By midday, the Guild courtyard was filled with a small crowd. Word of the Grim Vale subjugation had spread like wildfire, drawing onlookers eager to catch a glimpse of Tolany’s elite. Local children lined the balconies and gathered by the steps, trading murmurs and odds like this was some kind of spectacle.
I spotted Bren standing with Solstice and Golden Fang at the edge of the entrance path. Her arms were crossed, chin slightly raised. Her expression was composed, but her eyes met mine the moment I turned toward her.
“You’re making a habit of rushing into danger,” she said as I approached.
“Isn’t that part of Adventurer life?”
She smiled faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Grim Vale’s no joke, Koa.”
I simply smiled at her, appreciating the worry she showed.
There was a pause. Then, softer, “Come back intact.”
“I plan to,” I said, voice low.
Her fingers locked with mine as we shared another moment.
I turned to Todd, Devin, and the rest of the group stepping forward. Todd grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Come back with some good stories. No excuses with the front seat you’ll have,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder and leaning in mimicking a whisper that was more than loud enough. “I need someone to distract Devin for my card games.”
Devin rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.
I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As the rest of the group continued their farewells, Ozzy stepped next to me. “Don’t hesitate to call if things get too rough. We’ll back you up.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through me at their support.
Bren shifted closer to me after the others shared their goodbyes and wrapped her arms around my neck. I leaned in for a kiss which she returned. Pulling away, her expression showed a fondness and warmth that was hard to leave. I turned my attention back to Todd and the others as they all began shouting good-natured taunts and cheers.
“I’ll be sure to bring back something worth the trip!” I called out over their laughter.
“Or at least some shiny loot!” Todd shouted back with a grin.
I turned, cloak shifting as I walked past the murmuring crowd and toward the eastern gate.
* * *
The eastern gate came into view as I cut across Tolany’s midday streets. The noise of the city dulled behind me, replaced by the quieter stirrings of organized departure. Three groups stood near the gate, exchanging gear checks and quiet talk, the tension of an impending expedition coiled in the air.
I scanned the faces to see a combination of hardened and relaxed expressions. Each took in stride the coming assignment in their own way.
I picked out a familiar person almost immediately.
“Hold on. You’re a spellsword?”
“It’s good to see you too?”
He chuckled. “Likewise. You didn’t use a sword during your assessment. Thought you were all flash and vanish. Spatial magic this, spatial rift that. The more I talk it’s a bit obvious now with how you were moving.”
I smirked. “It’s not for show. I’d be happy to get another round with our swords when there’s time.”
Tristan clapped my shoulder, still grinning. “I might take you up on it after this mission. See if that sword of yours actually bites.”
“It does. Ask the undead.”
He laughed, stepping aside as I moved in. “This here’s the Ember Blades,” he said, gesturing to the group behind him. “Mera, handles our conjurations and battlefield control. Lars, our walking wall. Colt, our ranged specialist. And me, of course. The pretty one.”
Mera gave a polite nod. Lars, a hulking man with a serious expression, gave a grunt of acknowledgment. Colt offered a grin and a wave at his mention.
I gave them a respectful nod before turning to the next cluster of adventurers. Four of them stood in formation, their presence more contained, power sheathed but unmistakable.
I addressed the one at the front. A tall man with brown hair, calm gray eyes, and a controlled stillness that felt colder than the air around him.
“Stampede?” I asked.
The man inclined his head slightly. “Callus Sol,” he said. “You’re Koa Destus.”
I met his gaze. His mana completely attuned to the cold element, icy and precise, woven tight and deep. I felt its weight and approved of his strength. “Tyus filled me in.”
“Likewise.”
A man to his right stepped forward, flashing a lopsided grin. His bow was slung over his shoulder, and I could already feel the faint pulse of destructive mana laced along his frame.
“Peter Vough. Not quite as broody as Icy tips over here but even he warms up when you get to know him.”
“Nice to meet you. Is it all four?”
“That’s right.”
