The air is wrong.
When you venture further into the village ruins, the silence changes.
Something heavy lands in my chest, squeezing down on my ribs. The kind of feeling warriors get before going into battle.
Seraphis raises a fist. The vanguard halts.
"Something's not right," he murmurs.
I take a step, clutching my spear. My boots sink into the wet, bloodied dirt. The lying corpses dotting the ground are too still. Too perfect.
It seems to me the symbol carved into their flesh is watching.
And then—
A whisper.
"Mercy… is waiting."
My breath catches.
The sound is not from the dead.
It comes from the living.
A knight among us — upright, slightly swaying, his hands nervous at his sides.
His eyes are blank. Not empty. Full.
And had something that shouldn't have been there in it.
"Mercy is waiting."
He lifts his sword.
And drives it into the soldier next to him.
Blood sprays.
And then—the others are whispering too.
Turning Soldiers – And So The Haunting Begins
More knights start twitching, their voices rising in eerie, broken mutters.
"She sees us."
"She is waiting."
"Mercy comes for all."
Then they move.
One knight thrusts at his comrade, his blade tearing flesh. Another clutches his helmet, raking his own face as if trying to rip something out of his brain.
Panic erupts.
Steel clashes. Screams fill the ruins.
"They've lost their minds!" one of the commanders shouts.
No. Something took them.
Instinctively, I want to move. To fight.
A knight gallops toward me, his eyes theirs wild, unfocused. His swings are wild, savage, flailing.
I intercept the first strike, twisting my spear to angle his momentum way past the target.
He doesn't stop.
He doesn't hesitate.
He doesn't feel pain.
I thrust the spear forward. A clean, sharp motion. The tip pierces his throat.
He doesn't scream.
He just… smiles.
"You will see her too."
He collapses.
I pull back, gasping a little.
What the hell is happening?
The next force Fyra sought to recruit was the Magic, who called to his aid.
A sudden shriek cuts through the air.
Then—the sky ignites.
Flames roar down from the rooftops, hitting the vanguard. Then explosions tear into the rubble.
Arrows rain down from above.
"AMBUSH!"
The rebels rise from the ruins—not simply swordsmen, but sorcerers.
One stands on the remnants of a rooftop, arms raised. His fingers writhe in odd patterns and the air ripples.
I barely dodge in time, a bolt of lightning slamming into the ground to my side.
My body tenses. This is my first actual combat with magic.
And I am severely outmatched.
Raiden vs. The First Mage – Defeating the Magic by Instinct
The enemy mage locks onto me. His lips curl.
"A mere knight?" he sneers. "You will burn like the rest."
His hands move. Too fast. Too precise.
Nearby torches shake with violence.
Then — from his palms, fire erupts.
A wave of white-hot heat rushes toward me.
I move.
Instinct. Raw survival.
I roll, the flames licking at my armor. Now, as soon as my feet touch the ground, I sprint forward—close the distance.
"I thought magic was stronger than steel." he taunts.
His hand lifts again. Another spell.
I don't let him finish.
I swing the spear with whatever I have.
Fast. Sharp. Deadly.
The edge rends his casting hand.
A scream.
His magic fizzles out.
He reels backward, holding the stumps where his fingers used to be. His eyes are round, incredulous.
"Impossible—"
I don't allow him to complete that sentence either.
I thrust my spear into his chest.
He sinks, gagging on his own blood.
I scoff sharply, looking back at the battlefield.
"Not impossible," I murmur. "Just experience."
But I know this isn't over. It is not possible for me to escape magic.
And sooner or later, I'm going to need more.
The Temptation of the Demon Spirit — The Prophesy He Was Warnings About
"You struggle."
The voice is closer now.
Louder.
"Your flesh is weak, but your instincts are strong."
My hands shake a bit on my spear. The fight is still throbbing, but for a second, I feel removed from it.
"I can fix that."
A feeling — a throbbing of something shadowy, something vigorous — grazes against my awareness.
I know what it's offering.
Power.
A way to fight back.
A way to survive.
But I don't take it.
"You are a fool."
The presence recedes. Now the battlefield snaps back into view.
The rebels are falling back. The knights that are possessed are dead or immobilized.
The first battle is over.
But the war has just begun.
The fires are still dying. The scent of charred meat hangs in the air.
The battle is over. But it isn't what feels like a victory.
I am in the middle of the wrecked village, spear in hand, the blood on my gauntlets still drying. The vanguard passes among the wreckage, rounding up survivors, and killing wounded rebels.
And right in the middle, on his knees, his hands bound in chains — our prisoner.
