QUICK RECAP-
James confronts Trimat, accusing him of betrayal—only to learn Trimat drugged him to save him from execution.
His fury dissolves into reluctant trust. Meanwhile, Ruby, imprisoned for defying Duke Goldsen, endures taunts from Noah and Regal Chambers.
She responds with a chilling vow of vengeance: "You'll count the days between your blood and your family's grief."
As the royal convoy advances, an ambush strikes, with a voice declaring, "Your days are over, Plague."
The chapter ends on a cliffhanger—James and allies brace for attack, while Ruby begins her solitary confinement, unbroken.
Themes: Betrayal, resilience, looming war.
-RECAP ENDS
"Come out."
"Your days are over, Plague."
The voice didn't thunder.
It whispered.
But each syllable rolled over froststeel and carriage bolts like final rites prepared mid-journey.
Sir Ronald Klaus stood instantly.
His pulse scanner blinked in crimson — external shock pressure, multiple fallen aura tags, Knight Signature Beta-6 offline.
Dead guards.
Not dying.
Dead.
Ronald's coat flared as he stepped through the rear carriage gate.
Trimat didn't speak.
Arthur pulled James slightly farther back.
Adam ignited a Hydrosphere around the vehicle's frame.
Ronald gritted his teeth.
"Cover them."
And then stepped out.
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Frostpath rails cracked beneath his boots.
The mist had shifted — unnaturally so.
Ronald scanned.
First pressure wave — nineteen fallen signatures.
Second — residual cast aftershock.
Third — breathing.
Not the carriage crew.
Not his knights.
Not Trimat.
Others.
Hidden.
Group formation.
Movement trained.
Ronald's eyes narrowed.
Across the clearing, blood soaked into the rail dust.
Dentrian guards lay twisted — arms broken mid-defense glyphs, chests crushed. All five perimeter shadows were down.
Ronald followed the echo trail.
And then—
He saw them.
Twelve figures.
Dressed in black.
Faces masked in stitched ether-cloth.
Movement silent. Not stealth — practiced absence.
Weapons drawn — curved hooks, dagger-length void spikes, and pulse siphons shaped like knives with no signature.
Their eyes — if they had any — were unreadable beneath rune-washed fabric.
Ronald adjusted his stance.
But beyond them—
He saw the final figure.
Under a tree.
At the center.
Slumped.
Thin.
Like famine had sculpted him slowly.
The scythe leaned against the bark — not held, not guarded, just resting.
Its blade wasn't ceremonial.
It was ancient.
Scars along the edge whispered of functions never cataloged.
The man's cloak draped like shredded bone.
His eyes weren't visible.
But Ronald didn't need to see them.
His Echo Ether pulsed once and felt it.
Power.
Not elemental.
Not cast.
Presence.
Level.
Weight.
Like Trimat.
"Who are you?" Ronald asked.
No answer.
The assassins stepped forward.
The seated man raised his hand once—
Without effort.
They surged.
Ronald moved.
First sound burst — ripple wave across the dirt, calibrating range.
Second — knee-joint scan through two masked attackers mid-leap.
He fired an echo shard directly through one skull.
It didn't slice.
It imploded.
Blood sprayed diagonally.
The body dropped.
The second attacker threw a void siphon toward Ronald's chest.
Ronald fired a supersonic arc sideways, bending it mid-air.
The blade skipped off course, shattered against tree bark.
Third attacker closed in — blade singing with anti-cast.
Ronald ducked, fired a low-pitch pressure shock against the soil.
The blast ruptured the ground up.
The assassin flipped backward — bones cracked before landing.
Two more rushed.
Ronald pivoted mid-air, launched three echo dots from his palm.
Each one embedded in throat tissue.
Silent death.
The bodies crumpled.
No scream.
No delay.
Just quiet kills.
Three more charged together — twin blade formation.
They aimed for flank blind spot.
Ronald closed his eyes for half a beat—
Cast a wide ringed echo burst.
Omnidirectional.
It spun like orbit — a sound planet aligned for devastation.
Their skulls shattered before their weapons hit distance.
Ronald breathed harder now.
Blood coating his left sleeve.
One cut on his neck — shallow.
Two punctures at his thigh — annoying.
His echo scanner pulsed again.
Two left.
One threw a pressure bomb toward the carriage.
Ronald turned mid-step, launched a vertical scream wave — high frequency.
The bomb burst before it left the thrower's hand.
Shrapnel carved into his own jaw.
He fell twitching.
Final assassin rose from the tree's shadow.
Twin pulse blades activated.
Her movement wasn't fast.
It was precise.
She reached Ronald before his scanner blinked.
Cut downward.
Ronald caught her arm with his left and spun.
She threw her second blade point-blank toward his ribs.
Ronald cast echo destabilization directly into her chest.
She exhaled once.
Then stopped existing.
He dropped to one knee.
Blood dripping across his gloves.
Nine wounds.
No hesitation.
But his breath slowed.
Not weak.
Just recalibrating.
The clearing shimmered with silence.
Arthur had exited the carriage halfway, cast shield active.
Adam stood tense.
Trimat observed without interference.
James peeked through the curtain edge.
Ronald looked up toward the tree—
And saw the figure still sitting.
Not moved.
