Chapter 34: Unshadowed vs Black Knight
Three days later, just as Seishan had predicted, Gemma's lobbying secured our release. The
"house arrest" was lifted without fanfare. The message was clear: we were still being
watched, but apart from a warning to avoid working with Athena in the future, no other
motion was taken against us.
After being released, one of the first things I did was send a message to Seishan through one
of her Handmaidens. That evening, I found myself in the designated spot, a shell of a
building just beyond the outer shantytown. The air was cold, and the silence was broken only
by the distant sounds of the Settlement. I sat on a large chunk of fallen masonry, my thumb
rubbing a slow, rhythmic circle over the warm metal of the Unshadowed Crucifix. It was a
nervous habit, a tic I'd developed.
In the deepest corner of the ruin, where the moonlight didn't reach, a pool of darkness lay
perfectly still. That was Sasrir. He'd taken to resting in that form when alone, a puddle of
sentient shadow that was both relaxing for him and an excellent early warning system.
I heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. One set was light, almost silent—Seishan.
But there was a second, heavier tread alongside her. My hand stilled on the Crucifix. This
was a deviation. A meeting like this was meant to be deniable.
The pool of shadow in the corner rippled. A tendril of darkness detached, slithering up the
wall and out a crack in the stone to observe the approach. It retracted a moment later, and
Sasrir's form coalesced from the gloom, his voice a whisper only I could hear.
"She's not alone," he reported. "She brought Gemma."
My frown deepened. Gemma? This changed the calculus entirely. Bringing the Hunter
primarch was either a massive show of good faith, a move to corner us, or a bit of both. I
stayed seated, my posture deliberately relaxed, but every sense was on high alert. His
presence would make hunting the Fallen Devil easier, but carried its own risks.
The two figures emerged from the gloom, their forms starkly different. Seishan moved with
her usual eerie grace, a smile playing on her lips. Gemma, however, looked like a man
marching to his own execution, his shoulders tense and his expression a thundercloud.
"Adam," Gemma grunted, stopping a few feet away. He crossed his arms, his gaze sweeping
over the ruin as if expecting an ambush. "This had better be worth the risk."
"Risk?" I asked, keeping my voice mild. "I was just appreciating the moonlight. It's a
peaceful night for a stroll, isn't it?"
Seishan's laugh was a soft chime. "He's delightful, isn't he, Gemma? Such a talent for
finding the silver lining." She turned her cat-like eyes to me. "Our dour friend here required
some… convincing. I assured him your ambitions aligned with the castle's greater stability."Gemma's eyes narrowed at me. "Stability. That's one word for it. Seishan seems to think you
two hold more than you look. She thinks you're competent. Ambitious, even." He let the
word hang, a clear probe. "Ambitious people in this castle usually end up dead. Or they cause
a lot of dead bodies first."
"We just want to survive, sir," I said, layering just the right amount of earnestness into my
tone. "But you're right. Surviving sometimes requires more than just hiding. It requires…
resources. The right tools for the job."
"Tools," Gemma repeated, his gaze flicking to the shadows where Sasrir had been. "You've
got a pretty unique tool already. One that can gut a man without so much as a drop of blood
getting on him. You really expect me to believe you need more?"
This was the delicate part. "Even the best tool has its limits," I said, choosing my words with
care. "And some jobs are too big for one crew. No matter how… motivated."
Seishan stepped in, her voice a silken thread binding the conversation. "What my blunt
colleague is trying to say is that we are… invested in your continued success. A rising tide
lifts all ships, as they say. And Gunlaug's harbor has grown somewhat stagnant, has it not?"
Gemma flinched almost imperceptibly at the direct criticism, however veiled. "Watch your
tongue," he muttered, but it lacked real heat. It was a performance, a necessary denial.
"Of course," Seishan purred. "We all serve at the Bright Lord's pleasure. But even a lord
appreciates subjects who proactively handle pests. Without needing to be asked." She looked
directly at Gemma. "It shows initiative. Reliability."
"This 'pest'," I ventured, moving the conversation forward. "It's a vicious little thing, but not
invincible. I'm confident we can kill it, though without Lady Athena, it will certainly be more
difficult." I let the statement hang, a subtle probe to see if they had any other surprises in
store.
"Who says you're doing this without me?"
Turning around at the sudden vocal intrusion, I saw the tall and tanned figure of Effie
vaulting over a collapsed wall and landing in a low, powerful squat. She straightened up,
dusting her hands off and giving me a cheery, feral grin. The grin faltered slightly as her eyes
landed on Seishan and Gemma. The former offered a slight, approving nod. The latter
seemed to grow even more tense, if that was even possible, his jaw tightening.
"You'd risk Gunlaug's wrath to help us?" Sasrir pointed out, the doubt clear in his tone as he
materialized from the shadows. He was looking at Effie, his head tilted.
"That shiny bastard won't know a thing," Effie dismissed his worries with a flippant wave.
"He never gets his golden arse up off that throne, and Seishan here controls his primary info-
gathering source—the Handmaidens." She shot the grey-skinned woman a look of grudging
respect. "By the time the sun rises, everybody will be none the wiser.""As Lady Athena said," Seishan confirmed smoothly, "this operation will not reach the Bright
Lord's ears—or not from my lips, at least." The qualifier was a masterstroke, a reminder that
our success was the only real guarantee of her silence.
"Fine," Gemma bit out, clearly unhappy with the expanding conspiracy but committed now.
"Let's get this over with. How do we kill it?"
"The Devil is fast and relies on its control over darkness," I began, my voice all business. "Its
sword can tear apart Awakened like paper, and it can instantly appear anywhere shadows
touch-though, it can't leave the cathedral. Physical attacks aren't very effective, and I presume
the same applies to Mental."
"Effie and I will take the front," Gemma stated, his Hunter instincts taking over. "We're the
most durable. We draw its attention, keep it focused on us. We can occupy him long enough
for you to do your work."
"Sasrir and I will harass from the flanks," Seishan added. "If needed, I can swap in with one
of you if you get injured or tired. His shadows can bind its movements, create openings." She
glanced at the pool of darkness that was my companion. "The goal is to keep it off-balance
and contained."
All eyes turned to me. "And you, preacher?" Gemma asked, his tone a mix of skepticism and
curiosity.
"I'll be charging my... method," I said, my hand instinctively touching the Unshadowed
Crucifix beneath my jacket. "It requires a moment to reach full potency. When I give the
signal, you'll need to clear a line of sight. A single strike probably won't be enough to finish
it, so it will likely aggro on me. I'll need protection for that." I didn't mention the cost, the
blood tax that would leave me drained and vulnerable. Some secrets were best kept close.
