By The Blood

The other werewolf turned, spotting the injured legionnaire. It swiped with its claws but was blocked by the chain sword.

It worked! Aurelian realized. He praised the Pure White in his thoughts before steeling himself for what to do next.

Just then, a black pillar of flames surged up beside him. He turned, ready to strike at the adversary. However, what emerged from the flames was a red-haired woman, dressed in a basic kefna (Sanguine clothes), although hers had a difference: there was a cut on the bosom area that revealed her fair chest.

With dark eyes that seemed glassy, the stranger spoke softly, "Why don’t we go kill Putray?"

A vixen? A Pleasure Pavilion vixen? Or another member of a faction that follows a similar branch? His thoughts raced, but he didn’t have time for speculation. She was a vixen, yes, and he wasn’t fond of them, especially with the rumor that the Pleasure Pavilion was a front for a faction that worships an evil god. However, given his state, he would take whatever help he could get. My penance will have to be greater for working with a vixen. But she appeared very strangely. Since when were vixens able to appear through black flames? Or has she evolved beyond a vixen?

"Alright," Aurelian said after a moment’s thought.

The lady smiled and quickly took out a few small beads from her kefna. They were bronze-colored with a faint whitish glow emanating from within them.

Soul bombs! Aurelian realized. Heretical and profane! Does she have soul bombs? Using a person’s soul as a weapon is a sin, a crime against the beauty of the Creator! He clenched his teeth but endured. Now, his penance would have to be far greater. He would need to be purified for seeing such a thing.

The lady clutched the balls together and tossed them toward the werewolves and legionnaire.

Boom!

A bright white light erupted, sending the werewolf and legionnaire hurtling into the door that led further into the Archon’s chambers. They smashed through it, taking down the guards that stood there, and crashed into the corridor beyond.

"Let’s go," the lady said softly, ducking through the doorway and leaping over the recovering legionnaire and werewolf.

Aurelian followed but paused to speak as he reached the legionnaire. "I did it because I had no choice. Please stall them until I complete the mission." He said this to reinforce the beliefs he had instilled in the man through the memory alteration. Then, he ducked into the hallway.

The hallway was lined with red carpet and glass-encased lamps burned on the walls. He followed the lady, who seemed familiar with the surroundings. Is she an assassin sent to kill the Archon? He wondered. He knew such attempts happened at least once a year, either from specific factions or the Eastern Tau Empire. And with the War of Grace, most of the legions were in the Nightmare Plains, making now an opportune time to assassinate an Archon with a weaker guard.

They ran around a corner. Fortunately, there were no guardsmen along the way. This made sense—the ones buried in the crash were likely Putray’s personal guards. In that case, he might have been complacent, thinking the three legionnaires would be enough to quell the problem. If that was true, then running blindly was not a good strategy.

They approached a large brown gate-like door. Quickly, Aurelian reached out and grabbed hold of the lady. She stopped, turned, and looked at him. Her glassy black eyes caused his blood to boil, his senses craving more than they were getting. He clenched his jaw, the tension causing his skull to ache under the pressure. He endured the feeling and said, "Not now."

"Why?" the lady asked softly.

"Cool down. A few minutes," he whispered, his voice low but audible.

The lady waited a moment and said, "Other legionnaires might come before then."

I know that! I already hate working with you; what’s the point of saying that? He thought, but said, "Just a few minutes."

The lady went silent and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. What is she doing? Is this vixen trying to seduce me? He tensed, his head pulling back slightly, but his legs remained steady. She looked at him for a moment, smiled, and said, "After this."

After this? After what? After killing the Archon? What does she want after this? Aurelian sighed.

She walked to the left wall and leaned against it, staring down the opposite hallway, keeping watch for enemies. Aurelian, too, was in a hurry. He didn’t know how long his barrier at the hallway entrance would hold against the guardsmen, and it would be even worse if the legionnaires attacked it. At best, he had only a few minutes.

What if this doesn’t work? What if the Archon is more powerful than I imagined and my attack is just a nuisance? Aurelian thought while waiting for the cooldown.

The tension persisted for a while until he suddenly felt it. The cooldown was over! It felt like a part of himself had been returned, like a severed limb regrown. Quickly, he glanced at the lady, then closed his eyes. He felt the pulsing darkness and the countless tendrils that existed within it.

Meanwhile, To think I would be allowed to stand guard alone for the Archon, the young Mennis thought blissfully. He stood at attention, holding the newly issued chain swords, his eyes locked on the Archon.

The greatest of men, Putray, sat in a high-backed seat, staring at a parchment map of the Nightmare Plains. The room was smaller than Mennis had expected, with statues lining both sides. Each bore the exact likeness of the Archon, their gray stone forms exuding the same imposing aura as the original.

