At night, on the outskirts of the city, Luke stood with his knights as the final reports came in.
"My lord, both locations have been neutralized with minimal casualties," the officer reported.
Their next target was a small manor just outside Linberg. On the outside, the owner looked like any other merchant. But further investigation showed he was a black merchant with ties to the Demon Faction, and he had let its members use his property as their base of operations.
"Good. We proceed," Luke said. "Bring the artifact."
A guard stepped forward, carrying a birdcage covered in white cloth and sealed with rope and a talisman.
Luke loosened the seal and lifted the cloth.
Inside was something that looked like an owl made of folded cloth, its color as dark as the night sky. Layered fabric feathers overlapped neatly, faintly glittering, and a pair of clear glass eyes made it look almost alive.
Luke unlatched the cage.
"Go," he said quietly.
The cloth owl hopped out, wings unfolding. With a slow, soundless beat, it rose into the night air above the target building.
As it flew higher, its body unraveled, threads stretching and weaving outward until it became a great hanging sheet of dark, shimmering fabric.
The moment it settled, the building was concealed behind a curtain that mirrored the night sky.
Luke watched until the curtain stopped moving.
"Move," he ordered.
Dozens of awakened warrior advanced at once, slipping under the hanging veil and vanishing from sight.
Artifact Record
Name: Veil of the Owl Grade: B Status: Sealed Class: Phantom
The artifact takes the form of an owl crafted from dark fabric. Upon release, it unfurls into a vast curtain of black energy over a designated area. Inside, the sound and spiritual connection are heavily suppressed and nullified, making outside detection difficult.
Caution: Do not deploy in daylight. The artifact will permanently vanish along with anything inside its area. Keep covered and sealed when not in use. Prolonged exposure may cause the artifact to imprint on its surroundings.
. . .
Under the veil, the manor went quiet.
Sound thinned to a dull hum. The wind outside, the distant city noise, even the clink of a wall clock faded until only breathing and soft, controlled footsteps remained.
The warrior advanced in formation. The captain raised two fingers, then pointed ahead. The squad split, some taking a narrow side passage, others heading for the basement.
Two hooded cultists patrolled the hallway, on guard, as if they could feel something was wrong.
A sword thrust shot toward one man's throat.
He jerked his head aside just in time and swung his weapon up to counter.
"Intruders!"
Before he could strike back, a second knight cut across his shoulder. The man fell, a faint red mark burned on his neck pulsing once before it stopped.
The other man charged without even looking at his fallen companion. He drove his palm into a knight's chest. The warrior tried to block with aura, but the impact still pushed through, shattering the armor with a force that did not match the man's thin frame.
The other warrior stepped back.
Dark veins formed along the hooded man's arms as blood from the hit soaked into his skin. He screamed and rushed in again.
The captain stepped forward and split his head open with a clean strike. The man collapsed.
"They are Demon-class. Stay sharp," the captain murmured.
They moved on.
"Stop," the captain said.
The hallway ahead was narrow, lit by dim red stone lamps. Footsteps echoed as more hooded cultist stepped out of side rooms.
Their appearance was clearly different from normal criminals. Some had warped bodies, horns jutting from their foreheads, eyes glowing faintly. Others had menacing spirits and demonic beasts clinging close to them.
The warrior readied themselves. Aura seeped from their bodies as they tightened their formation.
Both sides charged, killing intent in their eyes.
Under the veil's effect, screams and crashes were suppressed. Blows landed, bones broke, and bodies fell, but the sounds came out as little more than dull knocks and muffled impacts.
The hallway was filled with silent thuds and the harsh pull of steel through flesh.
One hooded cultist rushed straight at the captain, long claw reaching for his throat, eyes flat and unblinking.
The captain turned his wrist, brushed the hand aside, and drove his sword into the brand over the man's heart. The lines under the skin cracked and sprout blood then dropped like a cut string.
"Keep Advancing. Count Luke should be on the roof," the captain said quietly.
. . .
