Fortress groaned open like the jaws of a beast, revealing a gauntlet of fire and steel. Magnus Caldryn stood alone before the entrance, his shadow aura swirling around him in dark, restless waves. His crimson eyes burned with cold fury as he stared into the fortress's maw.
"Come, Red Shadow!" Hardard's voice echoed from the walls above, flames dancing around his raised fists. "Show me the demon that haunts my city!"
Magnus took one step forward. Then another. His boots struck the stone with deliberate rhythm, each footfall echoing like a death knell. The shadow aura around him pulsed with each step, and for a moment—just a fleeting instant—it seemed to shimmer with something deeper, something ancient. But Magnus didn't notice. His focus was entirely on the fortress ahead.
Inside the fortress, chaos erupted.
"He's actually walking in!" a guard shouted, his voice cracking with fear.
"Archers, ready!" another bellowed.
Magnus's shadow aura exploded outward, and the torches along the walls flickered and died, plunging sections of the courtyard into darkness. The temperature dropped sharply, breath misting in the sudden cold. Several guards stumbled back, feeling an oppressive weight pressing down on them—something far heavier than mere killing intent.
"Fire!"
A volley of arrows descended like deadly rain. Magnus didn't break stride. His sabers flashed in twin arcs, cutting through the air with surgical precision. Arrows splintered and fell, their shafts severed cleanly. Those that got through struck his shadow aura and dissolved into mist, as if the darkness itself had devoured them.
But Magnus felt the strain. Each arrow absorbed by his aura drained a tiny fraction of his qi. Dozens of arrows meant dozens of tiny drains. His dantian pulsed, compensating, but he'd need to be more careful with his energy expenditure.
The guards on the walls stared in disbelief.
"What... what is he?" one whispered.
Magnus crossed the threshold into the courtyard. His crimson eyes swept the scene—at least eighty guards, positioned in military formations. These weren't thugs or street criminals. They wore proper armor, carried enchanted weapons that glowed with runes, and moved with disciplined precision. Fire pits blazed at strategic points throughout the courtyard, oil barrels perched on scaffolding above, ready to be ignited and dropped.
And there, on the far wall, chained and forced to kneel—Avar and Hera.
"Big Brother Magnus!" Avar's voice rang out, equal parts hope and terror.
Magnus's gaze locked on the boy for a heartbeat. His expression softened almost imperceptibly, then hardened into something merciless. His shadow aura pulsed once, violently, sending a wave of darkness that made the nearby guards stumble back.
Hold on, little brother. I'm coming.
Hardard descended from the upper level, his massive frame wreathed in flames that seemed alive, hungry. Each step down the stone stairs left scorched footprints that glowed red-hot, the heat intense enough to warp the air around him. His scarred left eye gleamed with madness and anticipation, while flames danced in his good eye like trapped demons.
Behind him came Lyra Ganills, her pale hair shimmering in the firelight. Her violet aura rippled around her like water, making it difficult to tell where her true form ended and illusions began. She moved with predatory grace, her cold eyes assessing Magnus with calculating interest.
"You've made a mistake coming here, Caldryn," Hardard growled, his voice resonating with barely contained fury. Flames roared higher around his metal knuckles until they resembled miniature infernos. "This fortress is my domain. Here, among fire and fury, you die."
Magnus stopped in the center of the courtyard, his twin sabers held in a loose, deceptively casual grip. His voice was quiet, but it carried with unnatural clarity. "Your domain? How arrogant. Let me show you what happens when shadow claims dominion over fire."
For a moment, his shadow aura flickered—and something else flickered with it. A deeper darkness, almost luminescent in its absolute blackness, like staring into the void between stars. It was there and gone in an instant, but Lyra's eyes narrowed. She'd seen it.
What is he? she thought. That aura... it's not normal shadow qi. There's something else beneath it.
But she said nothing, filing the observation away.
"Kill him," Hardard commanded, waving his hand dismissively. "All of you. I want him broken before I finish him myself."
The first wave of guards charged—forty men, weapons raised, battle cries tearing from their throats. They came from all sides in a coordinated assault, shields interlocking, spears bristling between the gaps. These were professional soldiers, trained to fight as a unit.