The room was draped in red curtains, and a chandelier hung above, casting eternal light into the space. The Archon stared passively at the map. Does he not care that an assassin has entered the fortress? Or maybe this is a privilege only for the powerful? Mennis assessed the situation. This was the Archon—he was clad in black armor with a faint white sheen. His face was stern yet majestic, with long black hair cascading behind him. His eyes were deep and white, and his overall size, despite being seated, gave the impression of a giant. A monster among men!

It would be so nice to kill him! Mennis paused as a strange thought struck him. Why did I say that? Why would I even think such a thing? This is the Archon—handpicked by the Legion Master! How could I have such treasonous thoughts?

Because he killed my sister, of course! He shook his head. When did the Archon kill my sister? When did he even meet her? What’s her name? He frowned and stared at the Archon. The man was engrossed in his map, seemingly unconcerned about the ongoing events. Just look at him, sitting there at his best, while guardsmen and legionnaires die for him. Isn’t he ashamed of himself? How can someone like him be worthy of such a position? He’s a murderer, a thief, unfit to wear the title of Archon. And worse...he killed my sister! Jane!

Why am I even serving someone like him? I remember her laughter, her smile when she...Wait, how did she even die? He thought for a moment. Then, the realization dawned on him. He stabbed her! With that chain sword of his, he stabbed her just because she refused to bed with him! He gritted his teeth. I can’t let this stand! What honor do I have if I don’t at least try to avenge the man who took my one and only sister? Even swordsmen become freeblades to seek their freedom—why can’t I? Why can’t I abandon this meaningless post to get what I want?

He looked at the Archon and froze. The man was staring coldly at him, his head resting on his hand. "What is wrong, soldier?" the Archon asked in a deep voice.

He knows? I'm going to die! Mennis quivered down to his bones. But then, he recalled something: his commander from Donnersburg—a man who had taken him in after Putray had killed his sister. Yes, he remembered now. He was a spy sent to kill the Archon, and his memories had been sealed until this moment. He could do it! He had to do it. It was no longer about his honor but the survival of his city, Donnersburg. He gritted his teeth, clenched his sword, and bellowed, "For Donnersburg!"

He swung at the Archon, but then, the world tilted. Somehow, he was falling, and everything faded into a blurriness that pulsed like a heartbeat. A sudden sharp coldness enveloped him as if his body had been plunged into the depths of icy water. He felt strange, unmoored from himself. He could still hear, think, and see, but everything was wrong. His angle shifted downward as the ground rushed to meet him, the world spinning in slow motion.

He saw his back—or was it his body? Oh, Pure! It was his body, standing with a sword in hand, barely close to the table that held the Archon’s map. Blood spewed out like a fountain from where his head had been. There was no connection anymore, just something like a puppet that had lost its strings.

The distant sounds of shouts and bellows became muffled as if he were listening through water. All that remained was the dull ringing of nothingness. His vision dimmed, colors fading into blackness. Was he dying? Without even avenging his sister? Without even dealing the slightest damage to the Archon? Would his sister even forgive him if they met in the Sea of Souls?

Thud!

The ground was cold against his cheek, but even that sensation was fading, replaced by an encroaching numbness. He saw the iron boots of the Archon from under the table, though they were now blurry. He wanted to cry for his failure, but he hoped his sister would understand... He did try.

Just then, he had a thought: What does she even look like?

Putray stared at the headless body that fell with a thud. He glanced at his chain sword, noticing a faint glimmer of blood on one of its fang-like teeth. Who was he, even? He pondered for a moment, then looked down at his fingers. There was a ring around his center finger—glass-like, with a black line inside, containing numerous words within its glassy interior. Even from just staring at it, he felt compelled to listen to whatever anyone had to say.

He looked away and turned his gaze to the door. Narrowing his eyes, he sighed, "Who are you?"

Having entered the room by using the boy as a distraction, Aurelian didn’t even have time to act before Putray saw through his mind's invisibility. But he seems to not recognize me, which means the power is interfering, he thought.

Just then, Putray spoke in a deep voice, "Aren’t you Aurelian, the wielder of the 8th Mist-Blooded Armor of the regiment, and the only survivor of the Winter Incident?"

Aurelian paused. So it didn’t work, he thought. But that changes nothing. This is my chance, and I will take it. He moved his hand to the door, pushing it open slightly. He then asked, "Will you give me your confession?"

"What confession?" Putray leaned back.

"What confession?" Aurelian frowned. "The one where you abandoned my squad just to obtain worthless information, leaving us to die!"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was almost assassinated, so please, speak clearly," Putray said, clasping his hands.

Aurelian looked at the man and said, "Choose this path if you want!"

He raised his hand, summoning a misty blade that solidified into a glass-like sword that trickled with water. "Now!" he bellowed.

Quickly, Putray reached for his sword, but suddenly, a loud voice echoed through the room.

"Hanek!