The torches flickered against stone walls, their glow stretching long shadows over the wooden table at the center of the room.
Sylvian stood over the map, his gloved hand resting on a single point. A valley. A fortress.
His expression was unreadable, but his stance—solid, unwavering—carried the weight of a choice already made.
"This is our destination."
His voice was calm. Even. Final.
"The scouts have confirmed theterrain. The valley gives us natural defenses—mountains to three sides, a river to the front. Once secured, it will serve as our base of operations moving forward."
A pause.
"We move at dawn."
His words settled like iron.
But not everyone accepted them.
"You expect people to just follow?"
Sofia's voice cut through the stillness.
She wasn't standing. She was leaning forward, elbows resting against the table, eyes locked on the map with something between hesitation and frustration.
"We bled for this city, Sylvian. We took it back. We rebuilt, stabilized. And now, you want us to leave it behind?"
A beat.
"Not to mention—" her voice dipped slightly, uncertainty threading through her tone—"—we have no idea what's in that forest. We'd be walking in blind."
The weight of her words pressed against the room.
No one spoke at first.
Then—
Alec leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Miss Sofia's got a point."
For once, his usual humor was absent. He tapped a finger against his sleeve, thoughtful. "Packing up and moving an entire force? That's no small thing. If people hesitate, if they push back, this entire march could turn into a disaster before we even reach that damn castle."
"It's necessary."
Sir Aldric.
His voice was firm. Grounded.
"This city is too exposed. No natural defenses. No barriers. If another force comes—be it the gods, monsters, or something worse—we'll have nowhere to retreat."
His gaze flicked toward Sofia. Softer, but no less certain.
"You know this."
Sofia's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled slightly against the table.
Because he was right.
---
Sylvian finally lifted his gaze.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't impatient.
He was just tired.
"We don't have time to argue."
His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It settled over the chamber, heavy and unyielding.
"The troops are already preparing. The supplies are packed. The decision has been made."
A pause. The flames crackled.
"We march in the morning."
The conversation could have continued. Could have stretched into another round of doubts, of alternatives.
But it didn't.
Because there was no alternative.
Sofia exhaled, rubbing her temples before leaning back. Alec stretched his shoulders, shaking his head but saying nothing more. Samantha remained still, unreadable as ever.
Aldric nodded once. "Then it's settled."
Sylvian gave the final orders—who would lead which squads, who would secure the rear, who would ensure the priests and non-combatants were protected.
No one hesitated now.
One by one, they left the chamber.
Varen was the last to stand. He lingered for a second, watching Sylvian— then he finally left.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
Because they all carried the burden.
And there was no turning back now.
---
They left at dawn.
The city stood behind them, quiet in the cold morning air.
Varen didn't look back.
None of them did.
The past was the past. And the future waited ahead.
---
The army stretched long across the open plain. A slow-moving river of steel and leather, armor catching the pale light.
Sylvian led at the front, his pace steady, gaze locked forward. Sir Aldric walked beside him, silent but watchful. Sofia followed, her fingers tightening against the reins of her horse.
Varen stayed in the middle ranks, Samantha at his side. They kept the formation in check—watching, listening.
Alec and the other knights guarded the rear, non-combatants in tow. Priests, supply carriers, civilians who refused to stay behind. They marched with the same quiet determination as the rest.
For the first hour, there was nothing.
Just the crunch of boots on frozen earth. The distant caw of a bird overhead.
The wind had been sharp in the city. Here, it was still.
Unnaturally so.
Sylvian adjusted his grip on his sword, restless. Something felt off.
---
The trees loomed ahead.
Dark, gnarled things with twisted branches, thick with shadows. The deeper they moved, the more the light died.
The wind no longer touched them.
Sound no longer carried.
The army moved carefully now. Less like soldiers on a march—more like trespassers.
Samantha inhaled slowly. "It's too quiet."
Varen didn't reply.
Because she was right.
---
A rustle.
Something darted between the trees—fast. Too fast.
Varen snapped his head toward it, hand already on his weapon. But by the time he looked—
Gone.