Not drawn weapon.
Just there.
Then—
He spoke.
"Well done."
Two words.
Two syllables.
But Ronald's chest tightened.
Because the voice?
Didn't speak like praise.
It spoke like preparation.
Like this wasn't the fight.
It was the proof.
The signature.
The test.
Ronald stood.
Body bloodied.
Pulse heavy.
And stared.
Because the man under the tree didn't need the assassins.
He only needed permission.
Sir Ronald Klaus stood bleeding.
His breath pushed against cracked ribs and torn tendons. Wind circled the ruined forest as the black-cloaked corpses cooled beside trees that no longer remembered the Dentrian guards who once stood vigil.
Then—
The tree's shadow shifted.
Like ink poured upward.
The figure did not walk.
He dissolved.
The ground pulsed.
Black.
Wet.
Wrong.
It became a mirror — not to light, but to consequence.
Water rippled from beneath the tree, though it was not water. It was void pretending to be surface.
The figure sank.
Like bones sliding into a forgotten grave.
The rusted scythe vanished with him.
Ronald's echo pulse crackled in confusion.
Too late.
A whisper of air screamed near Ronald's jaw.
He pivoted—
But it wasn't fast enough.
The figure rose.
From the shadow beneath him.
Like gravity failed to contain a secret.
Rotted skin molded over skeletal bones. Hands sharpened to jointed claws. One long ear — ripped and stretched. No second ear. No organs within the flesh. Just form.
A molded carcass walking with prophecy.
His eyes were black.
Not blind.
Black.
He carried the scythe now — dragged from nothing and sharpened by absence.
"You are stronger than you look…"
His voice slithered.
"…you weakling."
The words weren't spoken.
They murmured.
As if memory repeated itself through his throat.
Then—
He kicked Ronald in the chest.
Hard.
Ronald flew.
Twenty meters.
He slammed against the carriage crest — metal groaned as defensive glyphs flared in confusion.
Inside—
Arthur reached instinctively for his sword.
Adam stood mid-shield summon, eyes blazing.
"What was that?!" he shouted.
Arthur grabbed his wrist.
"Wait!"
"I said wait!"
Adam's arms shook, cast engines pulsing erratically.
"We have to—!"
"No," Arthur shouted.
"He's too fast!"
Arthur's voice cracked.
"He's not human!"
James sat still.
Ice glyphs crackling under his eyes.
His voice came slowly.
Quiet.
Almost detached.
"Won't you do anything?"
Trimat didn't look at him.
Not immediately.
Just shifted his gaze toward the tree line.
And replied—
"I won't let Ronald die."
Outside—
Ronald staggered.
Blood leaked from his gums.
His boots dragged across the gravel.
He cast a sonic shockwave —
Nothing.
He threw an echo flare to destabilize the man's leg formation —
Still nothing.
The man stood like void.
Absorbed the sound.
Then flicked his wrist.
The scythe moved.
Not fast.
But impossibly present.
Ronald ducked —
Cast an omni-blast.
The wave curved through five frequencies —
And still failed.
The man walked forward.
Didn't attack.
Just allowed Ronald to exhaust himself.
Like watching a candle drown in its own flame.
Ronald spun behind.
Fired a backscatter blast.
The rusted blade caught it — held — absorbed — bent it — then threw it back.
Ronald blinked as his own cast signature struck his hip.
His side burned.
He panted.
The man didn't.
Then—
The void caster tilted his head.
And murmured.
"Bored now."
Ronald pivoted to cast a shield.
Too late.
The man raised both hands—
His body cracked with dark Ether energy.
Then he whispered—
"Dark Dispatch."
The air ruptured.
A serpent.
Black.
Thick as a carriage wheel.
Long as a mountain chain.
Eyes glowing with corrupted glyph threads.
It screamed through the air.
Ronald cast a defense layer—
Shattered.
He cast a second—
Pierced.
The serpent collided—
Ronald's left arm broke instantly.
The cast bone twisted mid-air.
The blood trailed like a comet behind him.
He collapsed.
Hard.
Rolled once.
Then—
Landed in front of the carriage.
Face downward.
The wheels cracked beneath his weight.
He pushed himself upward—
But failed.
His hand scraped against shattered gravel.
His breath stuttered.
The void caster appeared again.
Right in front of him.
Looking down.
The scythe scraped across the earth.
Ronald tilted his head upward.
He couldn't speak.
Only bleed.
The man leaned over him.
Eyes still black.
His voice cold.
"Let's get over with you…"
He raised the scythe.
"…time for you, plague."
Then—
A voice.
Sharp.
Clear.
Above.
"You got guts."
The void caster froze.
Ronald's eyes widened.
The sky didn't shake.
But the moment did.
Standing above the carriage—
One foot planted on the rail arch.
White cloak fluttering against broken wind.
Hair unmoving.
Eyes sharp.
Trimat D. Dentrius.
Looking down.
At the phantom.
At the scythe.
At the void.
And the void caster?
Lifted his head slowly.
Like memory recognized memory.
And did not blink.
The motive didn't need sound.
It needed only the silhouette.
A man broken beneath legacy.
And a man built from it.
"When Void Strikes,
Legacy Answers"
END OF CHAPTER-21
To Be Continued