It was dark.
The moonless, starless night gave the impression that the heavens and the earth had become one.
Here, in this forest, nothing seemed to exist. The dead, naked trees hid no life, and their stiff, brittle branches did not sway in the wind.
Everything was so quiet.
And yet, thousands of souls were advancing through this sinister place at that very moment.
A procession of carts and soldiers was making its way through the trees. This strange troupe moved forward at a steady pace, without a single word spoken and without the slightest source of light, as if the darkness held no secrets from them.
All of them wore black clothes without patterns.
They looked like pious, zealous pilgrims walking toward their salvation. Nothing seemed capable of stopping their momentum.
Nevertheless, that salvation was surely perverse and wicked...
Each of them was heavily armed. Long swords swayed in their scabbards, and a sinister aura emanated from every cart.
They gave the impression of containing true darkness.
A little further ahead of the procession, two people formed the vanguard.
They looked exactly the same, wearing the same clothes and wielding the same weapons as the others. Yet despite that, their presence was deeper, more unfathomable.
One clearly towered over the other, who kept glancing nervously toward the rocky outcrop, twisting his neck.
"Hey. Don't you think this place is pretty damn scary?"
He suddenly spoke, putting an end to their solemn silence.
His companion did not answer immediately and merely stared at him for a few moments with indignation before spitting out:
"Shut up, damn it! What are you afraid of? There isn't a single living thing on this cursed continent."
He did not even bother to glance at the hunched silhouette of his comrade. Instead, he focused on what lay ahead: absolutely nothing.
The usual heavy silence followed.
Fortunately, the answer seemed to satisfy the coward for a moment. Then he murmured:
"That's exactly what scares me…"
At that same moment, a faint crack sounded a little further ahead. The sudden noise was followed by a silhouette walking straight toward them.
Was it a man? A woman?
Both of them could see perfectly well in the dark, and yet the person before them was almost invisible, surrounded by a thick mist.
Paying it no mind, the two men had already drawn their swords, ready to welcome the stranger.
They took a few steps forward, and the stranger did the same.
After long seconds, the three of them stopped.
Then the coward spoke, this time in a firm and threatening tone:
"What brings you here, barbarian?!"
The mysterious newcomer did not answer.
And as the silence grew heavier and heavier, the second soldier reprimanded his comrade:
"Idiot… Do you really think someone like him speaks the common tongue? There's no point trying to communicate with him. Let's simply remove him from our path."
With that, he stepped forward decisively, ready to put the stranger out of commission.
"Venerable followers of Oblivion?"
The two soldiers froze at those words. The stranger spoke their language.
Their shock lasted only an instant.
Their posture suddenly became more threatening, and the darkness around them grew more suffocating, embracing the two men in its grasp.
They were already surrounding the silhouette.
And from the darkness, the coward's voice rang out, barely hiding his murderous intent:
"Bastard! The division was decreed by the Ancients. What are you doing in our lands? Which path do you serve?!"
Once again, the man did not answer immediately. He merely observed the thick layer of darkness around him before repeating:
"Venerable followers of Oblivion?"
They were unsettled, but their bodies remained sharp, ready to react at any moment. One of them was about to start the hostilities, but the stranger continued:
"Aren't you the venerable followers of Oblivion?"
They had no reason to answer, yet one of them shouted:
"We have no connection to those traitors! What do you want?!"
At those words, the stranger sighed, and for the first time since the beginning, his body was no longer covered in mist.
The man had extremely pale skin. He wore a small white robe, dirty and covered with dried blood.
His eyes were hidden behind a black blindfold that seemed to be made of… hair. Speaking of hair, the stranger had only a few strands fighting for space on his scalp.
He looked like a poorly kept doll that had suffered the vices of a spoiled child.
The man was frightening...
But he had already lost interest in them.
He simply turned around and walked through the darkness created by the soldiers without the slightest hesitation.
The two men certainly shouldn't have let him leave like that, but… they didn't want to risk a confrontation.
So they let him walk out of the darkness. Just before he did, however, he stopped and said:
"Are you going to venture into the great city?"
This time, it was too much.
Who was this man who had appeared out of nowhere? Why was he asking all these questions? How did he know about the city?
The imposing soldier stepped out of the darkness and stood before the stranger. He held his sword in hand, pointing it at him.
He was determined, truly. Nevertheless, ever since the stranger had asked that question, he felt a heavy burden building upon his shoulders.
Breathing became laborious, and keeping his focus was difficult. The soldier loosened his grip slightly, and his hands trembled faintly.
The darkness surrounding the two silhouettes, maintained by the coward, was also slightly less dense, paling before the stranger.
Finally, still on alert, one of them murmured:
"Yes… yes, why?"
Suddenly, the weight pressing on them vanished. It was incomprehensible, but they had the feeling that not answering would have placed them in serious trouble.
The sensation of fully regaining their abilities made them lower their guard slightly, and the air became easier to breathe.
The stranger had no reaction and simply turned his head toward the soldier standing before him. The man, despite relaxing somewhat, remained a force of nature ready to unleash himself. Yet he felt laid bare beneath the insistent gaze fixed upon him, even though it was hidden behind a blindfold.
