The morning air was crisp and clean, the salt tang of the sea filling Madison's nostrils as she and Kael prepared their fishing gear. It was a simple routine, one she'd fallen into over the past three months—wake up, prepare the nets, go fishing, come back, sell the catch, sleep. A simple life. A quiet life. A life without fighting, without killing, without the sword's hunger consuming her.
But the sword still hummed. She could feel it, even hidden away in her chest, even locked away from the world. It was calling to her, its hunger growing stronger with each passing day, its darkness spreading through her like a poison.
"Ready?" Kael asked, his voice cheerful, his face bright with the morning sun. He didn't know. He didn't understand. He thought she was just a fisherwoman, just someone who'd washed up on the beach, just someone trying to start over. He didn't know she was an Elite Knight. He didn't know she'd been promoted. He didn't know about the sword, about the hunger, about the darkness.
"Ready," Madison said, though the word felt hollow. She wasn't ready. Not really. Not when the sword was calling to her, when the hunger was growing stronger, when the darkness was spreading.
They walked toward the beach, their fishing gear slung over their shoulders, their boots sinking into the sand. The morning was peaceful, the waves gentle, the sky clear. A perfect day for fishing. A perfect day for forgetting.
But then she smelled it—smoke. Thick and acrid, carrying the scent of burning wood and something else, something worse. Burning flesh. The smell of death.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice tight. "Do you smell that? Smoke. And something else. Something worse."
"I smell it," Madison said, though her blood ran cold. Smoke. Burning flesh. The smell of death. It was the same smell she'd smelled in Linguard, the same smell that had filled the air when her family's ship had exploded, when the fire had consumed everything.
And then she heard it—the sound of screams, distant but growing closer. The sound of battle, of steel clashing against steel, of people dying. The sound of horns, battle horns, calling the alarm.
"The horns," Kael said, his voice panicked. "The battle horns. The undead. They're attacking Northport. They're inside the city."
Madison's heart pounded in her chest. The undead. Attacking Northport. Inside the city. The same undead that had attacked Linguard. The same undead that had killed her family. They were here. They were attacking. And Northport was vulnerable. The army was gone. Most of the soldiers were in Barlin, helping with the defense. That meant Northport was defenseless. That meant Northport would fall.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice urgent. "We have to go. We have to get back to the city. We have to get to safety. The town hall. It's the safest place."
"Safety," Madison repeated, though she knew it wasn't true. Not with the undead inside the city. Not with the soldiers overwhelmed. Not with the corruption spreading.
But she had no choice. She had to go. She had to get back to the city. She had to see what was happening. She had to help.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
They ran, their fishing gear abandoned, their boots pounding against the sand, their breath coming in gasps. The smoke was thicker now, the screams louder, the sound of battle closer. The undead were inside the city. They were killing. They were destroying. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.
They reached the city gates, and Madison's heart sank. The gates were broken, splintered wood and twisted metal scattered everywhere. Bodies lay in the streets, their blood staining the cobblestones, their faces twisted in agony. Soldiers were fighting, their swords drawn, their movements desperate, but they were outnumbered. The undead were everywhere—skeletons with rusted weapons, ghouls with fangs bared, mummies wrapped in ancient bandages. All of them moving in unison, all of them killing, all of them destroying.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice panicked. "We have to get to the town hall. We have to get to safety. The soldiers will protect us. They'll defend us."
"Protect us," Madison repeated, though she knew it wasn't true. Not with the undead inside the city. Not with the soldiers overwhelmed. Not with the corruption spreading.
But she had no choice. She had to go. She had to get to safety. She had to survive.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
They pushed through the chaos, their eyes scanning for threats, their bodies tense with fear. The undead were everywhere, their movements jerky and unnatural, their eyes glowing with malevolent light. They were killing, they were destroying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice urgent. "Look. There. A group of them. They're coming this way. We have to run. We have to get away."
Madison looked, and her blood ran cold. A group of undead—five of them, maybe six—were moving toward them, their weapons drawn, their eyes fixed on her and Kael. Skeletons with rusted swords. Ghouls with fangs bared. Mummies wrapped in ancient bandages. All of them moving in unison, all of them heading straight for them.
"Kael," Madison said, her voice tight. "Run. Get to the town hall. Get to safety. I'll hold them off."
