Karaskay Mountain, foot of the mountain – Tira Village.
A sun-tanned little girl, her clothes dust-stained, was poking at a cicada in the treetops with a thin twig. The dusk sky wasn't clear; golden-edged fire clouds piled atop the canopy, heavy like stone.
Then, as if emerging from the setting sun on the far horizon, came ranks upon ranks of cavalry, thundering toward the village.
The girl's mouth dropped open, her eyes sparkling as she watched the disciplined soldiers pass in formation. The dust kicked up by the horses' hooves rolled through the golden light like a boiling river, surging along the road behind the marching troops. She took a bite of her rye cake stuffed with green onions, treading barefoot over the forest floor with her little brown feet, inching closer, her breathing quickening with the pounding of hooves.
She wiped the dust from her cheek, eyes wide and unblinking—the young soldier sat straight in his saddle, golden hair gleaming in the sunset, a resolute expression on his face that made her cheeks burn.
A country girl in the bloom of infatuation.
As the glow faded with the passing army, perhaps this would become one of the most vivid memories of her life—or perhaps not.
She seemed to want to follow even closer, but a gloved hand, soft black leather, stopped her. The hand fell gently on her slender shoulder. Along with it came an unnatural chill, spreading through the golden dusk like a freezing winter river. She shivered violently.
"Relax, little one," said a gentle voice. "You seem... very fond of those cavalrymen from the Free Cities' Alliance? Just like every little girl's dream, isn't it?" She shrank back and looked up.
A man cloaked entirely in black robes was towering over her, his face completely obscured by an eerie shroud of black mist.
"S-sir..." the girl stammered, stepping back. "I should be going... My mother and sister will soon—"
"No need to hurry, child," the man said softly, reaching both gloved hands under her arms and lifting her effortlessly. He let her kick her bare brown feet in panic for a moment before gently setting her down on the ground again. "Forgive me for making you watch a rather unusual performance," he said, raising one hand toward a nearby cavalryman. "But grand spectacles have a way of... captivating the soul, don't you think?"
"What are you doing?!" shouted the approaching knight.
He was the very one the girl had been staring at earlier—neatly trimmed golden hair, a youthful yet steely face, clad in gleaming half-plate armor. He was the kind that could effortlessly capture the heart of any starry-eyed country girl. Likely a commander of status—perhaps even noble-born.
"Step away from the girl, you rat in a black cloak!"
"How ugly," the black-cloaked man murmured with a slight smile. He let the knight roar and charge forward, yet his eyes remained fixed on the girl crouched beside the tree trunk. "One should never hurl insults, little one. It is always the half-informed, self-important types who do. Those who truly master courtesy spend more time laughing at themselves than at others."
Then—an even colder, more ominous darkness descended. Tendrils of pitch-black smoke crept along the ground like countless venomous serpents. They coiled and gathered before the girl's eyes, fusing midair into the form of another man cloaked entirely in black robes.
"Sacolas, can you put your little hobby aside for a moment?" the second man said.
"When the curtain rises on a stage play," Sacolas replied lazily, "a few extra spectators only make the performance more enjoyable. I've always believed that."
The first man removed his hood. Black smoke surged into his eye sockets—revealing that they were completely hollow. His expression was tranquil, his face adorned with a strange smile. Yet the blindness in his gaze resembled a bottomless black lake. Swirling with smoke that never dispersed, his empty sockets looked like windows into some ancient maze.
"What happens next," Sacolas said with unsettling calm, "may not be... strictly polite." He gave a courteous bow to the girl, then turned those hollow eyes toward the knight—
The air tore. Bones quaked. Thought collapsed.
Pale gray beams of light erupted from the black-clad man's eyes, like ribbons woven from stormclouds. They lashed across the knight's body. He didn't even have time to scream—everything beneath his skin corroded instantly. His withered frame lifted into the air like chaff in a threshing wind. When he hit the ground, there was nothing left but a brittle sack of skin and bones, which shattered with a brittle crack across the earth.
The girl suppressed a scream, terror choking her throat as her body shook like a leaf.
"There are always those who can't wait to die," Sacolas said with a voice full of judgment and disgust. "And yet the gateway to the Dream-Maze will soon be sealed. I have no intention of blocking the Iron Inquisitor and his knights from entering, but sending a whole unit through? That's excessive." He turned back to the girl with a smile. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"Priests of the Temple of Shadows! Formation!" someone shouted. "Shadow Priests!"
Shouts shook the air, followed by a sudden acceleration of hooves.
"Charge!"
"Ready demon-hunting bolts and firearms!"
Another priest pulled back his hood.
Black mist swirled as the priest chuckled darkly. On the far side of the road, troops prepared ballistae and muskets, but over here, a silence like a suffocating bag enveloped the girl.
The black mist surged—like a thousand dead eyes staring at her.
The black mist surged—like a thousand forked snake tongues probing in every direction.
The black mist surged—
Countless beams of gray-black light—more suffocating than stormclouds—swept across sky and ground.
A volley of quad-barreled bolts fired like locusts, hissing through the air. But before they could hit the ground, they dissolved into ash midair, consumed by the light. The priests of the Shadow Temple stood motionless, their hollow, smoke-filled eye sockets scanning the hurriedly assembled military formation. Wherever their gaze landed, blood-curdling screams and thunderous impacts erupted. The roar of muskets became a whisper of insects compared to the shrieking beams. Flesh withered and cracked, blood and muscle peeled from bone, and invisible whips scoured the ground—hurling steel and horses alike into the air like leaves in a storm…
The cavalry charged like madmen, trampling their fallen comrades in the front lines—perhaps knowing that turning back would only bring a quicker death. They shouted, screamed—
"For Gerdan!"
They hurled themselves forward in a frenzy fueled by both rage and fear. Hunched low on their mounts to avoid the beams, they screamed defiance in a desperate attempt to drown their terror.
Musket balls whistled through smoke and struck the shadowy wards around the priests, only to disintegrate. Sacolas raised his right hand, still expressionless. The black mist surged like a thunderhead, releasing shadows so dense they nearly took physical form. They smashed into the ground and spread like sinister lakes, seeping through armor, into flesh—causing the bodies of the charging soldiers to unravel like lovers' garments.
Death arrived in a grotesquely beautiful display.
And still, they charged.
Then, behind the priests, a massive demon emerged from thin air. The grotesque creature let out a shrill, frenzied laugh, swinging a massive claw downward—
"My, what a pleasant surprise. So the army brought along a demonologist," Sacolas clapped politely.
At that uncanny instant, the air tore with a fabric-ripping sound as darkness surged. From the demon's own shadow leapt a massive three-headed hound, its entire body ink-black. It sank its jaws into the demon's head and arms. Its eyes swirled with black smoke; its gaping maw stretched down past its throat. Pale, jagged fangs gleamed with terrifying divine energy—the signature of a high-tier Shadow Temple hunting beast.
"We've all been waiting, haven't we? Go on. Tear that Kenerraha demon to pieces. Then move on to the small ones."
The beast let out a thunderous roar, like an earthquake from deep underground, and crushed the demon's limbs and head in its jaws. Though similar in size, it devoured the spiked creature in just a few bites—chewing it into pulp.
"What should we do with the village?" another priest asked.
"Feed it to the hounds," Sacolas replied matter-of-factly. "After all, we lived there for a while. It's important to eliminate witnesses."
The girl shook her head in silent, mounting despair.