Their days were spent questing, tackling increasingly difficult jobs, and their nights were spent in the modest comfort of inns. While they always shared a room to save money, they never shared a bed. Tenebrae, true to his guarded nature, never slept. Instead, he meditated, always seated in front of the door like a sentinel, his back never to it, as if he didn’t trust the world outside—or perhaps, the world inside. His vigilance unnerved Eliza at times, but she learned to appreciate the unspoken assurance of his presence. He was always watching, always ready.

  The guild was abuzz with their rapid rise to Bronze rank. Few could believe they had climbed so quickly, and while some adventurers congratulated them, others weren’t as kind. Whispers of accusations began to circulate—claims that they were scalping quests, a grave offense in the guild. Scalping involved purchasing large quantities of monster materials to fraudulently claim quest rewards without actually killing anything. The guild viewed it as a stain on the honor of adventurers, and those accused were often called to defend their reputations.

  It was during one such moment, when a group openly accused them, that Tenebrae spoke for the first time in public. His voice cut through the room like a blade, cold and precise.

  “If you want us to take longer,” he said, his tone sharp and unwavering, “give us something worth killing. If not, do not complain when we do in days what would take you weeks. You are either weak, or the tasks are too strong for you. Either way, it is not my problem.” He leaned forward slightly, his glowing green eyes visible through the slit in his helm. “Do not become my problem. Unlike the things I kill."

  The room fell silent, his words heavy with an unspoken threat. No one challenged him further, but it was clear the attention on their party had only grown.

  Later that week, while reviewing new quests, a young woman approached them. She introduced herself as Lady Carina Agnieszka, a noble with striking auburn hair and soft green eyes that spoke of both strength and vulnerability. She explained her current mission: delivering a container of medicine to a remote village, two weeks’ travel away. It was a large-scale party quest, and her group was short two members. Seeing that Eliza and Ten had reached Bronze rank, she asked if they would join.

  Eliza agreed almost instantly, her enthusiasm making up for Ten’s usual stoicism. The group, called The Sword, consisted of three other members: a stubby hobbit mage who specialized in earth magic, an elvish archer with sharp features and a smug demeanor, and Carina herself, a healer with a talent for water magic.

  Eliza’s excitement quickly turned into mild annoyance when the elven archer, a pretty boy with long, golden hair and a charming smile, began relentlessly flirting with her. Every night, during their dinners, he would angle himself toward her, making sly remarks about her beauty and skill. Eliza tried to brush him off politely, but his persistence grated on her nerves. Tenebrae, ever the silent sentinel, never joined them at meals. He remained apart, still in his armor, and never removed his helm. The others often whispered amongst themselves about him, wondering aloud why he was so secretive. Eliza always deflected their questions, creating excuses to protect his identity.

  By the halfway point of their journey, the party had seen little trouble. The roads were quiet, and the weather was calm. That night, under the high moon of the human realm, they gathered around the campfire. The warmth of the flames and the camaraderie eased the group into casual conversation.

  Curious about party names, Eliza finally explained the origin of their own. “I chose Eternal Kiss because… well…” She trailed off, hesitant to share the truth. “It just came to me in the moment,” she lied, her cheeks flushing faintly.

  The elven archer smirked, leaning back against a log. “A romantic name,” he mused. “Perhaps it suits your lovely visage, Lady Eliza.”

  Eliza ignored him, her gaze shifting to Carina. “What about your group? Why The Sword?”

  “It comes from the legend of Magog,” Carina began, her voice soft but reverent. “He was a holy knight, wielding a sword said to have been forged from the stars themselves. With it, he brought peace and hope to the land. But one day, the sword was stolen, and Magog was left powerless. In his despair, he nearly abandoned his quest.”

  “But he didn’t,” the hobbit mage chimed in, his voice bright with enthusiasm. “Instead, he forged a new blade—not from the stars, but from the heart and dreams of his comrades. He named it simply Sword, and with it, he continued his journey.”

  “And the sword became a symbol,” the elven archer added, his melodic voice carrying the weight of the tale. “Not of power, but of unity. Of the strength that comes from bonds and shared purpose.”

  Eliza listened intently, captivated by the story’s meaning. For all her frustrations with this world, its myths and legends carried a beauty and depth that reminded her of home.

  Ten, though silent, considered the tale carefully. Unity. Shared purpose. These were concepts that had been foreign to him for so long. Yet, as he glanced at Eliza, he wondered if they were slowly becoming something more than just an obligation.

  However.

  The peace did not last.

  What was supposed to be the endpoint of their journey—the delivery of medicine—had turned into a nightmare. The gates of the city were in disarray. The northern gate remained sealed, but the southern gate was a chaotic scene of evacuation, overrun with panicked villagers and fleeing soldiers.

  Within the walls, horror reigned. Undead swarmed in the thousands, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering light of fires consuming the town. Blood painted the cobblestone streets in thick, congealed streaks, and the acrid scent of burning flesh clung to the air. Soldiers fought valiantly but were overwhelmed, their bodies joining the tide of corpses that fueled the undead horde. Screams echoed through the chaos—a cacophony of despair and death.

  Eliza found herself separated from the group in the mayhem. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest tightening as panic took hold. She clung to her bow, her knuckles white, but her hands shook so badly she could barely nock an arrow. Everywhere she looked, there was death. Blood. Fire. Her knees buckled as reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

  This isn’t a game. This is real. And reality hurts.

