Chapter 70: The Blackthorn Reaper
The war council chamber was dim, candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls.
Malrik sat at the head of the table while Kael stood over a worn map, pointing at the fortress’s defenses. Dark circles hung beneath the young lord’s eyes, the exhaustion of carrying Blackthorn alone evident on his face.
Ronan stood nearby with folded arms, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. Eliza remained quietly by the door, while Lilith lounged in the corner, idly examining her nails.
"The north wall won’t last much longer," Kael said. "The recruits are improving, but they’re still inexperienced. We’ve hired a few mercenaries from Ashmoor, though not nearly enough."
His finger shifted across the map.
"The scouts report tens of thousands of Morveth gathering in the forest. They’re organized... with commanders leading them."
Ronan nodded.
"The archers and mages are ready, but it won’t be enough."
Kael continued listing supplies and defensive preparations until Malrik finally raised a hand.
"Enough."
The room fell silent.
"You’ve all done well. Get some rest."
His gaze moved between Kael and Ronan.
"Tomorrow will be a long day."
The door closed behind him.
Torches flickered along the corridor as Malrik walked in silence.
"So..." Lilith appeared beside him, her crimson eyes gleaming. "What did you think of their little war council?"
"It was thorough."
She let out a quiet laugh.
"Walls. Recruits. Mercenaries." She shrugged. "If that’s your plan, Blackthorn is already lost."
"I know."
She glanced at him.
"Then why let them believe it is?"
"Because it is their plan."
He met her gaze.
"Not mine."
A slow smile spread across Lilith’s face.
"Then what’s yours?"
"I’m not waiting for the Morveth to attack."
"I’m going to strike first."
For the first time that night, genuine excitement appeared in Lilith’s eyes.
"Finally." A delighted smile curved across her lips.
"I was beginning to grow bored of this miserable fortress."
"Good... I can finally torture—" She stopped herself, clearing her throat. "...kill those filthy insects."
Malrik looked at her for a moment.
"Then come."
Deep in the forest, the Morveth horde stirred.
Thousands upon thousands of them. Awakened-Rank. Some were hulking beasts with jagged fangs. Others were sleek and serpentine. All of them shared one thing: burning red eyes that held nothing but hunger.
They were divided into groups. Battalion-sized formations, each with its own commander. They set watches. They rotated patrols. They communicated with growls that carried meaning. This was not a mindless mob. This was an army.
At the center, surrounded by the largest concentration of Morveth, a massive creature sat upon a crude throne of bones and stone.
His body was covered in scars. His eyes burned with the deepest crimson—sharp, cunning, ancient. His presence alone made the air around him feel heavier. The weight of his aura was suffocating, pressing down on everything within reach.
This was the leader. The one who commanded the horde.
Behind him stood three other Morveth. Their bodies were also scarred, their frames imposing. Their auras were powerful—far beyond any ordinary Awakened—but they were noticeably weaker than their leader’s. The difference was clear. He was the apex, and they were his instruments.
A murmur ran through the gathered Morveth, restless, hungry for the order to march.
One of the Fallen behind the throne broke first. "The Ascendant has left these walls. Why do we not attack and wipe them out?"
The leader did not answer at once. He sat unmoving upon his throne of bone and stone, and in the firelight there was something in his stillness that set him apart from the eagerness around him—a patience that looked, on him, less like restraint than calculation.
"Indeed, the Ascendant is gone," he said finally, his voice low and rough, like stones grinding together. "But we do not know the size of the force still standing behind those walls."
His crimson eyes moved slowly over the gathered ranks.
"We will not go in blind. I want those walls to fall at the smallest cost—the King has plans that reach beyond the mere collapse of Blackthorn. We will not throw ourselves into a crushing assault and lose a great many of our own, when the same walls can be taken for far less."
"Then what do you command, my lord?"
His eyes gleamed with something sharp, calculating.
"We will send five thousand ordinary Awakened at dawn." A pause, deliberate. "Let us see how these humans respond."
His crimson eyes glinted, and a cunning smile spread slowly across his face.
Far from the main horde, on the eastern edge of the forest, a smaller group had made camp.
Perhaps five hundred Morveth. Their red eyes scanned the darkness with restless hunger. Some rested. Others fed on the remains of a recent kill. A few stood guard, their heads swiveling slowly, watching for threats.
At the center of this group stood their commander.
He was a hulking beast—easily twice the size of the others. His body was covered in thick, armored plates that gleamed dully in the moonlight. His claws were long enough to carve through stone. His eyes burned with intelligence.
His aura was dense, powerful. It marked him as one of the strongest Awakened-Rank Morveth in the entire horde. One step below the Fallen.
Nearby, two shapes moved through the shadows.
One was a woman with flowing purple hair and leathery wings folded against her back. Her crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness, and a cruel smile played at her lips. Her presence radiated ancient, demonic power.
The other was a figure clad in living black armor. It seemed to breathe, pulsing with a rhythm like a heartbeat. A silver mask covered his face—smooth, expressionless, with two slits revealing emerald eyes that burned like twin flames. In his hand, he held a scythe black as midnight, its blade curved like a crescent moon and gleaming with an edge that seemed to drink the light itself.
He looked like a nightmare given form.
They moved at incredible speed. Faster than any ordinary Awakened could track. The trees blurred past them, branches and shadows merging into a single dark stream.
Malrik’s body was being pushed to its limits by the Black Shroud, his stats doubled. But even so, Lilith moved faster—her Ascendant-rank speed carrying her through the forest with supernatural grace.
