Under the cover of night, the waters of the Blackthorn River moved silently, carrying Kael's shadow legion in flat-bottomed boats carved from pine and blackened steel. No banners were raised. No horns were sounded. Only silence. And silence was death.
Kael stood at the front of the lead vessel, eyes glowing faintly with magic as the outline of Durnholme came into view. The town was a minor stronghold under Velkar control, yet well-guarded by local militias and reinforced walls. But walls could not stop fear, and fear was already spreading.
Rogan paddled beside him, armor soaked and greaves muffled with cloth. "We hit the eastern gate first. It's least defended."
Kael nodded once. "Slaughter the guards. Then open the gates for the rest."
As the boats docked, Mira and her scouts leaped ashore like phantoms. They scaled the mossy stone silently, blades drawn. One by one, the guards vanished into the dark, throats cut cleanly, without a sound.
Kael followed, Ashveil in hand. Its black edge shimmered faintly, sensing prey ahead.
Atop the gatehouse, a horn lay beside a sleeping sentry. Kael stepped over the man's body. He had been dead before he even opened his eyes.
Moments later, the heavy gate creaked open.
The army poured in.
What followed was not a battle. It was an execution.
By dawn, Durnholme was burning. Kael stood in the center square, surrounded by kneeling survivors. Men, women, and children—all spared for one reason.
To choose.
"Swear to me," Kael's voice rang out, "and live. Defy me, and join your lords in the ash."
He pointed to the impaled bodies on the walls. Every noble, every officer, every mage who had resisted now served as a message.
A farmer crawled forward and kissed Kael's boot.
"We swear, Black Flame. We swear to serve."
One by one, others followed.
Kael turned to Mira. "Rebuild the walls. Turn the granary into a forge. Burn every crest that bears the Velkar eagle."
Mira hesitated, then asked, "And the temple?"
Kael looked at the small white chapel near the market.
"Cleanse it. Then consecrate it in my name."
Inside that chapel, Kael stood before the altar as Mira and three of his new clerics lit black candles around him. The crystal heart he carried pulsed strongly now, infused with the growing belief of the people.
He placed it atop the altar.
A soft, humming chant began from the robed initiates. Power moved through the air. Faith coalesced into raw mana, sinking into Kael's body like molten light.
He felt it immediately.
Tier 4.
The leap was sharp and sudden, his soul stretching toward something greater.
He clenched his fists as the power surged through his veins.
Not long now.
Outside, the black flame symbol was carved above the chapel door.
Durnholme no longer belonged to Velkar.
It belonged to the Emperor of Black Flame.
And it would not be the last.