In an upper room, a well-dressed man paced in tight circles, unaware of how close their enemy were. Sweat gathered along his cheek as he fumbled with a communication device.
"Damn it, I still cannot reach the other bases," he muttered.
He slammed the device onto the table.
'If we had summoned Master earlier, none of this would have happened. But this is not the time to regret it.'
"I need to report this immediately."
"Ivan! Ivan!" he shouted, the sound weak and distant under the veil's power.
The door creaked open behind him.
He turned, expecting his servant.
A tall man with jet-black hair stepped inside instead, armor stained with fresh blood. In his right hand, he held a severed head by the hair, as if it weighed nothing.
Luke's eyes were calm.
"So, this is Ivan," he said.
He tossed the head across the room. It rolled and stopped at the man's boots.
The man froze, color draining from his face.
"H-how did you get in here?" he asked, voice shaking.
"Quietly," Luke said.
He moved.
One blink he was at the door, the next he was already in front of the man, sword cutting across his chest.
The man threw himself back. The blade sliced through cloth and skin, leaving a shallow line across his torso.
His expression twisted.
"You bastard," he hissed. "Fine. You wanted this."
He drew in a deep breath.
"Blood Aspect: Flesh Fragment."
Heat rolled off his body. Steam rose from his skin. Muscles swelled, veins bulging and darkening. The fresh cut on his chest sealed over, the skin healing as if it had never been cut.
Count Luke stepped back into a steady stance. His right hand gripped the sword. His left settled behind him for balance. Aura gathered along the blade in a pale blue sheen.
"That is better," Luke said. "Come."
The man charged.
The floor cracked under his first step. His fist shot toward Luke's head like a thrown boulder.
Luke leaned aside. The punch grazed his shoulder and smashed into the wall, turning stone into rubble.
Luke's sword countered, slicing across the man's raised arm.
The limb separated and hit the floor with a heavy, wet sound.
The man did not scream. He drove his remaining fist toward Luke's chest.
Luke brought his aura shield up.
The impact shook the room. Furniture shattered. Cracks spread through the ceiling and walls.
As Luke stepped back to prepare for another strike, but the severed arm on the floor twitched and clamped around his leg with unnatural strength.
Luke's weight shifted.
The man saw the opening and threw everything he had into his next punch.
Luke brought his aura-coated sword up, but the blow still hit like a battering ram. He flew back, crashed through the weakened wall, and slammed into the next room. Dust rained down as he dropped to one knee.
Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
The man stepped through the broken wall, chest heaving, steam rising off him.
"What happened to that calm face?" he asked, grinning.
On the floor behind him, the severed arm began to change.
The hand swelled, black veins crawling along the skin, the fingers twisting and bending at wrong angles. The palm bulged and split open into a jagged mouth filled with small, sharp teeth.
In a few breaths, the severed arm had turned into a small, black, misshapen monster. It crawled on twisted fingers and dragged itself toward Luke, mouth opening in a soundless scream.
Luke stood, brushing dust from his cloak. His eyes were calm.
"Well, I shouldn't say that." he said.
The monster lunged.
Luke's sword flashed. He cut it in half. The two pieces hit the floor.
They did not stay dead.
The chunks of flesh twitched. Tendons wriggled. Blood clung to them instead of spreading. The thick and steamy piece began to swell and twist, turning into new, smaller lumps with teeth and claws.
Three fist-sized monsters crawled up from the floor, half bone, half blood.
The man grinned.
"Every piece you cut off lives. They will keep coming," he said.
He rushed in and swung his remaining fist.
Luke raised his aura shield. The hit shook the room and pushed him back a step. At the same time, the small flesh monsters skittered toward his legs.
Luke kicked one aside and cut another in half.
The split halves twitched and began to swell again, trying to form new bodies.
"Tch," Luke clicked his tongue.
The man laughed, steam rolling off his skin. "See? You cannot win like that."