"Hold them off?" Kael asked, his voice confused. "How? You're just a fisherwoman. You don't have a weapon. You don't have armor. You can't fight them."
"I can," Madison said, though she didn't want to. Not here. Not now. Not when she was trying to forget, trying to move on. But she had no choice. She had to fight. She had to protect Kael. She had to survive.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
She reached for a sword that lay on the ground, its blade stained with blood, its hilt familiar in her grasp. It wasn't the Sword of Fury, but it would do. It would be enough. For now.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice panicked. "What are you doing? You can't fight them. You're just a fisherwoman. You don't know how to fight."
"I know how to fight," Madison said, though she didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not when the undead were coming, when the danger was real, when she had to act.
The undead charged, their weapons drawn, their movements jerky and unnatural. Madison met them head-on, her sword singing as it cut through the air, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. She killed the first skeleton with a strike to the neck, the blade cutting through bone and sinew with a wet crack. The second ghoul fell to a strike to the chest, its body collapsing in a heap. The third mummy tried to grab her, but she sidestepped, her sword cutting through its bandages, its body falling apart.
Within seconds, all five were dead, their bodies scattered, their weapons broken. Madison stood there, her sword in her hand, her breath coming in gasps, her body trembling with adrenaline.
"Madison," Kael said, his voice shocked. "How... how did you do that? You're just a fisherwoman. You don't know how to fight."
"I'm not just a fisherwoman," Madison said, though she didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not when the undead were everywhere, when the danger was real, when she had to act.
"You're... you're a warrior," Kael said, his voice awed. "You're a knight. An Elite Knight. That's why you're so good. That's why you can fight like that."
"I am," Madison said, though the words felt heavy. She was an Elite Knight. She'd been promoted. She'd earned the rank. But what did it matter? Her family was dead. Her friends were dead. Everything was gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.
"Then you have to help," Kael said, his voice urgent. "The soldiers. They're overwhelmed. They need help. You can help them. You can save people."
"Save people," Madison repeated, though she knew it wasn't that simple. Not with the undead everywhere. Not with the soldiers overwhelmed. Not with the corruption spreading.
But she had no choice. She had to help. She had to fight. She had to save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
"Go," Madison said, her voice tight. "Get to the town hall. Get to safety. I'll help the soldiers. I'll do what I can."
"Madison," Kael said, his voice concerned. "Be careful. Don't do anything foolish. Don't get yourself killed."
"I won't," Madison said, though she knew it wasn't true. Not with the undead everywhere. Not with the soldiers overwhelmed. Not with the corruption spreading.
But she had no choice. She had to help. She had to fight. She had to save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
The streets of Northport were a chaos of death and destruction, bodies scattered everywhere, blood staining the cobblestones, the smell of smoke and burning flesh filling the air. Madison pushed through the chaos, her sword in her hand, her eyes scanning for threats, her body tense with adrenaline.
She found the soldiers first, a small group of them, their swords drawn, their movements desperate, but they were outnumbered. The undead were everywhere, their movements jerky and unnatural, their eyes glowing with malevolent light. They were killing, they were destroying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
"Fall back!" a soldier shouted, his voice panicked. "Fall back to the town hall! We can't hold them here! We're too outnumbered!"
"Hold the line!" another soldier shouted, his voice desperate. "We have to hold the line! If we fall back, they'll overrun the town hall! They'll kill everyone inside!"
Madison's jaw tightened. The town hall. Where the civilians were hiding. Where Kael was heading. Where the last line of defense would be. If the undead reached it, if they broke through, everyone inside would die.
"Hold the line!" Madison shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Don't fall back! Hold your ground! We can't let them reach the town hall!"
The soldiers turned, their eyes wide with surprise, their faces pale with fear. They didn't know who she was. They didn't know she was an Elite Knight. They just saw a woman in simple clothes, a sword in her hand, telling them to hold the line.
"Who are you?" a soldier asked, his voice confused. "You're not a soldier. You shouldn't be here. You should be in the town hall, with the other civilians."
"I'm a warrior," Madison said, though she didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not when the undead were coming, when the danger was real, when she had to act.
"A warrior," the soldier repeated, though he didn't sound convinced. "You're just a woman. You don't have armor. You don't have training. You can't fight them."