Neither made a sound.
Lilith wove an illusion around them, bending light and shadow to hide their presence. Even if a Morveth looked directly at them, their eyes would slide past without registering anything.
They stopped at the edge of a ridge, overlooking the encampment.
Malrik studied the scene below. Five hundred Morveth. A commander at their head—powerful, dangerous.
Lilith’s crimson eyes swept across the encampment.
"Five hundred Awakened Morveth..." she murmured. Her gaze settled on the commander. "And one who’s nearly Fallen."
A slow smile spread across her lips.
"Now this should be entertaining."
She glanced sideways at him.
"Do you need my help..." Her smile widened. "...or would you rather keep all the fun to yourself?"
Malrik didn’t answer. He simply raised his hand.
Behind him, shadows began to twist.
Wolves emerged first—their forms materializing from the darkness, emerald eyes glowing like stars in the void. Spiders followed, their obsidian shells gleaming. Faceless creatures appeared, their featureless bodies shifting and rippling. The Spider Queen stepped forward last, her hybrid form towering over the others.
The Morveth below sensed something. They turned, their red eyes scanning the ridge. For a moment, nothing.
Then they saw them.
A ripple of shock passed through the encampment. Growls of alarm. Hisses of confusion. Claws scraped against the earth as the Morveth scrambled to their feet.
Who are they? Where did they come from?
One of the Morveth raised its claws, ready to charge. Another hesitated, frozen, staring at the emerald glow of the wolves.
They had never seen anything like this. Creatures that appeared from nowhere. Beasts that didn’t smell like Morveth. That didn’t smell like anything at all. The air around them crackled with foreign mana—death mana, summoned from beyond the veil.
For a single heartbeat, they froze.
That was all the time Malrik needed.
He lowered his hand.
"Destroy them."
The Spider Queen moved first.
She raised both arms. Fifteen black flowers erupted from the earth in a wide arc, their petals gleaming with malevolent light.
The Morveth nearest to them turned—too late.
She clenched her fists.
Plague Bloom.
The flowers detonated. A wave of black energy exploded outward, engulfing everything within twenty meters. The Morveth caught in the blast screamed as their flesh began to melt, their bodies convulsing and collapsing.
From each corpse, a new flower emerged—smaller, but just as deadly.
The plague was spreading.
Fear tore through the Morveth ranks. Whatever discipline had held their formation together shattered as more flowers bloomed from their collapsing kin, black energy pulsing outward with every new burst. Lines broke. Some scrambled away from the spreading blight only to collide with their own—others simply froze, caught between the plague at their backs and the shadows closing in from the ridge.
This was the opening Malrik had been waiting for.
He moved.
The Black Shroud carried him forward in a blur, his scythe already sweeping through the air before the first Morveth even registered his presence. The blade passed through flesh and bone like paper—clean, silent, absolute. He didn’t miss a single strike. Every swing found its mark, every Morveth in his path falling before it could so much as turn to face him. He was less a warrior than a force moving through the chaos, a reaper harvesting what the panic and the plague had already broken open.
One. Three. Seven. Bodies piled at his feet, and still he moved, the scythe never slowing.
When enough of them had fallen, he raised his free hand. Mana poured from his palm, thick and heavy, spilling out across the ruined bodies scattered around him.
"Rise."
From the mangled corpses, souls tore free—pale, whole, untouched by the wounds that had killed them—and rose to join the fight, his ranks swelling with every kill he made.
The wolves moved next—Fenrir leading the charge, his massive form emerging from the shadows. His body trembled, and thirty shadow clones split from him, each one identical, each one deadly. They crashed into the fleeing Morveth, tearing through them with brutal efficiency.
Spiders descended from the trees, their webs wrapping around anything that moved.
And above it all, Lilith rose into the sky.
Her wings spread wide. Dark energy crackled around her. Her smile was the smile of a predator finally allowed to hunt.
"Turn on each other, my darlings," she whispered, almost fond. "Dance for me."
She raised her hands. Demonic energy pulsed outward. Morveth froze mid-charge, then turned on each other, their red eyes clouding with madness.
The enemy was breaking apart from the inside.
But the commander did not flee.
He stood at the center of the chaos, his red eyes fixed on the battlefield. Then he raised his massive claws and slammed them into the ground.
The earth trembled.
A wave of invisible force erupted outward. Every wolf within range suddenly slowed. Their movements became sluggish. Their attacks lost their speed. Even the Spider Queen’s webs seemed to hang heavier in the air.
The commander’s eyes gleamed.
Fenrir snarled, forcing himself forward, but his movements were slow. The spiders tried to close in, but their legs dragged against the ground as if they were wading through water.
Malrik watched from the ridge.
What is that?
He focused on the commander, feeling the flow of mana around him. The creature wasn’t just strong—he was using a skill. A powerful one.
I need to understand what I’m dealing with.
He studied the aura more closely, and his eyes narrowed. Close to Fallen. Too close. But not quite there yet.
He stepped back into the shadows, leaving the battle to Fenrir and the others.
The commander raised his hand, and the ground beneath Fenrir began to crack. Pressure. Crushing pressure. The wolf snarled in pain.
Malrik’s eyes narrowed.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Skills like these—wide, sweeping, effective against dozens at once—weren’t something he’d seen before. Support skills. The kind that could turn an entire battle just by existing. Exactly the kind of thing he’d want at his own command.
This was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for.
His first battle after merging with Lokris.
The perfect chance to test the true limits of its abilities.
[ The Silent Observer Activated... ]