Effie cracked her knuckles, a fierce light in her eyes. "So we pin it down, and you hit it with
whatever you've been hiding up your sleeve. Sounds simple enough."
"In theory," Sasrir murmured from the darkness, his voice a low counterpoint to her
enthusiasm. "The practice is always messier."
"Then let's go make a mess," Gemma said, turning to lead the way into the deeper darkness of
the ruins. The unlikely alliance was forged, a pact of mutual interest and shared ambition.
The journey through the corpse of the city was tense and silent. Our strange coalition moved
with a shared purpose, the usual animosities buried under the immediate goal. We finally
reached our destination: a crumbling cathedral, its spires clawing at a starry sky that felt
impossibly distant. The structure stood dark and eerie, a monument to a forgotten faith, now
home to a very real devil.
"Here we are," Sasrir muttered, his voice low. "It nests in the centre. We go in hard and fast."
In unison, Seishan and Effie called upon their power. The air shimmered. In Seishan's hand, a
war hammer materialized. It was a thing of brutal elegance, its haft smooth and dark, but oneside of its head was forged into a long, narrow, and wickedly sharp beak. It was a tool for
both crushing and piercing. Effie's call was simpler. A bronze spear, weathered and scarred
but humming with latent power, appeared in her grip. It looked less like a Memory and more
like a piece of a legend she had personally claimed.
All eyes then turned to me, expectant. They were waiting to see the weapon that could purify
a Fallen Devil. I offered a small, placid smile and reached for a different power entirely.
A soft, silvery light enveloped my shoulders, coalescing into a cloak woven from what
seemed to be captured starlight. The Starlight Cloak settled around me, its fabric shimmering
with a gentle, cosmic radiance. It was a thing of pure defense and utility, not offense.
A beat of stunned silence passed. Gemma blinked, his brow furrowed in pure confusion. Effie
outright stared, her head cocked like a puzzled hound. This was not the blazing holy symbol
they had anticipated.
But it was Seishan's reaction that was most telling. Her cat-like eyes, fixed on the cloak,
widened for a fraction of a second before a look of pure, unadulterated triumph flashed
within them. She had recognised the Shard Memory for what it was, and it was the proof that
indeed, I was worth backing. In her mind, this confirmed my value, my hidden depth.
Of course, she didn't know. She had no idea that the silent shadow standing beside me, the
one who had summoned no weapon, held a shard of equal power within him. The Moonlight
Shard was Sasrir's to command, our second hidden card. Seishan was playing a game of
secrets, and she had just congratulated herself for seeing one of ours, completely unaware
that another important one remained veiled in darkness.
Gemma looked between the spear in Effie's hand and the hammer in Seishan's and seemed to
come to a realization. "A Lord Shard? Wait, you guys killed a Fallen?!"
Every Lord Monster was of the Fallen Rank, though their Tier varied. If we possessed a Lord
Shard, it meant we had successfully slain one before.
"In the Catacombs, that old pile of bones down there dropped it. Was a complete bitch to kill,
but we got lucky with the compatibility and managed to eke out a victory" I smoothly twisted
the narrative to make it sound harder than it was-it was difficult yes, but in the way a battle of
attrition was: a slog but not life-threatening.
"Wait, so we have half the Shards in the Forgotten Shore gathered in one place?" Effie raised
her voice in surprise before lowering it. "Holy hell, I can see why Seishan placed her hopes
on you. We might actually have a chance here."
Whether she was referring to killing the Black Knight or escaping the Forgotten Shore, I
couldn't tell, and I didn't ask. Instead, I turned towards Sasrir. "Are you ready?"
He patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not that treacherous bastard-I won't lose in a
battle of shadows."Under the confused gazes of the other three, not knowing who Sasrir was talking about, he
turned into shadows and slunk towards the cathedral. "Come on, we need to blitz it as soon as
Sasrir captures its' attention."
For a long moment, there was only silence from within the cavernous hall. Then, a furious,
metallic shriek tore through the night, a sound of pure rage that could only mean Sasrir had
succeeded. The oppressive darkness inside the cathedral seemed to writhe and convulse.
"Now!" Gemma roared.
We burst into the grand hall. The scene was one of chaotic motion. The Black Knight was a
towering obsidian figure, its form flickering at the edges as it drew the tangible darkness of
the room around itself like a cloak. It was fast, unnaturally so, a blur of sharp edges and
brutal force. But Sasrir was its equal in the shadows. He wasn't fighting it directly; he was
unmaking its advantage. Wherever the Knight tried to merge with the darkness to reposition
or heal, Sasrir's own shadows were there, contesting the territory, turning the Knight's
sanctuary into a battleground.
Gemma didn't hesitate. With a guttural yell, he charged directly at the Knight, his sword
swinging in a devastating arc. The Knight met the charge, its own blade a blur of darkness.
The two weapons clashed with a deafening clang, but the Knight was faster. It twisted, and its
blade sliced deep into Gemma's side, shearing through armor and flesh, revealing a flash of
white bone.
Gemma grunted but didn't falter. As he disengaged, we all watched in stunned silence as the
horrific wound began to seal itself. Muscle fibers writhed like worms, knitting back together.
Skin stretched and smoothed over, leaving only a faint pink line that faded to nothing in
seconds. It wasn't just healing; it was a grotesque, rapid regeneration. He shook off the injury,
his physique seeming to swell slightly, the near-death experience pushing his body to repair
itself stronger. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, spitting a glob of blood onto the stone
floor.
The Knight, enraged by its failed kill-shot, focused entirely on Gemma, becoming a
whirlwind of slicing darkness. Gemma became our unbreakable anchor, a regenerating
punching bag. He took blows that would have bisected a normal man—a deep gouge across
his chest, a slash that nearly severed his shoulder. Each time, he staggered back, his body
audibly cracking and sizzling as it repaired the catastrophic damage, each recovery leaving
him a fraction more resilient, his movements growing more brutally efficient as his body
adapted to the punishment.
Seeing Gemma fully occupy the Knight's attention, Seishan decided it was time to escalate. A
low, inhuman groan escaped her lips. There was a series of sickening pops and cracks. Her
body began to change, her limbs elongating, her spine twisting to an impossible angle,
making her seem several feet taller. Her smooth grey skin roughened, becoming the texture of
rough shark hide. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, revealing a second, horrifying set of
pupils—vertical slits surrounded by a sea of blood red. Her jaw unhinged with a wet tear,
distending to reveal several rows of needle-like, backwards-curving fangs.