"I can fight them," Madison said, though she didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not when the undead were coming, when the danger was real, when she had to act.
She charged forward, her sword singing as it cut through the air, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. She killed the first undead with a strike to the neck, the blade cutting through bone and sinew. The second fell to a strike to the chest, its body collapsing. The third tried to grab her, but she sidestepped, her sword cutting through its body.
Within seconds, she'd cleared a path, the undead falling before her, their bodies scattered, their weapons broken. The soldiers watched, their eyes wide with shock, their faces pale with fear. They'd never seen anyone fight like that. They'd never seen such skill, such precision, such deadly efficiency.
"Who are you?" a soldier asked, his voice awed. "How did you learn to fight like that?"
"I'm an Elite Knight," Madison said, though the words felt heavy. She was an Elite Knight. She'd been promoted. She'd earned the rank. But what did it matter? Her family was dead. Her friends were dead. Everything was gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.
"An Elite Knight," the soldier repeated, though he didn't sound convinced. "But you're so young. And you're a woman. Elite Knights are usually older. Usually men."
"I am what I am," Madison said, though she didn't want to explain. Not here. Not now. Not when the undead were coming, when the danger was real, when she had to act.
She turned, her eyes scanning the battlefield, her sword ready, her body tense. The undead were everywhere, their movements jerky and unnatural, their eyes glowing with malevolent light. They were killing, they were destroying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
But she could fight. She could kill. She could save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
"Form a line!" Madison shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Archers to the rear! Warriors to the front! Hold your ground! Don't let them through!"
The soldiers obeyed, their movements quick, their faces determined. They'd seen her fight. They'd seen her skill. They trusted her. They followed her.
"Archers!" Madison shouted. "Loose! Aim for the eyes! The joints! The weak points!"
The archers loosed, their arrows finding their marks, striking the undead in their weak points, their bodies collapsing. The warriors held the line, their swords drawn, their movements desperate, but they were holding. They were fighting. They were surviving.
"Hold the line!" Madison shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Don't fall back! We can hold them! We can win!"
The soldiers fought, their movements desperate, their faces determined. They were holding. They were fighting. They were surviving. But the undead were everywhere, their numbers seemingly endless, their movements jerky and unnatural. They were killing, they were destroying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
But Madison could fight. She could kill. She could save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
The battle raged on, the undead falling before them, their bodies scattered, their weapons broken. The soldiers were holding, their movements desperate, their faces determined, but they were tiring. The undead were endless, their numbers seemingly infinite, their movements jerky and unnatural. They were killing, they were destroying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
But Madison could fight. She could kill. She could save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
"Hold the line!" Madison shouted, her voice hoarse from shouting, her body aching from the fight. "Don't fall back! We're almost there! We can win!"
The soldiers fought, their movements desperate, their faces determined. They were holding. They were fighting. They were surviving. But the undead were everywhere, their numbers seemingly endless, their movements jerky and unnatural.
And then, suddenly, the undead stopped. They fell back, their movements jerky and unnatural, their eyes glowing with malevolent light. They were retreating. They were leaving. They were gone.
"We did it," a soldier said, his voice breathless. "We held them. We won. We survived."
"We survived," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. They'd held the line. They'd fought. They'd survived. But at what cost? How many had died? How many had been lost?
But they'd survived. That was something. That was enough.
For now.
The soldiers cheered, their voices raised in celebration, their faces bright with relief. They'd won. They'd survived. They'd held the line. And that was enough.
But Madison couldn't celebrate. Not really. Not when the undead were still out there, when the corruption was still spreading, when the danger was still real.
"Madison," a soldier said, his voice concerned. "Are you all right? You look... different. Your eyes. They're... wrong."
"I'm fine," Madison said, though the words felt like a lie. The sword was calling to her, its hunger growing stronger, its darkness spreading through her. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else. Something more. And something less.
But she had no choice. She had to fight. She had to survive. She had to save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
And then she heard it—the sound of the gates, massive and heavy, being forced open. The sound of something large, something powerful, something that made her stomach twist with fear.
"Madison," a soldier said, his voice panicked. "The gates. They're opening. Something's coming. Something big. Something powerful."
Madison's blood ran cold. The gates. Opening. Something coming. Something big. Something powerful. It wasn't over. The battle wasn't won. The danger wasn't past.
