Chapter 15: The Hidden Recruitment
The weight of Elder Jonas's plea pressed heavily on Rhaizen's chest, mingling with the cold dread left by his encounters with both the Crimson Fang and the Shadow Veins. Sleep arrived only in fits and starts, haunted by visions of villages reduced to ash, smoke curling into the darkening sky, and terrified faces staring blankly at their doom. The bed at the River Sleep Inn, warm and comfortable, felt like a betrayal—a luxury he did not deserve while others were trapped in suffering.
Before dawn, Rhaizen rose. The air was sharp and biting, a welcome contrast to the stifling unease that clung to Ashveil like a fog. Slipping quietly past the inn's slumbering occupants, he merged with the town's pre-dawn shadows, an unseen figure moving toward an uncertain danger. Even the guards at the gate barely noticed him, their dull routine oblivious to the storm gathering beyond the town.
His destination was the forest—the suspected heart of the Shadow Veins' activity. Rhaizen moved like a ghost, every step deliberate, every sense alert. His Qi-enhanced perception was helpful, but he relied more on careful observation: a snapped twig, a scuffed patch of earth, the subtle whisper of the wind—all spoke volumes to a trained eye.
Reaching the abandoned campsite he had discovered days earlier, he knelt among the scattered remnants of fear: small wooden carvings, each etched with cryptic symbols that seemed to plead silently for help. He traced the intricate markings with a trembling fingertip. These symbols were a code—a language of fear—but their meaning remained frustratingly elusive. He needed a Rosetta Stone, a single clue to unlock their hidden message.
Hours passed. Rhaizen scoured the surrounding forest, finding little beyond torn scraps of cloth and faint, indistinct footprints. Frustration pricked at him, hot and insistent. It felt like chasing shadows, endless and exhausting.
As the sun climbed higher, slanting golden rays between the trees, he widened his search, following a faint game trail deeper into the forest. The silence around him was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant, haunting cry of a bird.
Then he heard it: a faint, rhythmic thumping, carried on the wind. Subtle, almost imperceptible, yet unmistakable to his sharpened senses. He moved toward it, heart hammering, hand instinctively brushing toward the spot where his broken sword had once rested.
The thumping intensified into a relentless, patterned rhythm. Wood striking wood—bare hands against wooden posts. The sound resonated through the clearing like a heartbeat, cold and methodical.
Peering through a dense thicket, Rhaizen saw them: young men, their faces taut with pain, striking wooden posts with brutal precision. Their movements were mechanical, their eyes glazed and distant. Tattoos on their arms glinted in the dappled sunlight—the sigil of the Shadow Veins. These were the missing townspeople, stripped of identity, trained into obedience.
A figure in black, stern and immovable, barked orders with a voice devoid of warmth. Rhaizen's chest tightened with anger at the sight. But his gaze shifted, drawn to the clearing's periphery, where a lone figure hunched over a table, carving. It was the same kind of wooden figure he had found at the campsite—another instrument of control, another silent chain.
The carver completed the piece and handed it to one of the trainees, who accepted it without thought, eyes still vacant, hiding it beneath his tunic. Rhaizen realized the carvings were not just messages—they were a method of indoctrination, a tool for enforcing loyalty and obedience.
He retreated silently, mind racing. He couldn't confront them head-on. Outnumbered, outmatched, he needed a plan. He had to infiltrate, observe, and learn—discover the Shadow Veins' true purpose without exposing himself or the town to further danger.
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The Covert Attempt
As twilight began to settle, painting the forest in muted shades of gray, Rhaizen returned to the clearing. He had made a decision: he needed at least one of those carvings to study. To understand the code, he had to see it in motion, in the hands of the trainees.
The forest around him seemed to hold its breath. Each snap of a twig underfoot echoed like a gunshot in the stillness. Rhaizen pressed himself against the moss-covered trunk of a massive oak, observing the clearing. The trainees had not changed—they continued their brutal exercises, muscles quivering with exhaustion. The carver remained at his table, absorbed in the meticulous crafting of the next figure.
Rhaizen's pulse quickened. This would be dangerous. If he were caught, the Shadow Veins would not hesitate. He could not fight them all—not yet. Stepping lightly, he moved closer, melting with the shadows, every breath measured and silent.
A sudden movement caught his eye. One of the trainees, smaller than the rest, fumbled with a carving. He appeared uncertain, almost as if some part of him resisted the indoctrination. Rhaizen's mind raced. This was his chance.
He crept forward, keeping low, and waited for the moment the carver looked away. Timing was everything. When the man's attention shifted to the next piece, Rhaizen lunged silently, plucking the wooden figure from the trainee's hands.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a sharp whisper of metal scraping against wood sounded behind him—a blade drawn. Rhaizen froze. The carver had noticed.
"Thief!" the man barked, his voice slicing through the air like a knife. The trainees stopped, their blank expressions breaking as they turned toward the sound.
Rhaizen reacted instinctively. A Qi shield flared around him, invisible but strong enough to deflect a shallow strike. He rolled to the side, the wooden carving clutched tightly, and vanished into the underbrush. Behind him, shouts erupted, and footsteps pounded against the forest floor.
The chase was brief but intense. Rhaizen's training allowed him to navigate the forest with near-supernatural speed, slipping through trees and leaping over roots, weaving around rocks. He could hear the angered shouts of the carver behind him, but he refused to look back. One misstep would mean death.
At last, he reached the abandoned campsite. Collapsing against a tree, Rhaizen's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. He held the stolen carving, examining it carefully. Every symbol, every etching was a thread in the Shadow Veins' twisted tapestry. This single figure could be his key to unraveling their plan.
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The Library Discovery
Returning to Ashveil under the cover of night, Rhaizen slipped unnoticed past the gates. The small wooden library seemed welcoming in the quiet of the darkened town. The old librarian was still there, hunched over a candle, muttering to himself.
"You again?" the man rasped, eyes narrowing. "Back so soon?"
"I have something," Rhaizen said, placing the carving on the table. "A clue. I need the scrolls about codes… secret messages."
The old man hesitated but led Rhaizen to the hidden corner of the library, where dust and darkness conspired to hide ancient knowledge. Hours passed as Rhaizen poured over scrolls, his eyes burning with fatigue. Nothing seemed relevant—until he stumbled upon a small, unassuming scroll, its title nearly faded: The Carvings of Silence.
Unrolling it with trembling hands, he read the scroll in near silence. It described an ancient sect that used wooden carvings as coded communication—symbols only understood by the initiated. The carvings held layers of ritual, belief, and control, decipherable only by those trained to read them.
Connecting the scroll to the figure he had stolen, Rhaizen's mind raced. Slowly, painstakingly, the code began to unravel before him.
The symbols spoke of a twisted doctrine glorifying power and control. The Shadow Veins were not merely kidnappers—they were indoctrinators, shaping the weak into instruments of their dominance. Worse still, they were hunting something—a powerful artifact or forbidden knowledge—that would consolidate their strength. Every missing townsperson was a tool in their search.
Rhaizen's heart hardened with determination. The Shadow Veins' influence was spreading like a disease; delay would cost more than time—it would cost lives. He made a silent vow to the wooden carvings, to the silent pleas of the victims: he would bring them home.
As dawn approached, Rhaizen packed his bag, ready to act. Shadows stretched long and whispering in the forest outside, but he welcomed them. He was ready to infiltrate, to confront the cult, and to protect Ashveil.
For the first time in weeks, a spark of hope burned within him. The path ahead was dangerous, but he would walk it anyway. He would face the shadows—and he would not fail.