After Cain finished his oath, gripping the sword with both hands, he felt something strange flow into his body.
A dark current, cold and deep, crept from the hilt of the blade straight into his heart.
Suddenly, his mind drowned in a torrent of memories he had never lived, yet he felt as though he had fought them all himself.
He saw himself on the battlefield, amid the cries of soldiers and the clash of steel.
Every swing of the sword, every step, every strike… they were not mere visions, but sensations.
As if his body was remembering something that had always been a part of him.
He had inherited the memories of the sword's previous master.
Not only memories, but the sensation of strength, the art of swordsmanship.
It was as though he had fought a thousand battles without a single mistake.
Then, the sword's abilities revealed themselves, one after another.
A deep, calm voice echoed within him, explaining each ability with clarity, as though the darkness itself was teaching him its final lesson:
Call of Shadows: The power to awaken those who had sworn their souls to the darkness. They return to their original strength, and through battle, by consuming the souls of enemies, the shadows grow stronger.
Union of Shadow: Shadows can slip into the shade of living beings, hiding within. They can spy, guard, or wait unseen, always protecting without being noticed.
Blood Memory: With but a drop of blood, Cain can glimpse what the dead once saw their killer, and the way their life ended.
Mana Drain: Each fallen enemy feeds the sword, which devours their energy and grants it to its wielder, strengthening him with dark power.
Then, the silence was broken by the heavy echo of approaching hooves.
A massive horse emerged from the gloom, its coat a dark crimson, as though dyed in blood, and its eyes completely black.
It approached Cain slowly, then knelt before him, submitting in silence.
Cain reached out, placing his hand upon its head. A strange warmth filled his heart… as though this beast had known him for ages.
At once, the sound of armored steps rose behind him.
The hundred knights who had been kneeling before the sword rose in unison.
One stepped forward: a towering knight clad in pitch-black armor, an aura of dread radiating from him.
He bowed low and said in a grave voice:
"I am Dwan, guardian of the sword. We are the hundred knights who swore to protect this blade, awaiting its chosen bearer. We have safeguarded this place, preventing it from falling into unworthy hands."
He lowered his voice, adding:
"The shadows, once they grow strong enough by consuming the mana of enemies, can think, speak, and choose… becoming more than mere shades."
Cain's gaze was steady as he answered with firm resolve:
"From this moment, you are my right hand, and commander of the elite knights."
Dwan bowed once more, while the other knights stood tall, awaiting their master's command.
Before Cain could speak again, something else emerged from the depths of the shadow: a suit of armor, black as night, as if woven from the sword's own spirit.
Dark lines pulsed with crimson mana, glowing faintly like living veins.
Broad shoulders, a chest wrapped in layered steel, and a helm that gave him the stature of a king.
Its design bore the shape of folded wings upon the back, with edges like claws carved from the void.
It was not heavy it clung to Cain's body as though it had been forged for him alone.
"The Armor of the Shadow King…" whispered the voice within.
"An unbreakable armor that can take form or return to a simple ring."
Now armed with sword, armor, horse, and knights, Cain realized his path had truly begun.
He lifted his head and declared in a commanding voice:
"I have returned. Enter my shadow and await my call."
A heavy silence followed.
Then the knights stepped forward one by one, their bodies dissolving into smoke, sinking into the swirling abyss of shadow beneath Cain's feet.
All but Dwan, whom Cain had ordered to remain by his side.
Cain stood tall, sword in hand, armor upon his frame, the crimson horse by his side, and a sleeping army within his shadow.
He chose to remain in the cavern, abandoned and wounded by the world, to forge himself anew.
Day by day, he honed his body and mastered the sword's memories.
With Dwan as his sparring partner, he trained relentlessly.
Two years passed within the ruins of the cave.
Cain fed upon the beasts and spiders that dwelled within, draining their essence to grow stronger.
Until at last, he had mastered the secrets of shadow itself.
When he was ready, he mounted his crimson steed, which moved with impossible grace despite its size, as if the earth itself bent away from its path.
He rode toward the cavern's exit, where daylight bled faintly through the cracks of stone.
But the horse halted.
Cain raised his head, his face heavy with grief and sorrow.
Before his eyes, the nightmare returned:
The air was thick with the stench of death and guilt.
Here… the very place where he had endured agony, where the blood of his sacrifice still stained the ground.
A long silence stretched, broken only by a rising hiss.
From the shadows behind the pit, a swarm of giant black spiders poured forth.
Their eyes glowed crimson, their fangs dripping venom, their screeches heralding hell itself.
Dozens no, hundreds advanced like a tide, all eyes fixed on him.
Cain did not move.
He closed his eyes, remembering his torment and pain… yet within him flickered a faint spark of hope.
Then his voice thundered across the cavern:
"Answer my call!"
In an instant, his shadow erupted.
Dwan emerged first, wielding his colossal blade, followed by the hundred knights, each bearing weapons, each cloaked in an aura of dark mana.
True shadows, with glowing eyes and the creak of armor that no living man could produce.
They lined up before Cain.
Dwan smirked darkly.
"At last… a true battle."
Cain raised his hand and commanded:
"Leave none alive."
And the abyss was unleashed.
The shadow army surged forward with impossible speed, like living fragments of the night, colliding with the spiders in a wave of terror.
Each swing of a spectral blade severed limbs and shattered fangs.
The spiders fought back, venom hissing through the air, burning armor away yet the shadows reformed, stronger than before.
Each fallen beast fed the army, their souls devoured, their power reborn within the darkness.
Cain, astride his horse, drew his blade once more.
He charged straight toward the Spider Queen, massive and armored with natural plating, spewing venom that melted stone.
The crimson steed leapt high, and Cain's sword fell like a meteor.
The strike split her thick hide, severing her head in a single arc.
Her colossal body trembled once, then collapsed without a sound.
At once, the swarm faltered.
The spiders retreated, then scattered in panic.
With their queen slain, their hive-mind was broken.
Cain pulled his sword free, its blade glowing red not with blood, but with the mana it had consumed.
The battle ended.
The ground was littered with carcasses, the air heavy with the stench of venom and ash.
Only the whisper of the wind remained, as though nature itself held its breath.
Cain dismounted slowly, each step heavy, hesitant, as if afraid to tread again upon betrayal's soil.
He imagined himself among the fallen—forgotten, nameless, a grave without mourning.
He clenched his fist, eyes burning with hatred.
"Blood… can only be washed away with blood."
Turning from the cavern, he muttered coldly:
"This is the first oath… but not the last."
Then he strode into the light, carrying with him laws written in blood.