One moment, the surrounding fog was still. The next, it was filled with thousands of glistening crimson knives, materializing from the haze itself.

  They flew from every conceivable direction, a converging storm of sharpened blood aimed solely at them, slicing through the mist with a sound like tearing silk.

  Ultimare’s smile didn't falter.

  He didn't even move a muscle. A barrier of soft, golden light shimmered into existence around him, expanding in a perfect sphere to envelop the three stunned companions. It happened faster than a heartbeat.

  Thsssssssss.

  The moment the blood-knives touched the holy light, they didn't shatter. They liquefied, sizzling into a corrosive acid that dripped down the barrier's curve.

  Where it hit the ground, the damp grass and earth smoked and blackened, eaten away in an instant.

  Maeve’s spear was half-raised, her body frozen mid-action. “What the—?”

  Tobias and Lena stood equally shocked, weapons ready but with no target to strike. They had seen the attack, and they had seen the stranger protect them.

  Tobias’s eyes darted from the sizzling barrier to Ultimare’s impassive profile. “Is he on our side?” he grunted, the question torn from him by sheer confusion.

  But Ultimare was no longer paying them any mind. His attention was entirely on the figure now stepping from the gloom.

  A man in pristine white priestly robes, his face hidden by a stark black demonic mask, a fall of gray hair framing it. In his hand, he held a long, gleaming sword that seemed to be made of crystallized, dark red blood.

  “A Templar sword of vitae,” Ultimare mused, his voice laced with a dark appreciation. “How… devoutly blasphemous. You must be White. My brother did mention. Didn't know you’d be… this good at staining the scenery.”

  He walked past the group, the golden barrier dissolving into motes of light as swiftly as it had formed. He closed the distance with a few elegant strides, stopping a precise four meters from White. The two figures regarded each other across the scorched earth.

  White tilted his head, the demonic mask making the gesture unnerving. "Hmm, brother, you say? How curious. Have I met him before."

  Ultimare let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Had you met him, we most certainly would not be having this meeting."

  White's masked gaze shifted briefly to the trio behind Ultimare. "Are you folk the intruders?... Never mind." He raised his blood-blade, pointing it toward them. "I will capture you regardless." As he spoke, his presence seemed to swell. An aura of pure dread flowed from him, a creeping, psychic chill that promised paralysis and despair.

  Tobias grunted, his knees buckling slightly. Lena gasped. Maeve planted her spear in the ground, using it as an anchor against the overwhelming fear.

  Had they not already faced the Beast King's fury, the sheer weight of White's aura would have rendered them unconscious. As it was, they could only stand their ground, bracing for a clash they knew they couldn't win.

  Ultimare didn't even look back. "Stay where you are," he commanded, his voice cutting through their terror. "He is mine."

  Tobias managed a strangled, "What—?"

  But Ultimare was already moving. He raised a single, graceful finger and traced a line in the air.

  His voice was clear and resonant, a simple chant. "Illuminate the dark room. On my name, I grant my protection to them. As the guarantor, do not allow anything to pass this line."

  A thin, golden light shot from his fingertip, instantly carving a perfect circle on the ground around the three companions. From the line, small, unwavering pillars of light rose, forming a translucent, cylindrical wall.

  The moment it sealed, the crushing sense of creepiness, fear, and dread vanished, replaced by a profound, silent calm.

  Ultimare's final command was absolute. "Do not leave this line if you value your life."

  He then turned his full attention back to White, his sardonic smile returning. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You were attempting to intimidate my temporary acquaintances."

  They vanished in a blur of motion and a concussive boom that ripped the mist apart. To the three figures trapped inside the circle of light, the two combatants simply disappeared. The only evidence of their battle was a distant, silent storm of gold and crimson light flashing deep within the gray.

  White reappeared first, far from the starting point, his boots skidding across the wet ground. He moved fast, his blood magic already saturating the surrounding air. Dozens of razor-sharp crimson discs, humming with cursed energy, materialized and shot toward his opponent from all angles, only to be either dodged or erased.

  A flicker of unease stirred beneath his mask. This opponent felt different from everyone he has ever fought.

  Ultimare stood calmly, his expression one of mild, academic interest. "Your speed is adequate for a blood mage," he remarked, his voice unnaturally clear in the fog. "But your fighting style is so predictable. Keep at it, and you will bleed yourself dry. Do you truly wish to taste anemia so soon?"

