Chapter 34: The march of Ash and iron
The wind howled through the Hollow Vale like a cry from a long-dead god. Cold, biting, and full of memory. It scraped across Thalen’s cloak as he stood on the ridgeline, his sword resting against his shoulder. Beneath him, the land stretched wide ash-choked, cracked, and riddled with the remnants of ancient war. Fires smoldered in the distance, not wild but controlled, burning in lines that marked the advance of something unnatural.
They were moving again the Iron Revenants.
"Two hundred strong," said Eryndor behind him, folding his arms. "And those are just the ones we can count."
Thalen didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the front ranks. Gleaming armor, spiked and blackened by fire. Motionless until commanded. And at their center, a figure cloaked in crimson haze the Revenant Warlord.
"He’s challenging me again," Thalen murmured.
"You’ve already fought him once."
"And I lost," Thalen said, a sharp breath following the confession. "I didn’t even scratch him. My blade shattered on his aura."
Eryndor grunted. "He’s using something similar to Tyrant Spirit. It’s not the same, but it’s close."
"He’s corrupted it."
Thalen stepped forward, letting his cloak billow behind him. His blade still the same one he was born with, though no longer common pulsed faintly at his side. A faint silver hue surrounded it, the whisper of Blade Aura. But deeper within, something else stirred. Hot, regal. Restless. The Tyrant Spirit.
"Last time I relied only on technique," Thalen said. "That won’t be enough now."