The Bladeweaver [Book 1 Complete]

Kale's eyes stayed fixed on the rotting figure in front of him, barely recognizing the creature as a man, let alone a bladeweaver. Kale's jaw clenched as the stench of rot and decay overwhelmed him. It felt heavy in his chest, making every breath shallow, as if the rot had clawed its way into his lungs.

"You shouldn't have come here," the figure rasped again, its voice dry and brittle. It shuffled closer, each step dragging as though its body was too heavy for its decaying limbs. The glow of its single remaining eye flickered.

Kale stepped forward cautiously, keeping his sword raised but trying not to appear hostile. "Who are you?"

The figure's head tilted as if contemplating his question. "I… was like you once. A bladeweaver… before…" Its voice trailed off into a low growl, and for a moment, Kale thought it might collapse where it stood. But then it steadied itself, gripping its rusted blade tighter.

Liliana hovered a few paces behind him, eyeing the figure with suspicion. "We need to put it out of its misery," she said flatly. "Whatever this thing is, it's not going to help us."

Kale ignored her, his gaze still locked on the figure. He had seen corruption before, but never like this—it was incomplete, yet oppressive, as though it were waiting to consume what was left. He could feel it pressing down on him, threatening to drag him into the same fate.

Rika edged closer, her warhammer resting uneasily over her shoulder. "Kale, I think she's right. This place… it's wrong."

The figure let out a low, rasping laugh, the sound rising from deep within its chest. "Wrong," it repeated, the words dripping with irony. "Khor'vel was once... beautiful. We were sent to investigate the rumors... to warn them about the corruption. But we failed. I failed."

Kale felt a chill despite the stifling air around them. "You're one of the scouts."

The figure's head jerked forward in a nod. "Yes. We were a squad once. But now..." It turned its head slightly, revealing the full extent of the rot consuming its body. Black veins spread across its skin, pulsing faintly with dark energy. "Now I am the last."

Liliana floated closer, her skepticism giving way to curiosity. "What happened here?"

The scout's eye dimmed. "The corruption. It spreads like a plague. It seeps into the stone, the air, into us." His voice wavered. "We thought we could stop it. But Khor'vel was already too far gone. Xeroth's mark was upon it."

Kale's chest tightened at the confirmation. He didn't need the reminder, he knew all too well what the god of entropy and decay could do. The whispers of Xeroth's power, the tales of entire cities falling to corruption, were no longer just stories. Now, standing in Khor'vel, the grim reality was undeniable.

Liliana looked at the rotting scout with suspicion. "You're infected. Why haven't you fallen like the others?"

The scout let out another rattling breath. "I fought it. As long as I could. But the corruption… it doesn't let go. It pulls you deeper, piece by piece." He raised his decaying arm, showing Kale the blackened veins crawling up his skin. "Even now, it tries to consume me."

Kale took a step forward. "Why haven't you given in?"

For a long moment, the scout said nothing. Then, with a flicker of defiance in his glowing eye, he whispered, "Because I'm not ready to die."

The silence that followed was oppressive, the rot and darkness seeming to seep into everything around them. Kale could feel the tension between his companions—Liliana's cold suspicion, Rika's unease—but something in the man still felt worth saving.

"We're looking for the other scouts," Kale said finally. "Can you help us?"

The scout's eye flickered again. "The others..." His voice trailed off into a heavy silence. "They didn't resist. They didn't have time."

Rika frowned. "What does that mean?"

"They're corrupted," the scout rasped. "Mindless. Lost."

Kale's stomach turned. "Are they still alive?"

The scout hesitated. "If you call it living."

Rika muttered a curse under her breath. "Great. So now we've got an army of corrupted scouts to deal with?"

"They were my brothers," the scout said sharply, his glowing eye locking onto Rika. "My brothers-in-arms."

Kale raised a hand, calming them both. "We're not here to kill them if we don't have to," he said firmly. "But if they've fallen too far…"

"They'll ask for death," the scout finished for him. "When the corruption takes you, there are moments, fleeting moments, when you remember. When you know what you've become. And in those moments, all you can do is beg for release."

The words hung heavily in the air. Kale felt a tightness in his chest—not just from the stench of rot, but from the reality of what lay ahead.

Liliana floated closer. "This corruption… is Xeroth here?"

The scout's head twitched. "No... not Xeroth. But someone high in his church holds sway here. His mark is on this city. On all of us."

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Kale glanced at his companions. Rika's jaw was clenched in frustration, while Liliana's expression remained cold. He knew they were right to be wary. The scout was corrupted, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. But there was still a remnant of something human within him.

"We'll find your brothers," Kale said quietly. "And if we can save them, we will."

The scout's eye dimmed. "They'll fight you. The corruption runs deep."

Kale nodded grimly. "Then we'll give them what they ask for."

With that, the scout turned and led them deeper into Khor'vel, his movements slow and labored, as though each step drained him further. The stench of rot grew stronger, clinging to them with every breath, making it harder for Kale to focus.

Liliana hovered to his side, her voice low. "You're trusting him too much."

Kale glanced at her. "Do you have a better option?"

She shook her head. "He's a walking corpse, Kale. He's one slip away from turning on us."

"I know. But we need him."

Liliana didn't respond, but the tension lingered.

As they walked, the scout's breathing grew more ragged, his body shaking with the effort of keeping the corruption at bay. "We're close," he rasped. "They're near."

