Return of the Legendary Runesmith

The night was eerily silent. Darkness hung heavy, pressing down on everything.

Above, the pale moon drifted in the sky.

The faint creak of wheels broke the stillness as carts rolled slowly out of the base.

Men stood in line, lifting and passing white sacks with steady hands. Their movements were sharp and exact—like soldiers drilled for months.

Yet their eyes told another story. Empty, lifeless… they moved like puppets, bodies obeying without thought.

One sack was dragged from the pit, passed from one man to another, until it reached the waiting cart.

The first cart was nearly full. With five sacks stacked high, it was ready to leave.

Dhak

As the fifth sack settled into place, the man at the front gripped the handle and pulled—only for his body to explode in a spray of blood as a massive iron mace came crashing down.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

Ariana burst out from the trees, swinging her chained mace.

With a twist of her arm, she hurled it at the second man, the one holding a sack and staring blankly at the cart.

He didn't flinch.

As if he hadn't heard her.

As if he hadn't seen his comrade's body explode.

As if…he couldn't think at all.

Something's wrong. Ariana's brows furrowed. Just before the mace could crush his skull, she yanked the chain back.

Dhak Screech

The mace tore into the dirt, and with a pull on the switch in the handle, it snapped back into her grip.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the men. They didn't move. They didn't react. They simply kept working as if nothing had happened.

"Regretting now?"

The voice slithered up from the pit—the same pit they were pulling the sacks from.

Ariana's eyes narrowed, her growl low. "Show yourself."

Two violet eyes glimmered in the dark. Then an arm rose, lazily waving at her.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Gale."

With a grin, he gripped the edge of the pit and leapt out.

He looked young, no more than his early twenties. White hair like untouched snow framed his sharp features, and his violet eyes glimmered with an unsettling mirth—too amused for the blood that stained the ground.

"You're a cruel one, you know that?" Gale folded his arms loosely, his stance careless, as if Ariana wasn't even worth his attention.

But Ariana knew better. She had learned—too many times—that the ones who looked most relaxed were often the most dangerous.

Gale's gaze flicked toward the shredded corpse behind her, and a smirk curled at his lips. "That man you crushed… he was nothing but a husband, a father. An ordinary man." His voice dripped with mock pity. "He was under my spell, yes, but harmless. Loyal. He did the work I should have done, and when this was over, I was going to send him home. Back to his wife. Back to his child." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "And you stole that from him. From them. How heartless of you."

Ariana's chuckle was sharp, her eyes narrowed. "You really think cheap words will rattle me?"

Gale's grin widened, teeth flashing. "No… not words."

He seized one of the sacks and, with a violent rip, tore it open. A piercing cry split the air.

The cry of a baby.

He held the child up by one arm, dangling the tiny body as if it were nothing more than a toy. The infant's face scrunched in pain, its small mouth wailing, eyes barely able to open.

"You see this?" Gale's voice was silk wrapped around thorns. He stroked the child's cheek with mock gentleness, his violet eyes glittering with delight at Ariana's reaction. "Still fresh, still innocent. A little soul no one will miss if I squeeze just a little harder."

Ariana's heart thundered in her chest, her breath quickening.

Her grip on the mace tightened until the chain rattled.

The Acolyte pressed his long nail to the child's nape, scratching skin until crimson dots bloomed.

"Uaaaah!" The baby's cry spiked, tiny head thrashing.

Ariana's face went ice-cold.

"These little ones make such fine sacrifices," the Acolyte said, voice soft and satisfied. "I couldn't help taking them."

He licked his lips, violet eyes narrowing. "Now be a good girl and hand your armament to my man."

Her hand shook. Anger warred with something deeper — a refusal that wasn't about courage but about mercy.

The Acolyte snickered. "Don't bother pretending. I know you don't have the heart to kill a child. So just give up."

She had always been this way. Children clung to her. Before she became headmistress she'd taught at orphanages until her temper learned to bend around little faces. Mercy was braided into her bones.

Step. Step..

A puppet shuffled forward, one hand reaching for her weapon.

Ariana bit her lip. She couldn't make the choice. She couldn't send an innocent into darkness for the sake of a fight.

Step. Step.

They would handle it. She didn't have to spill that blood.

Her grip tightened. Clutch.

The Acolyte's grin widened as the puppet finally closed on the armament — triumphant, smug.

Then, a wet sound cut through the night.

SQUELCH.

Gale's smirk froze as a hand burst through the puppet's chest, blood spattering the fabric.

His eyes grew cold. "So that's it, huh. I guess you made your decision."

Ariana kicked the lifeless puppet aside and stepped forward.

The Acolyte curled his fingers; for a heartbeat, threads flashed like thin silver before the men lunged. Ariana sucked in a breath. Her eyes had gone hollow—vitality drained—yet she moved with terrible calm. She slammed her mace into the earth.

"Death Pincers," she intoned. Runes bloomed across the weapon.

Silence hung for a breath — then the ground answered. Spikes surged up and pinned the attackers before they closed the distance. Their bodies were skewered, still and lifeless in an instant.

She yanked her mace free and stepped forward.

The Acolyte snarled and tugged the threads. The dead ripped free from the spikes, flesh tearing, then lunged at Ariana with a ragged mind. Thirty corpses launched themselves like a single, hateful wave.

"Show how inhumane you can be!" he howled.

Ariana didn't flinch. To her, the reanimated corpses were only obstacles, meaningless things to be cleared.

SPLAT. SPLAT.

Bodies thudded against her from left and right, then collapsed. Blood drenched her white shirt until it was all red. Her face was streaked and slick with gore.

None of it moved her. All she felt was the path she'd come to walk — finish the task and return to the others. That was the purpose Adrian had entrusted to her. She would not let feelings or mercy ruin it.

The Acolyte, frantic, snatched the baby's head and thrust it toward her. "Stop, or I'll crush this pest!" he spat.

Ariana's voice was flat, cold as iron. "That child is already dead." He'd stabbed it in panic earlier; its cries had choked away.

The fallen God-follower laughed, cruel and breathless. "You heartless bitch. Even knowing it's dead, you don't waver."

She ignored him and kept walking.

Realizing taunts were useless, the Acolyte ignited his fists. Flames licked his knuckles as he prepared to strike.

Ariana halted, slow and deliberate. "I just realized why you didn't attack me yourself," she said. "Why did you send puppets instead…I now understand it."

DHAK. SQUELCH.

Pain flared in his throat. He looked down, then up—eyes wild as something burned through him. One moment Ariana had been a step away; the next she stood before him, grey-eyed and utterly cold.

Her hand pierced his throat, blood spilling like a broken faucet.

His flames guttered out as Ariana wrenched his head from his shoulders.

Holding the dying head, she said without mercy, "Because you're weak."

Amusement contorted his face. A crooked, dying grin split his lips. "I… at… last… provoked…" he gasped. The sentence died with him.

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A/N:- Thanks for reading.