A mage.
Captured alive.
It took five knights to take him down. Despite being hobbled by the loss of a hand, he almost killed everyone.
Now, he stumbles, his robes drenched in blood, his breath ragged — but his smile still holds.
Too calm. Too certain.
I take a step forward, looking down at him. He doesn't even look at me at first.
Then, slowly, his gaze lifts.
His eyes — pale, ghostly, and filled with what shouldn't be.
Something wrong.
He exhales a low chuckle.
"Ah… so this is the one."
His voice is rough and cracked, but somehow full of mirth.
"The cursed knight."
I grip the spear tighter. "You know quite a bit for a dead man."
"Oh, I've been dead a long time."
His lips curve wider.
"And soon… so will you."
The Interrogation – An Insight in Madness
Seraphis walks up next to me, arms folded, face icy.
"Who do you serve?" he demands.
The mage tilts his head. "Serve?"
Now, though, his chuckle slithers something frosty down my spine.
"You have it the wrong way around, knight. I do not serve. I have already been saved."
Seraphis moves forward and clasps the mage by the collar.
"The Free Cities. Who is leading them?"
The mage's smile remains undeterred.
"You still think this is about a kingdom?"
His head tilted back slightly, his throat vibrating as though trying to suppress a laugh.
"Foolish. You think your war matters. Your banners, your kings, your swords—" he waves lazily at the knights behind us — "juggernaut.
His voice lowers, something dark and smooth creeping in.
"This is not a war of men."
The knights shift uneasily.
"Then what is it?" I ask.
He grins. "A cleansing."
The Cult's Lead — The First True Linchpin
"She is coming," he murmurs. "She sees you."
Something in his vacant, glassy stare becomes sharper.
"She sees you, Raiden Kaelith."
A chill crawls over my skin.
"How do you know my name?"
"She told me."
His delivery — so sure, so serene.
Seraphis' jaw tightens. "Who is she?"
The mage chuckles. "Well, knight… you've already known."
His bound fingers twitch a little. He raises his head, unblinking eyes.
"Mercy."
Silence.
The word hangs in the air.
And for the first time, I'm feeling something behind it."
Something real.
Something watching.
"You will see her as well," she whispers. "Soon."
A low thrum echoes through my skull. The air surrounding me is dense, and suffocating.
"Kill him." Seraphis' voice is sharp. "He knows too much."
The knights move, blades drawn—
And then—the mage laughs.
A deep, full laugh.
Not mocking.
Not afraid.
Certain.
"You're killing me will end anything?
His smile widens as he tilts his head.
"I have already been saved."
His body spasms violently. He arches his back, bones popping.
And then -- his skin goes black.
Not charred. Not burned.
A shadow bending, distorting — the impression of something trying to pull its way out of him.
"MOVE!"
Seraphis shoves me back.
And then—the mage's frame wilts into black powder.
Gone.
Like he was never there.
The Aftermath — And a Demon Spirit's Response
Silence.
Only the flickering flames of the torches are left.
I take a slow breath and stare at the charred remains before me. Nobody. No bones.
Just dust.
A prayer is murmured by one of the knights. Fear lingers in their eyes.
Seraphis clenches his fists. "What… was that?"
"Now," lunges the Demon Spirit, tugging at some string of flesh so pulled tight it could snap, its voice low and dreary. "That was a warning."
It has not said anything since the battle. But now, it feels different.
I do back, swallowing the unease in my throat.
"You knew."
The Demon Spirit is silent for a long moment.
Then—
"Yes."
My hands curl into fists.
"What is this Cult? What do they want?"
"They want what they've always wanted."
Its voice turns distant. Tense.
"To end you."
The Choice — Raiden Not Listening
"You're afraid."
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can halt them.
Demon Spirit does not refute it.
"Even the gods are afraid of things greater than themselves."
I grit my teeth. "Then tell me how to prevent them."
It chuckles softly.
"You already know."
The whisper curls inside my skull, smooth, coaxing.
"Let me in."
I shove the voice away.
"No."
Silence.
Then—a sigh.
"Then you will die."
I exhale sharply.
"Not today."
The War Has Changed
Seraphis turns to me.
"That wasn't a man," he says softly. "That was something else."
I nod. "This isn't the war we thought we were in."
He looks at me for a second more. I know that he doesn't trust me.
Maybe he shouldn't.
I glance at the ashes.
"She is coming."
And the words certainly won't leave me.
I don't know who this 'Mercy' is."
But I suspect I will in short order.
And when that day comes—
I need to be ready.