The throne room in Hardard's fortress reeked of smoke and old blood. Torches lined the stone walls, their flames casting dancing shadows across the floor. At the far end, seated on a chair forged from blackened iron, sat Hardard the Fury. His scarred eye gleamed in the firelight, and his metal knuckles rested on the armrests, glowing faintly with his Fire Fist Aura.
Before him, bound and forced to their knees, were Avar and his mother, Hera.
Avar's small body trembled, his wrists raw from the rough rope. Blood still dripped from his split lip where the enforcer had struck him. Beside him, Hera swayed weakly, her face pale as death, barely able to stay upright.
Hardard leaned forward, his voice a low rumble. "The Red Shadow. Tell me where he is."
Avar lifted his head, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face, but his voice was steady. "I don't know."
Hardard's expression didn't change. He raised one hand, and a guard stepped forward, striking Hera across the face with the back of his hand. She cried out, collapsing sideways, blood trickling from her mouth.
"Mother!" Avar screamed, struggling against his bonds. "Don't hurt her! Please!"
Hardard stood slowly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the boy. He walked toward them with deliberate steps, each one echoing through the chamber. "I'll ask again, boy. Where is Magnus Caldryn? When did you last see him?"
Avar's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes darting between Hardard and his mother. "He… he helped us. That's all. He gave us food and left. I don't know where he went."
It wasn't a lie—not entirely. Magnus had left days ago. But Avar's eyes betrayed something else: loyalty. Devotion.
Hardard saw it too.
He crouched down, bringing his scarred face level with Avar's. His breath was hot, reeking of ash and iron. "You're protecting him," Hardard said softly, almost gently. "That's admirable. But foolish."
He stood and turned to Hera, who was trying desperately to lift her head. "Your son has courage. Let's see if he has wisdom."
Hardard's fist ignited—flames crackling around his metal knuckles, the heat distorting the air. He held his burning hand inches from Hera's face, and she whimpered, turning away from the searing heat.
"No!" Avar screamed, his voice breaking. "Please! Don't hurt her! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"
Hardard's flames dimmed slightly. "Speak."
Avar sobbed, his small shoulders shaking. "He… he said he was going east. To the woods. That's all I know. Please… please don't hurt her anymore."
Hardard straightened, the flames extinguishing. He looked down at the boy with something almost resembling pity. "You see? That wasn't so hard."
He turned to one of the guards. "Take them to the lower cells. Keep them alive. The Red Shadow will come for them."
"Yes, my lord."
As the guards dragged Avar and Hera away, the boy's voice echoed through the corridor. "Big Brother Magnus… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
When the door slammed shut, Lyra Ganills emerged from the shadows near the wall. Her pale hair shimmered in the torchlight, and her violet aura flickered faintly around her. She had been watching the entire time, silent as a ghost.
"You're using a child as bait," she said, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp.
Hardard turned to her, his scarred face twisted into a grim smile. "I'm using his weakness against him. Magnus Caldryn is a fool who cares about people. That compassion will be his undoing."
Lyra tilted her head. "And if he doesn't come?"
Hardard's laugh was harsh, bitter. "He'll come. He's just like his father—reckless, arrogant, thinking he can save everyone." His fists clenched, flames sparking around his knuckles again. "Edward couldn't save Anna from choosing him. And Magnus won't save these two."
Lyra's lips curved into a faint smile. "Then we prepare. Double the guards. Set traps along every entrance. Fire traps in the main corridors, oil barrels on the walls. And make sure the boy and his mother are in the central courtyard when he arrives—visible, but unreachable."
"Good," Hardard said, his voice dark with anticipation. "Let him see what happens to those who stand against me. Let him watch them burn if he fails."
Lyra's violet eyes gleamed with cold calculation. "And the illusions?"
"Layer them thick," Hardard commanded. "I want him seeing enemies everywhere. Confuse him, disorient him, break his focus. Then, when he's weakened…" His fist ignited again, flames roaring to life. "I'll tear him apart myself."
Night had fallen over Valisar, and the city's golden towers were now silhouettes against a star-choked sky. In a abandoned warehouse near the slums, Magnus Caldryn sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, breathing slowly. His shadow aura pulsed around him in rhythmic waves as he centered himself through Shadow Flower Breathing.
Rhea stood by the window, keeping watch. Her grey eyes scanned the streets below, alert for any patrols. "We've confirmed it," she said quietly. "Avar and his mother are in Hardard's fortress. Lower cells, but they'll likely be moved to the central courtyard as bait."