Magnus's crimson eyes tracked their movements, his assassin's mind calculating trajectories, weak points, timing.
Shield wall from the front. Flankers on both sides. Archers maintaining fire from above. Classic pincer formation. They're trying to force me into a defensive position where the archers can pick me off.
He smiled coldly. Too bad I don't play by their rules.
"Phantom Lotus Steps."
Magnus moved.
To the guards, he simply vanished. One moment he was in the center of the courtyard, the next he was a blur of shadow and steel, appearing behind the shield wall before they could react.
His sabers sang—twin notes of death harmonizing perfectly.
Blood sprayed as his blades found the gaps in armor—throats, the backs of knees, under the arms where the armor plates met. Each strike was precise, economical, lethal. Five men fell in as many seconds, their formations breaking.
But these guards were trained. They adapted quickly.
"Formation Delta! Surround and contain!"
The guards pivoted, abandoning the shield wall for a more fluid encirclement. Enchanted weapons began to glow brighter, their runes activating. Magnus felt the change immediately—the weapons were resonating with each other, creating a network of protective energy.
Smart. They're using enchantment resonance to boost their defenses and detection. That means my shadow techniques will be less effective.
A guard lunged at Magnus's blind spot. Magnus twisted, his saber coming up to parry—but the impact was heavier than expected. The enchanted blade didn't just clash with his weapon; it pushed back with supernatural force.
Magnus gritted his teeth, shoving the guard away. Another attacked from the left, then the right. He parried both, but each clash sent vibrations through his arms. The enchanted weapons were wearing him down.
They're coordinating. Using the enchantment network to amplify each other's strength.
A spear thrust at his back. Magnus dodged, but not fast enough—the tip grazed his shoulder, drawing first blood. Pain flared, sharp and immediate.
"He's bleeding!" a guard shouted. "He's mortal!"
The mob surged forward with renewed confidence, their fear evaporating. If the Red Shadow could bleed, he could die.
Magnus backed away, his mind racing. Need to disrupt their formation. Break their coordination.
"Shadowmire Binding!"
Dark tendrils erupted from the ground like writhing serpents, wrapping around eight guards' legs and throats. They screamed as the shadows constricted, but their enchanted armor began to glow, burning away at the shadow tendrils.
The enchantments are countering my techniques. I need to adapt.
Magnus poured more qi into the technique. The shadows grew thicker, darker, and for a moment that strange luminescence flickered again—that deeper darkness beneath the surface. The enchanted armor began to crack under the pressure.
Three guards' necks snapped with sickening cracks. But the other five managed to break free, their enchantments burning bright enough to dispel the shadows entirely.
"Nightshade Barrage!"
Magnus swung his sabers in rapid succession, releasing crescent-shaped projectiles of condensed shadow qi. The crescents flew at the charging guards like black scythes of death.
But the guards raised their shields, and the enchantment network flared. A shimmering barrier appeared between the shields, and Magnus's crescents struck it, dissipating with flashes of light.
Damn. They're good.
A crossbow bolt slammed into Magnus's left thigh. He gasped, his leg buckling. The pain was intense, immediate. He caught himself before falling, but blood was already spreading from the wound.
More bolts came from the walls—a coordinated volley from the archers. Magnus's shadow aura flared, catching most of them, but two got through. One grazed his ribs, opening a shallow cut. The other embedded itself in his right shoulder.
Magnus roared, yanking the bolts free. Blood spurted from both wounds, and his vision swam for a moment. His shadow aura flickered, the strain of maintaining it while wounded taking its toll.
I'm being worn down. Exactly what Hardard planned. He's using his men to exhaust me before he enters the fight himself.
From the upper level, Hardard watched with a cruel smile, flames dancing around his clenched fists. "Good! Make him bleed! Tire him out! Then I'll show him what real pain is!"
Magnus gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus through the pain. His thigh throbbed with each heartbeat, making his Phantom Lotus Steps slower, less precise. The shoulder wound limited his right arm's range of motion.
Need to end this quickly. Can't let them grind me down.
