A man stood guard, shifting uneasily as rustling came from the bushes nearby. He turned, reaching for his weapon, but a blade cut clean through his neck before he could react. His head fell silently to the ground.
A group of hooded hunters stepped out from the shadows, their footwork making no sound, their blades glinting faintly in the dim night.
"All guards eliminated," one whispered.
"Good. Check the entrance and prepare the cannon," another answered.
Roswell stepped into view in light armor, tall and imposing. His eyes swept over the corpse, cold and unreadable. His fingers tightened briefly on his sword hilt before relaxing again.
"Confirm his identity," Roswell said. "Everyone else, take your positions."
A scream tore through the air.
"Enemy attack!"
Roswell's eyes narrowed. He turned sharply. "Cannon squad, move."
A knight rushed out of hiding and cut down a cultist near the entrance.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Cannon fire erupted across the valley. The ground shook under each blast. Dust rolled through the trees.
"Zone two and three are sealed and guarded," an officer called.
"Proceed," Roswell replied.
He stepped back, studying the terrain, calm and calculating. Knights formed two tight defensive lines at the entrance. The plan was simple: trap the enemy inside, bombard the exits, and eliminate anything escaping. It was not a tactic he favored as a warrior, but it was efficient.
Shapes emerged within the smoke.
Blackened flesh. Twisted limbs. Curved horns jutting from foreheads. Eyes glowing with hunger.
"Demonic beasts!" a knight shouted.
The first creature lunged with a feral shriek. Its claws tore against a shield, sparks flying. The knight countered, driving his spear into its chest. It howled and collapsed.
Roswell lifted his sword. Aura seeped along the blade like faint blue flame.
"Hold the entrance."
The front row stepped forward as one, pushing the demons back. The second row stabbed through gaps, striking joints and soft spots with clean precision.
Another demon leaped overhead. Roswell stepped forward and cut it midair. The creature split cleanly before it touched the ground.
The demons fell under the formation.
A silhouette moved at the far end of the passage, and a strange sound echoed.
More demonic beasts charged.
"Fire," Roswell commanded.
A deafening blast followed. Cannons aimed at the entrance roared. The explosion tore the monsters apart and cracked the cave walls. Thick dust and smoke poured out.
The ceiling shuddered. Pebbles rained down. A slab of stone broke loose and slammed into the ground near the knights.
Roswell pulled a cloth mask over his face and raised his hand.
"Hunter unit, follow."
Nine masked hunters stepped forward, swift and silent, blades held low. They vanished into the smoke behind him.
Roswell and the hunters moved down the tunnels with controlled speed, clearing each chamber. Their blades flashed clean and efficient, no wasted motion.
Confused cultists emerging from side passages fell before they realized what was happening.
"Stop," Roswell ordered quietly.
The deeper they went, the darker and colder it became. Symbols smeared in ash and blood covered the walls.
"Teams of three. Check every passage."
Bones littered the floor. Torches flickered around a circle of dead children tied with rope. Fresh blood flowed toward the center, forming warped patterns. Roswell's fingers tightened once on his hilt. One hunter looked away briefly before steadying himself.
"Ahh. Wha—"
Behind, one of the hunters jerked forward, choking on his own breath. A thin black shadow blade pierced his chest cleanly.
"Get him!" Another hunter hissed, dragging the fallen man toward cover. Two blades slashed at the moving darkness, but their strikes cut through empty air.
A pair of crimson eyes blinked open on the stone surface.
"Sir. A Shadow Spirit," one hunter whispered, taking a guarded stance.
Normal blades will not work here. And in a cave like this, fighting is harder. If there is a shadow spirit, a contractor is nearby.
Roswell's voice stayed even. "I will handle the shadow. Find the contractor."
"Yes, sir."
The hunters vanished into the branching tunnels without a sound.
A low hiss echoed across the chamber. Then more shadows emerge from the stone, stretching into thin, distorted shapes that clung to the walls like living ink.
Roswell muttered, "More shadows."
The nearest one lunged. Roswell stepped back, aura flaring along his blade, pushing back the darkness. Light burst across the chamber, thin and cold. The shadows recoiled, their forms stuttering.
Another rushed in from the side. Roswell pivoted and slashed, his aura tearing its form apart. It shrieked and dissolved into the floor.
A third rose behind him.
Roswell shifted his stance and pressed his aura outward, increasing the light. The chamber brightened just enough for the shadow to hesitate. Roswell closed the gap in one step and cut through it, scattering its multiple shadows across the wall.
