Chapter 8

Fuko–

The hallway stretched before me, long and empty.

My boots struck the marble floor in a steady rhythm, each step echoing against the high ceiling. Blood dripped from my blades, leaving a trail of dark spots behind me.

The children were safe. Or safe enough.

I thought back to leading them out of the castle. Down corridors. Up stairwells. They followed without question, their small feet padding behind me in the dark.

I had found an exit. A side door that opened onto the castle grounds. From there, we moved along the outer wall, keeping to the shadows. The children were quiet. Smart. They understood that noise meant death.

The wall had a gate. Small. Probably meant for servants or supplies. I thought it would lead out to the village.

It did not.

When I opened it, there was only a narrow passage running along the wall. Not freedom. Just further away.

Still, it led away from the castle proper. Away from the knights. Away from the rituals.

I sent them through. Told them to follow the wall until they found a way down. Told them not to look back.

The girl with brown hair was the last to step inside. She stopped and turned toward me. Then she raised her hand and waved.

A simple gesture.

Goodbye.
Thank you.
Something like that.

My face did not change.

But inside… maybe it did.

Was I feeling guilty?

She held the wave a moment longer, then turned and ran, disappearing into the passage with her brother. At least, I assumed he was her brother.

I stood there longer than I needed to.

Then I turned back toward the castle.

Now I could focus on why I came here.

The lord. Whoever ruled this place. Whoever was responsible for the children and the rituals.

I stared up at the towering castle, a faint breath escaping my lips.

“This is getting fun.”

Returning inside, I considered where someone like him would hide. My thoughts drifted back to the jail cell, to the man dressed in white. A servant, not the master. Someone who did the dirty work.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway and pressed a finger to my lips.

“The Lockheart castle had its chamber at the center,” I muttered, glancing around. “Do all castles follow the same rules?”

“Lockheart…”

“Mia.”

The name slipped out before I could stop it.

I shook my head and forced myself back to the present.

They would be at the center. Lords always were. Buried beneath guards and walls.

For a moment, I considered sensing mana to track people. A good idea. Until I remembered that things like him knew how to hide their presence.

Shame.

My ears twitched.

Footsteps ahead. Multiple. Then more from behind.

I did not slow.

They rounded the corner. Six knights in full armor, swords drawn, moving in formation.

They saw me. The blood on my clothes. On my face. On my blades.

“We found the intruder!” one of them shouted.

“Stop right there!” another barked. His voice tried to sound firm. It cracked anyway.

I kept walking.

“I said stop!” He drew his sword higher. “In the name of—”

I moved.

My right blade flicked out. He tried to block, but his sword was too high. His neck was open.

My blade cut his throat.

Blood sprayed. He gurgled and collapsed.

The others charged.

The first attack came from my left. A downward chop aimed at my shoulder. I had seen that swing a thousand times. Knew exactly how much space it needed.

I stepped right.

The blade slammed into the floor. Before he could pull it free, I swung upward. My blades passed his arms like air slipping past cloth.

A moment later, his arm fell away from his body.

It took him a second to understand.

He screamed and flailed. I drove my blade into his head and ended it.

Another knight thrust straight for my chest. I turned just enough to feel the blade whisper past my ribs. My right blade answered, cutting up under his chin.

He hit the floor hard.

Silence.

Then a spear came from behind my back.

I heard the shift of weight. The breath before the strike. I leaned left. The spear missed.

I spun. Both blades crossed in a scissor motion, slamming into the spearman’s chest. His armor held, but the force threw him into the wall. He slid down, stunned.

The last knight lunged wildly. Panic was written all over him.

I parried with my left blade, knocking his sword aside, then drove my right blade into the gap between his breastplate and pauldron.

He choked and fell.

Silence again.

I stood among the bodies, breathing steady. Blood dripped from my blades onto the marble.

Five. Maybe six.

My hands were soaked. My clothes are heavy with red.

Footsteps echoed again. Running. More knights.

I walked toward the sound.

The next group was larger. Eight of them. Better equipped. Moving carefully.

They had heard.

“Spread out!” their commander shouted. “Surround him! Don’t let him—”

I closed the distance before they could finish.

Combat was more than sword skill. It was timing. Positioning. Knowing how to turn numbers into a weakness.

I stepped into the center of their formation before they could spread out. Now they were too close together. They could not swing freely.

I could.

My blades never stopped moving. Block. Parry. Cut. Each motion flowed into the next. No pauses. No wasted effort. I did not give them time to think.

A sword came down toward my head. I ducked beneath it and heard metal crash behind me. His blade struck another knight.

They were already killing each other.

I cut the first man across the hamstring. He dropped with a scream. I caught his falling body and shoved him forward, using him as a shield. Two strikes hit his armor instead of me.

“You bastard!” someone shouted.

The commander yelled orders, trying to restore control. Too late. Panic had already set in.

“He really is a demon!”

“Omen child!”

They threw insults like prayers. It did not save them.

