Chapter 34: The Cursed Land
A Dead Kingdom's Warning
The first sign of Varethis's corruption came as soon as Kaelen's forces crossed the boundary into the Ruins of the Fallen Empire.
The land itself seemed to fight against their presence.
The sky was a dull, endless gray, with no sun or moon visible, only swirling clouds that pulsed with faint, unnatural crimson light. The trees stood motionless, twisted into grotesque, gnarled shapes—some appearing almost humanoid, their bark split open like screaming mouths.
A cold wind swept through the ruined streets, carrying with it the whispers of the past.
Kaelen reined in his horse, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he surveyed the city ahead.
Varethis had once been a jewel of the Black Sun Empire, but now, its great obsidian towers lay shattered, their remains jutting out from the blackened ground like the ribs of a fallen beast.
Lirien's expression darkened as she rode up beside him. "I don't like this."
Kaelen's gaze remained fixed ahead. "You don't have to like it. We just have to survive it."
From behind them, Captain Orik tightened his grip on his spear. "No birds. No insects. Not even a single rat." His voice was laced with unease. "This place isn't just dead. It's been… silenced."
Veylan, the spymaster, muttered under his breath. "Or it's waiting."
Kaelen exhaled. He could feel it, too.
The Fragment of the Black Sun was here.
And something else.
Something that did not want him to take it.
---
The First Guardian
As the army advanced, their footsteps echoed unnaturally against the stone.
Then, without warning, the air grew heavy.
The first attack came from the shadows between the ruins.
A knight—armor tarnished and broken, yet his eyes burned with a pale blue fire—stepped into their path. His blade was blackened with age, yet when he swung, it sliced through the air like lightning.
The nearest soldier didn't even have time to scream before the knight's sword cleaved through his armor, cutting him down instantly.
Then, more came.
The Forgotten Guardians, rising from the broken city, their weapons still sharp, their purpose still unbroken even after centuries of death.
Kaelen drew his blade, dark energy crackling along its edge.
Lirien's daggers flashed as she dodged an incoming strike, her movements fluid as she slashed through an undead warrior's neck—only for the severed head to snap back into place, reattaching itself with a sickening crunch.
Captain Orik roared, driving his spear through the chest of another knight—only for the undead to grasp the shaft and twist it, snapping the weapon in half before slamming Orik into the ground.
Kaelen moved like a storm, his blade cutting through the cursed knights with precision. But they did not fall.
Each time they were cut down, their bodies pulled themselves back together, their wounds sealing with a dark blue fire.
Lirien cursed as she barely dodged another attack. "They're not staying dead!"
The High Magus, standing near the back of the formation, suddenly raised his staff. His voice echoed with power.
"These warriors are bound by an ancient oath! Strike not their bodies, but their souls!"
Kaelen's eyes flashed as he shifted his stance.
Then, he struck.
His sword pulsed with the energy of the Black Sun, and when it met the next undead knight, the blade did not cut flesh—it shattered the spirit within.
The knight collapsed into dust, his armor falling to the ground in pieces.
Kaelen didn't hesitate.
He would end them all.
---
The Throne of the Fallen King
As the last of the Forgotten Guardians crumbled to dust, silence fell upon the ruined streets.
But Kaelen knew this was only the beginning.
Ahead, at the heart of the ruined city, stood the Grand Palace of Varethis. Its gates, once carved from obsidian and gold, now lay in ruined splinters, barely holding together under the weight of centuries of decay.
And yet, deep within its halls, something waited.
Kaelen stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "We move. The Fragment is near."
Lirien glanced at him. "And the Fallen King?"
Kaelen's golden eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"If he stands in my way, I will bury him with the rest of this empire."
The Throne of Shadows
A Voice from the Abyss
The moment Kaelen stepped beyond the crumbling gates of the Grand Palace, the air shifted.
A heavy, oppressive presence filled the halls, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. The torches that lined the massive stone walls flickered with an eerie blue flame, casting long, wavering shadows.
And then… the voice came.
"You tread upon cursed ground, child of the Black Sun."
The words did not echo through the halls. Instead, they whispered directly into Kaelen's mind, cold and insidious, dripping with something ancient.
His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he took another step forward.
Behind him, Lirien followed cautiously, her daggers drawn, eyes scanning every darkened corner. The rest of their forces remained at the entrance—only a handful of warriors had dared to follow Kaelen into the heart of the ruins.
