The air hung heavy with the scent of decay and distant ash as Kael moved through the dying lands of Varyndel. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest from the cold, the gnawing hunger, and the sheer effort of trekking for hours through the desolate landscape. The faint, malevolent glow of the capital, the Twin Spires of Varyndel, seemed to mock him on the horizon, drawing him closer to a place he once ruled, now a distorted reflection of his fragmented memories. His princely robes were long gone, replaced by scavenged, coarse cloth that offered little warmth against the biting winds. His shard-blade, clutched tight in his hand, felt like a desperate anchor in a world that had seemingly abandoned him.
He kept to the cover of the blighted brush and the skeletal remains of what were once lush forests. His Void Gaze was mostly dormant here, capable only of perceiving the faintest, most fleeting echoes of life, but it was enough to detect the unnatural stillness that blanketed the land. No birdsong, no rustle of thriving wildlife, only the mournful whisper of the wind and the unsettling crunch of his own footsteps on brittle, desiccated ground. The Black Sun's influence, though unseen, was a palpable shroud, slowly suffocating the very essence of Varyndel, leaching the life from everything it touched. Alira's warnings about the Wellspring of Creation rang in his ears, chilling him far more than the biting cold.
Suddenly, a rhythmic thudding cut through the oppressive silence – heavy, synchronized footsteps. Kael froze, pressing himself against the bark of a twisted, dead oak, its branches like petrified claws against the bruised sky. His eyes, honed by years of stealth training in the palace grounds and now sharpened by a primal need for survival, strained against the encroaching twilight. Through a gap in the withered branches, he saw them.
A patrol of five Imperial Guardsmen, their once-polished plate armor dull under the corrupted light, their halberds gleaming with an ominous, almost sickly luster. But they were profoundly different. Their movements were stiff, almost mechanical, lacking the fluid grace of the elite units he remembered. Their faces were obscured by visored helmets, but Kael felt an unsettling emptiness emanating from them, a chilling sense of absence where a human soul should be. They carried no torches, yet a faint, sickly green glow emanated from the runes etched into their armor, illuminating their path with an eerie, unnatural light. These weren't the loyal soldiers he once commanded. These were extensions of the pervasive blight, animated by something cold and inhuman.
Too many for a direct engagement, Kael assessed rapidly, his mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations, despite his exhaustion. He was weak, his Shadow Realm powers stubbornly inert, refusing to answer his desperate will. He was a mere man, armed with a scavenged blade and the grim knowledge of a cosmic war. He had to avoid them.
Kael began to slowly, meticulously backtrack, melting into the deeper shadows of the blighted trees. He moved with a hunter's patience, placing each footstep with deliberate care, his breathing shallow, his heart thundering against his ribs. He was a prince, yes, burdened by cosmic truths, but first and foremost, he was a survivor.
A twig, brittle and dry, snapped under his worn boot.
The sound, barely audible in the vast silence, echoed like a thunderclap.
The Guardsmen stopped, their heads snapping up with unnerving synchronization. Their green-glowing eyes, visible through the visors, seemed to pierce the deepening darkness, locking onto his position with an unnatural, preternatural precision. They moved, not with a human charge, but with the relentless, unthinking advance of automatons. Their halberds shifted, aligning themselves with a chilling, synchronized click.
"Intruder detected. Neutralize," a voice, utterly devoid of human warmth or inflection, rasped from the lead Guardsman's helmet, metallic and distorted, like a corrupted recording.
Kael swore under his breath. They weren't just patrolling; they were hunting. And they had enhanced senses. This wasn't going to be a stealth mission. This was going to be a fight.
He launched himself forward, not towards the capital, but deeper into the dying forest, using the uneven terrain and the sparse cover of the skeletal trees to his advantage. His body, though weary, responded with a burst of desperate speed, fueled by adrenaline. He heard the heavy thud of their boots behind him, gaining ground with alarming swiftness. These were not slow, lumbering guards. The Black Sun's influence had transformed them into tireless, relentless pursuers.
He glanced back, seeing the green glowing eyes closing in, their relentless pace unnerving. He had to make a stand, or he would be overwhelmed. He spotted a cluster of ancient, moss-covered boulders, forming a natural choke point. Not ideal, but it was something – a place where he could control the engagement, even slightly.