It was just beginning.
The gates burst open, splintered wood and twisted metal flying in all directions. And through the opening, she saw it—a banshee, its form ethereal and ghostly, its eyes burning with malevolent light, its voice a shriek that made her ears bleed.
And behind it, an army. An army of undead. An army of death. An army of destruction.
"Madison," a soldier said, his voice panicked. "The banshee. It's here. It's coming. We can't fight it. We can't win. We have to run. We have to get away."
"Run," Madison repeated, though she knew it wasn't that simple. Not with the banshee here. Not with the army behind it. Not with the corruption spreading.
But she had no choice. She had to fight. She had to survive. She had to save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
The banshee shrieked, its voice a weapon, its sound cutting through the air like a blade. Soldiers fell, their hands covering their ears, their bodies writhing in agony. The banshee was powerful. It was deadly. It was unstoppable.
But Madison could fight. She could kill. She could save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
She charged forward, her sword singing as it cut through the air, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. But the banshee was ethereal, its form shifting, its body passing through her blade like smoke. She couldn't hit it. She couldn't damage it. She could only defend, only dodge, only survive.
The banshee attacked, its claws raking through the air, its dark magic cutting through everything in its path. Madison dodged, her movements desperate, her body aching, but she was tiring. The banshee was too fast, too powerful, too deadly.
And then it hit her—a curse bolt, dark and malevolent, striking her in the chest, its magic cutting through her like a blade. Pain exploded through her body, and she stumbled, her sword falling from her grasp, her body crashing to the ground.
"Madison!" a soldier shouted, his voice panicked. "Get up! You have to get up! The banshee is coming! It's going to kill you!"
But Madison couldn't get up. She was too tired. Too injured. Too broken. The banshee was coming, its form ethereal and ghostly, its eyes burning with malevolent light, and she knew this was it. This was how she died. Not in glory. Not in battle. But here, in the dirt, killed by a banshee, consumed by the corruption.
But then something happened. A magic missile, bright and powerful, struck the banshee, its magic cutting through the ethereal form, its impact shaking the very air. The banshee shrieked, its voice a weapon, but it was hurt. It was damaged. It was vulnerable.
Another magic missile followed, then another, then another, each one striking the banshee, each one cutting through its ethereal form, each one doing damage. The banshee fell back, its form shifting, its body writhing in agony, and Madison could see it—someone was fighting the banshee. Someone was using magic. Someone was saving her.
She looked up, her eyes scanning the battlefield, and she saw him—a figure on a rooftop, a crossbow in his hands, a hood covering his face. He was firing magic missiles, each one striking the banshee, each one doing damage, each one saving her.
Who was he? How did he know magic? How was he fighting the banshee?
But she didn't have time to think. The banshee was hurt, but it wasn't dead. It was still coming. It was still dangerous. It was still deadly.
The figure fired again, another magic missile, then another, then another, each one striking the banshee, each one doing damage. The banshee shrieked, its voice a weapon, but it was weakening. It was dying. It was falling.
And then it was gone. The banshee was dead. The magic had killed it. The figure had saved her.
"Madison," a voice said, and she turned to see the figure approaching, his hood pulled back, his face familiar. "Madison. It's me. Puli. I'm here. I'm alive."
"Puli," Madison said, though the word felt heavy. Puli. Her friend. Her companion. The archer who'd survived the trials, who'd been promoted to Royal Archer. He was here. He was alive. He'd saved her.
"I heard about you," Puli said, his voice tight. "About someone washing up on the coast of Northport. About someone with your description. I put it together. I came here. I found you."
"You found me," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. Puli. Her friend. Her companion. He was here. He was alive. He'd saved her.
But what about Taiba? What about the others? What about everyone else?
"Taiba," Madison said, her voice tight. "Is he... is he alive? Did he survive?"
"I don't know," Puli said, though his voice was heavy. "I haven't seen him. I haven't heard from him. I don't know if he survived."
Madison's heart sank. Taiba. Her friend. Her companion. He might be dead. He might be gone. Just like her family. Just like everything else.
But Puli was here. Puli was alive. Puli had saved her.
That was something. That was enough.
For now.
"Madison," Puli said, his voice concerned. "You're hurt. You need healing. Let me help you."
