The undead moved in a great arc, a crescent of rot tightening around their small camp. Their bodies were shattered in places—twisted joints, torn ligaments, some dragging what was left of broken legs. But they were persistent. Tireless. And hungry.
Koda moved like a silver storm.
The twin blades of Conviction gleamed in the moonlight, heavier now, forged from something more than steel. With each swing, they sang a scream of finality. He dashed into the horde, the tall grass parting like water before him.
The first ghoul lunged, maw unhinged.
Koda's blade met it mid-leap, slicing it at the hip and shoulder in a clean X, body folding to the ground in four twitching pieces.
He spun.
Another. Gone.
The next ten never saw him coming.
A sweeping slash removed three heads in a single motion, the thick forks of his twin blades cleaving skulls like ripe fruit. He surged forward, his feet never still, dodging hands and broken blades with brutal grace. He dropped low, sweeping the legs of one and driving both swords down like stakes into the writhing body.
The dead tried to swarm.
He welcomed it.
Two more charged from behind—he turned at the last second, crossing his blades, severing both heads in a snarl of bone and black ichor.
Dozens more were already falling.
Blood, black and steaming, painted the plains in arcs. The scent was copper and rot, the squelch of torn flesh echoing between the hills.
Koda didn't falter. Didn't speak. His breathing slowed, became rhythmic. Every swing honed and hateful. Each step forward left carnage behind. There was no strategy now—only purge. An exorcism of every demon that had clawed at his mind the moment before.
And they couldn't stop him.
One hundred. Two hundred. The field was a ruin of twitching limbs and headless corpses.
And Koda kept going.
His eyes, in the moonlight, held no fear. Just fire.
[Level Up - Level 22]
[Stat points distributed via Balance]
——
Koda of the Eternal Guide
Level: 22
HP: 302 / 390
Mana: 350 / 390
Stamina: 178 / 390
Stats:
Strength: 26 (+13)
Vitality: 26(+13)
Agility: 26(+13)
Intelligence: 26(+13)
Wisdom: 26(+13)
Endurance: 26(+13)
Traits:
Balance (Divine): All stat increases apply equally to all attributes. Harmony is growth.
Temperance (Divine): "Power not taken, but earned. Strength not dominant, but in harmony."
Temperance grants a 50% boost to all abilities, stats, and efficiencies—but only when all core stats are within 1 point of each other.
Skills:
Blade of Conviction – Active: Summon a weapon forged of pure will. The more clarity and purpose you hold, the stronger the blade. Willpower and Wisdom affect damage.
Mantle of Echoes – Passive: Passive aura forged from experience. Strength scales with Wisdom.
+Minor Fear (enemies), +Minor Focus (allies)
Unbroken Vow – Passive:
You do not fall. You do not yield.
• Non-lethal wounds close at a slow pace even during battle.
• Bleeding is reduced. Pain is dulled.
• Healing effects on you are moderately more effective.
A skill of endurance. For those who choose to keep moving forward no matter the cost.
——
As the final ghoul fell, the battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breaths of the party and the distant howls of nocturnal creatures. Koda stood amidst the carnage, his blades dripping with the remnants of the undead. The weight of the dream still lingered, but the clarity of purpose had returned.
Maia approached cautiously, her eyes scanning him for injuries. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.
Koda nodded, his blades dispersing in smoke. "The nightmare… it's fading. But we need to stay vigilant."
Koda regrouped with his team, tending to minor wounds and reinforcing their camp.
The morning light was thin—more suggestion than illumination—filtering through the tangled branches above like hesitant fingers brushing across worn stone. The forest didn't feel like it had slept. Its stillness was not peace, but the kind born after violence. A hush that waited to see what had survived.
Koda sat with his back against a fallen log, cloak still damp with last night's dew. He'd slept in fits, always with one hand resting on the hilt of his conjured blade, which now flickered faintly in and out of existence beside him. The [Blade of Conviction] responded to thought, but it hadn't flared in strength since the last skirmish.
They were alive.
That counted for something.