This was no longer Seishan the courtly lieutenant; this was a deep-sea nightmare given form.Gemma's regeneration finally began to slow as the sheer volume of damage taxed even his
incredible power. He took a massive overhead chop from the Knight on the flat of his sword,
the force driving him to one knee with a grunt of pain. The Knight, sensing weakness, raised
its blade for a final, decisive strike.
But Seishan was already there.
Her elongated, shark-hided form flowed between them with that same unnatural, jerking
speed. She didn't try to block the blow head-on. Instead, she swung her beaked war hammer
in a precise, upward arc. The narrow, sharp beak of the hammer didn't meet the blade
directly; it struck the flat of the dark sword with a deafening clan*, deflecting the killing
blow just enough that it slammed into the stone floor beside Gemma, sending shards of rock
flying.
The Knight, off-balance from its missed strike, left its chest exposed for a fraction of a
second. Seishan didn't waste it. With a guttural hiss that escaped her distended maw, she put
the full, twisted strength of her transformed body into a single, vicious swing. The hammer,
this time the flat side, connected with the Knight's chestplate. The sound was not of clanging
metal, but of a deep, resonant crunch, like a mountain cracking. The obsidian plate didn't
shatter, but a massive, web-like dent was punched deep into its torso, causing the Knight to
stagger back several steps, a grating, pained rasp escaping its helm.
It was the first real, structural damage we had managed to inflict, a testament to her
monstrous strength. She had become a physical powerhouse, intercepting the Knight's
assaults and landing a blow that even Gemma's relentless blade-work hadn't achieved. She
stood poised for a moment, her red, vertical pupils fixed on her handiwork, a predator
assessing a grievous wound, before flowing back to harry the Knight's flank with another
swing. She was a versatile and terrifying weapon, seamlessly shifting between roles to
exploit every weakness.
Effie was the opportunistic striker. She didn't have Gemma's regeneration or Seishan's
monstrous transformation. She had pure, unadulterated battle instinct and strength. She darted
in and out of the fray like a wolf, her bronze spear striking with surgical precision. She aimed
for the joints, the gaps in the dark armor, the spots Seishan's disruptions had made vulnerable.
When the Knight backhanded her, sending her flying into a pillar hard enough to crack the
stone, she just shook her head, spat out a tooth, and lunged back into the fight with a feral
grin, her resilience as much a part of her as her spear.
And through it all, Sasrir waged his silent war within the shadows. He was the reason the
Knight's wounds, inflicted by Gemma's axe and Effie's spear, didn't instantly vanish. He was
a territorial predator, constantly challenging the Knight's control over the ambient darkness.
When the Knight tried to melt away to heal, Sasrir's shadows would congeal, forcing it back
into a solid state. He was the linchpin, the one who turned the Knight's greatest asset into a
contested battlefield. Of course, he couldn't entangle with the Black Knight for too long
either: bursts of one or two seconds was all he could manage without being at risk of
contaminating Corruption.
My job was to wait. I stood protected by the Starlight Cloak, my hands clenched around the
Unshadowed Crucifix. I poured my essence into it, feeling the familiar, draining pull as itbegan to heat up, charging for a single, purifying blast. I watched the brutal ballet, timing my
moment.
The fight was a grueling war of attrition. Gemma was a mass of fading scars, his regeneration
visibly faltering as his essence ran low. Effie was bleeding from a dozen cuts. Even Seishan's
monstrous form was showing strain, her staggering blows becoming less frequent. But the
Knight was faring worse. Its form was now riddled with unhealed gashes and punctures, its
movements sluggish. Sasrir was winning the shadow war.
But that only seemed to drive it madder with rage.
A low, building rumble started deep within the Knight, escalating into a world-shaking roar
of pure, unadulterated fury. The tactical intelligence in its movements vanished, replaced by a
blind, destructive frenzy. It became a whirlwind of obliteration.
Its first wild swing caught Effie completely off guard. The dark blade whistled past her
midsection, so close it sliced through her leathers and drew a line of blood across her
stomach. She only avoided being bisected by throwing herself into a desperate, graceless
backward lunge, hitting the ground hard. "Damn it!" she spat, scrambling away.
The Knight didn't pursue her. It swung its free hand toward the writhing shadows where
Sasrir fought his silent war. A wave of solidified darkness, like a black tidal wave, erupted
from the floor. It slammed into Sasrir's form, pinning him against the cathedral wall with
crushing force. The shadows around him writhed and strained, but he was trapped, his crucial
contest of the darkness momentarily neutralized.
Seeing my allies falter, Gemma barely holding the line and Seishan forced purely on the
defensive, I knew my moment of waiting was over. The Crucifix was hot in my hand, but it
wasn't enough. I needed more.
I slashed my own palm across the sharpened top of the Crucifix, a line of bright red blood
welling up instantly. I ignored the sting and held the now blood-smeared artifact aloft. My
voice, amplified by a surge of power, rang out through the cathedral, layered with the
compelling force of my Bard abilities.
"God says Darkness is ineffective here!" I declared, my words not a prayer but a command.
"God says Light is more effective here!"
The effect was immediate and draining. A wave of dizziness hit me as the "rules" of the
battlefield were forcibly rewritten. The oppressive gloom in the cathedral didn't vanish, but it
visibly recoiled, thinning and pulling back from the center of the room. The Black Knight,
still mid-frenzy, visibly dimmed, its form losing its solid, glossy sheen. It staggered as if
struck, its connection to its power source violently disrupted.
At the same time, a surge of revitalizing energy washed over my companions, brought by a
gentle chorus of song. Gemma stood straighter, the fatigue lines on his face smoothing. Effie
found her feet with renewed speed. Seishan twirled her hammer with a sadistic flourish.But the cost was immense. I felt lightheaded, the blood from my palm dripping steadily onto
the floor. And I had made myself the biggest target. The Knight's rampaging fury, robbed of
its fuel, needed a new focus. Its head, with its helm now cracked, swiveled. Two points of
crimson wrath ignited within the darkness of its visor, locking straight onto me. The blind
frenzy was gone, replaced by a cold, singular, and utterly homicidal intent. It had detected me
as the reason for its' current weakness, and was rightfully pissed.
As the Black Knight rushed towards me, tunnelling through the darkness—slower now,
hampered by my Notarization—I didn't panic. A cold smile touched my lips. In front of me,
sparks of silver light materialized, coalescing into the formidable form of Stone Saint. Her
own blade was already in motion, a sweeping, unstoppable arc meeting the Fallen Devil's
charging head.
