The village felt hollow. Not abandoned. Emptied. Raizō noticed it in the way the fog lay heavy and unmoving between the buildings, clinging to the ground as if the air itself had been told to stay still. Doors hung open without rot. Windows were intact. Nothing had been scavenged. Nothing disturbed. Someone had decided this place no longer needed witnesses.

  Taren slowed beside him, spear resting loosely across his shoulders. “This is bad,” he muttered. “Quiet like this never means peace.”

  Raizō nodded. “It means permission.”

  They approached the chapel without hiding their steps. If someone wanted them gone, the light inside wouldn’t be burning. Raizō pushed the door open just enough to look in. The smell of damp stone and old wax hit first. Sunlight cut through holes in the roof, laying uneven bars of light across the pews. At the far end, a woman knelt in front of the broken altar. A sword lay flat before her hands; a shield leaned against her side. Her armor was meticulously maintained. She looked to be in her late twenties, sharp features, steady posture, a kind of beauty that came from composure more than softness.

  Taren whispered, “You sure that’s her?”

  Raizō nodded. “Seris Thayne.”

  Neither moved closer. The air around her felt heavy, like pressure before a storm. Even at rest, she carried authority.

  Taren muttered, “If she’s praying, maybe she’s not in the mood to fight.”

  “Or maybe she’s getting ready for one,” Raizō said.

  Her voice broke the quiet. “You can come out.”

  They stepped forward slowly, weapons lowered but ready.

  “You knew we were here,” Raizō said.

  “You’re not subtle,” she replied without turning. “Two sets of footsteps. Soldiers walk that way.”

  “We’re not soldiers.”

  “No,” she said. “You're not.”

  She stood, lifting her sword and setting the shield on her arm in one smooth motion. Her movements were controlled, efficient, no wasted effort. When she turned to face them, her eyes were clear and steady.

  “I’ll ask once,” she said. “Did they tell you why?”

  Raizō didn’t answer. Taren shifted his grip.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Then finish the job.”

  For a moment none of them moved. The drip of rain through the roof filled the silence.

  Taren murmured, “She’s polite about it.”

  Raizō said, “She’s warning us.”

  Seris took one slow step forward, shield raised. “If you came for me,” she said, “then do it properly.”

  She raised her shield. Taren lowered into stance, spear angled across his body. Raizō shifted his weight forward, feet light, eyes fixed on the woman ahead of them. Seris stayed still, sword low, shield forward. The silence stretched until even the sound of their breathing felt loud. Taren moved first. The spear’s head flashed toward her shoulder. She turned the strike aside with a clean twist of her wrist and stepped in behind the shield, catching his ribs with its edge. The blow hit like a hammer. Air burst from his lungs and he stumbled back, coughing.

  Raizō darted in to cover him. He struck fast, compact punches, short kicks, everything built from the hips and shoulders. Lightning followed each motion, a faint blue after-image trailing his limbs. He didn’t swing wide, he struck like a trained fighter using the current to extend each hit. Sparks snapped as they met her shield and armor. Her defense held. Every time his fist met the shield, she shifted weight to absorb the impact and counter with a slash that barely missed his chest. Her precision made his speed feel reckless.

  "Her offense is balanced," Raizō thought, stepping back as she advanced.

  Taren recovered and circled to her side. Every attack blocked by her shield. Impact always left a tingling feeling in his arms. “Feels like hitting a fortress,” he muttered, tightening his grip. He drove a thrust toward her knee. She deflected it, turned with the motion, and shoved forward. The rim of her shield slammed into his chest and lifted him off his feet. He hit the floor hard, gasping.

  “Her offense is terrifying,” Raizō realized. Every strike could break bone if she wanted.

  She came for him next, steps measured, shield leading. He met her head-on, lightning flashing as he deflected a downward cut with his forearm and countered with a hook to her side. The impact forced her back half a step, but her footing never broke.

  “She doesn’t flinch,” he thought. Every guard, every counter, it’s all discipline.

  Seris breathed evenly behind the shield.