  White did not answer with words. He flicked his Templar sword, and the blood it was made of distorted, flying free.

  In midair, the droplets morphed into a dozen barbed arrows, humming with dark energy and sharpened aura. They shot toward Ultimare in a precise, inescapable spread.

  Ultimare did not move. A soft, golden radiance enveloped him. The blood-arrows struck the light and simply dissolved. They did not sizzle or explode, they ceased to exist, their dark energy unmade upon contact.

  "Blood magic is such a crude medium," Ultimare sighed, sounding disappointed. "Come on. Is this the extent of your creativity? Show me something fun."

  A flicker of rage burned beneath the mask. White slammed his hands together. "Ninth Circle: Sanguine Abyss!"

  The very air thickened into a suffocating miasma of blood and curses. The ground liquefied into a boiling, corrosive pool.

  From it, monstrous, semi-formed hands of solidified despair clawed upward, seeking to drag Ultimare down.

  Ultimare watched as one of the hands wrapped around his ankle, its touch sizzling uselessly against his light. He looked intrigued.

  "Tch. You are getting my attire dirty," he conceded, a small, cruel smile on his lips. "Though, this is better than your prior attempt. There is a certain artistry here. But it is still just paint. Loud, messy paint."

  He raised a hand, palm open. A bow of solidified, searing light manifested. He did not nock an arrow. He simply plucked the string and let it go.

  Thrum.

  A wave of pure force, visible as a distortion in the air, radiated outwards. The Sanguine Abyss did not break, it was erased. The miasma vanished, the blood-pool dried to dust, the grasping hands dissolved into nothing.

  White was thrown backward, crashing through a petrified tree. He scrambled to his feet, his white robes torn, his mask chipped. He panted, not just from exertion, but from a dawning, primal fear. This was not a fight. It was a dissection.

  "Show me more," Ultimare purred, strolling forward, his wings now fully conjured. "Show me the desperation that fuels you. It is the most interesting thing about you so far."

  Screaming in fury, White unleashed his final technique. He drew a dagger across his own palm, and his blood did not drip—it flowed out in a torrent as he cast his spell, pouring all his remaining mana into it.

  A colossal, monstrous serpent of blood coalesced in the air, its maw filled with fangs of crystallized curses, its body radiating a mind-shattering aura.

  "Die!" White shrieked, pouring his very life force into the construct.

  The Blood Serpent lunged.

  Ultimare's smile finally reached his eyes, a terrifying sight of pure, psychotic glee. "Finally. A real effort."

  He took aim with his bow of light. The air grew heavy, charged with terrifying potential.

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  The arrow did not fly, it appeared. There was no travel time. A lance of pure, destructive light simply manifested directly in front of the serpent's head.

  The construct exploded into a harmless shower of red mist, its curses useless. The arrow did not stop. It rematerialized directly in front of White.

  His eyes widened behind his mask. He reacted on pure instinct, crossing his arms and pouring every ounce of his aura into a desperate, concentrated shield of hardened blood.

  The impact was silent, yet colossal.

  The light did not explode. It consumed. A perfect sphere of annihilation, ten meters wide, erased the mist, the trees, the very air where White had been standing.

  When the light faded, a smooth, glassy crater was all that remained. At its epicenter, White stood hunched, his robes scorched, his demonic mask cracked. The blood-shield on his arms was gone, and his limbs were burned and smoking. He panted, his body trembling from the effort of mere survival.

  The hope in his eyes died, replaced by utter terror. "F-Father…" he choked out, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "I am sorry… I failed you… I am sorry…"

  Ultimare watched the breakdown, his head tilted. The holy light around him flickered and died.

  Then, a new aura erupted. Dark, fearsome, and utterly deadly. The air grew cold and heavy. The wings vanished, replaced by a palpable, demonic pressure that made the very mist recoil in fear. His eyes, once aloof, now glowed with a sinister light.

  Demon mode activated.

  "Disappointing to the very end," Ultimare whispered, his voice now a silken. "But do not despair. Your failure is not the finale."

  He leaned closer, his voice a hypnotic, corrupting force. "Enticement."

  White's body convulsed. His apologies turned into a choked, guttural scream that was not entirely his own.