Luke stepped in and answered with more cuts. His sword sliced across the man's side, then his shoulder. Blood and meat hit the floor. Wherever it landed, it moved. The room slowly filled with crawling shapes as eyes opened in fresh lumps of flesh and jaws tore their way out of bloody knots.
They climbed over broken furniture and stone, dragging themselves toward Luke.
Luke's expression stayed calm, but his movements grew sharper, more exact. He dodged a punch, cut two monsters in one swing, then turned and blocked another strike from the man. Every clean wound he made only added more twisted flesh to the floor.
Several monsters latched onto him, biting and clawing at his armor. Their teeth scraped against the armor. One crawled up, reaching for the back of his knee.
Luke shook his leg, aura flaring just enough to throw them off.
"Annoying," he said.
He took a slow breath.
His aura changed.
The blue light along his blade grew calm and sharp, turning colder and more solid.
Luke noticed the steam around the man looked thinner than before.
The man felt it too. His face twisted for a moment.
"The more you fight, the more I grow!"
He charged again with the monsters at his feet.
Luke stepped forward to meet him.
This time, his sword did not only cut flesh but burn it.
The first swing took the man's remaining arm. The limb exploded into bloody chunks, but instead of forming new monsters, the pieces burned in the air, turning black and crumbling before they touched the ground.
"Arghh!"
The next cut went across his chest.
Flesh flew, but the scattered meat shriveled as Luke's aura wrapped around it, drying it out and killing it before it could move.
Luke did not stop.
Strike after strike fell, too fast to follow. The man's body was carved apart, each new cut wrapped in killing aura that burned the fragments before they hit the floor. Flesh that had once twisted into monsters now turned into dry, cracked lumps.
On the ground, the creatures that already crawled began to slow. One by one, they stopped moving. Steam weakened and faded.
The man stared down at himself, panting. The steam rising off his body was thinner now. Cuts that had closed in an instant before were taking longer. The flesh around them pulled weakly instead of sealing at once.
Fear crept into his eyes.
"Why is it not working?" he muttered.
He clenched his teeth. Through pain and panic, he forced his body to move and threw himself at Luke in a desperate charge.
Luke watched him come.
He shifted his feet and took his stance again, right hand on the sword, left hand held behind him.
He took one step. The floor cracked beneath his boot.
Then he vanished.
A line of cold cut through the man's body.
He stopped mid-charge, eyes wide. His torso opened from shoulder to hip. Blood and entrails spilled out in a heavy rush. The force of the strike tore through the weakened wall. Half the outer structure collapsed outward.
Under the veil, the explosion sounded feel distant.
The upper half of the man slid and hit the floor.
For a moment, he lay still.
"Are you really a leader? It seems you don't know how to use your ability well." Luke mocked as the man groveling on the floor.
Steam hissed weakly from the torn flesh as the last of his power tried to move what remained. Veins glowed faintly under the skin, pulling scraps of muscle toward his remaining arm.
He dragged himself forward with one hand, glaring at Luke with blood in his teeth.
"I will kill you," he choked, swinging one last broken punch.
Luke stepped aside. The fist hit through empty air. The man stumbled, barely keeping himself up.
Luke walked closer. "Goodbye."
The man tried to speak. Only blood came out.
Luke drove his blade into the man's chest, straight through the heart. As the point sank in, the remaining blood inside stirred, pulling in on itself.
Luke sighed as he wiped the dust and blood from his face, then closed his eyes and heightened his hearing to assess the situation.
A blackish-red, stone-like core pushed out through the cracked ribs, pulsing faintly. Luke opened his eyes. He had been waiting for this, and he took it in his hand. Aura flowed from his palm. Cracks spread across the core until it shattered into dust.
Later, the captain stepped into the ruined room, his armor cracked down one side and his shoulder plate gone, but he still bowed without saying anything.
"You know the plan," Luke said. "I leave the rest to you. Tris."
"Yes, my lord."
Luke stepped past him, out over the broken edge and onto the shattered stone outside.
Behind him, the guards and the support unit went inside, splitting off, checking halls, treating wounds. The operation was almost done.