Magnus's crimson eyes opened, cold and focused. "How many guards?"
"At least a hundred. Maybe more. Archers on the walls, fire traps along the main corridors, oil barrels positioned for ambush. And Lyra's there—her illusion traps will be layered throughout."
Magnus stood slowly, his movements deliberate. He walked to a table where a rough map of the fortress lay spread out, marked with notes from their earlier scouting. His fingers traced the walls, the gates, the weak points.
"They're expecting me to infiltrate," he said, his voice calm and analytical. "Tunnels, walls, rooftops. Standard assassin approach."
Rhea nodded. "Which means those routes will be the most heavily trapped."
A faint, sinister smile curved Magnus's lips. "Exactly."
He turned to her, his crimson eyes gleaming with cold cunning. "Hardard is emotional. Obsessed with revenge. He wants to see me suffer, wants to break me in front of Avar and Hera. That rage makes him predictable."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "And Lyra?"
"She's the real threat," Magnus admitted. "Cold, calculating, strategic. But she underestimates one thing."
"What's that?"
Magnus's shadow aura flared, dark tendrils coiling around his feet. "I don't fight fair."
He pointed to the map. "Here's what we do. At dawn, I walk to the front gate—alone, visible, exactly what they expect from an emotional rescue attempt. Hardard will gloat, Lyra will feel confident their trap is working."
Rhea frowned. "That sounds like suicide."
"It's a distraction," Magnus said, his voice cold and precise. "While I'm drawing every eye, every guard, every trap toward me at the front…" He looked at her. "You infiltrate from the north wall. There's a collapsed section here—" he tapped the map "—hidden behind rubble. The guards won't be watching it because they'll all be focused on the front gate spectacle."
Rhea's eyes widened slightly. "You want me to rescue them while you're the bait?"
"Not just rescue," Magnus said, his smile sharpening. "I want you to get them out, then set fire to Hardard's supply depot here—" he pointed to another spot "—it's filled with oil and gunpowder. The explosion will create chaos, and in that chaos, I'll collapse the main gate and carve my way through to you."
Rhea studied the map, then looked at him. "And if something goes wrong? If they catch me?"
Magnus's crimson eyes hardened. "They won't. Because you're the best infiltrator I know, and they're all going to be watching me."
She was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You're using yourself as bait to save them. That's… actually cunning."
"It's not just cunning," Magnus said quietly, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "It's a message. Hardard thinks compassion is weakness. I'm going to show him that compassion backed by ruthlessness is unstoppable."
He pulled out a small vial from his pouch—the last of his sleeping smoke. "Take this. Use it on any guards you encounter. Silent, efficient. And take these—" he handed her two small pouches of powder "—throw them into the supply depot before you leave. They'll ignite on contact with flame."
Rhea took them, securing them in her belt. "What about you? A hundred guards, fire traps, Lyra's illusions, and Hardard himself?"
Magnus's expression turned cold, merciless. His shadow aura pulsed darker, thicker, like a living beast awakening. "I'm not there to win a fair fight, Rhea. I'm there to make them afraid. Every guard who sees me will hesitate. Every trap they spring, I'll turn against them. And when Hardard finally faces me…" His crimson eyes blazed. "He'll learn what real fury looks like."
Rhea smiled faintly, deadly and approving. "You've thought of everything."
"Not everything," Magnus admitted. "But enough."
He walked to the window, looking out at the distant silhouette of Hardard's fortress, its walls lit by torches. His mind was already ten steps ahead—calculating angles, timing, contingencies.
"Get some rest," he said. "We move at first light. And Rhea—" he glanced at her "—no unnecessary killing. The guards are just soldiers following orders. Save your blades for the ones who deserve it."
She nodded. "Understood, Prince."
Magnus turned back to the window, his reflection staring back at him—crimson eyes burning with cold determination, shadow aura coiling around him like smoke.
Avar's frightened voice echoed in his mind: "Big Brother Magnus… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
Magnus's fists clenched. "Don't be sorry, little brother," he whispered. "I'm coming."
Inside Hardard's fortress, preparations reached a fever pitch.
Lyra stood in the main courtyard, directing guards with icy precision. "Archers on every wall. Fire pits along the main corridors. Oil barrels positioned at choke points. I want this place ready to become an inferno."
The guards scrambled to obey, their faces tense. Everyone had heard the rumors—the Red Shadow, the crimson-eyed demon who slaughtered thirty men at the old mill, who walked through fire and shadow like a phantom.
Hardard descended from the upper levels, his armor gleaming, his metal knuckles already glowing with heat. "Is everything ready?"