The street ahead opened into a small square, and Kale's heart sank. Scattered across the cobblestones were the figures of several scouts, their bodies twisted and decayed, just like the one who had led them there. But these ones didn't move, didn't speak. They stood frozen in place, their heads twitching slightly, their eyes dark and empty.

"They're waiting," the scout whispered.

"For what?" Kale asked.

"For us."

Kale approached cautiously, his heart heavy. He could see the scouts' faces. These were warriors, bladeweavers like him, reduced to little more than husks.

One of the scouts let out a low, guttural moan. For a brief moment, its hand twitched, reaching toward Kale as if in recognition. "Help… us…"

Kale felt his chest tighten, a hollow ache spreading through him as he stared at the corrupted figures before him. These weren't just strangers, they were bladeweavers. His brothers-in-arms. He had thought he was the only one left, the last of a dying breed. The thought had weighed heavily on him, the loneliness of it all, knowing that no one else in the world shared his path. But now, here they were, the brothers he never knew he had—only to find them twisted, broken, devoured by the corruption that clung to their souls like a sickness.

The brief glimmer of hope that had sparked in his chest when he first saw them now turned to bitter ash. He had longed for their return, for proof that he wasn't alone in this world, but this... this was worse than being the last.

They had laughed, fought, bled for what was right, for something bigger than themselves. They had believed in honor, in duty. They had lived and fought for the same cause as Kale, each of them burning with the same fire to protect what mattered most.

But now... now they were nothing but shadows of that life. The corruption had stripped all of it away—their humanity, their pride, their souls. The men they had been—their joys, their pains, their sacrifices—were gone. And the worst part was knowing that once, not too long ago, they had been just like him. Alive. Whole.

There was no saving them. The corruption had consumed them, piece by piece, until nothing human remained. They were lost. And now, the duty to end their suffering fell to him. Standing before his brothers, he realized there was no escape from this horror. He hadn't been chosen to survive, he had been chosen to witness their downfall, and now, to be the one to end it.

The thought hit him hard. How cruel was this fate? To be the last bladeweaver standing, only to discover that those he hadn't even known existed had been returned to him, just so he could be the one to destroy them?

He gritted his teeth, forcing back the lump in his throat. His grip tightened around Aeloria's Promise, but this time it wasn't out of fear or readiness. It was sorrow. Deep, crushing sorrow for the brothers he had hoped to find, and the reality that now, he would be the one to lay them to rest.

"I'm sorry," Kale whispered, raising his sword.

The corrupted scouts lurched forward, their decaying bodies dragging, limbs jerking, twitching. Kale's strikes were precise, but each one cut deeper into his soul. These weren't mindless enemies—they were brothers, twisted by the corruption. His heart ached with every blow, the emotional toll almost unbearable. And yet, he pressed on, fighting with grim resolve.

As the fight neared its end, only one scout remained, his decaying form barely able to stand. His movements were erratic, as if he was fighting the corruption, but losing. Kale stepped forward, Aeloria's Promise raised, prepared to end the last of them. But something stopped him.

The scout stumbled, his weapon falling from his hand with a hollow clatter. He took one faltering step, then another, before collapsing to his knees. His head hung low, his chest heaving with labored breaths, as if the corruption had finally lost its hold on him, if only for a moment.

Kale froze, watching as the scout lifted his head. In the scout's darkened, hollow eyes, there was something else now, a flicker of recognition, of humanity, buried deep beneath the decay. He looked up at Kale, his voice weak, barely audible.

"Brother…" the scout rasped, his voice broken, raw. His gaze wasn't one of recognition, but of shared understanding, pleading, desperate. "I... I remember... who we were." His words faltered, a choking sob escaping his lips. "But I can't... fight it. Not anymore."

Kale's grip on his sword loosened. He didn't know this man, but he didn't need to. They were both bladeweavers, bound by the same path, the same code. He could see it now, the fragments of what this man once was, a warrior like him, reduced to this. A bladeweaver brought to his knees by the corruption, begging for mercy.

"Please," the scout whispered, his voice cracking, "end it. I don't want to be this... thing. I don't want to live like this. End me."

Kale's heart clenched painfully in his chest, the scout's words like a crushing burden. This was not a battle, it was a mercy. His brother was asking for release, and it fell to him to grant it.

With trembling hands, Kale stepped forward. The world seemed to slow, every breath labored as the stench of decay thickened around him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The scout closed his eyes, accepting his fate with a quiet sigh. Kale lifted Aeloria's Promise, his heart heavy with sorrow, and in one swift motion, brought the blade down.

The scout fell, his body collapsing into the dust of the city. The corruption that had twisted him so cruelly was finally gone, but the silence that followed was not one of peace. It was a silence that spoke of loss, of the weight of what had been taken from them all.

Kale stood over the fallen scout, the grief settling deep within him. His final act of mercy had been delivered, but the burden of it would remain long after Khor'vel was left behind.

Kale looked back at the scout who has led them there. The man stood still, his glowing eye dim, his body trembling. "It's over," Kale said, his voice hollow.

The scout shook his head. "No. It's not."

Kale frowned. "What do you mean?"

The scout turned slowly, his body twitching violently. "I fought it… as long as I could. But the corruption… it's too strong."

Rika took a step back, her eyes wide. "Kale…"

The scout's glowing eye flared with dark energy, and his body convulsed. He let out a low, agonized growl, his hand gripping his rusted sword tightly.

"I can't… stop it…"

The scout's eye locked onto Kale, the glow intensifying. "Run," he whispered.