Behind them stood two more members of Stampede. One was a towering woman with a massive greataxe strapped across her back and arms corded with muscle. She gave me a small, approving nod. The fourth was a lean man with a subtle hum of crackling energy around his hands and a constant flicker of motion in his eyes like he was already tracking threats that hadn’t arrived yet.
I moved to the final group.
“We’re Iron Tide,” their leader stated before I could ask. Broad-shouldered and clad in heavy gear, he sized me up with a soldier’s stare. “We don’t waste words. We take hits. We hold the line.”
“Koa Destus. Space magic and blades. I’ll be keeping everyone informed throughout.”
He grunted something like approval. The others in his team gave similarly terse introductions. All competent, professional, and exactly the kind of wall you'd want between you and a charging beast.
As the groups finished their final checks, the formation began to take shape. Stampede had the presence of restrained power. Callus’s ice was felt even in his exterior while Peter’s personality seemed to balance out the group with a vibrant aura. Regardless, the two shared a natural correspondence that made Callus approachable. The others followed their lead with the ease of familiarity. Ember Blades, nimble and well-balanced, gave off a more fluid energy, and Iron Tide’s firm, grounded stance promised resilience.
I reached out, passively sensing their mana. The Gold Rankers stood out clearly. Callus and Peter, both Experts had signatures refined and tempered like blades reflective of their midpoint mastery of the tier. The rest of Stampede trailed just behind at Low Expert, while both Iron Tide and Ember Blades hovered between Adept and High Adept.
The guild rolled out a solid force. More than enough to flatten what I had seen in Grim Vale.
I exhaled, planting a hand on the hilt of my blade. It pulsed faintly in response.
This would be the beginning of the end for the undead stirring beyond the veil. And I had a front-row seat.
* * *
I decided early not to outpace the group. Teleporting everyone was not something I was willing to try without a bit more experimentation. I felt a intuition to the complexities that would entail when using mana outside of my presence without causing physical harm. I’d trust the advance of our group to not present a problem to the timing of our arrival.
So I marched. Or rather, we moved.
What would’ve been a week-long trek for apprentices or journeymen was reduced to two days of efficient travel. Each of us leaned into our own talents: wind-shaping, arcane strides, elemental propulsion. The pace was brisk, purposeful, and tight. I measured mine to the Ember Blades. They had a nimble and practiced stride, particularly Tristan who moved with the relaxed rhythm of someone born into the field.
The terrain shifted as we moved eastward. The rolling greens gave way to broken stone and harsher soil. The skies gradually grayed with an oppressive thickness, as if the land anticipated what waited beyond.
We stopped before sunset on the second day. A wide stretch of earth nestled against a rising ridge served as a natural windbreak. The group began setting up a perimeter aiming to serve as temporary base of preparation.
I moved toward a sparse patch of stone with enough elevation to give me a clear view of the horizon. I could feel the corruption even now, a slow thrum in the distance like a drum being beaten far below the surface. I could surmise the strength of the undead by extending my perception, but I felt no need to. By this time tomorrow, we’d be deep in Grim Vale.
Nearby, Tristan flicked his gaze toward me, tossing a sharpened stick into the fire as he took a seat. “So, why not use a sword for your testing?” he said, a sly grin cutting across his face. “They still give the ‘show us your full abilities’ speech”
I snorted, my eyes still on the sky. “Truly? I didn’t have a sword at the time.”
He let out a laugh. “Well damn. Guess I’ll see how things change blade in hand.”
“It’s been good. My weapon mastery had a bit of rust to overcome.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“You swinging it like a mage or a swordsman?” he teased.
“Spellswords do both. Don’t you know?”
Tristan chuckled and leaned back, stretching his arms over the log. “Is this your first time with the rest of the Silvers? You didn’t join a party?”
“That’s right.”
To our left, Peter Vough was helping one of the Stampede members stack supplies. He turned toward us, having caught part of the exchange.
“Tristan’s just nervous,” Peter said with a wide grin. “He’s hoping you’ll go easy on his pride when you start teleporting around like some kind of phantom.”
Tristan waved him off. “Keep talking, Marksman. We’ll see who gets left behind when the real fight starts.”
“You? Probably,” Peter replied, already laughing.