  “They’re faster than I expected,” she thought. “The tall one’s instinctive, no pattern. The other’s different. His power follows his form. It drains strength with every exchange. If I let this drag on, I’ll lose to fatigue.”

  Taren got up, chest still burning, and rejoined the fight. He swung low; Raizō went high. For a moment the rhythm found balance—lightning and steel against the sound of her sword cutting air. Each clash threw sparks into the dim chapel.

  “You fight like soldiers,” Seris said between movements.

  “We’ve had practice,” Taren answered, sweat running down his jaw.

  “Then you should know when to retreat.”

  He grinned. “Not good at that.”

  She slammed her shield forward again, forcing space between them. Raizō’s boots slid on the stone as he caught the edge of it on his arm; the shock numbed his shoulder. She pressed the attack, sword following in a tight arc. He ducked, sparks flying as her blade scraped the wall behind him. Taren tried to catch her flank, but she pivoted fast, steel meeting the shaft of his spear and knocking it wide. The sound echoed through the chapel like thunder.

  The fight blurred into rhythm. Raizō moving in bursts, body leading the lightning. Taren sweeping wide with calculated strikes; Seris holding ground with flawless form. Each collision left them slower, breathing harder. Raizō’s mind sharpened through fatigue. He began reading her timing, half-seconds between shifts of weight, the angle of her shield before each swing. He used shorter bursts now, channeling the current through his legs to increase step speed. Lightning didn’t flare anymore, it snapped and vanished.

  Seris caught the change. "He’s adapting." she thought. Her sword caught his sleeve instead of his chest. He countered with a strike to the shield’s rim that sent a current through her arm. Her fingers went numb, but she forced them to hold.

  Taren lunged again. She parried the spear, but this time he twisted and caught the edge of her shield, pulling her off-balance. Raizō stepped in, fist meeting armor with a dull crack. The three separated, panting, sweat and dust clinging to their faces. None of them spoke. Only the rain tapping against the broken roof filled the space above them.

  Seris lifted her sword again, grip tight but trembling slightly. “You’re better than I expected,” she said.

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  Raizō steadied his breathing. “So are you.”

  They closed distance one more time, slower now, each watching the other for the smallest tell. When they clashed again, the noise of it shook the walls. They broke apart, each standing in the haze of dust and candle smoke. Rain filtered through the cracked roof, darkening the floor around them. Raizō’s breathing was rough but steady. Taren leaned on his spear, sweat dripping from his chin. Seris lowered her shield for the first time, her sword still at guard but her arm trembling from strain. For a few seconds, no one moved. Only the low creak of the chapel roof and the sound of rain filled the silence.

  Raizō spoke first. “You’re done.”

  Seris straightened. “No. You are.”

  Before either could move again, boots sounded outside, dozens of them, heavy and in rhythm. The chapel doors burst open. A line of soldiers in white armor poured in, their weapons already drawn. Behind them came six familiar faces. The mercenaries from the forest. At their center stood a man in an ornate plate with a crimson cloak that dragged through the wet dust. His hair was grey at the temples, his expression calm and deliberate. Even without insignia, his presence announced command. Seris froze, the sword still in her hand. “Arden Vale,” she said, the name leaving her mouth like venom. His gaze went straight to Seris.

  He smiled faintly. “Captain Thayne. Still standing. You always were hard to deal with.”

  Taren shifted, half whispering to Raizō, “Guess they’re not friends.”

  Seris straightened despite the ache in her body. “You followed them and waited.”

  “Yes,” Arden said. “I wanted to see if they could actually find you. It was unexpected for them to drive you this far.”

  Arden raised one hand toward the knights. They stopped.

  Arden’s eyes remained on Seris. “You’ve run far enough.”

  Mercenaries surged forward.

  Taren turned sharply. “That's not good—”

  Seris moved instantly, breaking away and throwing herself into the mercenaries. Steel rang as she carved space with ruthless efficiency, blade flashing, shield snapping into joints and throats.

  Raizō and Taren looked at Arden. They advanced on him immediately. Knights shifted, weapons lifting.