Lyra turned to him, her violet aura shimmering faintly. "Every entrance is trapped. Every corridor layered with illusions. Even if he's strong, he can't fight an army."
Hardard's scarred face twisted into a grin. "Good. Bring the boy and his mother to the courtyard at dawn. I want them in plain sight—chained, helpless. Let Magnus see them suffer."
Lyra's expression remained cold. "And if he actually breaches the gate?"
"Then I'll kill him in front of them," Hardard said, flames crackling around his fists. "Let the boy watch his hero burn."
He strode toward the lower cells, where Avar and Hera were locked behind iron bars. The boy sat beside his mother, holding her trembling hand.
Hardard stopped before the cell, staring down at them. "Your Red Shadow is coming," he said, his voice echoing. "And when he does, you'll watch him die screaming."
Avar looked up, his tear-streaked face filled with defiance. "Big Brother Magnus will defeat you. I know he will."
Hardard laughed—a cold, cruel sound. "We'll see, boy. We'll see."
As he walked away, Avar whispered to his mother, "He'll come, Mother. I know he will."
Hera, weak and trembling, squeezed his hand. "I know, my son. I know."
Dawn broke over Valisar, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.
Magnus Caldryn stood in the shadows of an alley, watching the fortress gates from a distance. His twin shadow sabers hung at his sides, their dark aura pulsing faintly. His crimson eyes were calm, focused, calculating.
Rhea crouched beside him, her grey eyes scanning the walls. "I'm moving to the north wall now. Give me ten minutes to get into position."
Magnus nodded. "Ten minutes. Then I make my entrance."
She hesitated, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't die, Prince."
His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "I won't. Now go."
Rhea vanished into the shadows, silent as death.
Magnus waited, counting the seconds in his mind. His dantian pulsed, shadow qi flowing through his veins, preparing for the storm ahead.
When the time came, he stepped out of the alley and walked toward the fortress.
His shadow aura erupted—a massive, swirling darkness that coiled around him like a living storm. The air grew cold, the torches on the walls flickering. His crimson eyes blazed like hellfire, and his presence was suffocating, oppressive, monstrous.
The guards on the walls froze, staring down at him in shock and terror.
Magnus stopped before the gates, his voice carrying across the courtyard—calm, cold, and filled with lethal intent.
"Hardard the Fury. I've come for what's mine."
A door at the top of the fortress opened, and Hardard emerged, flanked by Lyra. Behind them, two guards dragged Avar and Hera into view, forcing them to their knees at the edge of the wall. Chains bound their wrists, and Avar's eyes widened when he saw Magnus.
"Big Brother Magnus!" he shouted, his voice breaking with hope and fear.
Magnus's gaze locked onto the boy, then his mother. His expression didn't change, but his shadow aura pulsed darker, angrier.
Hardard's voice boomed across the courtyard, dripping with mockery. "Magnus Caldryn! The Red Shadow! You've come alone? How noble. How foolish."
Magnus's crimson eyes lifted to meet Hardard's. His voice was quiet, but it carried like thunder. "Let them go, Hardard. Your fight is with me, not them."
Hardard laughed, flames crackling around his fists. "You think you can make demands? You walk into my fortress, alone, and expect mercy?"
Magnus's shadow aura exploded outward—a wave of darkness that rippled through the air, so powerful that the guards on the walls stumbled back, fear written across their faces.
His voice dropped to a low, venomous growl. "I'm not asking for mercy, Hardard. I'm telling you what's going to happen. You have one chance—release them now, or I'll tear this fortress down brick by brick and bury you in the ashes."
Hardard's grin widened, madness gleaming in his scarred eye. "Big words from a dead man. Let's see if you can back them up."
He raised his hand, and the gates began to creak open.
Magnus stepped forward, shadows trailing behind him like a living cloak.
Behind the fortress, hidden in the rubble of the north wall, Rhea slipped through the collapsed section, silent as a ghost.
The game had begun.
And Magnus Caldryn, the Red Shadow, the heir of shadow, was about to teach Valisar what it meant to provoke a monster.
Meanwhile, in the Royal Palace, Prince Ethan stood at his balcony, a wine glass in hand, watching smoke rise from Hardard's fortress in the distance. A messenger knelt behind him. 'Your Highness, the Red Shadow has arrived at Lord Hardard's gates.' Ethan's lips curved into a cold smile. 'Excellent. Let's see if Hardard can handle him... or if I'll need to step in personally.
To Be Continued in Chapter 25…