The laughter of the horde was reaching a fever pitch, a cacophony of madness that drowned out Mith's desperate struggles. The creatures were dragging them deeper into the shadows, their grip like iron vices.
Then, the air split open.
It wasn't a spell cast with words, but a silent, violent incision in reality. A vertical line of blinding silver light appeared in the center of the swarm, right between Mith and Jis.
SHING.
The sound was like a tuning fork struck against the universe.
The four creatures holding Jis suddenly fell apart, their bodies bisected cleanly by an invisible blade. The sludge holding Mith's legs evaporated into grey mist.
A figure stepped through the silver tear. He wore a high-collared coat of midnight blue, and his movements were fluid, precise, and terrifyingly calm. He held no staff, only a slender, silver rapier that hummed with a frequency that made Mith's teeth ache.
"You two," a familiar, bored voice drawled, "have a terrible habit of getting invited to the worst parties."
Mith gasped, scrambling to his knees. "Rovette?"
It was him. The wandering spell-blade who had guided them through the Crystal Caverns years ago. He looked exactly the same—sharp features, silver hair tied back, and eyes that missed nothing.
Rovette flicked his wrist. A shockwave of pure kinetic force exploded from him, pulverizing the first twenty rows of the creature horde. The monsters shrieked, their laughter turning into wails of confusion.
"Up," Rovette commanded, not looking back. He slashed the air behind him, and space twisted. A swirling vortex of white light—a unstable, hastily made portal—churned into existence. "Go. Now."
Jis stumbled to his feet, grabbing his sword. "Rovette, how did you—"
"I said go!" Rovette snapped. He lunged forward, his rapier becoming a blur. He wasn't just killing the creatures; he was erasing them. Every strike disintegrated a monster into harmless dust.
Mith scrambled to grab the Slate from the dirt where it had fallen. As his fingers closed around the glowing stone, Rovette turned to cover their retreat.
Rovette's eyes locked onto the stone in Mith's hand.
For the first time, the spell-blade's composure cracked. His eyes widened, his face paling. "That stone..."
He looked from the stone to the swarming creatures, realization dawning on him with horrific clarity. He parried a strike from the massive leader-creature without even looking, driving his blade through its chest.
"Mith, listen to me!" Rovette shouted over the roar of the portal. "These aren't just scavengers or mindless beasts. Do not underestimate them!"
He kicked the carcass of the leader away and pointed his rapier at the mass of writhing darkness.
"They are the KmS."
Mith froze at the edge of the portal. "The what?"
" The King's murder Squad!" Rovette yelled, slicing a path through another wave of attackers. "The elite executioners! If they are here, the ascension is already beginning!"
More creatures poured over the canyon walls—thousands of them. Rovette began to glow with a dangerous, silver aura. He was preparing a suicide spell, something massive enough to collapse the canyon.
"Rovette, come with us!" Jis screamed, reaching out.
"Someone has to close the door," Rovette said, a sad smile touching his lips.
He thrust his hand forward, hitting Mith and Jis with a blast of telekinetic wind. It shoved them backward, tumbling them head over heels into the white vortex.
"Rovette!" Mith cried out.
The last thing they saw was Rovette turning his back to them, facing the tidal wave of darkness alone, his silver rapier raised in a final salute.
Then the portal snapped shut, and the world dissolved into white silence.
The portal spat them out onto cool, damp grass.
Mith and Jis hit the ground hard, tumbling over each other before coming to a stop. The silence here was profound—no screaming horde, no clicking mandibles, just the gentle rustle of wind in ancient trees. They were in a forest, miles away from the canyon, bathed in the soft light of a moon that wasn't hidden by smoke.
Jis scrambled up, sword drawn, spinning around looking for enemies. "Rovette... he stayed behind." He lowered his blade, breathing heavily. "He called them 'KmS' too .Did you hear that?"
Mith didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the grass, his mind reeling back to the few hours they had spent in Oakhaven before the slaughter began.
The memory hit him like a physical blow.
"I... I missed it," Mith whispered, clutching the Slate. "The old woman. The elder."
"What?" Jis asked, kneeling beside him.
"Before the sun went down," Mith said, his voice trembling with realization. "When she tried to warn us. I thought she was just senile, rambling about ghosts."
The memory surfaced clearly now:
The old woman, her cataract-filled eyes wide with fear, gripping Mith's sleeve. "The Lancer," she had rasped. "The one with the iron spike. He was our shield once. He brought us grain in the winter. He fought off the wolves."
She had wept then. "But he changed. Just today. The whisper came down the canyon wind, and he... he broke. He started laughing like them."
She had leaned in close, her breath smelling of decay. "It is the mark, boy. The mark of the K.M.S. They don't just kill. They recruit. They took our Lancer. They take the strong."
Mith looked up at Jis, horror dawning on his face. "She told me, Jis. She said 'KmS'. I thought it was some local dialect or a curse word. She told me Aldrein used to be their protector until today."
"Aldrein..." Jis murmured. "He wasn't just corrupted by chance. It was targeted."
"They take the strong," Mith repeated the old woman's words. "Aldrein was one of the strongest lancers in the realm. Rovette is a master spell-blade. And us..."
He looked down at the Slate, which was still pulsing faintly.
"They weren't trying to eat us back there," Mith said, his stomach churning. "The KmS... the King's Murder Squad. They were trying to turn us. They wanted to add us to the collection."
Jis looked back at the space where the portal had closed, thinking of Rovette facing that horde alone. "If they take the strong... and they have Rovette now..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The enemy wasn't just a mindless army of monsters. It was an army of fallen heroes. And they had just left another one behind.