  Arden raised his hand again. “No.”

  The knights froze.

  Arden withdrew his sword, “I’ll handle them.”

  Raizō and Taren attacked together. Despite exhaustion, the coordination was still there. Taren moved first, spear cutting a wide arc meant to force Arden back. Raizō followed a breath later, lightning snapping along his arms as he closed the distance, strikes tight and direct.

  Arden did not rush. He stepped to the side instead of back, letting the spear pass where his chest had been a moment earlier. His sword lifted just enough to knock the shaft off course. The motion was small, almost lazy, but the deflection ran up the spear and pulled Taren’s balance to the left. Raizō punched. Lightning cracked as his fist slammed toward Arden’s ribs.

  Arden turned his shoulder. The blow scraped across armor instead of landing cleanly. Before Raizō could reset, Arden struck back with the flat of his blade, clipping Raizō’s forearm. The impact sent a jolt through his arm and made his fingers tingle.

  He's not strong, Raizō realized as he pulled back. He's exact.

  They pressed him anyway. Taren recovered and drove the spear forward again, thrust after thrust, keeping Arden moving. Raizō stayed close, stepping in whenever Arden’s guard shifted, using short bursts of lightning to keep pace. For the first time, Arden stepped back. Once. Then again. Raizō felt it like a spark behind his ribs.

  We’re pushing him.

  They tightened the space. Taren swept low, aiming for Arden’s legs. Raizō stepped in behind it, knee rising, fist already moving. Arden blocked both attacks at once. Steel hit wood. Armor met bone. The sound rang through the chapel. Arden slid back half a step, boots scraping stone. Raizō stepped in too close. When Taren drove the spear forward again, Raizō didn’t follow the weapon. He slipped past it, cutting inside the reach of both blade and shaft, closing the distance until there was barely space to breathe between them. Arden’s sword arm stalled. There was no room to swing. For the first time since the fight began, Arden’s posture broke. Just a fraction. His shoulders tightened, his stance adjusting too late. The long blade that had ruled the space a moment earlier was suddenly useless.

  Raizō felt it.

  He had taken something from Arden. Raizō struck. Short and sharp. An elbow into Arden’s ribs. A tight punch aimed under the shoulder plate where armor thinned. Lightning snapped once, clean and focused, slipping through seams instead of bursting wide. Arden made a sound. Not pain. Annoyance. Raizō pressed harder, crowding him, denying space. He hooked an arm behind Arden’s elbow and drove a knee into his thigh, then another punch, then another, all compact, all controlled. No room to reset. No room to breathe.

  Arden tried to step back. Raizō followed immediately. For several seconds, Arden could not attack at all. Every attempt to create distance failed. The sword stayed trapped between bodies. Arden’s free hand came up once, sharp and precise, but Raizō knocked it aside and drove his shoulder into Arden’s chest, forcing him back another step.

  Raizō saw it then. Frustration. Arden’s jaw tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flicked once, quick and sharp, checking space that was no longer there. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Raizō felt a surge of grim satisfaction. He didn’t plan for me. Another elbow landed. Arden’s armor rang dull instead of clean.

  For the first time, Arden’s breathing changed. Not heavier. Shorter. Controlled, but clipped. Embarrassment burned behind his eyes, cold and precise. This was not a fight meant to be messy. Not meant to draw attention. Not meant to force correction. Raizō stayed glued to him.

  This is it, Raizō thought. This is where he breaks.

  Arden’s expression hardened. Not anger. Decision. His breathing slowed instead of speeding up.

  Raizō felt it a heartbeat later. Lightning flared brighter as he drove forward again. Taren followed, spear spinning faster now, the tip snapping toward Arden’s chest and shoulders. Arden stopped retreating. He straightened. He adjusted the strap on his glove.

  “…Impressive,” he said calmly, as if commenting on their form. “You’re better than most.”

  They felt it immediately. Not pressure on his body. Weight inside it. His lungs felt denser when he inhaled, as if breathing required more effort than it should have. His arms answered his commands a fraction too late, not weak, just slow.