  His form began to warp and swell, his flesh bubbling, his bones cracking and reshaping. The pristine white robes tore apart as he transformed into a gruesome, spiritual entity—a hulking monstrosity of blood, flesh, and raw demonic energy, its eyes vacant pools of obedience.

  Ultimare released his hold, the demonic aura receding as swiftly as it came, his expression returning to its default state of composed boredom. He looked at the monstrous entity now kneeling before him.

  "It is not over yet," Ultimare said, his tone once again sardonic and light. "In fact, for you, the real work is just beginning. You will go disrupt the ritual. As you do, I will automatically know its location. I have high hopes for you."

  The creature heard the command, let out a low, guttural roar, and then launched itself into the mist, moving with terrifying speed. Ultimare watched it go, his task already moving to the next phase.

  Ultimare turned from the scorched crater, the last traces of his demonic aura fading like smoke. The oppressive weight in the air lifted, leaving only the familiar, damp chill of the mist.

  He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and began to ran back toward the circle of light, as if returning from a brief, unremarkable stroll.

  Lucien tasked me with finding the fifteen prime sacrifices and this hero party, to prevent the ritual's final step. I have them now. Yet the fifteen remains.

  Sending White to disrupt the ceremony was efficient. Even if he fails, his actions will reveal the location. Once we have it, we can end this quickly. Lucien is likely thinking the same—finding the site to strike decisively.

  He handles the main force while I secure the pieces. A sound strategy, though. The enemy will accelerate their plans now as they will see everything is falling. I have to prioritize acquiring those prime sacrifices first. I would prefer to be where the real action is. Still, a job is a job but what is wrong in hoping some big find me on my way

  As he walked, a series of wet, collapsing thuds echoed from all directions. He felt the water vapor in the environment vanish, the air turning parched.

  So Max has begun, Ultimare observed internally. The most efficient way to neutralize berserking undead is to render them inert. His dehydration technique can disable entire legions in an instant. It is easy to forget his usefulness, given his behavior. If only his focus matched his power.

  When he came back into view of the three, their reactions were mixed. Maeve’s grip on her spear was tight, Tobias stood ready to brawl, and Lena stared with wide, uncertain eyes. Silence hung between them.

  He stopped outside the glowing line and snapped his fingers. The pillars of light vanished.

  "You can relax," he said, his tone composed. "The immediate threat is contained."

  "Where is he? Did you defeat him?" Maeve demanded, her gaze searching the mist.

  Ultimare: “Not really. I just stopped him for a while… and then he was gone,” he said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument. “To… somewhere, I don’t know.”

  Tobias grunted. "Who are you?"

  "I don't believe we are that well acquainted," Ultimare replied smoothly. "But if you insist on introductions, you may begin."

  Lena spoke next, her words rushed. "Whose side are you on? Are you with the beastman? Did the Empire send you? Why are you here?"

  Ultimare offered a faint, amused look. "So many questions at once. It feels more like an interrogation. But to satisfy your curiosity, I will answer—after you."

  Maeve stepped forward, her expression guarded but pragmatic. "We owe you for the protection. I am Maeve. These are my companions, Lena and Tobias. We are part of a group sent to resolve the situation here."

  Ultimare’s smile was subtle. "You came here without knowing what you were facing, didn't you?"

  "Unfortunately. Did you?"

  "Nope," he said.

  Tobias cut in. "Why are you here?"

  Ultimare: “Well… uh… oh my gosh, what is that smell? Did someone… vomit or something?”

  Tobias and Maeve glanced at Lena, who looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry,"

  Ultimare: “Okay… but seriously… what did you eat before coming here?”

  Tobias: “Wait! You’re supposed to ask that when someone shi-”

  Maeve shot Tobias with her spear. "Enough. We introduced ourselves. Now it's your turn."

  Ultimare’s smile widened a fraction. "I am Tom Smith. A train mechanic by trade. I was traveling with my brothers, Dick and Harry, when we were caught in this mist. Now I am looking for a way out."

  Maeve leveled her spear at him, her patience thinning. "Stop this. Your act isn't helping."

  "Calm down," Ultimare said, his tone light but firm. "Let us start again. I am Ultimare Sinclair. My family was traveling to the city on business when we were caught in this."

  Lena studied him. "A noble? You must be from a significant house to possess such power."

