Dawn broke over Silverwood Manor with cruel indifference, painting the bloodstained courtyard in shades of gold and amber. Elion stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the carnage, his ribs bound tight with strips of cloth that Lyssa had soaked in some herbal concoction. The pain had dulled to a persistent ache, manageable as long as he didn't breathe too deeply or move too quickly.
Below, the survivors moved through the aftermath like ghosts. Bodies were being collected—raiders and defenders alike, though they'd be buried in very different locations. The raider corpses would go into a mass grave beyond the manor walls. The fallen defenders would be laid to rest in the small family cemetery where Elion's father had been interred just hours before.
Has it really only been one night? It felt like a lifetime had passed since Edmund's death.
The shadow orc still stood guard at the broken gates, motionless as a statue. In the morning light, he looked less like a nightmare made flesh and more like an oddity—a dark smudge against the world that the eye wanted to slide past. The few times the survivors had to walk near him, they gave the shadow a wide berth.
Elion couldn't blame them.
A knock at the door announced Mira's arrival. The steward entered carrying a tray with bread, cheese, and what passed for tea in Silverwood's depleted stores. She set it on the small table and poured him a cup without asking.
"You should eat," she said. "You need your strength."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
Elion took the cup but ignored the food. The tea was bitter and lukewarm, but he drank it gratefully. "Casualties?"
"The four we lost last night," Mira said, her tone businesslike though he could see the grief in the tightness around her eyes. "No one died of their wounds overnight, thank the gods. Thomas's shoulder is infected, but Lyssa thinks she can treat it. The others should recover, though it'll be weeks before they're back to full strength."
"And the raiders?"
"Twenty-three bodies. We've... found pieces of another four or five. Hard to tell for certain." She didn't look at the shadow warrior when she said it, but her meaning was clear. "Garrick estimates that another dozen fled wounded. Whether they survive the journey back to wherever they came from is anyone's guess."
Forty dead or dying, all because his father had left him a barony that was barely clinging to life. The weight of it pressed down on Elion's shoulders.
"We can't afford another attack like that," he said quietly.
"No," Mira agreed. "We can't. My lord, I think it's time we had a frank conversation about Silverwood's future."
"What future? We're broke, Mira. Our defenses are shattered, half our guard is dead or wounded, and every bandit and monster in the region knows we're vulnerable."
"Exactly." She moved to stand beside him at the balcony, looking out over the damaged manor. "Which is why we need to make some difficult decisions. The barony can't survive as it is. But perhaps..." She glanced at him sideways. "Perhaps it doesn't need to."
Elion frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you have something now that your father never did. A weapon. That shadow creature—it's powerful, isn't it?"
More powerful than Mira could imagine, if the system was to be believed. But Elion kept that thought to himself. "It helped us survive, yes."
"So what if you could make more of them?"
The question hung in the air between them. Elion's first instinct was to deny it, to claim that last night had been a fluke, a one-time occurrence. But Mira had always been too perceptive to lie to successfully.
"What makes you think I can?" he asked instead.
"Because I've been serving this family for twenty years, and I've learned to recognize when I'm being given half-truths." Her tone was gentle but firm. "Something happened to you when your father died. Something that gave you this power. And unless I'm very much mistaken, that shadow warrior isn't the limit of what you can do."
Elion was quiet for a long moment, weighing the risks of honesty against the risks of continued secrecy. Finally, he sighed. "You're right. I can create more of them. Shadow soldiers, the... the voice in my head calls them." He tapped his temple. "There's this system that appeared after father died. It shows me text, gives me quests, tracks my abilities like I'm some character in a game. I know how it sounds—"
"It sounds like magic," Mira interrupted. "Strange magic, yes, but no stranger than what I've seen druids do, or archmages, or any of the thousand and one supernatural forces that fill this world." She placed a hand on his arm, her touch reassuring. "My lord—Elion—I don't care if your power comes from a god, a demon, or random chance. What matters is that it gives us options."
"Options," Elion repeated, turning the word over. "Like what?"
"Like not dying." Mira's smile was grim. "Think about it. You can raise the dead as loyal soldiers. Soldiers that don't need to be fed, don't need to be paid, don't get tired or sick or demoralized. If you could build an army of these shadows..."
"I could defend the barony," Elion finished. "Maybe even expand it."
"Exactly. But..." She hesitated. "There will be problems. People fear what they don't understand, and shadow warriors made from corpses are going to frighten them. Some will call it necromancy. Others will call it worse."