  “But this ends here.”

  Raizō stepped forward. His foot moved exactly where he told it to. It just didn’t arrive the way it should have. Lightning flickered along his skin, unfocused, crawling instead of snapping forward. The power was still there, but distant, like it had to pass through something first.

  Taren attacked. The spear struck cleanly. The impact landed. And somehow… didn’t matter. The force bled away, as if the moment itself refused to finish.

  “What—?” Taren breathed. “Why am I slower—?”

  Arden stepped forward. Raizō saw it clearly now. Arden wasn’t faster. They were slower. Every movement took more effort than it should have. Not pain. Not resistance. Delay. Raizō drove a punch forward, technique perfect, balance right, and felt the intent drain from the motion before it completed. Confusion flared sharp and immediate.

  What is he doing to us?

  Taren snarled and forced the spear into motion again. The spin was clean, but his arms felt heavy, as if he’d already fought for hours. Arden struck Raizō with an open palm. The blow wasn’t violent. Raizō was simply gone. He hit the stone hard, lungs burning, limbs slow to respond as he tried to rise. Taren attacked again. Arden caught the spear shaft mid-motion. The wood bent from crushing force.

  It failed all at once. Seris saw it clearly now. Not strength. Authority over outcome. She disengaged instantly. Steel flashed as she drove mercenaries back, carving space with ruthless precision. She slammed her shield into the chapel wall where the stone had already been weakened. Once. Twice. The wall gave way, collapsing outward in a rush of night air and broken stone.

  Seris turned sharply. “Run. Now.”

  Raizō didn’t argue. Neither did Taren. They fled through the opening as their bodies finally answered fast enough to allow it. Behind them, Arden turned calmly to the knights.

  “Pursue.”

  They ran. The mercenaries stayed. They stood in a half-circle, heads lowered, weapons still wet with mud. Their commander and employer, Arden, stood in front, boots sinking slightly into the soaked earth.

  “You lost to them, and her,” he said finally. His voice was low, almost calm, a priest addressing a congregation.

  One mercenary stepped forward, trembling. “They were stronger than we initially thought, sir. You just experienced it yourself…”

  “Silence.”

  The single word cut through the air sharper than any blade. The man froze, mouth still open.

  Arden’s eyes, pale gray, empty of emotion, moved across each of them in turn. “You were paid in the Church’s coin. You carried its blessing, wore its mark. And you let them walk away.”

  No one spoke. The air seemed to thicken with the scent of ozone.

  “Failure,” Arden said softly, “is not forgiven. It is cleansed.”

  His sword slid from its sheath with a whisper of steel. He moved like someone performing a sacred ritual, precise, practiced, inevitable. The first mercenary tried to run. Arden’s blade took him in the back before the man’s foot even touched the mud. The rest reached for their weapons too late. Each strike was measured. No wasted motion. No anger. When the last one fell, Arden stood in silence, blood dripping down his blade, steam rising where it touched the rain-soaked earth. He looked to the forest towards where they had escaped.

  “Eryndor favor obedience,” he murmured. “And they abandon the weak.”

  He wiped his blade on a fallen cloak, sheathed it, and turned toward his men.

  “Gather the bodies. Burn them before the next dawn. Their ashes will not stain this ground.”

  A junior knight hesitated. “Sir… they fought for us.”

  Arden’s expression didn’t change.

  “Then they died for us. That is enough.”

  He mounted his horse and pulled his hood up, his voice barely audible over the wind.

  “Find them. Dealing with Seris is already hard enough. Those other two just made the situation worse.”

  Far from the clearing, thunder rolled faintly. Taren dropped to a knee, catching his breath. “This was supposed to be a simple job.”

  Raizō leaned against a tree, chest rising and falling. “It's never simple.”

  Seris sat a few feet away, blood mixing with rain on her armor. She looked at them, tired, guarded, but no longer hostile.

  “Now you understand,” she said quietly.

  None of them spoke after that. Their sound faded beneath the steady rain.