Nothing there.
He exhaled slowly. His fingers didn't leave the hilt.
Ahead, Sylvian raised a hand. A silent command.
The army halted.
Varen's pulse thrummed. Something was here.
The trees pressed in.
And then—
The ground caved.
A knight disappeared.
---
A sharp yell. A body swallowed by the earth.
Varen lunged forward, boots skidding to the edge.
Nothing but a jagged hole. Loose dirt spilling inward.
A knight scrambled to the edge beside him. " Elric—?!"
No response.
Alec moved quickly, grabbing a torch, tossing it in. The glow flickered, tumbling downward—
Too deep.
Too sudden.
This wasn't natural.
Sofia stepped closer. Her voice was quiet. Cold.
"Someone dug this."
The weight of her words pressed against them.
Sylvian didn't move. Didn't react. He only exhaled.
"Move carefully."
Varen tightened his grip on his sword.
The army adjusted. Shields raised. Footsteps lighter.
Because now, they weren't just marching.
The forest was unknown, dangers kept lurking aroung them. But they had no choice, but to move forward.
---
The forest swallowed them whole.
The deeper they went, the worse it became.
The wind barely stirred. The air was thick—too thick. The trees loomed overhead, their branches tangled like a web, strangling what little light remained.
They moved slowly now. No longer marching. Hunting.
Or being hunted.
---
A sudden shift in the dirt—
"Stop!"
A knight yanked back just as the ground collapsed beneath him.
A pit, lined with jagged wooden spikes. One second slower, and he'd be dead.
The knight staggered, breath sharp, staring down at what could have been his grave.
Sofia exhaled. "This isn't random."
She was right.
The holes were too deep, too precise. Some covered by thin layers of leaves. Others placed near bottlenecks in the terrain.
Designed to trap them.
Designed to kill them.
Sylvian knelt by the edge of one, his eyes narrowing. He pressed his glove to the disturbed dirt. The soil was still loose. Recently moved.
This wasn't something old.
This was prepared for them.
---
Sir Aldric stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
"Sylvian."
The younger knight didn't look up.
"You see it too, don't you?"
Sylvian's fingers curled against his knee.
He did.
This wasn't how monsters fought.
They were supposed to be mindless. Unorganized. Nothing more than beasts.
Yet this—
This was calculated.
Aldric exhaled. "They're moving calculated."
Sylvian's jaw tightened. He stood. His eyes swept the soldiers—uneasy, shifting, gripping weapons too tightly.
If fear settled into them now, it would spread.
He wouldn't allow that.
"We keep moving."
His voice didn't waver.
"Double the scouts. Make sure every step is measured. We're not stopping now."
Aldric nodded. No further argument.
Because they both knew.
Stopping wouldn't change the truth.
They were walking into something they didn't understand.
---
The sun dipped lower.
Hours of slow, careful movement. The weight of anticipation pressing against them.
Then—
A flicker of motion.
Sylvian halted.
The others did too.
A shadow between the trees.
Then another.
Armor scraped. Weapons drawn. A sharp inhale rippled through the ranks.
The figures stepped into view.
Not charging. Not roaring.
Just standing there. Watching.
Their forms were monstrous—twisted, scaled, unnatural. But their movements—controlled. Measured.
A line of them. Spaced apart. Holding position.
Varen's fingers tightened on his blade.
"Commander." His voice was quiet. Uncertain.
Sylvian said nothing.
His gaze locked on the creatures. Their eyes locked on him.
This wasn't a battle.
Not yet.
---
They stood in silence.
The knights. The creatures. A line drawn in the dirt, neither side moving.
A battle that hadn't begun yet.
And that was the problem.
---
"This isn't right."
Sofia's voice was quiet.
She wasn't gripping her sword yet. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, eyes locked on the creatures.
"They're not attacking."
Alec shifted beside her. He wasn't smiling. "Yeah, call me crazy, but I've never seen monsters hold formation before."
Sylvian didn't answer.
Because they were right.
This wasn't normal.