Farther down the tunnels, a sharp clang echoed. Then another. Metal against stone. Someone shouted, muffled by distance.
Roswell tightened his grip. He poured more aura into the blade, pushing it to the edge of what the chamber could hold. The light shimmered along the walls, slowing every shadow that tried to reform. Their movements turned sluggish, as if the air had thickened around them.
Moments later, the pressure shifted. The shadows flickered, dragging themselves along the surfaces, then abruptly vanished one after another.
Footsteps approached.
Five hunters emerged from one of the passages, cloaks streaked with dust and blood. One clutched his arm, a bruise swelling beneath the fabric.
"Target eliminated," the lead hunter said, tiredly.
Roswell nodded and lifted his communication device. "All clear. Send the support unit and a healer."
"Yes, sir."
He lowered the device and stepped toward the ritual circle again.
Roswell knelt beside one of the small bodies. His jaw tightened for a moment before settling back into stillness. The blood was still warm. The ropes soaked through. The carved markings had been rushed.
He studied the strange pattern drawn in the center.
"They needed more children," he murmured.
The chamber stayed silent, broken only by the faint drip of blood sliding across stone.
…
At the same time, the night was cold on the rooftop. The wind carried the faint smell of the sea. Knights stood in formation, silent and tense. In front of them stood the tall, thin man in the hooded red cloak.
His metallic left eye glowed a dull crimson beneath the shadow, pulsing faintly in a slow mechanical rhythm.
He did not move.
His gaze was fixed on the warehouse below. Tiny gears clicked softly inside his eye as multiple visual feeds overlapped. Before the operation, he had scattered several mechanical spiders through cracks and beams around the building. Each one sent a different angle to his sight.
He monitored every movement.
An officer approached, hesitant to disturb him.
"Sir," he whispered. "Scouts saw movement inside. They're shifting cargo. It seems they've been alerted."
The man did not reply.
Suddenly one mechanical spider crawled back and went beneath his cloak, legs ticking like clock. It climbed his arm and dropped a small capsule into his hand.
Only then did he speak.
"You are right. No civilians were detected. No value remains."
The officer nodded and asked. "Should we advance?"
"Not yet." His voice was low and flat, almost a whisper. "Circle them from distance. Do not move until I give the order."
"Yes, sir."
He extended his hand slightly. "Bring the case."
A knight stepped forward with a heavy metal suitcase. The man opened it. Rows of thumb-sized metallic spheres lined inside, arranged in perfect symmetry. He slid his right arm through a port. Metal clicked and locked around his forearm.
"Guard my body."
"Yes, sir."
His eyes went blank. His breathing slowed. His body became still, as if empty shell.
A soft buzz filled the air.
The first row of spheres lifted from the case. A small propeller unfolded from each one with a faint red glow. They hovered in place for a moment, then drifted forward. Another row rose, and another, until a silent swarm filled the air.
The swarm drifted off the rooftop without a sound, gliding across the dark sky toward the warehouse.
As they descended, the swarm detached their propellers, then four small mechanical legs unfolded beneath each sphere. They crawled across roofs and beams with precise, silent movements, each heading toward its assigned target.
Inside the warehouse, a cultist carrying a crate froze when a small red light dropped onto the floor in front of him.
"What is this…" he muttered as he reached out, he notices.
A faint metallic ticking echoed around him. He looked up and saw dozens of tiny red lights flickering through the dark rafters.
"We're discovered!" one of the cultists shouted.
He turned back just as the sphere at his feet stopped.
Click.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The warehouse erupted. A rapid chain of explosions tore through the interior. Crates burst apart. Smoke surged through shattered windows. Several figures collapsed before they could scream.
On the rooftop, the man's body stirred. His mechanical eye brightened as his consciousness returned.
He stepped forward once and brushed sweat from his right arm.
"A few are still running," he said quietly. "Hunt them."
"Yes, sir."
The remaining knights moved instantly, descending the rooftop in formation and vanishing into the night.
He steadied his posture. His body remained unharmed, but controlling the swarm had drained his mind.
Without lowering his guard, his metallic eye returned to its steady mechanical pulse as he resumed watching the warehouse through the surviving mechanical spiders.
As a Professor class, he could transfer his consciousness into his inventions and control them directly. However, controlling so many at once left his mind strained, though the sound of explosion brought him quite satisfaction, from flawless execution.