——
The carriage wheels groaned to life beneath them, rocking slightly as the horses picked up their slow rhythm across the flattened dirt road. Morning broke pale over the plains, the sky clouded but warm, the worst of the night's chill fading like breath from glass.
No one spoke for the first hour.
Not out of fear—though the memory of the night still clung to them like smoke—but out of the shared, silent need to let the stillness breathe. After what they'd survived, words felt unnecessary. They weren't ready to name the thing they'd passed through. Not yet.
Koda sat nearest the rear, his back resting against the inner panel, one knee drawn up. Maia sat across from him, her eyes half-lidded, the edge of her cloak tugged close beneath her chin. Her bandage was red at the seam, but she made no mention of it. Instead, she watched the open sky beyond the curtained frame—wide, gray-blue, and streaked with the promise of sunlight.
Seta sat up front beside Terron as he drove, her drone floating just above her shoulder. It pulsed faintly every few seconds, scanning ahead in methodical arcs. her eyes tracked the horizon with the focus of someone who'd seen one ambush too many.
Eno rode in the opposite corner of the carriage interior. Hood drawn low, his fingers idly traced a phantom string, summoning his bow only long enough to let it shimmer before vanishing again. A quiet ritual. A grounding motion.
Elise was perched where the carriage roof met the front frame—half-shadowed, one leg dangling, her posture deceptively relaxed. She watched the road in long glances, silent, measuring. She hadn't said a word since sunrise, but that was normal. No one pressed her.
And Renn, roguish as ever, had somehow claimed the prime rooftop spot with a bundle of blankets tucked beneath her head. Her fingers tapped out some forgotten rhythm on the wood as she whistled, completely at ease. Or pretending to be.
By midday, the plains unfurled wide and uninterrupted. The road curved like a river through golden grass, dappled with the occasional burst of wild violet blooms. The tension that had gripped them the night before slowly began to bleed away with every mile.
The sense of being followed was gone.
Whatever had hunted them… hadn't kept pace.
Conversation returned in fragments. Seta called out brief reports from the front. Terron made a dry comment about the rations tasting worse after surviving something worth remembering. Maia laughed under her breath. Eno would just smirk whenever Renn would complained about a blister she refused to show anyone.
The road felt long, but not heavy.
They passed an old wind-scored monument just after noon—a leaning pillar wrapped in rust-colored ivy. A faded engraving marked its side, the language half-swallowed by time. Elise touched it briefly when they stopped for water, her fingers brushing over the weathered glyphs. She said nothing, but her eyes narrowed as if remembering something she chose not to share.
Further on, a small herd of drift-antelopes bolted across the fields, kicking up swirls of dust in elegant arcs. Maia leaned forward, startled at first, then smiled. "I haven't seen that many since the Oria lowlands."
"They only run when they're not afraid," Seta called back.
"Maybe they think we're done with the worst of it," Renn added, stretching her arms wide with a yawn. "Or maybe we just stink bad enough to be left alone."
Elise arched an eyebrow. "It's you."
A few chuckles rippled through the group—quiet, restrained, but real.
Even Koda felt his chest loosen. The silence inside him was still there, the hum of the Guide's mark faint but present… but it wasn't heavy now. It didn't choke. It pulsed softly—like a heartbeat choosing to wait.
The land was open. The sun was warm. And for the first time since Oria, it felt like they were truly moving forward.
The sun began to dip low in the sky by late afternoon, casting long shadows from the low hills on either side of the road. The golden hue returned, richer now, soaking into the fields like dye into parchment. The grass turned from yellow to deep bronze.
The horses slowed as Terron signaled a brief stop ahead—enough time to scout, enough time to rest. They hadn't chosen a campsite yet. Dusk hadn't arrived, but it was brushing its fingers across the edges of the day.
Koda stepped down from the carriage and looked west.
No figures on the horizon.
No unnatural wind.
Just the soft sway of endless grass, and the distant shimmer of a pond catching the last of the light.
Maia joined him a moment later. Her voice was low.
"Feels like… something's easing off."
"Yeah," Koda said.
But he didn't quite trust it.
Not yet.