I moved through them efficiently. No flourish. No anger. Just execution.

One knight backed away, trembling.

“What are you?” he whispered as I approached.

“Someone who has seen more battles than you ever will,” I said.

I struck.

He tried to block. His form was wrong. There was a gap I had seen a hundred times before.

My blade slipped through.

He fell.

I stepped over his body and kept walking.

The hallway opened into a wide chamber. An antechamber, maybe. Tapestries lined the walls. A chandelier hung overhead.

And knights.

At least a dozen. They formed a defensive line between me and where I needed to go.

They were ready. As ready as fear allowed.

I kept walking. Blood dripped from my blades, slow and steady.

“Last warning!” one of them shouted. His voice shook. “Surrender now or—”

“He’s not going to surrender,” another muttered. “Look at his eyes.”

“Then we kill him.”

No one sounded confident.

“He cut through the others like nothing.”

“He’s just one man.”

“He’s a monster.”

The word spread through them.

They were about to learn the difference between a soldier and a monster wearing one’s armor.

I was twenty paces away. A blade in each hand. Both stained red.

Their line wavered. Hands tightened on hilts. Feet shifted backward.

I felt nothing. Only a dull sense of pity.

“MAKE WAY!”

The voice thundered through the chamber.

The knights immediately parted, pressing themselves against the walls.

A man stepped forward.

Big. That was the first thought.

He was enormous. A head taller than the others. Shoulders wide enough to nearly brush both walls. His armor was heavier, ornate, and marked by a red plume.

Resting on his shoulder was a war hammer. Stone textured. Deep engravings carved into its head.

Each step he took made the floor tremble. The knights visibly relaxed behind him.

The hammer scraped against the marble as he lowered it, metal screaming against stone.

“It’s Captain GrimWall!” someone shouted.

“You’ve killed a lot of good men today,” he said. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

I did not answer.

He loomed over me, studying my stance, my grip.

“They say you have horns,” he continued. “That you fight like a demon. That you cut through armor like parchment.”

He shifted into a proper guard. Not castle training. Real experience.

“Get him, Captain GrimWall!” someone yelled.

He gripped the hammer with both hands.

“Let’s see if the rumors are true.”

Then he charged.

Fast.

Too fast for a man his size.

The hammer came down in a brutal overhead swing, enough to split me in half.

I stepped aside.

I saw it before it happened. The weight shift. The tension in his muscles. My body moved before thought caught up.

The hammer struck the marble, shattering it. Stone exploded outward.

He recovered instantly, pivoting into a horizontal swing.

I ducked. Felt the air scream over my head.

Another strike. Then another.

Each blow could crush bone. Each one came faster than it should.

I dodged with minimal movement. Just enough. Years of fighting had taught me how much space each attack required. Nothing more.

He pressed forward relentlessly. High. Low. Diagonal. He knew how to fight.

I slipped past him on the next swing, sliding under his arm and behind him.

The cheers from the knights faded.

Confusion followed.

Then there was panic.

GrimWall swung wide.

I dropped low.

The hammer tore through the formation behind him, crushing two, maybe three knights in a single sweep.

Their screams filled the chamber.

GrimWall did not stop.

He ripped the hammer free from the bodies behind him, chunks of armor and meat tearing loose as it came up. Blood sprayed across the floor and walls.

“What are you doing?!” someone screamed.

“Captain, stop!”

Another knight tried to back away. Too slow.

GrimWall swung again, low and wide. The hammer crushed the knight’s legs into paste, snapping bones like dry wood. The man folded with a wet scream before the hammer caught his torso and flung him aside.

I was already moving.

The hammer came back around in a rising arc. I slipped inside the swing, felt the wind tear at my cloak. The heat of impact passed inches from my face.

I could smell blood. Iron and stone dust.

“Captain, he’s behind you!”

GrimWall twisted, faster than he should have been able to. The hammer came down again. I leapt back as it struck, the marble floor exploding under the impact. Cracks spiderwebbed outward. Blood pooled into them.

I landed, rolled, and came up just as the hammer swept horizontally.

I ducked. Felt it skim my hair.

Behind me, another knight died. The hammer crushed his chest flat against the wall. His scream ended instantly.

“What are you swinging at?!” someone shouted.

“He’s killing us!”

GrimWall roared. Not words. Just rage.

He advanced again, every step shaking the chamber. The hammer never stopped moving. Overhead. Side. Backhand. Each swing forced me to give ground or slip inside the killing zone.

I stayed close.

Too close for his knights to intervene.

One tried anyway.

A sword flashed from the side. I twisted and let GrimWall’s hammer answer it. Steel shattered. The knight vanished in a spray of red as the hammer crushed him into the floor.

Blood splashed across my boots.

“Captain, you’re hitting us!”

“I can’t get close!”

GrimWall lunged. The hammer came straight down.

I stepped in instead of away.

The head of the hammer missed my skull by inches. I slid under his arms, my blades scraping against his armor, sparks flying.