"What a shame…"
One final thought reached his mind: he was going to die.
Then his head struck the ground.
His body followed, and the body of his comrade, the coward, was thrown out of the darkness.
The soldier was in shock. The body of his companion lay motionless on the ground. Blood was flowing, and the stranger was now looking at him…
He had to pull himself together.
His friend had died because he had been negligent and arrogant. He would not let himself be taken so easily.
You'll pay for that!
With a leap, he created distance between them. The enemy was not armed, but he himself must be the weapon...
Suddenly, he launched himself forward at an inhuman speed. The ground sank beneath the force of his push, and the wind seemed to offer no resistance.
Delivering a devastating horizontal strike, it was deflected by the stranger's forearm, leaving no mark.
For a moment, the soldier was stunned.
How?
But he had no time. The stranger rushed at him, delivering a series of blows. His hands were as sharp as steel.
The coward struggled to follow the erratic movements of his opponent as the distance between them grew shorter and shorter.
He could feel the stench of putrefaction emanating from the stranger growing stronger, and the attacks directed at him becoming more insidious and unpredictable.
This isn't good... Not good at all.
He couldn't stay on the defensive any longer.
Deflecting the stranger's palm with a fluid movement, he shifted to the right, following up with a lateral strike.
Forced to block this unexpected blow with both arms, the stranger was momentarily unable to do anything else.
The coward took advantage of it and maintained the pressure.
The dynamics of the fight shifted in the soldier's favor as he continued to push his opponent back.
Nevertheless, the coward could not break his guard.
The stranger's technique was fluid and almost perfect, tolerating no mistakes.
He felt that if he made even the slightest misstep, he would simply die...
But he had no illusions.
He knew his opponent was powerful. In fact, he had another idea in mind.
The coward glanced at the corpse of his comrade lying a few steps ahead of him, just behind his enemy.
He would use it to break the fragile balance of the fight. Even if the man standing before him was strong and his technique flawless, if he tripped, his end would be sealed.
Suddenly, as they approached the corpse, the coward's eyes darkened, and he entered a state of complete concentration.
His breathing was calm and controlled despite the pressure and fatigue. His swordsmanship resembled a strange and enchanting dance, terribly lethal.
The stranger was only one step away from the lifeless body, yet instead of stumbling or even being slightly destabilized, he simply integrated the corpse into his environment.
Using it to propel himself forward and bring an end to the soldier's barrage of blows, the coward was caught off guard.
He had no time to think and simply retreated as far as possible.
He cast a brief glance at his opponent, who still seemed to be in perfect condition...
Damn it...
Lowering his gaze to his sword, it did not seem to be in the best state. Cracks were spreading along its blade, and its edge was becoming dull.
He didn't know if it could even deliver another strike.
But he had no time to think about it. The stranger was already upon him.
The coward couldn't simply deflect this blow—his blade might shatter, leaving him defenseless. He had to finish it.
Diving into the darkness, he took a moment to visualize the situation before emerging and releasing it with him.
A horde of unfathomable darkness formed around the soldier before surging in a fraction of a second toward the stranger's throat, tearing it apart with ferocity.
The stranger died.
The coward was exhausted. In fact, he was on the brink of death, barely able to stand.
He hadn't planned to call upon the darkness—at least not at first—thinking he could hold out until the rest of the troop arrived.
But he had been wrong. His arrogance had nearly killed him as well.
His eyes fell upon the corpse of his companion in the distance, with a hint of regret on his dark face, overtaken by fatigue.
On the verge of collapsing to the ground, he then turned his gaze toward the stranger's head rolling on the ground not far from him.
And as he did, his expression darkened. Frowning, he stared in shock at the headless body still standing, unmoving.
The stranger's body did not fall, nor did it even sway in the slightest. Then, after a moment, it turned toward him.
Struggling to straighten himself, he strained every muscle to maintain his guard. Ready to fight again, he raised his blade toward the... the dead?
He did not know what stood before him.
But his blade suddenly crumbled, as if it no longer wished to strike the arms of that thing.
He too no longer wished to fight...
The coward finally let himself fall to his knees. The contact with the cold ground was comforting. He could no longer continue fighting—he had already exhausted everything.
Panting and unwilling to do anything more, three words left his mouth:
"Who are you?"
He did not expect an answer, but a voice emerged from the headless body, still facing him:
"It's futile… You will all die."
An ivory sword suddenly formed in the stranger's hand. It was elegant and double-edged, appearing out of nowhere, as if it had always been there.
No sooner had the stranger finished speaking than the coward's head fell to the ground. Blood sprayed as the kneeling body of the soldier lost its balance and collapsed gracelessly.
At last, the stranger's body was the only one left standing.
His head, lying a few steps away, looked — or rather turned — toward the road.
After a moment, the sound of footsteps could be heard, accompanied by the characteristic creaking of wheels.
The body suddenly moved and took a step forward.
Then it stopped again, and a voice came from it:
"Venerable followers of Oblivion?"