But as he prepared his next technique, movement on the fortress walls caught his eye. More guards were arriving—reinforcements. Fresh soldiers with fresh enchanted weapons.
This was going to be a long, brutal fight.
Meanwhile, behind the fortress, Rhea Varyn moved through the collapsed section of the north wall like a ghost.
The rubble provided perfect cover, and just as Magnus had predicted, the majority of guards were focused on the spectacle at the front gate. She could hear the distant sounds of combat—steel clashing, men screaming, Magnus's techniques echoing through the fortress.
He's fighting already. Drawing all their attention. I need to move fast.
She emerged into a shadowed corridor, her Poison Fang Aura suppressed to near-invisibility. The green shimmer around her daggers was barely perceptible, like heat haze on a summer day.
Two guards stood at the far end of the corridor, their backs to her. They were craning their necks to peer through a window at the courtyard battle below.
"Did you see that? He just killed five men in seconds!"
"Yeah, but he's bleeding now. Lord Hardard's plan is working. We'll wear him down, then—"
Rhea was on them before they could finish. Her dagger flashed twice—shallow cuts across the backs of their necks. The Poison Fang Aura seeped into their blood immediately.
But unlike her previous victims, these guards didn't fall immediately. They spun, weapons drawn, eyes wide with alarm—
Then the poison hit them. Black veins spread from the cuts like lightning, racing across their skin. One guard opened his mouth to scream, but his vocal cords seized. The other managed a strangled gasp before his nervous system shut down.
Within five seconds, both guards collapsed, convulsing silently. Their bodies twitched once, twice, then went still.
Rhea stepped over them, wiping her daggers clean. Good. The poison's working at full potency. That means Lyra hasn't—
A blade whistled through the air toward her throat.
Rhea's instincts screamed. She dropped into a crouch, the blade passing inches above her head. She rolled forward, came up with her daggers raised—
And found herself facing three identical Lyra Ganills.
They stood in a perfect triangle around her, each one smiling coldly. Their violet auras pulsed in unison, and Rhea couldn't tell which—if any—was real.
"Well, well," all three Lyras said simultaneously, their voices perfectly synchronized. "The Black Veil assassin. I've heard stories about you, Rhea Varyn. Former member of the Black Veil Guild before you went freelance. Specialty: poison techniques and infiltration. Twenty-three confirmed kills, though we both know the real number is higher."
Rhea's grey eyes narrowed, her mind racing. She knows who I am. Which means she's been expecting me. Which means...
"Did you really think we'd leave the prisoners unguarded?" the three Lyras continued. "Magnus Caldryn is predictable. He'd never leave innocents behind, never risk them in direct combat. So he sent you." The three figures began to circle in perfect synchronization. "The question is—can you complete your mission when you can't trust your eyes?"
Rhea closed her eyes briefly, focusing on her other senses. Sound—three sets of footsteps, all identical. Scent—three identical perfumes. Air displacement—three identical movements.
Perfect illusions. Not just visual, but complete sensory deception.
"Impressive, isn't it?" one Lyra said from the left. "My Phantom Mirage technique doesn't just fool the eyes. It creates perfect copies down to the molecular level—temperature, scent, sound, even weight. You literally cannot tell us apart."
Rhea opened her eyes, her expression calm despite the racing of her heart. "Then I'll just have to kill all three of you."
All three Lyras laughed. "You're welcome to try."
They attacked simultaneously.
Rhea blocked the first strike—solid contact, metal on metal. Real. She lunged toward that Lyra with a counterattack—
Her blade passed through empty air. The figure dissolved into violet mist.
An illusion that felt real up until the moment of my counterattack. She can make them solid, then switch which one is real!
Pain exploded across Rhea's back. She gasped, stumbling forward. One of the other Lyras had slashed her, the blade cutting deep across her shoulder blades.
Rhea spun, lashing out with both daggers. One struck something solid—she pressed the attack, pouring her Poison Fang Aura into the blade—
The Lyra she'd struck smiled and dissolved into mist.
Damn it!
