Chapter 4: Crimson Judgement

  The courtyard stood silent, the shattered stone beneath their feet echoing the tension that filled the air.

  Kalen was there — the fallen Vanguard — standing at the center like a broken monument. His armor was twisted, his greatsword cracked and stained with dark energy. The demonic aura that clung to him pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, distorting the very air around him.

  Yaragi emerged from the shadows, cloak fluttering, the cracked mask hiding the emotion burning in his crimson eyes. His fingers itched against the hilts of his daggers, and the mana ring on his finger pierced into his skin with a tiny bite. Blood lazily circled his hands, ready to be called upon.

  “You were supposed to protect this land,” Yaragi said quietly, voice sharp. “Not defile it.”

  Kalen snorted, the ground beneath him cracking from the force of his step forward.

  “Black Reaper Nouzen,” Kalen rumbled. “Or should I say Yaragi—the child I once saved… the mistake I now must erase.”

  Yaragi’s expression hardened beneath his mask.

  “You saved me once,” he said, voice low. “But now you’ll answer for what you’ve become.”

  The clash was immediate.

  Yaragi launched himself forward in a blur, daggers flashing in the fractured moonlight. The blades struck against Kalen’s greatsword with a shower of sparks, the ground trembling under their blows.

  Blood tendrils shot from Yaragi’s arms, seeking weak points — only to be shredded by Kalen’s corrupted aura.

  Kalen grinned darkly. “Still the same tricks, boy.”

  With a roar, Kalen swung his sword in a vicious horizontal arc. The force of the blow caught Yaragi mid-dash, hurling him backward through the air like a ragdoll.

  But Yaragi was ready.

  Midair, as he flipped helplessly backward, he spat blood directly into Kalen’s face, the crimson mist blinding him for a crucial moment.

  In that same spin, hidden by the chaos, Yaragi tossed a small pouch — the blood sigil embedded within — into the center of the courtyard.

  The pouch landed silently among the broken stones, unseen.

  Yaragi slammed hard against the ground, sliding back and skidding to a halt. His hand brushed against the dirt, and with two quick fingers, he made a signal — slicing the air horizontally.

  Up above, concealed on a crumbling rooftop, Shujinzo saw the signal and nodded grimly.

  The plan was in motion.

  Kalen wiped the blood from his eyes with a snarl, unaware of what had just happened.

  “You think your little games will save you?” Kalen roared, charging forward.

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  Yaragi steadied himself, breathing heavily behind the mask. His blood reserves were thinning fast. He couldn’t afford a drawn-out battle.

  He danced back from Kalen’s furious swings, narrowly dodging, buying time.

  Shujinzo moved swiftly, summoning a thick veil of mist from his hands, pouring it into the courtyard. The fog engulfed everything in seconds, thick and suffocating.

  Kalen stumbled briefly, disoriented.

  Yaragi’s gloved hand clicked near the chin of his mask — a hidden latch. The seal locked into place with a faint hiss.

  He activated the blood spread he’d hidden earlier.

  The mist darkened, turning a deep red as the blood infused it — the pouch he had thrown earlier igniting the final phase.

  “You think fog will hide you from me?!” Kalen roared again, but the mist clung thick to his lungs.

  He inhaled sharply — and sealed his fate.

  Yaragi raised his bleeding hand, the sigil on his palm glowing bright red.

  “Mana Combination—Blood Mist Explosion.”

  The explosion was instant.

  Kalen’s body erupted from within, blood spikes tearing him apart as the air itself became a storm of destruction. The corrupted armor cracked, his greatsword shattered.

  Yet somehow, even torn and half-ruined, Kalen moved.

  He roared in rage and hurled himself at Yaragi, grabbing the younger man by the leg before he could escape.

  “You’ll die with me, boy!” he howled.

  Yaragi struggled, slicing desperately — but Kalen’s strength, even broken, was monstrous.

  Kalen pulled Yaragi into a crushing embrace, blood pouring from his mouth.

  “For the Holy Theocracy,” Kalen rasped. “For the High Priest…

  I die…

  In glory.”

  The explosion tore the courtyard apart.

  A shockwave of blood and mist roared outward, demolishing stone, wood, and steel alike. Shujinzo leapt from the rooftop just in time, landing hard as the blast rocked the entire district.

  The night sky itself seemed to recoil from the force.

  When the dust and mist finally began to settle, the courtyard was nothing but a blackened crater.

  At its center, two bodies lay motionless.

  One — Kalen — twisted and unrecognizable, destroyed from the inside out.

  The other — Yaragi — barely breathing, but alive.

  Yaragi groaned weakly, shoving Kalen’s broken corpse off of him, rolling onto his side with a pained cough. His armor was shredded, his body bruised and bleeding, but the crucial fact remained:

  He hadn’t breathed in the mist.

  He had survived.

  “Good thing…” he muttered, voice hoarse, “…I didn’t breathe it.”

  The safehouse shimmered into existence deep within the abandoned quarter of the city.

  Yaragi and Shujinzo collapsed inside as the teleportation spell finalized, the blood-soaked stones vanishing behind them.

  A pair of glowing hands reached them first — Tierra, the fairy healer, no taller than a wine bottle, her wings humming with light as she poured magic into Yaragi’s chest. Her voice was sharp and fast.

  “Don’t you die on me, Reaper. I just cleaned the damn bandages from your last stunt.”

  “Potions — now!” shouted Meko, the halfling alchemist, already skidding across the floor in his oversized cloak. He popped a vial and splashed it into Yaragi’s mouth before the blood could pool too deep.

  “Damn fool,” growled Brannock, the dwarven blacksmith, stomping from the forge with his arms loaded in enchanted linen. He dumped it beside them and dropped to one knee with practiced motion. “You lose any limbs this time?”

  Jimbles — skeletal, tall, and grim — stepped forward last, his cane clicking against the stone floor.

  A shimmering scrying mirror floated behind him, still glowing faintly — the last images of the courtyard battle flickering away.

  “You bloody fools,” Jimbles muttered, crouching beside Yaragi. Bone fingers, wrapped in enchanted cloth, moved with surprising care. The glow from his monocle dimmed slightly as he examined the Reaper’s battered form.

  “You owe me a safehouse recharge… and a damn explanation.”

  Yaragi gave a weak, bitter laugh.

  Jimbles checked his pulse, nodded grimly. “You’re lucky you’ve still got blood in you, boy.”

  Shujinzo leaned against the wall, catching his breath, silent.

  Tierra’s magic numbed the worst of Yaragi’s injuries. His mind drifted — flashing back without warning.

  The courtyard.

  The blood mist exploding around him.

  Kalen’s crushing embrace.

  The final breath against his ear...

  “You have brought true justice, my boy…

  I'm proud...

  Take them down.”

  Yaragi’s eyes snapped open.

  For the first time in years, he felt something burn inside him.

  Not hatred.

  Not vengeance.

  But grief.

  And a vow.

  He closed his eyes again, letting the darkness pull him down.

  Tomorrow, the war would continue.

  But tonight...

  Tonight, they had won.