  Ultimare laughed softly. "I wouldn't say that. My family is quite ordinary. Our background is practically nonexistent. You could call us civilians."

  Maeve’s doubt was plain on her face.

  Sensing it, Ultimare shifted the topic. "Before meeting you, I learned they are hiding sacrifices. If we protect them, the ritual will fail, and we can leave."

  Maeve watched him carefully. This man is weaving lies and truth together. He doesn't want to reveal much but seeks cooperation. He isn't with the enemy, but I wouldn't call him good either. There's something off about him. Still, we need a temporary alliance. We have to save Rowan, and delays help no one.

  That is exactly what you are thinking, isn't it? Ultimare thought, reading her hesitation.

  "Fine," Maeve said aloud. "We will help. Do you know where the sacrifices are being held?"

  Ultimare smiled. "Yes, I do." He turned to Tobias and Lena and extended a hand. "A pleasure to meet you. I hope we are successful."

  Lena shook his hand, still slightly stunned. "Yes, nice to meet you. You can count on me."

  Tobias gave a curt nod. "Same here. I'll help save who we can."

  "Good. Then follow me," Ultimare said.

  As he moved, Maeve stopped him, offering her own hand. Her eyes held a quiet resolve that softened the edge of her words.

  “I will help you as much as I possibly can. Whatever your reasons or background, I won’t ask. But please… help us save whoever we can, even in this situation.”

  Ultimare looked at her for a moment, longer than he meant to. There was strength in her voice, but something gentler lingered in her touch. Finally, he shook her hand, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Sure.”

  The silence stretched, a heavy blanket smothering the world. One minute passed, then five, then ten. The only sound was the crunch of their boots on brittle grass.

  As they walked, the mist thinned just enough to reveal the sheer scale of it. The undead were not just ahead, they were everywhere. Fallen to the ground, their bodies completely devoid of any moisture, they lay like a carpet of fallen locusts.

  Dozens became hundreds, all in the same condition—brittle, pale, and utterly still. Some were caught reaching, others mid-crawl, all frozen in their final moments. The air was parched, pulling at the moisture on their lips.

  Lena’s voice, when it came, was small and strained, breaking the unnatural quiet.

  “What has happened to them?”

  “Don’t know,” Tobias muttered, his eyes fixed on the desiccated forms. “Ask the one we are following.”

  Ultimare glanced at the scene, his expression one of mild approval. “It seems the ritual’s effect is spreading. Perhaps it is nearing completion.”

  “What will happen if it completes?” Tobias asked, a new wariness in his voice.

  “Definitely nothing good,” Ultimare clarified, not slowing his pace. He gestured to the field of human jerky. “Perhaps we will join them.”

  Maeve watched Ultimare carefully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Ultimare noticed her gaze but gave no sign, his face a mask of detached calm.

  The path of destruction was their guide, a grim trail leading them forward. The further they went, the thicker the scene became a gallery of final moments, a silent testament to a power that had simply turned life off.

  Finally, they reached the outskirts of the town. It was the same town with the watchtower, the place where the three had lived through the worst horror of their lives.

  A wave of dread washed over them, but before they could sink into the memory, a new horror seized them.

  The town was filled with thousands upon thousands of undead. Humans, monsters, beastmen—every type of undead imaginable. But none were moving. Instead, they were massacred, a macabre scene of gore and destruction.

  Every one of them had been deeply, brutally, and mercilessly cut down with efficient precision. This had been a wall of defense, and it had been annihilated. Bodies were stacked high, slashed, crushed, and broken.

  There was not a single place to step without touching the remains. It was a scene, so brutal, one could almost feel pity for the undead, watching such an end.

  Ultimare stopped, his sharp eyes scanning the carnage. “This is the place. From my information, we have to go to that tower.” He pointed toward the structure looming in the center of the slaughter.

  “Is this also because of the ritual?” Maeve asked, her voice tight as she took in the surrounding horror.

  “No,” Ultimare said. “This one was my brother.” He turned to them, his demeanor shifting to one of casual command. “Stay close. And try not to touch anything. The one who did this,” he nodded at the mountain of corpses, “is rarely concerned with collateral damage.”

  Without another word, he stepped forward, picking a path through the carnage. The three heroes followed closely behind, their faces pale, leaving the silent, blood-soaked town at their backs.