The real Lyra—or what Rhea hoped was the real one—appeared behind her, blade aimed at her kidneys. Rhea twisted desperately, the blade grazing her side instead of piercing deep. But it still cut, and blood immediately soaked through her tunic.
"First blood to me," Lyra's voice echoed from all three figures. "Let's see how long you last, Black Veil."
Rhea backed against a wall, her breathing controlled but her mind racing. She was bleeding from two wounds already, and she hadn't even landed a real hit on Lyra yet.
This is bad. I can't fight what I can't identify. Need a new strategy.
She reached into her pouch, fingers closing around a vial of amber liquid. One of her specialized toxins—Serpent's Breath. Gaseous, highly corrosive to organic matter, but with a very specific property: it reacted differently to real flesh versus illusions.
Worth a shot.
"Trying to think of a strategy?" all three Lyras taunted. "There isn't one. You can't win this fight, Rhea Varyn. I am the perfect counter to assassins like you."
Rhea's lips curved into a slight smile despite the pain. "We'll see about that."
She smashed the vial on the ground.
Amber mist erupted, spreading through the corridor rapidly. It was thick, cloying, and immediately started eating at exposed skin—Rhea felt it burning her hands and face, but she'd built up tolerance to her own poisons over years.
The three Lyras stumbled back, coughing—and Rhea watched carefully.
Two of them coughed identically, their skin showing identical corrosion patterns. But the third—the one on the right—her cough was slightly different, wetter, and the corrosion on her skin spread slightly faster.
Organic matter reacts faster than illusion constructs. Got you.
Rhea charged through the toxic mist, ignoring the burning pain on her skin. Her dagger flashed toward the third Lyra—
Lyra blocked, their blades clashing. This time, the figure didn't dissolve. Rhea pressed her advantage, driving Lyra back with a flurry of strikes.
"Clever," Lyra admitted, genuine surprise in her voice. The other two figures dissolved, the illusions dropping. "Very clever. Using chemical differentiation to identify organic tissue. I underestimated you."
"Everyone does," Rhea said coldly. "It's my advantage."
She struck again, her blade coated with Poison Fang Aura. This time, she aimed for Lyra's left arm—a shallow cut, deliberately non-lethal, just enough to introduce the poison.
The blade connected. Lyra hissed, pulling back. Black veins immediately began to spread from the wound.
"There," Rhea said, breathing hard. "Now you're marked. No matter how many illusions you create, I'll know the real you by the poison in your veins."
Lyra looked at the spreading black veins, then back at Rhea. Her smile was cold, calculating. "Clever. But you've made a mistake."
She raised her uninjured hand, and her violet aura flared brighter than before. Suddenly, there were five Lyras, all with identical black veins spreading from identical wounds on their left arms.
Rhea's eyes widened. "That's... that's impossible. You can't replicate the poison—"
"Can't I?" all five Lyras said simultaneously. "My illusions aren't just visual, remember. They're complete copies, down to the molecular level. Including whatever poison happens to be in my bloodstream."
Rhea's heart sank. She can replicate the poison's visual effects. Which means my marker is useless.
"Now then," the five Lyras said, beginning to circle. "Shall we continue?"
Rhea tightened her grip on her daggers, her mind racing for a new strategy. She was bleeding from multiple wounds, her specialized poison had been countered, and Lyra was proving to be far more dangerous than anticipated.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Back in the courtyard, Magnus faced the second wave of guards.
They'd learned from the first wave's mistakes. This time, they worked in perfect coordination—shield wall in front, spearmen behind, archers on the walls providing covering fire, and mages in the back row channeling enchantments to strengthen the whole formation.
"Ebon Strike!"
Magnus lunged at the shield wall, his saber punching through with shadow-enhanced force. The first shield cracked, and Magnus's blade found the guard behind it, piercing his heart.
But the moment Magnus committed to the strike, spears thrust from multiple angles—left, right, and above. He twisted desperately, his injured body protesting. One spear grazed his already-wounded ribs, deepening the cut. Another pierced his right shoulder where the crossbow bolt had struck earlier.
Magnus roared in pain, wrenching himself free. Blood poured from the reopened wounds, and his right arm went partially numb.