Even Callus, standing a short distance away, allowed a faint upward twitch of the lips. Others joined in, as the bickering of Tristan and Peter drew their attention and created a bit of a competitive and relaxed energy.
I followed along with the group dynamic while internally flexing the threads of space, lightning, and wind elements to further refine my control.
Tomorrow, the mission would begin in full. And Grim Vale would see exactly what Tolany’s finest could do.
* * *
I knelt and dragged a stick across the dirt, sketching a rough map of Grim Vale’s terrain into the dry earth. The others closed in around me. We numbered twelve total, three parties, all quiet save for the rustle of wind and leather.
“The Death Knight,” I said, marking the northern quadrant with an X near what remained of an old war camp. “Last seen here. Heavy armor. Commanded undead infantry.”
I shifted the stick westward, slashing a line across jagged shapes. “Lich was settled by a siege engine. Ground was corrupted. Defensive wards set around the perimeter. Constructs roaming nearby.”
One last mark to the east. “And here, the ruins of what looked like a command post. That’s where I saw the Pale Revenant. It didn’t engage, but the undead moved in tandem with its presence. It’s the strongest out of the three and I’d guess it’s the top of the hierarchy.”
The circle held its breath for a second longer. Then Callus stepped forward.
“Stampede will take the Revenant,” he said flatly, eyes flicking toward the eastern bluff. “It’s the organizing force. We’ll remove it.”
Peter gave a crooked grin. “Always the hard one first.”
The towering woman beside him, Drenna, I’d come to find out, nodded once. Crackling fire ran along Kresh’s fingers behind her, the fourth of their party.
Sera, the broad-shouldered leader of Iron Tide, shifted his weight and thumbed the hilt of his greatsword.
“Then we’ll go north,” he said. “That armor-bound bastard sounds like our kind of dance.”
He glanced to his team, who offered no argument. Iron Tide held true to their name.
Tristan folded his arms and looked westward, where the siege engine lay in silent wreckage.
“Which leaves us with the Lich,” he said.
Colt exhaled. “Figures.”
“Better us than the others,” Mera said, calmly adjusting the warded bands on her wrists. “We’ve got coverage.”
I stood, brushing dirt from my knee, leaving the stick to the ground.
“That locks it in,” I said. “Pale Revenant—Stampede. Death Knight—Iron Tide. Lich—Ember Blades. I’ll keep visual contact where I can and update if any threat moves or escalates.”
“Understood,” Callus replied.
Sera looked to Callus. “We move?”
“Now,” Callus said.
They broke without flourish or fanfare.
I rose into the air on a quiet wind, watching from above as the force split in three. East. North. West. Grim Vale opened its maw ahead of them and we stepped straight into it.
I went with the northern group first, just long enough to see Iron Tide locked in.
The Death Knight towered in the middle of the collapsed war camp, black steel scorched and pitted from old wars. Its helm scanned slowly as Iron Tide pressed in from all sides, the knight’s corrupted greatblade dragging arcs in the dirt. The ground hissed where it passed. It swung its blade in an X, necrotic energy trailing like the breath of a crypt.
Sera led the charge. His greatsword clashed with the Death Knight’s with a ringing that cut across the entire camp. Sparks burst from the blow. Sera didn’t yield, driving in again, blade biting into rusted plate and blackened bone but not deep enough.
The knight’s counter ripped the air. The vanguard on the left barely blocked the full swing. His shield dented and the supporting arm twisted unnaturally, but he stayed upright. Their formation didn’t break. They readjusted and closed ranks. Methodical. Intentional. A hammer rhythm beating down the enemy piece by piece.
No advantage could be seen for either side.
Another blow from the Death Knight sent one of their flankers crashing through the remains of a barricade, blood flecking the earth behind him. The undead pressed the moment flaring its presence with the strength of its Expert Signature, pressing them all back.
But Sera kept moving. Each time the knight shifted its attention, he was there, locking blades again, dragging its focus back. His continual engagement was grinding through its defenses assisted by every coordinated strike from his team.
My attention shifted west.