It should have been a slaughter. Monsters never hesitated. Never waited.
Yet here they were.
Watching.
Waiting.
Sylvian exhaled slowly.
"It doesn't matter."
His voice was low, steady.
"They stand between us and the castle."
A pause. A breath.
Then—
"We move."
---
The first attack came sharp.
A knight lunged, sword flashing in the dim light. A strike meant to cut clean through—
The creature blocked.
Not instinctively. Not wildly.
But precisely.
It sidestepped, twisting its blade against the knight's own. A counterstrike followed, nearly breaching the knight's armor.
Another monster moved in, covering its flank.
Like soldiers.
Like humans.
---
Blades clashed. Boots dug into the dirt.
It should have been a massacre.
But the creatures didn't break.
They retreated when needed. Pushed forward when there was an opening. Worked together.
Their attacks weren't wild slashes. They were aimed. Precise.
Samantha parried a strike, but she had to put effort into it. They were strong. Too strong.
Alec nearly got flanked. Sofia had to pull him back.
Varen moved on instinct, cutting down a creature that tried to lunge for a knight's back. The moment his blade hit flesh—
A pulse.
A rush.
The mark on his arm—his stigma—flared.
---
A breath.
A shudder in his bones.
Varen felt it.
Not pain. Not exhaustion.
Something else.
His muscles tightened. His breathing steadied.
The fatigue from the march, from the fight—gone.
And when he looked around—
He wasn't the only one.
One by one, knights noticed it too. Their movements sharpened. Their strikes hit harder.
Samantha locked eyes with him, her brow furrowed.
They felt it.
But no one spoke.
Because the battle wasn't over.
And whatever was happening—
It felt too good to stop.
---
Their attacks became more aggressive.
The creatures—for the first time—broke formation.
They fell back, retreating toward the castle, as if realizing they had underestimated their enemy.
As if they were afraid.
The knights didn't hesitate.
They pressed forward. Harder. Faster.
Because now—
They were winning.
---
By the time they reached the gate, the monsters were gone.
No bodies. No blood.
Just emptiness.
Varen's boots crunched against the dirt. He exhaled sharply, blade still in hand.
"Too easy."
Samantha stepped beside him, nodding. The hallways beyond were clear.
Too clear.
Sylvian didn't slow. Didn't question it.
He moved forward.
---
The throne room stretched before them.
Cold. Silent. Watching.
The air felt wrong. Thick. Like stepping into something ancient.
Sylvian stopped first.
Then Varen. Then Samantha.
Their boots barely made a sound against the stone.
At the far end of the hall, it sat.
A lizardman.
Crowned. Composed. Still.
Not gripping a weapon. Not rising in challenge.
Just watching.
Varen shifted, fingers tightening on his sword.
Samantha exhaled slowly. Something was off.
But Sylvian—
Sylvian didn't move.
His eyes locked with the creature's.
And for a long, unbearable moment—
Neither looked away.
---
Then—
It spoke.
The voice didn't belong.
It rasped through the air, struggling against itself—like something forcing it to speak words it had no right to say.
"So… ■■■ chose you."
Sylvian's breath hitched.
His throat went dry.
What?
He didn't understand the words.
But something inside him did.
The lizardman's gaze didn't break.
It wasn't pleading. It wasn't afraid.
It was simply—resigned.
"We too did lose…"
A pause. A breath.
"So—"
---
Steel flashed.
A clean, sharp strike.
The lizardman's head hit the stone floor.
The body slumped forward.
Blood pooled at the base of the throne.
---
Sylvian didn't move.
Samantha barely breathed.
Varen stood there, breathing heavy. His grip still firm on his sword.
But something lingered in the air.
Something heavy. Unfinished.
Samantha swallowed, her gaze lingering on Varen's face.
The way he didn't hesitate. The way his rage burned silently beneath the surface.
And then—
Varen sheathed his sword.
"They too had their stories to be spoken… when our people got slaughtered."
His voice was quiet. Sharp.
Not just words—a belief.
And that, more than anything, left the room colder than before.