He had invested too much force into his desperate charge. He couldn't react in time. Saint's
stone sword smashed straight into his helmet with the sound of a cathedral bell cracking. The
force was catastrophic. The Knight was thrown from its shadowy tunnel, spiraling backwards
to crash into a wall of roiling darkness. It reformed further away, unsteady, but the damage
was done. Its helmet was nearly popped off, hanging on by a twisted scrap of obsidian-like
material. Vaguely, a writhing, formless blackness could be seen seething beneath the metal
covering.
"Target the sword!" I yelled, pushing past my dizziness to channel another surge of power
into Saint. She glowed with a faint, silvery aura, her movements becoming even more fluid
and powerful. She charged ahead, a living battering ram, with Seishan, Effie, and a
reinvigorated Gemma flanking her. To the side, Sasrir finally managed to shatter his dark
bonds, his form erupting from the wall to re-join the fight as a vengeful whirlwind of
shadows.
Swamped by five fighters, all empowered beyond their normal limits, the Black Knight was
overwhelmed. It struggled to fend off the coordinated assault, especially as they proactively
targeted the massive greatsword it wielded. Blows weren't aimed at its body, but at the
weapon's blade, its hilt, the wrists that held it. Gemma's axe hammered the flat of the blade,
deflecting it. Effie's spear-tip skittered along the edge, seeking a weakness in the dark metal.
Seishan's hammer blows were focused entirely on the crossguard, trying to break the Knight's
grip.
The Knight, desperate, blocked one of Seishan's most vicious, two-handed swings not with its
sword, but by throwing its gauntleted hand in the way. The beaked head of the war hammer
crunched into the armored fist, and we heard the distinct sound of shattering metal. It had
saved its weapon, but nearly at the cost of its hand. The gauntlet hung limp, the fingers within
useless.
That was the opening Sasrir needed. While the Knight was distracted by the agony in its
hand, a tendril of shadow, sharper than any physical blade, lashed out from the floor. It didn't
strike the Knight. It wrapped around the greatsword's hilt, right below the guard, and pulled
with immense, sudden force.
The Knight's grip, already compromised, failed. The massive dark greatsword was wrenched
from its grasp, clattering across the stone floor. Before it could even lunge for the weapon,Gemma was on it. With a final, roaring heave, he brought his own sword down on the center
of the abandoned blade. There was a shriek of tormented metal, and the Fallen Devil's sword
shattered into a dozen jagged, dissipating fragments of darkness.
The Knight froze, the crimson light in its broken helm flickering. Its primary weapon, the
conduit for much of its destructive power, was gone. It stood disarmed, wounded, and
surrounded. But it wasn't down yet.
"Everybody get back!"
They had just followed my order when, with a banshee-like screech, the Black Knight
exploded in a cloud of all-consuming darkness. Its metal armour shattered and flew across
the hall in fragments, and a part nearly took out my eye. Without the sword, the Fallen Devil
had revealed its final form.
But for me, that was exactly what I was waiting for
"Now, Adam! Do it now!" Sasrir bellowed, once again trying to stall the Knight in a battle of
shadows.
This was it. I raised the Crucifix. "Holy Light Summoning!" A beam of pure, concentrated
sunlight, impossibly bright in the dark hall, lanced across the room. It struck the Black
Knight directly overhead, enveloping its entire body without sparing a single inch.
It wasn't a beam this time. It was an eruption.
A pillar of pure, concentrated sunlight, so brilliant it was painful to look at, slammed down
from the unseen ceiling of the cathedral. It didn't just strike the Black Knight; it enveloped it,
consuming its form in a torrent of divine fury. There was no sound at first, only that
overwhelming, silent radiance.
Then, the clash began.
The Knight's darkness fought back with a violent, desperate will. Tendrils of absolute
blackness lashed out from within the core of light, trying to claw their way free. They were
met by lashing whips of incandescent gold. It was a primordial battle, light against dark,
creation against void, happening within the space of a single creature's form. The air itself
screamed with the contradiction, a high-pitched whine that felt like it was shredding reality.
The Knight's form was the battlefield. We watched, awestruck and horrified, as its dark self
boiled. It bubbled and blistered, patches of it flashing into non-existence while others writhed
and resisted. The darkness was a seething, formless mass of hatred that pushed against the
consuming light, only to be burned away layer by layer.
Finally, the tension reached its breaking point. With a final, silent shriek that was felt rather
than heard, the darkness could hold no longer. The Knight's form imploded for a split second,
and then*detonated outwards in a shockwave of pure, cleansing light.The explosion was silent but immense. It washed over the entire cathedral, scouring the
lingering shadows from every corner, bleaching the stone floor, and forcing us all to shield
our eyes. When the light faded, there was nothing left of the Black Knight. No ash, no
dissipating shadow. Just a profound and absolute absence. The oppressive gloom that had
defined the hall was gone, replaced by a serene, natural darkness and the gentle, ambient light
of the Starlight Cloak. The purification was total, violent, and complete.
It was over. We stood panting in the sudden silence, the five of us bound together by a shared,
dangerous victory. Gemma's wounds were already closing into silvery scars. Seishan's form
twisted and cracked back into her humanoid guise, though her eyes held a new, weary depth.
Effie leaned on her spear, grinning through bloody lips. Sasrir materialized beside me, silent
and watchful once more. We had survived the fight, and killed a Fallen that even the main
cast had struggled against.
Then again, we also struggled and were probably closer to death than it appeared.
Making my way over to where the Knight had died, I rummaged around the ground and, after
several seconds, found what I was looking for. It was not a shard, not in the common sense. It
was a gem, utterly and profoundly black, as if carved from a piece of the void itself. This
darkness was not mere absence of light; it was an active, suffocating entity.
Deep within that impossible blackness, a heart of crimson fire burned. The flames did not
flicker, but pulsed with a slow, menacing, and bizarre rhythm, like the heartbeat of some
forgotten leviathan. Each throb of red light seemed to push back against the consuming
darkness for a fleeting moment before being swallowed once more.
This was no ordinary soul shard. It radiated an intense, palpable aura of power, feeling less
like a fragment and more like a complete, condensed soul. A closer look revealed the source
of its strange rhythm: within the crimson core, four distinct flames twisted around one
another, representing the four Soul Cores of the Fallen Devil-the Black Knight's very essence,
a crystallized manifestation of its malevolent power and the profound darkness it had
commanded.
And what did I do with this rare and beautiful gem?