He spun, planting his feet firmly behind the largest boulder, his shard-blade held ready, its rough edge glinting faintly in the dying light. The first Guardsman burst from the trees, its halberd whistling as it swung in a wide, powerful arc, aimed for his head. Kael, relying on raw instinct honed from years of swordsmanship training, ducked under the blow, the wind of its passage stirring his hair. He countered, plunging his shard-blade into the gap between the Guardsman's shoulder and breastplate. The blade scraped against something incredibly dense, more like solid, enchanted stone than mere steel, and didn't penetrate. It simply slid off with a high-pitched screech.
His eyes widened in shock. Normal weapons wouldn't work. The Black Sun had imbued them, or their armor, with a terrifying resilience. These weren't simply men in armor; they were constructs, animated by a corrupting power.
The Guardsman brought its halberd down again, a heavy, crushing blow that forced Kael to leap back, his muscles screaming. The impact cratered the ground where he had stood, sending shards of rock flying. The other four Guardsmen fanned out, their green eyes fixed on him with unwavering intensity, creating a deadly encirclement. Kael was trapped.
This wasn't just physical strength; it was something else, something supernatural and chilling. He had to understand their weakness. His mind raced, recalling Alira's warnings from the Nexus. "Its essence, its hunger, can flow. It would slowly consume Varyndel from within, draining its magic, twisting its life, turning your world into another stomach…"
These guards weren't just armored men; they were conduits, infused with the Devourer's corruption. If normal blades couldn't cut them, perhaps his suppressed Shadow Realm essence could. He focused, pushing against the overwhelming resistance of the mortal realm, desperately trying to force a flicker of power. A faint, cold warmth stirred within his core, a tiny ember of his Soulforged power, struggling against the suppression. It wasn't enough to unleash Phantom Step or Soul Rend, but it was something, a fragile connection.
The lead Guardsman charged again, its halberd a blur, its movements eerily silent save for the thudding of its boots. Kael parried with his blade, the clang echoing unnervingly through the blighted forest, the impact jarring his arm to the bone. He felt the insidious energy of the Black Sun trying to seep into him through the contact, a faint, chilling current that tried to dull his senses, to corrupt his will, to whisper lies of surrender. This was the Corruption Level manifesting in the mortal realm, a more subtle, yet equally dangerous, attack on his very soul. He pushed it back, relying on the mental barriers he'd built in the Shadow Realm, the sheer force of his will.
He spun, avoiding a thrust from another Guardsman that would have impaled him, finding himself momentarily exposed. He had to break their formation. He feigned a lunge at one, drawing its attention, then pivoted, using the momentum to spin into the space between two of them. It was a risky maneuver, forcing him into the heart of their defense, but it paid off. He was now within their guard, pressing them into a tighter, more unwieldy circle.
He thrust his shard-blade, not at the impenetrable armor plates, but at the barely perceptible seam where the helmet met the gorget. The blade slipped past the plate, and a faint, sickly green glow flared violently from within the helmet. The Guardsman shuddered, a low, distorted moan escaping its visor, and it staggered back, momentarily disoriented, its movements seizing.
That was it! Kael realized, a surge of grim understanding. Not the armor, but the essence within. These were hollow men, animated by the Black Sun's corrupted energy. His shard-blade, though crude, was infused with the ambient essence of the Shadow Realm – the residual energies of his prolonged stay in that cursed place. It could disturb, even cut, that corrupted essence.
He exploited the opening. The disoriented Guardsman left its side exposed. Kael plunged his blade into the gap, focusing his desperate will, trying to channel the faintest spark of his suppressed essence through the steel. A faint, cold hum emanated from the shard-blade as it connected. This time, there was resistance, but also a give. The blade sank deeper, and the Guardsman convulsed violently, its green glow flickering erratically, like a dying lantern.
It thrashed, dropping its halberd with a clatter, and then, with a final, unearthly shriek, its body began to unravel. Not into mist, as in the Shadow Realm, but into thick, black ash that scattered to the biting wind, leaving behind only the empty, gleaming, but now lifeless armor. The scent of burnt copper and ozone filled the air, acrid and disturbing.
