The flas slowly began to die down.
The fire halted at the edges of the houses — as though even the blaze had decided that the hos, part of the forest, and a small section of the woods had burned enough.
Zaber walked among the corpses. With every step, the blood-mixed soil beneath his feet squelched and grated. The air hung heavy with slls — iron, charred flesh, and the scent of terror that refused to dissipate.
He sank to one knee.
Over the first body he extended his palm.
The soul chain pierced slowly through the flesh, drawing the soul out.
This soul was small. Its colors dim, uneven, trembling. Torn by fear, its shape distorted.
Zaber consud it.
Nothing happened.
No pleasure.
No relief.
Only... the void inside him stretched wider.
He frowned.
"Interesting..." he whispered.
Second corpse.
Third.
Fourth.
And all the rest.
One by one the souls vanished. Yet his body no longer seed to respond to them. As though sothing within had beco full — yet still utterly unsatisfied.
"Looks like... my greed is only growing," he said to himself.
He rose to his feet. Looked around.
Everyone was dead.
The commander’s body still lay in the center. Unlike the others, an eerie stillness surrounded him. As if even space itself kept a respectful distance.
Zaber approached.
The commander’s face was now free of agony. Eyes closed, brows relaxed. He no longer looked like a warrior — more like a man returning from a very long journey.
"You were strong... but foolish. Strength is not the sa as resources."
Zaber turned away.
At that mont...
He sensed sothing.
Zaber stopped. His long black hair swayed lightly in the faint breeze, lending him an odd, almost magnetic allure.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Two.
Three.
From beside the dying flas, glowing amber-yellow eyes set in deep blue-gray fur approached.
Myauu...
It ca closer to Zaber.
Zaber smiled — very faintly, almost imperceptibly.
A kitten? I don’t sense anything unusual from it, he murmured.
The kitten reached him, rubbing against his legs, weaving back and forth.
Zaber looked up at the sky.
Both moons — Ruya and Siamond — still hung there. But now their light no longer felt cold. It was... indifferent.
"Sardor said it," Zaber spoke quietly. " ’I am not evil,’ he said."
He lowered his head.
"Maybe he wasn’t lying."
The voice inside returned.
"But unfortunately I’m not the fool who listens to food."
Zaber took a deep breath.
He bent down and scooped the kitten up with one hand.
"What are you doing here? Or did you belong to soone in this place?"
Zaber gave a small, crooked smile.
"But now you’re mine."
He turned around. Looked toward the forest. Toward the three who had fled.
"You three... will beco part of my legend," he said in a low voice.
He glanced down at himself — black garnt soaked in blood and ash, long hair matted, only the dark cloak still draped over his shoulders.
Zaber sighed.
"Changing clothes would be good. And I should wash too," he muttered.
He walked over to a fallen archer lying a short distance away and studied the body.
Black, lightweight clothing. Wrists and ankles wrapped in cloth strips; thin bands ran between the fingers like fingerless gloves.
Practical for movent, resembling assassin garb yet unadorned.
Zaber stripped the clothes off the corpse.
Nearby, among the still-burning houses, he found a barrel filled with water.
The water was cold.
Zaber removed the black cloak.
The fabric slid from his shoulders. Stiff with dried blood, scorched in places. He gave it only a brief glance — no regret, no pity. It was simply sothing no longer needed.
He stepped into the barrel.
The mont his feet touched the water, cold shot through his body. He ignored it. Down to his knees, then to his waist. Bending forward, he scooped water and washed his face.
Blood and ash clouded the liquid.
He subrged his hair. Fingers worked down to the roots, scrubbing. The water turned red, then gradually cleared again.
Zaber closed his eyes.
He exhaled long and slow — hoooohuuuuu.
"That’s enough," he said.
He stepped out.
Beside him lay the archer’s clothing — relatively intact, black, light, designed for agility.
He put it on. The cloth wraps bound his wrists and ankles; the strips between his fingers held everything firm yet left his hands free.
His hair was still wet.
He took a long strip of fabric, gathered his hair back, and tied it tightly. Now nothing fell across his face. His gaze sharpened, grew colder.
A soft touch brushed his leg from below.
"Myauu..."
The kitten.
Its amber eyes glinted in the dark. Small body, but fearless. It rubbed against Zaber’s leg again, tail flicking gently.
Zaber looked down.
He said nothing.
He crouched. Extended his palm. The kitten stepped forward on its own and pressed its head into his hand.
Warm.
Alive.
Zaber stroked it slowly. The motion wasn’t rough, yet it carried no deliberate tenderness — simply natural.
He lifted the kitten.
It was light.
"This place is dangerous," he said quietly. "But for now you can stay with ."
The kitten answered with another soft ow.
Zaber held it closer to his chest. Inside him, no voices argued, no thoughts clashed. Only one conclusion remained: being alone was no longer necessary.
He gathered the few things he needed and left the bandits’ camp, the kitten cradled against him.
Behind him the fire continued to fade. Ahead stretched the dark road. Toward Divorn.
As Zaber continued walking, his thoughts grew tangled.
This battle had granted him a forty to fifty percent increase, raising him from the early third stage to the early fifth stage, along with several wounds.
Yet despite that, he realized that he was currently in the best condition of his life.
He believed himself ready for the battles awaiting him in Divorn.
Friends, what do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comnts. Don’t forget to add this novel to your library. Power Stones and Golden Tickets help Chapters co out faster and give great motivation
Reviews
All reviews (0)