"Here, catch."
Casually tossing it to the taciturn Stone Saint, she caught it and stared at it quizzically for a
moment, before bringing it up to her mouth and devouring it, much to the surprise of the
others (bar Sasrir.) After doing so, she vanished into a pyre of silver sparks, returning to my
Soul Sea for evolution just like in the novel.
Brushing my hands off and ignoring the questioning looks from the others, I peered around at
the cathedral hall and sat on the base of the statue that served as the altar.
"Well then...anyone up for some tea?"Chapter 35: Mental Slapping
The fight was over. A profound, weary silence settled in the cleansed cathedral, broken only
by the ragged breathing of the four of us. Gemma sat heavily on a chunk of rubble, wincing
as his body's rapid regeneration finally began to slow, leaving behind a tapestry of fresh, pink
scars.
"So," he grunted, wiping sweat and ash from his brow. "What now? We just… go back to the
castle and pretend this never happened?"
I leaned against a pillar, the Starlight Cloak flickering out as I let it go. The toll of the
Crucifix and my own blood loss made my limbs feel like lead. Back to the act. Back to the
waiting. "Now," I said, my voice hoarse, "we rest. I, for one, won't be moving again for at
least a week. Maybe two."
Gemma stared at me, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion. "Then what was the
point of all this? We just risked our necks, defied the Bright Lord, for… what? To prove we
could?" His pragmatism was a blunt instrument, but it was a fair question.
Before I could answer, Seishan, now fully returned to her poised form, let out a soft sigh.
"Gemma. Think." Her gaze, sharp and knowing, settled on me. "He doesn't do things without
a reason. This was a test. For us. For himself."
She took a deliberate step closer, her voice low and direct. "The test is passed. What's the real
target?"
I looked at their expectant faces. Gemma's weary suspicion, Effie's keen interest, Seishan's
calculating stare. Sasrir was a silent statue, but I felt his focus, leaving the decision whether
or not to talk up to me. Hiding the end goal was pointless now; they needed to see the scale
of the ambition to be properly bound to it.
I let out a long, tired breath, as if the words were being pulled from me. "The Black Knight
was the benchmark. If we could kill it, then almost nothing else we'll be going up against can
defeat us either" I met Seishan's gaze, letting the weight of the name hang in the air between
us. "As for my next target? The First Lord's corpse. I'm going to claim the Dawn Shard."
The silence this time was absolute. Gemma's eyes widened a fraction; even he understood the
magnitude of that name. Effie's grin turned grimmer, no doubt foreseeing the sheer amount of
effort and pain that would take.
"The Dawn Shard," she repeated, the words a statement, not a question. "An ambitious goal."
She didn't ask how or why, and it almost unnerved me once again, why she held such trust in
me. At this point, I was wondering if the seer was her and not Cassie, or if she'd somehow
overheard me and Sasrir discussing our plans for the future.
But in any case, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth: so long as she didn't oppose me
and continued to offer aid instead, we could be the best of friends as far as I was concerned. Ididn't even care if she ended up reporting me to Ki Song once we escaped, because by then
my other arrangements should have panned out.
We chatted and talked a bit longer, though Gemma and Sasrir mostly stayed silent. After
exchanging empty pleasantries and enduring some ribbing from Effie, the others gradually
realised Sasrir and I weren't leaving just yet, and so they excused themselves first. Effie gave
us one last curious look over her shoulder before leaving, and then we were alone.
The heavy silence left by the departing trio seemed to last longer than it did. We listened until
the sound of their footsteps faded completely, swallowed by the ruins. Only then did the
tension in my shoulders ease a fraction. Sasrir, who had been a statue in the corner, finally
stirred.
"They are useful," he stated, his voice a low rumble in the empty cathedral. "But let us be
clear about what they are. Gemma is not our friend. He follows Gunlaug's orders and
enforces his will. I have seen the results of his obedience—the broken bodies left in the
Settlement, whether by him or by his subordinates. His loyalty is to power, and right now, we
represent a new source of it. That is a fickle foundation."
He turned his head, the shadows around his features seeming to deepen. "Effie... she is
straightforward. I do not believe she holds any specific malice for us. But her loyalty is to her
own survival and her own freedom. She will fight alongside us if it serves her, but she will
not throw herself on a blade for our cause. She is a fair-weather ally."
"Then there is Seishan," he said, and the temperature in the cathedral seemed to drop. "I trust
her less than any monster in this city. Her words are a web, each one placed to trap and
ensnare. She smiles while calculating how best to use you and discard the remains. She did
not help us out of kindness or shared ambition. She is investing in a tool, and the moment we
cease to be useful—or become a threat to her own position—she will be the first to move
against us."
"I know," I replied, my voice tired but clear. "But even a shovel is a liability if you hold it by
the blade. You just have to make sure you're the one holding the handle. We use their
strength, their influence, while we hide our own."
Sasrir moved to stand directly before me, his gaze intense. "This plan of yours. The Dawn
Shard. It is a leap into the unknown with allies who would just as soon push us off the cliff.
We are drawing significant attention from the most dangerous people in this castle."
"Isn't that the point?" I countered, a faint smile touching my lips. "To stop being pieces on
their board? We just took down a Fallen Devil with two of Gunlaug's lieutenants as our
accomplices. We're not just drawing attention; we're starting to place ourselves on the map"
"That is not the acting of a Spectator."
"Damn Acting, I want control!"
The cathedral fell silent after my outburst, and I had unknowingly started heaving after that
shout took all the air from my lungs. Sasrir looked at me silently, waiting for me to catch mybreath before speaking.
"I understand your fears Adam, I do-after all, I was made from them. But lashing out at the
world, grasping for tenuous and temporary benefits, indulging in fleeting glories...you're
fooling nobody but yourself. We must plan ahead, always consider the next dozen steps. We
are the weaker party, and will be long even after Antarctica-do not forget, our foreknowledge
ends there. Anything after the Sovereigns die is as unknown to as it is to the people of this
world. If we want to ride out the waves, we must be calm."
"But then what? Don't forget, we're on TV right now, preforming live for some twisted
collection of Gods, or maybe just the Curator alone. He said if we do well, we can hop into
another world? Is that really the goal we're going for? Becoming an interdimensional
traveller, never staying in one place, never setting our roots?"
"I never knew you were so interested in starting a family" Sasrir said coldly, his tone empty.
