In the Depths of Darkness
Deep within the darkness, where sunlight could not reach, lay a vast, shadowy cave. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows upon the twisted rock walls. The air was thick with the scent of incense and ancient magic, as a large gathering of sorcerers sat in circles, receiving lessons in the forbidden arts of black magic.
At the heart of this gathering stood a man clad in a black robe, his presence overshadowing all others. His deep voice echoed through the cavern as he delivered his cryptic teachings. The listeners watched him with reverence, their eyes hungry for every word he uttered, as if they were before a prophet of a different kind—a prophet of darkness and chaos.
Suddenly, a half-human entered, his steps quick yet hesitant as he moved directly toward the Lord of Shadows. At the sight of him, the black-robed man ceased speaking, and a heavy silence filled the cave. There was no need for words of welcome—just a single glance from him was enough to freeze the blood in one's veins.
He raised his hand slightly, signaling for the newcomer to approach, and then spoke in a cold voice:
"Come forth."
The half-human did not hesitate. He hastened to his side, bowing low before whispering something in his ear, his voice barely audible amidst the oppressive silence.
The black-robed man remained still for a few moments, his face devoid of expression as he listened. But then, something changed… The corners of his lips curled, his grim features twisting into a cold smile, then into a quiet chuckle… before erupting into full-blown laughter, its echoes filling the cave like the howls of a mad specter.
When his laughter finally subsided, he lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with an ominous, unfathomable darkness. Then, in a voice brimming with confidence and mockery, he said:
"So… that's how it is."
He said nothing more. With a mere wave of his hand, he signaled the half-human to leave. The latter understood immediately, bowing once more before departing swiftly, as if carrying a message too perilous for him to bear.
As for the black-robed man, he remained where he was, his gaze sweeping over the sorcerers before him. Whatever he had just learned had given his plans a new dimension… a darker, more destructive one.
By the Baylen River
By the Baylen River, where sunlight danced upon the crystal-clear water, Aelythion sat atop a smooth rock, watching the shimmering current before him. A gentle breeze rustled through the air, tousling the golden strands of his hair that peeked from beneath his helmet, while the tall trees swayed in a serene, natural symphony.
Yet, despite the tranquil beauty surrounding him, his mind was far from at peace. He had traveled all this way, endured the villagers' hatred, braved their glares filled with anger, greed, and fear—all for this moment… the moment of confrontation. And yet, here he was, waiting for an enemy who might never come.
He pulled a piece of bread and cheese from his pack and began eating in silence—not out of hunger, but to conserve his strength. He knew that every step he took now had to be calculated. His opponent was not just an ordinary sorcerer, nor merely a powerful warrior… He was something else entirely—a figure so terrifying that people had named him "The Savior."
Aelythion smirked in disdain, scoffing at the title. What kind of savior burns villages, slaughters the innocent, and sows chaos? If this was salvation, then what was destruction?
Yet, he was not blind to one truth—the black-robed man was not merely targeting the kingdom. He was targeting Aelythion himself. He had heard it from Darsian, sensed it in Velaria's words, and even the king had acknowledged it. But why?
Was it his strength?
His status in the kingdom?
Or was there something deeper, hidden in the shadows?
He glanced at his reflection in the water, seeing the slight weariness in his features, the weight of an impending war etched in his eyes. He had fought countless battles, shed blood in defense of his homeland, yet no battle had ever felt this personal.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he let the sound of the river wash over him, savoring the fleeting moment of peace before slowly opening them again.
Nearly two hours had passed, and no one had come.
Aelythion turned his head, scanning the opposite bank, his eyes searching for any movement, any shadow that might indicate the black-robed man had decided to face him. But he saw nothing—only the towering trees swaying in the wind and birds taking flight, as if warning of an unseen danger.
If his enemy would not appear, then he would have to find him himself.
But where to begin?
He knew the black-robed man moved between villages, gathering followers, building his strength in the darkness. But what he did not know was his exact location. He needed a clue, a lead to follow.
His gaze returned to the river, recalling the words of the old woman who had warned him before he left the village.
"Go, or you will regret it, outsider."
He did not trust the words of strangers easily, but he had learned over the years that warnings were rarely given without reason. That old woman… was she trying to protect him, or was she threatening him?
Rising to his feet, he brushed the dust from his armor and stepped toward the water. Kneeling, he scooped a handful of the cool liquid, feeling its chill seep through his fingers before letting it slip away.
He had to decide now.
Should he wait? Or should he begin the hunt himself?
If Rajarth were here, he would have said without hesitation: "Find him. Strike before he strikes you!"
If Serenos were here, he would have replied with a smirk: "Wait. If he wanted you dead, he would have killed you long ago."
And Velaria… she would likely advise him to be cautious, to think carefully before making any rash moves.
But now, he was alone. And the decision was his alone to make.
He sat down again, resting his hand on the hilt of his golden sword, which lay beside him, as he gazed at the sacred inscriptions engraved upon it. This sword had accompanied him through dozens of battles, always by his side in the darkest times. But would it be enough to face this mysterious enemy?
He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes once more, trying to collect his thoughts.
If this "savior" did not appear, he would have to return to the villages he had visited. He needed to question the people, search for any sign of his movements. Perhaps someone had seen him, or maybe there was a place where his followers gathered.
But he was certain of one thing… the man in the black cloak was no coward.
If he was truly targeting him, he wouldn't leave him wandering freely like this.
So… what if he was watching him right now?