"Surround him! Don't let him escape!"
Guards closed in from all directions. Magnus's shadow aura flared, but he could feel his dantian straining. He'd already used a significant amount of qi, and the constant wounds were making it harder to focus.
Need to break their formation. Disrupt their coordination.
A flaming arrow struck his left arm—not just a normal arrow, but one enchanted with fire magic. It pierced through his shadow aura like it wasn't there, and flames immediately began eating at his flesh.
Magnus screamed, the smell of his own burning flesh filling his nostrils. He tore the arrow free, but the damage was done. Burns blistered across his forearm, angry and red.
Fire-enchanted arrows. They're specifically countering my shadow aura.
"Abyssal Rend!"
Magnus crossed his sabers, tearing open a void rift. Pure shadow energy erupted from the tear in reality, a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to swallow light itself.
Ten guards were caught in the rift. Their screams were cut short as shadow tendrils wrapped around them, pulling them toward the void. Flesh tore from bone, armor crumpled like paper, and their bodies were shredded by the absolute darkness.
When the rift closed, only mangled remains fell to the ground in a grotesque spray of blood and viscera.
The courtyard fell silent for a moment, the remaining guards staring in horror at the carnage.
But Magnus paid a heavy price for the technique. His dantian throbbed, nearly depleted. His vision swam, and he stumbled, catching himself on his sabers. Blood dripped from his mouth—he'd pushed himself too hard, damaged his internal meridians.
That technique... it's too expensive. My dantian isn't developed enough to handle it properly.
"Formation Beta!" a guard captain shouted, breaking the silence. "Ranged attacks only! Don't get close!"
Thirty archers on the walls drew their bows simultaneously. Mages began chanting, preparing area-of-effect spells. The remaining ground troops spread out, maintaining distance while preparing to capitalize on any opening.
Magnus forced himself upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was wounded in a dozen places, his qi reserves critically low, and now facing an entire coordinated assault.
This is bad. Really bad.
The archers fired. Not all at once, but in waves—a continuous barrage designed to keep him pinned and drain his defenses.
Magnus's shadow aura flickered, catching some arrows but missing others. One struck his left thigh—the same leg that had already been wounded. He gasped, his leg buckling beneath him.
No. Can't fall. Not yet.
He looked up at the wall where Avar and Hera were chained. Avar was crying, screaming his name. Hera was trying to comfort the boy, but tears streamed down her own face.
They're watching me fail. Watching me die.
Something dark stirred in Magnus's chest. Not just his shadow qi, but something deeper—that strange luminescence he'd glimpsed earlier. It pulsed once, twice, responding to his desperation.
For a moment, his shadow aura changed. It became darker, denser, and that otherworldly glow spread through it like veins of starlight in absolute darkness. The temperature dropped even further, frost forming on the nearby stones.
The divine nature of his shadow—inherited from the ancient entity sealed in the Black Hollow, the power of the true heir of shadow—began to awaken.
But Magnus didn't understand what was happening. He only knew that suddenly, his dantian felt deeper, vaster, like he'd tapped into a well of power he hadn't known existed.
"Twilight Aegis!"
Shadow energy formed a dome around him, but this time it was different. The dome was shot through with that strange luminescence, making it look like a shield made from the night sky itself, complete with stars.
The next wave of arrows struck the barrier and didn't just dissipate—they were completely annihilated, erased from existence.
Even the fire-enchanted arrows, which had pierced his normal shadow aura, couldn't penetrate this enhanced defense.
The guards stared in disbelief.
"What... what is that?" one whispered.
From the upper level, Hardard's eyes widened. He'd seen many types of qi in his lifetime—fire, water, earth, metal, wood, even rare variants like lightning and ice. But this... this was something else entirely.
"That's not normal shadow qi," he muttered. "What is that boy?"
Lyra, who had been about to descend to handle Rhea personally, paused and looked at the courtyard. Her violet eyes widened as she saw Magnus's enhanced barrier.
That aura... it's divine in nature. How does a human possess divine qi? Unless...