The Lich still hovered over the carcass of the shattered siege engine, its skeletal form draped in a rotting cloak stitched with curses and emerald fire. Black runes spiraled above it, pulsing with necromantic breath. There was a flicker drawing more filth from the desecrated ground to accompany the scene.
Ember Blades were already deep in the fray.
Colt stood rearward, both hands glowing with summoned sigils. A stone-skinned beast the size of a wagon barreled toward the Lich's left, its roar shaking the splintered beams of the broken war machine. Another summoned creature, a sleek, feline form crackling with volatile energy, dashed in from the right. Both slammed into the enemy’s summoned undead, scattering bones and breaking momentum.
Colt’s eyes burned with a purplish light. He stepped forward, power flowing into his limbs. His next gesture was a throw that was further empowered by the purple colored energy. With the strength of the beast he’d conjured, he hurled a hunk of stone dead into a cluster of rising wraiths. The impact crushed one outright, sending the rest tumbling in a pile of limbs and ruined armor.
The Lich raised its staff and Mera responded. She stood perfectly still, runes shimmering around her like floating glass shards. One glyph blinked forward and detonated at the Lich’s feet, breaking its spellform and staggered back. An illusion sprang up in Mera’s place, a mirror image of the herself spiraling into the air to hover from her position while she cloaked her form with a rune, pulsing with false mana.
The Lich took the bait.
It loosed a bolt of green lightning at the decoy—just as Tristan arrived.
He blurred in with a sideways leap, twin blades a blur of red light. Mana carved from the edges of his swings, arcing blades of pure force hammering the Lich’s ward before he even landed. A spinning backstep threw him clear of a bone spear, and he darted forward again, agile and relentless. He flowed from one attack to another, each assault disorienting or cutting off the counter the Lich attempted to prepare. He read the space, never in one place long enough to be trapped by the Lich when he focused on him.
Lars followed in behind him like a battering ram. His war hammer cracked across the Lich’s barrier, creating confined concussive blast with brutal precision on the points of contacts. The next blow struck home shattering the shield and further elevating the effects of the concussive force. Lars’s form flared with reinforcing mana, his body gleaming under layers of hardened energy. He moved like a siege weapon to again pressure the Lich only to be intercepted by another undead attacker. He reacted in time, slightly angling off his charge to position his hammer in front of his torse. The haft of his weapon deflected a spectral sword long enough to end the interruption with a punt to the attacker into the stonework.
With the pressure slowed, the Lich floated upward and with a flick of its hand, summoned a dome of ghastly flaming and screaming faces that exploded downward. Corpsefire rained from the air, and Mera threw up a ward large enough to cover the group as Colt’s golem lurched forward again, taking the brunt of the storm.
“Colt, left side!” Mera called, her voice cutting sharp through the din.
“Copy!” he answered, voice taut with focus. “Reinforcing Lars—hold center!”
His summoned beast leapt and slashed through a line of skeletal archers that had begun flanking.
The Lich continued his bombardment on the group, his spells coming in quick succession with every second it had to reassemble mana. Every summon, every strike, every illusion incorporated a cohesive coordination that had the group slowly gaining an advantage in the exhcange. When Lars staggered under a bolt, Mera shielded him. When Tristan was driven back, Colt’s golems surged forward to attack with fist sized hammer blows, refusing to give the Lich any reprieve.
It lashed out with a nova of cursed blades that spiraled like shrapnel. Mera’s ward broke, throwing her back. Tristan successfully evaded two with a twist of his body, with not as much success for a third that nicked his leg. Lars took the rest on his mana-clad frame, gritting his teeth as he slammed his hammer into the ground, causing a shockwave to clear the wave.
The Lich hovered with wounds from their tradeoffs, still showing no signs of defeat.
To the north, Iron Tide still battled the Death Knight. They had pushed it back from the ridge, Sera’s greatsword now biting deeper, his strikes joined by hammer and blade, shield and spell.
But neither group had found victory. It was a testament to the monsters’ prowess against the parties laid against them, each lashing out with a wrath honed by a singular hatred for the opponents before them.
Still, the parties endured. Inch by inch.
Experience, synergy, discipline. That’s what tilted the scale.