The High Magus placed a hand on the palace's obsidian walls, his expression grim. "The presence here is unlike anything I have felt before. It is not just a curse. It is… a will."
A low, rumbling laugh echoed through the chamber.
"A will? Yes. A kingdom, a throne, a soul—all bound by the power you seek to claim."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Then, the shadows at the far end of the great hall twisted and coiled, forming the shape of a towering figure seated upon a massive throne of blackened stone.
The Fallen King of Varethis had awakened.
---
The Undying Monarch
The figure seated on the throne was no mere specter.
He was tangible, his body wrapped in ornate, decayed armor, the intricate engravings of the Black Sun Empire still visible despite the corrosion of time. A long, tattered royal cloak hung from his shoulders, its edges dissolving into mist.
But it was his eyes that struck Kaelen most.
Twin orbs of cold silver fire, hollow yet burning with something far beyond death.
When the Fallen King spoke, his voice rippled through the air like a storm.
"You have come for the Fragment." His tone was neither a question nor a challenge. It was a simple statement. A fact. "Do you think yourself worthy?"
Kaelen met his gaze without hesitation. "I will take what I need. Whether you allow it or not."
The Fallen King chuckled. The sound was deep, filled with centuries of regret, rage, and something else—amusement.
"Spoken like the conquerors of old. But tell me, boy… do you even know what you seek?"
Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "I know enough."
The Fallen King rose from his throne. As he did, the palace shook, the very walls groaning under the weight of his presence.
"Then come." His voice rumbled like thunder before a storm. "And prove it."
---
The Duel of Kings
The moment the words left the Fallen King's lips, the torches in the grand hall burst into black fire, plunging the chamber into an unnatural twilight.
Kaelen moved first.
He surged forward, blade crackling with the energy of the Black Sun, swinging for the Fallen King's heart.
The ancient ruler did not move—not until the very last moment, when he raised a single hand.
CLANG!
Kaelen's blade stopped mid-air, caught between the king's gauntleted fingers. A surge of dark energy pulsed from the Fallen King's grip, sending shockwaves through Kaelen's arm.
Lirien cursed and leapt forward, twin daggers aimed for the king's exposed flank.
Without looking, the Fallen King swung his free hand, and a pulse of raw, invisible force sent Lirien flying across the hall. She crashed into the stone floor with a grunt but rolled to her feet immediately.
Kaelen gritted his teeth. So that's how it was.
This was no mindless undead.
This was a true warrior, one who had fought on the battlefields of the Black Sun Empire at its height.
And now, he was testing Kaelen.
Testing if he was worthy of taking the Fragment.
---
A Battle of Wills
Kaelen twisted his blade, wrenching it free from the Fallen King's grip, and immediately followed up with a second strike—this time, not aimed for flesh, but for the energy that bound the king to this world.
The moment his sword connected, the hall erupted in a shockwave of dark light.
The Fallen King let out a low, approving growl as he finally drew his own weapon—a greatsword, massive and ancient, its blade shimmering with a darkness deeper than the abyss itself.
Then, he attacked.
Their blades clashed with thunderous force, the impact shaking the very foundations of the palace. Sparks of black and gold energy exploded with each strike, illuminating the ruined chamber in flashes of violent light.
Kaelen fought with precision and aggression, but the Fallen King fought with experience and power. Every blow he delivered carried the weight of centuries of battle, forcing Kaelen to match his strength with sheer willpower.
Lirien, regaining her breath, circled the battlefield, waiting for an opening.
The High Magus stood at the edge of the chamber, muttering an incantation. Sweat beaded down his brow—whatever spell he was preparing, it was going to take time.
And Kaelen had to buy it for him.
---
The Rising Sun
With every strike, Kaelen could feel it—the Fragment's presence growing stronger.
It was here, hidden within the Fallen King himself.
The ancient ruler was not simply guarding it. He was bound to it.
Kaelen realized the truth in that moment.
If he wanted the Fragment, he wouldn't just have to defeat the king. He would have to break his curse.
The Fallen King suddenly swung his greatsword in a wide arc, forcing Kaelen to leap back.
"I see it in your eyes," the undead ruler murmured. "You understand now, don't you?"
Kaelen didn't reply. He simply tightened his grip on his sword.
The Fallen King exhaled, a deep, hollow sound.
"Then show me, boy. Show me if you are strong enough… to break fate itself."