He pulled out a rune, an Ultimate Healing rune, its surface glowing with inner light. He activated it, and warmth spread through Madison's body, the pain fading, the wounds closing, the exhaustion easing.
"Thank you," Madison said, though the words felt heavy. Puli. Her friend. Her companion. He was here. He was alive. He'd saved her.
"Don't thank me," Puli said, though his voice was tight. "We're friends. We're companions. We look out for each other. That's what we do."
"That's what we do," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. Friends. Companions. Looking out for each other. That was what they did. That was what they'd always done.
But her family was dead. Her friends were dead. Everything was gone. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Except fight. Except survive. Except save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
The battle was over. The banshee was dead. The undead were gone. The soldiers were celebrating, their voices raised in relief, their faces bright with joy. They'd won. They'd survived. They'd held the line.
But Madison couldn't celebrate. Not really. Not when the corruption was still spreading, when the danger was still real, when the truth was still hidden.
"Madison," Puli said, his voice concerned. "Are you all right? You look... different. Your eyes. They're... wrong."
"I'm fine," Madison said, though the words felt like a lie. The sword was calling to her, its hunger growing stronger, its darkness spreading through her. She was losing herself. She was becoming something else. Something more. And something less.
But she had no choice. She had to fight. She had to survive. She had to save as many people as she could.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
They sat in the tavern that night, the air thick with the smell of ale and smoke, the voices of the soldiers raised in celebration. They'd won. They'd survived. They'd held the line. And that was enough.
But Madison couldn't celebrate. Not really. Not when the corruption was still spreading, when the danger was still real, when the truth was still hidden.
"Madison," Puli said, his voice serious. "We need to talk. About Linguard. About what happened. About the attack."
"What happened," Madison repeated, though she didn't want to talk about it. Not here. Not now. Not when the memories were still fresh, when the pain was still real.
"The attack," Puli said, his voice tight. "The fireballs. The undead. The demon. People are saying it was a demon attack, that demons were controlling the undead. But demons haven't existed in years. Centuries, even."
"Demons," Madison repeated, though she knew the truth. It wasn't a demon. It was dark magic. Necromancy. The same corruption that was spreading through the empire. But she couldn't tell him that. Not here. Not now. Not when the truth was still hidden.
"It wasn't a demon," Puli said, though his voice was low. "It was dark magic. Necromancy. The same corruption that's spreading through the empire. The same corruption that's attacking cities, killing people, destroying everything."
"Dark magic," Madison repeated, though the words felt heavy. Dark magic. Necromancy. The same corruption. It was all connected. It was all part of the same problem.
"But who's doing it?" Puli asked, though his voice was tight. "Who's creating the undead? Who's controlling them? Who's behind the attacks?"
"I don't know," Madison said, though she suspected the truth. The emperor. Pharus. Daniel Steelsoul. They were all involved. They were all part of the corruption. But she couldn't say that. Not here. Not now. Not when the truth was still hidden.
"But we need to find out," Puli said, though his voice was determined. "We need to discover the truth. We need to stop the corruption. We need to save the empire."
"Save the empire," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. Save the empire. Stop the corruption. Discover the truth. It was all connected. It was all part of the same problem.
But how? How could they save the empire? How could they stop the corruption? How could they discover the truth?
"We need to go to Barlin," Puli said, though his voice was determined. "That's where the answers are. That's where the truth is hidden. That's where we'll find what we're looking for."
"Barlin," Madison repeated, though the word felt heavy. Barlin. The city. The place where the undead were attacking. The place where the corruption was spreading. The place where the truth was hidden.
But she didn't want to go. Not really. Not when she was trying to forget, trying to move on, trying to start over.
But she had no choice. She had to go. She had to discover the truth. She had to stop the corruption.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.
"Barlin," Madison said, though her voice was tight. "We'll go to Barlin. We'll discover the truth. We'll stop the corruption."
"Barlin," Puli repeated, though his voice was determined. "That's where we'll find what we're looking for. That's where we'll discover the truth. That's where we'll save the empire."
"Save the empire," Madison repeated, though the words felt hollow. Save the empire. Stop the corruption. Discover the truth. It was all connected. It was all part of the same problem.
But she had no choice. She had to go. She had to discover the truth. She had to stop the corruption.
Even if it meant losing herself completely.