"Yeah well, death has a way of changing your perspectives. And you didn't answer my
question-you're just as afraid of drifting through life as me, aren't you? You said it yourself,
everything you possess came from me: you feel my fears more than anyone. So what happens
after-if-we reach Divine? Kill the Sleeping God, dismantle the Spell, banish the Void and
rekindled the Flame? Then just hop on over to Reverend Insanity or something?"
"Gods no," Sasrir frowned at that. "We despise Xinxia novels, you know that."
"Hey, a few were good-wait a second, stop trying to distract me!"
"And let you ramble on? Perhaps I need to be more frank Adam-get a fucking grip over
yourself and shut the fuck up. Whining and complaining about the future? Talk when you're
confidant you even have one. At this rate we won't even be able to kill that fucking tree,
nonetheless take on bullshit like Solvane and Winter Beast. If you need me to slap some
sense into you, just give the word. I've been wanting to do it since you opened your fucking
mouth!"
I fell into shocked silence, mouth agape like a fool. Sasrir had never talked to me like that:
yes, he had mocked and made jokes at my expense before, but that was friendly, brotherly, to
help my mood. But this? This was true malice, proper spite, each word laden with negativity
that pierced right through me.
It fucking hurt, and for a moment I though I might actually cry.
But no, I managed to save myself from social suicide and, just as he said, grabbed a hold of
myself.
"...right, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for, and I deserved everything you said. I just-it's just
been so hard." I was sitting down now, face in hands. "At the time, it's so much easier,
ordering commands, suppressing fire with the Unshadowed Crucifix...the blood loss strips
my ability to think, to analyse just how close I am to death. It numbs the sensations, and my
Flaw takes what's left."Sasrir's expression softened. "You're feeling the effects of your Flaw?"
"Yeah. It doesn't really activate during normal life, but once I'm fighting, even my own
wellbeing slowly stops becoming important. It's not really noticeable at first, but the longer
the fight goes on, the more my emotions and feelings are drained away, leaving just the
thinker to operate. And I'm not even that bloody smart, so that's actually a terrible idea!"
"Is that why you are so desperate to acquire the Weaver's Mask? To reverse your Flaw and
keep your emotions? Adam, you know this already, but the reversion doesn't work that
simply. Justice makes you always make the most optimal and rational choice, but the
opposite...it would make you foolish, arrogant and spontaneous. It will just get you killed on
the battlefield."
"Maybe," I admitted, lifting my face from my hands. "But I still have to try and do
something, or else my humanity won't only be eroded during conflict. I don't want to became
the actual Adam, okay? I love his character, but being reduced to an emotionless robot that
can only follow emotional guidelines left by his past self is enough to trigger an existential
crisis in me. I want to be the Ancient Sun God, not the Angel of Imagination."
"You want to be ravaged by the soul of a primordial deity and suffer repeated possession
attempts before being eaten by your subordinates?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow at me.
"What?! No, I want to be powerful and cool-oh, you're just fucking with me."
"What else" he rolled his eyes and extending his hand, pulling me up back onto my feet.
"Listen, just walk one foot at a time: keep moving forward, and the path will gradually reveal
itself. Whatever you need to keep yourself going, then do it, but remember I will always be
by your side-until the day you die."
"Sorry," I muttered, looking down like a guilty child caught by their mother.
After staying still, for nearly a minute, letting the tension dissipate but also causing
awkwardness to build, I coughed and moved away. "Anyways, we might as well get that
Mask now, right?"
Sasrir sighed but didn't try to stop me, his previous attempts to dissuade me having already
failed. Before, he didn't know why I was so hellbent on getting the Divine Memory, but now
he did. Even if what he said was true, and my Flaw just became even worse under the effects
of the Simple Trick, the Concealment alone made it worth it.
For twenty minutes, we combed the cathedral's ruins. The novel had been frustratingly vague,
mentioning only a "hollow space behind a particular wall" near the altar. Every stone looked
the same, aged by time and scarred by battle. We ran our hands over cold, rough-hewn
blocks, searching for a seam, a crack, anything.
"It could be anywhere," Sasrir murmured, his voice echoing in the vast silence. "Or it could
be different from the novel.""Nothing else has been though. We keep looking," I insisted, my frustration mounting. This
was an annoying failure of my foreknowledge. We pushed on rubble, tapped walls listening
for hollow sounds, and found nothing.
It was Sasrir who finally spotted it. Not a lever, but a single, loose stone at the base of a
pillar, so worn it was nearly indistinguishable from its neighbors. He pressed it, not with a
push, but with a twisting motion. With a groan of protesting stone that had not sounded in
millennia, a section of the wall near the shattered altar slid back an inch, then stuck fast.
"It's rusted shut," I said, my heart sinking.
Sasrir didn't answer. He simply braced his shoulder against the ton of stone and pushed. His
enhanced Monster's strength, combined with the weakened mechanism, was enough. With a
final, grating shriek, the hidden door gave way, revealing a yawning blackness.
The air that washed out was ancient, dry, and carried the scent of deep earth and cold stone.
We exchanged a glance, lit a makeshift torch, and stepped into the darkness.
The passage twisted down, a tight, claustrophobic corkscrew through the bedrock. It felt like
we were descending into the very bones of the world. The silence was absolute, broken only
by our footsteps and the crackle of our torch. Finally, the narrow tunnel opened into a larger,
circular chamber.
In the center was a deep, dark well, its bottom lost to sight. A steep, winding staircase carved
from the living rock spiraled down its side. We descended, the air growing colder with every
step. At the bottom, a vast, rough-hewn chamber stretched before us.
And there it was.
A monolithic door of black steel, so dark it seemed to drink the light from our torch. It was
illuminated by two sconces holding pale, ghostly flames that produced light but no heat. The
effect was unnerving. The shadows they cast on the rough walls were not shifting or dancing.
They were utterly, perfectly motionless, as if frozen in time.
My eyes were drawn to the door itself. On its featureless dark surface, I could just make out a
small, almost invisible keyhole. Behind that door, I knew, was the chained corpse and the
prize we sought. The sheer, silent solemnity of the place was overwhelming. It wasn't just a
hidden room; it was a tomb, and we were the first visitors in an age. And we were here to rob
it, of all things!
"You have the key?"
"Bet" I shrugged, taking it out from under my robe collar. I had run a string through it to
wraparound like a necklace, hidden behind the Unshadowed Crucifix. Holding it up against
the light, I licked my lips and inserted it in the whole it was forged for.
Why exactly the Lord of Bones had this key was easy enough to guess-probably just
belonged to one of the corpses that created it-but why the people of the Forgotten Shore feltthe need to treat one of Weaver's envoys like this was still strange. If you're hostile, just kill
him and get it over with-if not, politely decline his services and let him go.