She wasn't wrong. Elion had seen the looks on his people's faces when they watched the shadow orc fight. Awe and gratitude, yes, but also fear. And fear could turn to hatred very quickly if not managed carefully.
"So we keep it quiet," he said. "The shadow soldiers work at night, stay out of sight during the day. We say they're... mercenaries. Special guards I've hired."
"That might work in the short term. But eventually, someone will figure it out. And when they do—"
A commotion from the courtyard interrupted them. Shouts of alarm, the sound of weapons being drawn. Elion rushed to the balcony's edge, his ribs screaming in protest at the sudden movement.
A figure approached the broken gates—a single rider on a exhausted horse, waving a white cloth in what was clearly meant to be a gesture of peace. The shadow orc had stepped forward, blocking the gates, and even from a distance Elion could sense the creature's readiness for violence.
"Hold!" Elion shouted down. "Let him approach!"
The shadow orc stepped aside with visible reluctance. The rider dismounted, his legs nearly buckling as he hit the ground. He was young—no more than twenty—and wore the simple brown robes of a messenger.
"Please," the young man called out, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "I bring word from the village! We need help!"
Elion and Mira exchanged glances and hurried downstairs. By the time they reached the courtyard, Garrick had the messenger sitting on a barrel and was offering him water, which the young man drank desperately.
"Slow down," Garrick said gruffly but not unkindly. "What's happened?"
The messenger wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. "Monsters, sir. From the Verdant Forest. They attacked Millford Village last night—wolves, but not normal ones. Bigger. Smarter. They killed three people before the village militia drove them off, but the beasts fled into the forest. The elders say they'll come back tonight. They always do."
Millford was the largest of Silverwood's three villages, home to nearly two hundred people. It was also the barony's primary source of food—if the village fell, everyone in Silverwood would starve within weeks.
"How many wolves?" Elion asked.
"The militia counted at least a dozen, my lord. Maybe more."
A dozen dire wolves could destroy an undefended village with ease. The militia would be farmers and craftsmen with makeshift weapons, no match for predators that hunted in coordinated packs.
"Gather the men," Elion ordered. "Everyone who can ride. We leave in an hour."
"My lord," Mira said quietly. "We barely have enough guards to defend the manor, and most of them are wounded. If you take them to the village—"
"Then the manor is undefended. I know." Elion looked at the shadow orc, still standing silent vigil at the gates. "But I think I have a solution to that."
Understanding dawned in Mira's eyes. "You're going to create more of them."
"Not create. Extract. There are twenty-three dead raiders in our courtyard. If I can turn even half of them into shadow soldiers..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
Mira's expression was complicated—part hope, part concern, part something that might have been fear. "Do it. But be careful, Elion. Power like this..." She shook her head. "Just be careful."
"I will." He turned to the messenger. "Go back to the village. Tell the elders we're coming. Tell them to gather everyone who can fight and prepare for a siege tonight. We'll be there before sundown."
The young man nodded eagerly, already moving toward his horse despite his exhaustion. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you!"
As the messenger rode away, Elion stood in the courtyard and looked at the covered bodies of the raiders. Twenty-three potential soldiers. Twenty-three chances to turn last night's disaster into tomorrow's advantage.
The system text appeared, as if reading his thoughts:
╔════════════════════════════════╗ ║ EXTRACTION OPPORTUNITY ║ ╚════════════════════════════════╝ Available Targets: 23 corpses Recommended Strategy: Multiple extractions in sequence Warning: Each extraction costs 50 Mana and requires concentration. Current Mana: 80/120. Attempting too many extractions in rapid succession may cause mana exhaustion, which can result in unconsciousness or temporary system lockout. Recommended: Extract 2-3 shadows, rest to recover mana, then continue.
Two or three at a time. That would take hours, and they needed to leave soon. But Elion didn't have a choice. The village was counting on him.
"Everyone inside," he ordered. "I need privacy for this."
Garrick looked like he wanted to argue, but Mira touched his arm and shook her head. The old guard nodded reluctantly and herded the survivors back into the manor.
Alone in the courtyard with the dead, Elion approached the first covered body. He pulled back the cloth to reveal the face of a middle-aged man with a scar across his cheek and dead eyes staring at nothing.
"Arise," Elion whispered, not sure if the words were necessary but feeling like they should be said. "And serve."
The darkness came to claim them both.