Two days after purging the "Land of the Dead," Cain sat in silence, pondering his next destination.
He decided to head toward a nearby city, to rest for a while and gather information about what awaited him.
But as he walked along the road, the silence was shattered by distant cries human screams laced with terror and blood. A sharp, acrid smell of smoke drifted with the wind.
Lifting his head, Cain fixed his gaze southward, where thick smoke rose from a valley dotted with small villages.
He did not hesitate.
In an instant, he summoned a thousand shadow knights.
The earth trembled beneath the rhythm of their march, the echo of their armor clanging like thunder from another world.
When they arrived, the scene was a waking nightmare.
Wooden houses ablaze, flames devouring walls like ravenous beasts. Women shrieking with hoarse voices.
Children dragged from their homes. Men slaughtered in cold blood. Blood coursed through the narrow dirt roads like a river of despair.
The attackers wore tattered leather armor, yet their movements were sharp and organized trained. These were not mere bandits.
Cain raised his sword and gave the command.
A wave of darkness surged forward.
The shadow army manifested before the villagers in a black haze knights in uniform dark armor, their helms gleaming like faces of death, their swords groaning with a metallic wail as if souls were trapped within. They charged like a flood, crushing everything in their path.
An old village elder was moments away from death when Leon's spear pierced the attacker's chest, saving him.
Soldiers joined in, Cain himself at their front, and the fight turned swiftly into a massacre of the raiders.
The battle did not last long.
Every time a thug tried to flee, a shadow knight closed in, dragging him down with claw-like hands.
Soon, silence returned. The only remnants of the raiders were lifeless corpses, while the shadow army stood still as a black wall, their hollow helms staring into the villagers' souls.
The village was saved but at the cost of a sight too dreadful to imagine.
The air was heavy with the stench of blood and ash, choking the survivors.
Villagers gathered, some clutching their children away from the shadow soldiers, others staring in shock caught between gratitude and fear, unsure whether to thank or to flee from their savior.
The old elder stepped forward on trembling legs, his chest heaving, and spoke with a voice torn between awe and terror:
"You saved us… though we do not
understand who you are… or what you are."
A young woman clutched her child tightly and screamed:
"He commands an army of the dead! He will kill us too!"
But another man snapped back, his voice shaking though he tried to hide it:
"Yet without him, we would already be slaves or corpses."
Cain remained silent for a moment. Then his voice rumbled from within the helm, echoing like something born from the earth itself:
"I am only… the Black Knight."
He raised his head and asked the elder, eyes gleaming from behind the visor:
"Who are these men? They are no common thieves."
One of the villagers, unable to meet his gaze, muttered:
"They call themselves the Men of the Mountains… but they are fallen knights. They extort the villages, kill those who resist, and sell people into slavery. Their leader is a man named Aram… once a first-ranked knight, now an oath-breaker."
The elder added in a hushed tone, as though fearing someone might hear:
"We've heard a noble family shields them a house that owns these lands.
That is why no one dares oppose them."
Cain turned his eyes toward the fog-cloaked mountains, his black cloak whipping in the wind.
"Aram…" he whispered coldly.
A dark anger surged within him. A knight who had betrayed his honor, turned murderer, and dealt in flesh.
Cain spoke flatly to the elder:
"Show me the path."
The man pointed fearfully toward the mountain passes.
When a villager cried out, voice hoarse: "You'll go alone?!"
Cain answered without looking back:
"I am… never alone."
He marched with the shadow army, their footsteps like rolling thunder, leaving behind villagers torn between horror and reverence.
As evening approached, wooden stakes loomed by the road, crowned with human skulls swaying in the wind, creaking like a macabre warning. Beyond them, fires blazed, cruel laughter rang out, and the screams of prisoners pierced the night.
There sat a broad-shouldered man, clad in half-ruined iron armor adorned with a noble crest carved skillfully into the metal, now hidden beneath a ragged scarf. His eyes burned with arrogance, his lips curled in a mocking smile.
This was Aram.
When he heard of a black army approaching, he laughed, his voice booming like a beast mocking its prey:
"Finally… something to break the boredom. I've grown tired of peasants' screams."
Standing at the gate, he shouted over the roar of flames:
"I am a knight of the first rank! Backed by lords whose names you dare not even whisper. And you? You're nothing but a ghost in a knight's shell. Who do you think you are, to stand against me?"
Cain advanced slowly, each step followed by the crawl of shadows like a rising tide.
His voice rumbled like muted thunder:
"I am only… the Black Knight."
Then Duan charged, smashing down the gate in a single strike, collapsing it along with its guards.
Cain roared:
"Crush them all!"
Aram bellowed back:
"Kill this pathetic insect!"
The armies collided.
Leon wielded his spear like the claws of a lion, tearing through dozens like a raging beast. Duan cleaved men apart with each swing, laughing madly as he challenged groups of enemies at once. The shadow knights, forged from centuries of battle, slaughtered the traitors without mercy.
Aram trembled at the sight an army disciplined like the greatest forces of empires. His eyes fixed on Cain, realizing he commanded them. Desperate, he raised his sword, hoping to find a chance to escape.
Cain and Aram clashed.
Their blades collided one radiating dark power, the other burning with red fury. The mountains shook, sparks scattered into the night sky, and it was as if the world itself held its breath.
Aram roared with contempt, veins bulging in rage:
"No one like you can defeat me! I am the blood of the Empire, the shadow of a noble house! You are nothing nothing!"
But Cain's eyes behind the helm burned only with cold resolve.
They traded blows, steel ringing through the valley. Every strike of Aram's carried arrogance and cruelty. Every parry of Cain's was silence, unshaken and immovable.
At last, Cain's blade slipped past his guard, piercing through his chest and hurling him to the ground.
Cain raised his bloodied sword and unleashed the "Memory of Blood."
Visions flooded into his mind:
A candlelit hall, the crest of House Frans etched into the walls.
Men in fine clothes laughing, speaking of "new stock" arriving from the mountain villages.
Carriages filled with cages, children crying within.
A man whispering: "All of this is backed by House Argant… when the plot unfolds, we will hold both wealth and soldiers."
The words blended with screams, with blood, with the faces of shackled slaves.
Cain felt as though he was standing there, hearing their laughter, smelling the wine tainted with blood.
Dark fury consumed him, shadows spilling from his very being.
Cain drew his blade free and severed Aram's head.
Leon raised it high on his spear for all to see.
The captives were freed. Some wept, others cried in joy, a few dropped to their knees in gratitude.
Cain vowed vengeance upon House Frans, swearing to make them pay for their sins.
Duan shouted across the battlefield, his voice booming among the corpses:
"Remember who saved you! The Black Knight commander of the Shadow Army!"
The villagers' voices rose in a mix of fear and thanks. But none could deny what they had witnessed.
That night, Cain sat in silence, staring toward the horizon. His mind held only one thought:
"This is just the beginning… House Frans, House Argant… I will tear your illusions apart, piece by piece."
Thus ended that day not merely as the savior of a village, but as a knight whose legend had begun to carve itself into history, written in the blood of traitors.