Had the Envoy provoked the people here somehow? Did he arrive before or after the Fallen
Angel birthed the Dark Sea? He was beneath the Cathedral so it implied the latter, but maybe
the church was always here and was just changed to the faith of the Crimson Terror after she
became the Soul Conduit. So many unknowns...
With a click, the lock turned and the door moved slightly as it was released. Swinging the
door open with one hand, the same scene Sunny was meant to come across in two years
appeared before my own eyes.Chapter 36: Get Fucked Sunless
I crouched down before the black-robed figure who wore Weaver's Mask, reading out the
Runes scratched on the floor beside him. "Weaver said: 'They shall open the Gates.'" I traced
the ancient symbols with my finger. "And They did."
I wasn't reading all of it, though. Despite being in the Academy much longer than Sunny in
the novel, I hadn't exactly mastered the Dream Realm Language. I knew about half the
Runes, and the other half were from what the novel told us they were. It was a patchwork
understanding, but it was enough.
"Cheerful fellow, wasn't he?" Sasrir commented from behind me, his voice dry as dust. He
was observing the chained corpse with a clinical detachment. "Leaves a cryptic message and
a fashion accessory as his legacy."
I let out a short laugh, the sound strangely loud in the silent, tomblike room. "Well, when
you're the Divine Priest of an all-powerful, dimension-spanning entity, you're allowed to be a
bit dramatic." I gestured to the intricate, black lacquer mask on the corpse's face. It was a
visage of ferocity and beastliness. "The ultimate souvenir."
"Are you sure about this?" Sasrir asked, his tone shifting from dry to serious. "Putting on a
dead God's face... it seems like the start of every cautionary tale ever told."
"What's the worst that could happen?" I said, with more bravado than I felt. "It whispers
cosmic secrets into my brain until I go mad? I think my brain is already pretty flexible after
all this." I took a deep breath, my hand hovering over the mask. "Besides, we didn't come all
this way for a sightseeing tour. This is the key."
"And what about Sunless?"
"Sunny can eat my ass for all I care."
Sasrir was silent for a moment, then gave a single, resigned nod. "Just try not to start
speaking in riddles. One prophet in our future group is already more than enough. And
remember: don't let Amon use it too much."
With that final piece of morbid encouragement, I reached out. My fingers brushed against the
cold, smooth bone of Weaver's Mask. Gently, I untied it from the desiccated head of the
corpse. The moment I did, the corpse broke down into dust, just like in the novel, and then
the Spell's voice sang softly in my ear.
[You have received a Memory.]
Biting back my smile, I quickly raised my hand and summoned back the Mask, clutching its'
cold wooden form. Staring into the black void where the eyes would be, I felt like someone
was staring back at me. Perturbated, I quickly turned the Mask around and put it on. And
what a sight to behold.Inside the black mask, seven radiant embers were burning with such intensity that it was
almost blinding. All around them, incalculable ethereal strings were weaved into a pattern so
vast and intricate that it almost seemed boundless.
Memory: [Weaver's Mask].
Memory Rank: Divine
Memory Tier: VII.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: [Weaver believed that knowledge was the origin of power and so
always hid behind numerous lies, wearing them as a mantle. No one knew Weaver's thoughts,
Weaver's face, and Weaver's heart. Even the gods could not see what hid behind the mask.]
Memory Enchantments: [Mantle of Lies], [Where is my Eye?], [Simple Trick].
Enchantment: [Mantle of Lies].
Enchantment Description: [Hides the identity of its master.]
Enchantment: [Where is my Eye?]
Enchantment Description: [Allows the wielder to peer into the Strings of Fate.]
Enchantment: [Simple Trick].
Enchantment Description: [Reverses the effect of one's Flaw.]
Reading the Runes with a grin across my face, I turned towards Sasrir to share the news with
him, only to freeze. Where Sasrir once stood, now there was only a vaguely humanoid
shadow, with bundles of golden and silver strings flying out of him. They went in every
direction, extending infinitely into the void before vanishing at some point. One particularly
thick string extended from Sasrir's centre right into my chest.
"Adam?"
His voice snapped me out of my daze, and I hurriedly lifted the Memory off my face. At
once, Sasrir appeared before me, perfectly fine and normal. I fell silent for several seconds
more, before Sasrir called out to me again. Snapping back, I coughed and showed him the
Mask. "Here, you try it."
He did so, but didn't react strangely like me. Instead, he asked a question: "Why is Simple
Trick already unlocked for us? Shouldn't it have to wait until we're Awakened or higher to
have the Essence to use it?"
"Just because we can see it doesn't mean we can use it. It's probably revealed to us because
we technically already know what it does despite never using it. I don't know, the Spell isweird enough even without us anyways."
"Right. Well, I don't feel like my Flaw has changed in any way. How about you?"
I shook my head. "Justice usually only kicks in during battle, and the other times are too
subtle for me to detect at the time. You're Flaw also only becomes apparent if your allies are
injured around you, so we can't test it here."
"I don't think we should. Reversing Scapegoat would probably make it so my wounds are
reflected on others, which really doesn't suit my future fighting style. I might possess the
regeneration of a Rose Bishop then, but you won't."
"Fair enough" I shrugged and took back the Mask. Admiring the style one last time, I
dismissed it and sent it back to my Soul Sea. "Already let's get back to the Castle before
Seishan and Gemma get suspicious of just what we're doing here."
Turning and starting to leave the crypt, I turned to look over my shoulder at the pile of dust
that the Spell Priest had become. For a moment, I felt a flicker of emotion as I though that
nobody would ever come and visit him again, but then I pushed that feeling away. He was
long dead, no need to be sentimental. Spare that for the living.
Once we were outside, breathing in the fresh air, Sasrir asked another question. "So what do
we do while we prepare to take the Dawn Shard? Just gather more Soul Shards, maybe save
for the Armour of the Underworld?"
"Didn't you say we shouldn't steal all of Sunny's opportunities?" I raised an eyebrow, causing
him to cough and look away. "And aren't you the one who said he could get fucked? In for a
penny, in for a pound: we've come this far so we might as well go all the way."
"Ha, I never imagined you'd be the one to say that!"
"Yeah yeah, anyways just get to the point."
"Yes," I agreed, feeling a surge of purpose. "That armour is too special to give to someone
like Sunny. The Mind defences in particular is necessary to help you resist the Soul Devourer.
We began the trek back, the ruined city feeling less menacing and more like a landscape of
opportunity. "And after the Mantle?" Sasrir prompted.