Alytheon's eyes snapped open, scanning his surroundings cautiously.
A slight shiver ran down his spine—that strange feeling when you know someone is watching you, even if you cannot see them.
It was an instinct, an unshakable certainty. There was no clear evidence—no footsteps, no rustling among the trees—but his gut was screaming one thing:
"You are not alone."
He stood up quietly, careful not to reveal any sign of suspicion, yet he remained on guard. If someone was watching him, it was best to stay alert for any unusual movement.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and slowly turned… then spoke loudly, as if addressing the empty air:
"How long do you intend to hide? If you're watching me, why don't you show yourself?"
He waited, but no response came.
A cold smile crept onto his lips, and he sat back down.
If he truly was being watched, his words had been heard.
Now, all that remained was to wait… to see if he would receive an answer.
As night fell, and darkness gradually took hold, Alytheon prepared to spend the night by the Baylen River. It was not in his nature to camp in the open without guards, but this time, he had no choice. If he wanted to face the man in the black cloak, he had to be ready to confront him at any time and place.
He pulled a small pouch from the enchanted bag he always carried on his travels, retrieving essential tools: ropes, stakes, and thick fabric. He carefully set up his tent, driving the stakes firmly into the ground and tightening the ropes until the structure was perfectly secure. Then, he approached his loyal horse, Stormith, tying it to a nearby tree, leaving enough space for it to move freely.
For a moment, he surveyed his surroundings, sensing the unusual stillness in the air. Everything was silent… too silent. Even the usual sounds of nocturnal insects seemed unnaturally faint.
At first, he dismissed it, assuming exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He took some firewood from his enchanted bag and lit a small fire using a piece of sacred firestone he always carried. The flames flickered before him, casting eerie shadows on the trees and rocks nearby.
Sitting beside the fire, he extended his hands toward the warmth, then pulled out a small knife and began cutting some bread and dried meat.
As he ate slowly, that unsettling feeling returned… the feeling of unseen eyes watching him from afar.
He lifted his gaze cautiously, scanning his surroundings, but the darkness was thick, and the firelight made it harder for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He hesitated for a moment, then let his hand rest on the hilt of his golden sword, making sure not to show any signs of unease.
Meanwhile, a few meters beyond the campsite, a group of half-humans lay hidden among the dense trees, observing him in silence.
They wore dark clothing that blended seamlessly with the night, their tattoo-covered skin reflecting the faint moonlight in an eerie manner. One of them, who appeared to be their leader, gestured for the others to wait—ordering them not to attack just yet.
They were studying him, testing his awareness, ensuring he was truly alone.
Alytheon continued eating, but this time, he was more cautious. Something moved in the corner of his vision—just a flicker among the trees—but he did not turn his head immediately. Instead, he calmly finished his bite as if nothing had happened.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed a small branch beside him and hurled it swiftly into the darkness.
The branch shattered the silence, striking something that was not just the forest floor…
There was definitely someone there.
Alytheon sprang to his feet, drawing his golden sword from its sheath, his brows furrowing in tension.
"Who's there?!"
His voice echoed through the trees, but no answer came.
He took a cautious step forward, his eyes piercing the shadows, but before he could react—
A figure lunged at him from the darkness!
A burly half-human man, wielding two gleaming daggers, charged at him with alarming speed, aiming straight for his chest!
But Alytheon was no ordinary warrior.
With lightning reflexes, he raised his sword, blocking the attack as metal clashed against metal, sending sparks flying into the night!
The battle had just begun.
More assailants emerged from the shadows—some wielding knives, others carrying clubs and short bows. They moved in unison, like hunters accustomed to ambushing their prey in the wilderness.
But Alytheon was no easy target.
He spun with precision, delivering a powerful strike to one attacker, forcing him to stumble back in pain. Yet, the others gave him no chance to recover—they closed in from all directions, attacking at once!
Elytheon leaped backward, narrowly avoiding a dagger that nearly struck his side. He quickly turned and delivered a sweeping strike with his sword, slicing one of his attacker's wooden staffs in half.
But they were smart.
They didn't try to face him head-on; instead, they used their speed and agility, wearing him down with relentless attacks.
"They're well-trained…" Elytheon thought quickly as he parried another strike.
He knew this battle could drag on if he didn't find a way to end it soon.
Then, suddenly, an idea struck him.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, channeling his inner energy, summoning the power of the "Goddess's Sun."
In an instant, a faint wave of light burst from his body, radiating outward like the pulse of the sun. The sudden brightness forced the attackers to retreat slightly, shielding their eyes.
Elytheon seized the moment!
He lunged at the nearest enemy, grabbing the collar of his clothes and pressing his sword against the man's throat, shouting:
"Stand down, or I'll cut his throat!"
The others froze in place, their eyes glinting in the darkness, filled with hesitation.
The man Elytheon had caught panted heavily, staring into his captor's eyes, feeling the cold steel against his neck.
"Who are you?! And why are you attacking me?"
No one answered. But their leader, standing behind them, slowly turned before speaking in a cold voice:
"You started the war, Sun Knight. And we are here to end it."
Elytheon narrowed his eyes, analyzing the man's words.
"A war? What war is he talking about?"
But before he could think any further…
A sharp whistle echoed from somewhere deep within the forest. The moment the attackers heard it, they swiftly retreated, vanishing into the trees as if they had never been there.
Elytheon remained still, watching them disappear before exhaling in frustration and sheathing his sword.
He knew this was only the beginning… and that someone lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike again.