Chapter 61 — The Ashen Village

  Shadows thickened as the heroes stepped beyond the final boundary of the Rift. Everything here was different—distorted, as if the very air was a dream long forgotten in eternity. The ground was gray, no grass grew beneath their feet, and above their heads there was no sky—only a churning veil of shadows and ash.

  "This… is another world," Mirellis whispered, touching the ground. She could feel the void beneath it breathing.

  Leonel gripped the hilt of his sword. “We can’t go back until we learn what lies beyond. If an enemy waits here, it must be found.”

  They walked for a long time—through hills blanketed in black moss, past dry rivers and crumbling ancient towers. No sound, no life, only cold and anticipation.

  Then, suddenly, around a bend, a village appeared—like a mirage. Small, almost spectral, with darkened rooftops, creaking weather vanes, and dim lights in the windows.

  “Who could have survived here?” Ithan murmured in wonder.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  As they approached, people emerged from the houses. Their faces were weary, but in their eyes burned not fear—but resolve. Some bore battle scars; others wore ancient amulets.

  An old man stepped forward, leaning on a staff carved with a symbol of light crossed by a thread of darkness.

  “You are strangers,” he rasped. “But you bear no marks of the Dark Lords. Who are you?”

  Leonel stepped forward. “We come from the world beyond the Rift. We seek a way to close the gates and stop the darkness.”

  “Then perhaps… you are our allies,” the old man muttered, glancing at the sky. “But you’ve come too late.”

  “What do you mean?” Mirellis asked.

  “This place,” the old man lowered his eyes, “was once called Virt-Alen, the Village of the Last. We survived Ovius’s invasion and refused to kneel. Few of us remain.”

  “Why are you still here?” Stan asked, surprised. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “Because we know: one of the three Shadow Arteries runs through this place—a path through which the Lords’ energy flows into this world. We guard it, as best we can. But…”

  He didn’t finish. The air trembled. The earth began to pulse.

  “What is that?” Reina whispered in fear.

  And then, from behind the hills, a dark vortex rose above the village, followed by fiery shadows. An army. Countless ash-formed beings advanced.

  “This…” The old man turned pale. “Ovius’s army. He comes for the artery.”

  Thunderous footsteps, howling creatures, the cracking of spears. The heroes hadn’t even formed a defense before the first arrows struck the ground at their feet.

  “Everyone—take cover!” Leonel shouted. “Mirellis, guard the entrance! Stan, Ithan—take the flank!”

  Elders, women, warriors of the village grabbed weapons—and in that moment, Virt-Alen became a battlefield. They were few. But they had one thing Ovius’s army lacked: the will to defy.

  And above the battlefield—blazed the fiery sigil of the Warlord.

  And his wrath… was already there.