His internal system, which had been silent for much of the fight, flared with a familiar, mechanical voice: "System Alert: Host essence compatibility at 5%. Minor essence absorbed. Warning: Prolonged engagement with corrupted entities in mortal realm may accelerate Corruption Level. Skill: Minor Essence Imbue unlocked. Acquire? Y/N. Skill Devouring Slot Available (1/3 for mortal realm)."
Kael gasped, staggering back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The system's voice was back, stronger now, almost triumphant. Minor Essence Imbue: it allowed him to channel trace amounts of his suppressed Shadow Realm essence into his weapon, making it effective against these corrupted foes. It was exactly what he needed. "Yes!" he choked out, fear and desperate hope warring within him. This was the upgrade he needed to survive.
The remaining four Guardsmen hesitated, their mechanical movements faltering for a beat, clearly registering the abrupt, unnatural disintegration of their comrade. This was his chance.
He met their next charge head-on, no longer seeking to avoid, but to engage, to exploit his new understanding. He twisted, using the environment to his advantage, forcing them to come at him one or two at a time. He moved with a desperate, savage grace, dodging, weaving, his body flowing with the primal rhythm of survival. Each time he found an opening, he focused, sending a tiny surge of his newfound Minor Essence Imbue through his blade. The green glows flickered, the armor cracked, and with each successful strike, another Guardsman shuddered, moaned, and then dissolved into black ash.
The battle was a blur of steel and shadow, of Kael's grunts of exertion and the unearthly shrieks of dying corruption. He was battered, bruised, and bleeding from a shallow cut on his arm, but he was winning. He channeled his burning rage, his unyielding resolve, the memory of Alira's desperate plea for Varyndel, into every desperate strike. He was not just fighting for his life; he was fighting for a world he barely recognized, a world slowly being consumed.
Finally, only one Guardsman remained. It was the largest, its halberd whistling a death knell as it lunged in a final, furious attack. Kael parried with a desperate, two-handed block, the impact jarring his entire frame, sending pain lancing up his arms. He felt the raw force of the Black Sun's corruption trying to overwhelm him, a chilling cold seeping into his bones, promising oblivion. He resisted, pushing back with every fiber of his being, fueled by a defiance that transcended his exhaustion.
With a primal scream that was more beast than prince, Kael twisted, sliding his blade along the length of the halberd, driving it upward, aiming for the Guardsman's exposed neck. The blade, empowered by his meager essence, found its mark. The green glow flared violently within the helmet, the Guardsman stiffened, and then, with a final, shuddering convulsion, it crumbled into a pile of black ash and empty, clattering armor.
Silence descended, heavy and absolute, broken only by Kael's ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of his heart. He stood amidst the discarded armor and the swirling ash, trembling, exhausted, but gloriously alive. He had survived. He had killed. And he had begun to understand how to fight in this corrupted world.
His Essence Compatibility had risen to 7%. The combat, the direct engagement with the Black Sun's forces, had jolted his suppressed powers, allowing a tiny fraction of his Shadow Realm strength to bleed through. He was still incredibly weak compared to his full power, but he had found a way to bridge the gap, to make his Shadow Realm training relevant, to forge a path to continuous upgrading even in this desolate world.
He stumbled away from the battlefield, the acrid smell of burnt corruption clinging to him like a shroud. He needed to find somewhere to rest, to gather his strength, and to plan his next move. The Imperial Guards were patrolling, but they were not the only threat. The Black Sun had corrupted more than just the military. It had twisted the very fabric of Varyndel, infecting everything.
As he reached a small, hidden cave, tucked away behind a cascading waterfall of strangely dark, viscous water, he slumped against the cool, damp stone. He closed his eyes, pressing his head back. He felt the exhaustion pulling him down, but his mind raced. He had fought, he had won, but this was just the beginning. The true war, the war for Varyndel's soul, had truly begun. And he, the falsely executed prince, was its reluctant, shadow-touched champion. The distant, rhythmic drumbeats of the Imperial Guard, now closer, were not just a warning; they were a relentless call to arms, a promise of more battles to come.