Her mind raced through possibilities. Ancient bloodlines, sealed inheritances, divine contracts—but none of those should be possible for a mere duke's son.
What are you, Magnus Caldryn?
In the courtyard, Magnus stood within his enhanced barrier, breathing heavily. The boost of power had stabilized him temporarily, but he could feel it slipping away, like trying to hold water in his bare hands.
What... what was that? Where did that power come from?
He didn't have time to ponder. The barrier was already fading, the strange luminescence retreating back into the depths of his dantian. Within seconds, his shadow aura returned to normal.
But the guards had seen enough. Fear rippled through their ranks. If the Red Shadow could manifest power like that, what else was he capable of?
"Hold your positions!" the guard captain barked. "He's weakening! Look at him—he can barely stand!"
It was true. Magnus's temporary surge of power had faded, leaving him more exhausted than before. His legs trembled, his wounds bled freely, and his dantian was dangerously close to empty.
But he forced himself to remain standing, sabers raised, crimson eyes still burning with unbreakable will.
"Come on then," he growled, his voice rough. "I'm not dead yet."
From above, Hardard's cruel smile returned. "Not dead yet. But soon."
He leaped from the upper level, flames trailing behind him like wings. He crashed into the courtyard, the stone cracking beneath his boots, heat distorting the air around him.
"Enough games," Hardard announced, flames roaring around his metal knuckles. "Guards, fall back. This ends now."
The guards quickly retreated to the edges of the courtyard, forming a perimeter but keeping their distance.
Magnus and Hardard faced each other across twenty feet of bloodstained stone.
"You've surprised me, boy," Hardard admitted, his flames pulsing with barely contained fury. "You're stronger than I expected. But strength alone isn't enough." His scarred eye gleamed with madness. "I've waited years for this. Years of planning, of preparing, of dreaming about the moment I could destroy Edward Caldryn's legacy."
Magnus spat blood at Hardard's feet. "You're pathetic. All this—the corruption, the slavery, the murder—all because a woman didn't love you?"
Hardard's flames exploded outward, the heat so intense that nearby guards stumbled back. "SHE DID LOVE ME!" he roared. "Anna was mine! We promised ourselves to each other! Then your bastard father came along with his wealth and title and stole her!"
"She made a choice," Magnus said coldly. "That's all. You just couldn't accept it."
"I'll make you pay for his sin," Hardard growled. "I'll burn you until there's nothing left but ash. And then I'll visit Caldera. I'll burn your father's estate to the ground. I'll make your mother watch as everything her precious Edward built turns to cinders."
Magnus's shadow aura flared, his crimson eyes blazing brighter. Despite his wounds, despite his exhaustion, his voice was steady. "You'll never touch them. I'll die before I let you harm my family."
Hardard's grin was manic. "Then die!"
"Earthquake Fist!"
Hardard charged forward, his flaming fist aimed at Magnus's chest. The ground cracked with each step, and the heat was overwhelming.
Magnus tried to dodge, but his wounded leg betrayed him. He was too slow.
Hardard's fist connected with Magnus's crossed sabers. The impact was catastrophic.
CRACK.
Magnus was lifted off his feet and hurled backward. He crashed through a stone pillar, debris raining down on him. He tumbled across the ground, his body leaving a trail of blood, and finally slammed into the fortress wall with bone-jarring force.
Every breath was agony. Something was broken inside—ribs, definitely. Maybe more. Blood filled his mouth, and his vision darkened at the edges.
But through it all, he heard Avar's voice.
"Big Brother Magnus! Get up! Please!"
Magnus's fingers twitched. Then his hand. Then his arm.
Not... yet... I'm not... done yet...
He pushed himself up, using the wall for support. His entire body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stand.
Hardard stopped his advance, surprise flickering across his face. "Still standing? You've got your father's stubbornness."
Magnus raised his sabers—one cracked, the other chipped, but still serviceable. His shadow aura flickered weakly around him, barely more than a whisper of darkness.
"Round... two," Magnus rasped, blood dripping from his lips.
The true battle between fire and shadow was only beginning.
And neither warrior planned to walk away.
To Be Continued in Chapter 26…