I kept my hand on my blade, watching the east.
Callus raised a single hand, his eyes narrowing on the Pale Revenant. Ice gathered as a surge of glacial force that warped his surroundings. The breath of winter swept outward, freezing the very soil as jagged spires burst from the ground, tearing through the lesser undead. A dozen shattered in an instant. The Pale Revenant recoiled, cloak snapping back from the blast.
Then the volley began.
Peter, already airborne on a leap, loosed an arrow mid-fall. The shaft streaked across the field, humming with red-hot energy. It exploded in a shockwave of fire and concussive force that lit the horizon. The undead surrounding the Pale Revenant were vaporized. The Revenant itself was launched back through a copse of skeletal soldiers, crushing them beneath its frame.
Drenna charged next, greataxe raised over her shoulder, legs pounding the earth. A swipe of her blade decapitated three ghouls in one arc. Another swing collided with the Revenant’s blade in a thunderous crash right as it managed to right itself. The earth split, a crater tearing open under its feet. The undead staggered, off balance.
Kresh blitzed past her flank, fists cloaked in violent, pulsing flame. One punch landed against the Revenant’s armored ribs and flames burst outward like a ruptured furnace. Another followed, aimed higher, cracking through its guard and sending molten sparks flying.
I stood watch from the ridgeline. The monolith pulsed behind the enemy, half-buried in stone. Its dark obsidian surface throbbed with unnatural light, webbed in red sigils. We’d agreed that once the Revenant was driven clear, I would destroy it.
But it wasn’t finished yet.
The Pale Revenant roared with a distorted, guttural sound that carried across the battleground. It struck back, its blade sweeping in a brutal horizontal arc that forced Drenna to block and skid several feet across the ground, boots carving trenches into the soil. Kresh ducked low, twisting under the counter, and erupted a point-blank blast of fire into its midsection. Even the armored plate groaned from the impact.
Peter’s second arrow crashed down beside it, erupting in another scorched crater, but the Revenant persisted. Bones blackened, armor melted in places, but its movements grew more erratic and desperate.
Iron Tide’s battle with the Death Knight seemed to not move from their location. Sera’s greatsword clashed against the towering undead in a shower of sparks. Their party circled the creature with measured steps, landing concussive, battering strikes. The battle of attrition held and proved effective in wearing it down. Each member of their group showed some form of injury. I created a Rift and stepped through appearing behind their line to confirm their overall health and was given a nod of assurance in their ability to continue.
I teleported near the siege engine, communicating with the Ember Blades next. Colt had three summoned beasts active. Twp stone-clad wolves and the plated golem hammering undead, while his hands glowed with the aura of borrowed strength. Mera’s glyphs detonated with exacting precision, pinning the Lich between layers of light and illusory doubles. Tristan was a blur of steel, his dual blades carving arcs through the air, slashing across gaps. Lars moved behind him, hammer crashing through summoned wights with brutal efficiency even snapping the arm of the Lich back. Tristan followed up with an upward strike that severed the limb at the bend.
“No hand needed here Koa, thanks for asking.” Tristan quipped when he caught sight of me.
I snorted and returned to a vantage point closer to the Revenant.
Another pulse drew my eyes back to the monolith.
The Pale Revenant jumped back evading a glacial block and turned right toward it. Kresh and Drenna moved to flank, but it was too late. It dropped to a knee and plunged its skeletal hand into the earth, fingers clasping onto the base of the buried construct.
The monolith lit up like a storm. Red lightning arced from it to the Revenant’s form, wrapping around bone, steel, and rotten sinew. I felt the mana spike.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
It made the draw and its frame began to convulse. Its stature grew. Its corrupted mana warped violently as it burst past the High Expert threshold.
A cold ripple passed over the vale and the shift was immediate. The Death Knight across the field stumbled, blade wavering. The Lich hissed, its magic faltering for a brief second.
The price had been paid. The Pale Revenant was bleeding power from them.
Stampede recoiled momentarily, the sudden surge catching them mid-push with a circular wave.
My fingers tightened around the hilt of the Hellforged blade. The signal would come soon.
And when it did, the monolith would fall.