"Then we hunt," I said, my mind already mapping out territories in the Dark City. "We need a
specific type of Corrupted. We need that regeneration Memory. The Dawn Shard won't be a
quiet retrieval; I need to be able to use the Crucifix without being bedridden for a week
afterward."
"It won't be easy. From what I heard, those types are rare and work in groups"
"Nothing worth having is," I replied, a familiar, calculating calm settling over me. "We'll find
it. We'll just need to be smarter and faster than everyone else.""And what about our... associates?" Sasrir asked, his tone making it clear he meant our
treacherous lieutenants.
"We keep them close," I said. "We feed them just enough truth to be useful. I don't trust
Seishan worth a damn but she's also one of the strongest Sleeper in the Forgotten Shore."
As the dark bulk of Bright Castle came into view, its walls no longer felt like a prison, but a
fortress we were learning to conquer from within. We had a divine artifact in our souls, a list
of legendary items to acquire, and a map of the future in my head. We slipped back through
the gates just as the first hints of dawn tinged the sky, the guards offering nothing more than a
bored nod.
The next few days fell into a new kind of rhythm, one charged with hidden purpose. My
public persona remained that of the gentle preacher, but my private hours were now
consumed with two goals: drawing up plans to fight the remaining Shard Lords and
accumulating the soul shards we needed.
I found a secluded spot on the outer walls during the quietest hours of the night. There, I
would don the Weaver's Mask. The world would once again dissolve into a breathtaking,
terrifying tapestry of shimmering strings. My focus wasn't on grand destinies, but on smaller,
more immediate threads. I couldn't read any of them, not without Blood Weave, but it was
still fun to look. It was like learning a new language—the language of cause and effect, of
hidden relationships.
Meanwhile, our hunts became ruthlessly efficient. With Sasrir's newfound power as a
Monster and my ability to subtly nudge our patrols toward areas ripe with weaker, more
numerous Corrupted, our shard count swelled. We avoided flashy fights, opting for swift,
silent ambushes that yielded steady returns. The other Hunters just thought we were getting
lucky.
A week after our return, I sought out Stev the Jolly Giant in the Memory Market. His stall
was as cluttered as ever, and the Mantle of the Underworld still up in the far back, its black
metal seeming to drink the light around it.
"Preacher!" he boomed, his voice as large as his frame. "Back to gaze upon my wares? Still
dreaming of this old thing?" He gestured to the mantle.
"I prefer lighter, softer clothing, Master Stev," I said, offering my most beatific smile. "But
even the most devout can appreciate fine craftsmanship. And I admit I am greatly drawn to
this wonderful suit of armour." I gestured to my own worn jacket. "We've had a run of
fortunate hunts. Perhaps we can discuss a price?"
The haggling was a delicate dance. I played the part of the naïve holy man, impressed by the
artifact but ignorant of its true value. Stev, for his part, tried to inflate the price, citing its
"unique properties." But I had read the novel. I knew he was desperate to move it to make
room for new, more easily sold stock. In fairness to the man, he didn't try and cheat me: he
had warned me on the first day that the Mantle was broken, that only an Awakened could
repair it.In the end, we settled on a price that was fair, if still steep. As I handed over the heavy pouch
of shards and he allowed me to mark the armour as my Memory, I felt a thrill that had
nothing to do with faith. It was the pleasure of a collector finding a shiny Pokemon card.
That night, in the privacy of our quarters, I propped it up against the wall. The Mantle of the
Underworld was a cage of deep, shifting blackness, like solid shadow. As I moved my hands
along it, I felt a subtle pride in myself for having done so well.
"Too bad we can't test it," Sasrir murmured from his bunk.
"We'll have plenty of opportunities when we return to the Waking World. Who knows, you
might just get to play as Mongrel once we get back."
With everything I could acquire in the short-term now complete, the next target was clear. Its
location had been revealed to me by an Artisan, who had used its parts before: a gnarled,
ancient grove in the deepest part of the eastern ruins, almost at the edge of the City and into
the Labyrinth, where a Corrupted known as the Sap-Spirit was said to guard a Memory that
could knit flesh back together. It was time to hunt for my regeneration.
Our first step was intelligence. While Sasrir used his shadow form to eavesdrop on the
conversations of returning Pathfinders and veteran Hunters, I took a more direct approach. I
spent my "pastoral" hours in the Artisan's quarter, offering help and listening. I asked careful
questions, always framed as academic curiosity about the nature of life and healing.
"Charr," I asked an older Artisan who was the one specialized in making paper, "I've been
thinking about what you told me last time, about those Spirit-Sappers, Can you tell me
more?"
The older man, pleased by the interest, nodded sagely. "Aye, sure. Rare, though. Viciously
territorial. You'll find them in the oldest parts of the ruins, where the City meets the
Labyrinth. The eastern grove, some say. But it's a death sentence. Their bark is tougher than
steel, and they drain the life from you if you get too close. Not to mention their roots are
viciously fast."
Sasrir's own findings corroborated it; he'd overheard a Hunter complaining about a patrol
being forced to reroute due to "those damned animated trees." Apparently they had also
moved into the City following the turf war that we inadvertently caused.
The night before our planned expedition, we laid our tools out. The Starlight Cloak was for
defense. The Unshadowed Crucifix, our ultimate weapon, rested heavily on the table between
us. Its fire attacks would be both important and also a preview of its effectiveness against the
Soul Devourer.
"Our advantage is that we know what we're looking for," I said, tracing a rough map of the
eastern sector on the floor with a piece of charcoal. "The Sap-Spirit is the guardian. They
travel in groups but still spread out once they've rooted themselves. If we target the one on
the dge, we should be able to avoid drawing in the others.
"And if we cannot avoid it?" Sasrir asked, his voice calm."Then we run and come back another day," I replied. "Just stick them with your shadows as
much as possible while I try to burn them. Don't forget, the more degenerate you make them,
the stronger my own Purification."
It was a risk. The eastern grove was deeper into uncontrolled territory than we had ever
ventured. But the reward was a cornerstone of my long-term survival. Without a way to
mitigate the Crucifix's cost, my most powerful tool would remain a last resort. With it, I
could use it strategically, turning the tide of battles before they were lost.
As we extinguished the light and settled in to wait for dawn, the atmosphere was different
from any night before a hunt. There was no nervous tension, only a cold, patient readiness.
We had been here long enough, hunted long enough, survived for long enough. At this point,
I didn't think anything the Dream Realm could throw would break us