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  She sank to the ground, tears streaming down her face as she tried to breathe, tried to focus, but it was no use. She thought of her ex, of the pain she had buried deep inside. The memories clawed their way to the surface, overwhelming her. The trauma, the heartbreak, the suffocating weight of her anxieties—all of it came rushing back. She curled into herself, her sobs drowned out by the chaos around her.

  For the first time, she truly understood: this world wasn’t just dangerous—it was brutal. It didn’t care about her, her dreams, or her fears. It would chew her up and spit her out without a second thought.

  She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there when a voice broke through the haze of her panic. Deep and cold, it sliced through the noise like a blade. “Why are you just sitting there?”

  She looked up to see Tenebrae standing over her, his massive form silhouetted against the glow of the fires. He had just knocked back a wave of undead with a single sweep of his sword, the corpses scattering like brittle twigs. His glowing green eyes locked onto hers, unreadable and emotionless.

  She stumbled to her feet, choking on a sob. “Have you seen the others? The party?”

  For a moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze drifting toward the carnage surrounding them. “No,” he said finally, his tone flat. He didn’t tell her that he had found their mutilated bodies earlier—ripped apart by undead far stronger than anything they could have handled. He didn’t tell her because he knew it wouldn’t help. They had been human, and in this world, humans were little more than fodder. He had seen it too many times to care.

  Eliza felt the weight of his words but didn’t have time to process them before a small group of villagers peeked out from a nearby alleyway. A woman clutched a child to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. Others huddled behind her, their faces pale and gaunt.

  Ten’s eyes flicked toward them briefly before returning to Eliza. “It’s time to go,” he said, his voice low and firm.

  The villagers whimpered, one of them crying out, “We can’t leave! We’re trapped!”

  But Ten wasn’t speaking to them. He was speaking to her. And she knew it.

  He was more than capable of escaping this place unscathed. That was his plan, she realized, and it made her heart sink.

  “No,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Tenebrae turned to her, his glowing eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”

  “I said no,” she repeated, louder this time. Her voice trembled, but there was steel in it. “You can’t just leave them here. Please, you have to do something.”

  His silence was deafening, the weight of his gaze pressing down on her like a boulder. “It’s not our problem,” he said finally. “The quest is over. This isn’t part of our primary objective, and we gain nothing from saving them.”

  Eliza felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She stared at him, her heart breaking a little more with every second. “This is what we are to you, then?” she said, her voice cracking. “Just… corpses? Annoyances?”

  Ten tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Hmm?”

  Her tears returned, her voice growing louder, filled with hurt and disbelief. “This is what we are to you! Children, families, people—you see us as nothing more than…"

  He remained silent, his glowing eyes fixed on her.

  She choked on a sob, her voice breaking. “I thought… I thought I was starting to mean something to you. I thought maybe…” Her words trailed off as her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground again, staring at the dirt as tears streamed down her face.

  Tenebrae remained motionless, watching her. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but he couldn’t. Deep down, he knew she was right. This world had long since hardened him, stripped him of whatever humanity he had once clung to. These people—these humans—were nothing to him. But when he looked at her, something stirred. Something he hadn’t felt in centuries. And it terrified him.

  “Insects. That’s all you are, my dear insects—ammunition for my army.” The voice echoed across the battlefield, cold and condescending. A group of robed figures emerged from the shadows, their leader standing at the center. His crimson robes billowed unnaturally, as though moved by an invisible wind. He carried an ancient wooden spear, its surface covered in dark, pulsing runes. The man’s decayed face twisted into a cruel smile.

  “You will all become part of my undead legion,” he declared, his voice filled with malice.

  Tenebrae, standing tall in his dark armor, turned his glowing green eyes toward the group. His grip on his sword tightened as he stepped forward. “You’re the summoner of this army?”

  The necromancer chuckled, his expression dripping with mockery. “Indeed, I am. But you’ll find it doesn’t matter. You’ll all join them soon enough.” He tapped the butt of his spear against the ground, and a wave of dark energy pulsed outward, spreading like a vile fog. The corpses strewn across the battlefield began to stir. Limbs twisted unnaturally as fallen humans rose again, their eyes lifeless and glowing with necromantic energy. Even the corpses of Eliza’s former party began to shamble toward the remaining villagers, now fully part of the undead horde.

  Eliza’s breathing quickened as panic set in. Her hands trembled as she notched an arrow, her eyes darting between the approaching undead and the terrified villagers she had sworn to protect. When one of the undead lunged for a child, her instincts kicked in. She loosed an arrow, striking the creature in the head and dropping it instantly.

  But before she could catch her breath, another figure stumbled into view. Her heart stopped. It was Lady Carina, or what remained of her. The zombified healer dragged her broken body forward, her glowing eyes locked onto Eliza.

  “C-Carina…” Eliza whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. Memories of their short but cherished friendship flooded her mind. The laughter they had shared, the moments of camaraderie—it all came rushing back. She raised her bow but hesitated, her hands shaking violently. She couldn’t do it.

  The undead Carina lunged, her jaws snapping inches from Eliza’s throat. But before the blow could land, a blade sliced through the air. Tenebrae’s massive sword cleaved through Carina’s torso with brutal efficiency, cutting her down in a single swing.

  Eliza stumbled back, falling to the ground as she stared at the motionless remains of her friend. Her breath hitched as she fought back sobs, her mind racing with guilt and horror.

  The necromancer laughed, his voice booming across the battlefield. “You’re stronger than you look, knight, but one undead is nothing compared to the army I’m growing. Soon, this entire town will join my ranks!”

  Tenebrae remained silent, his steps deliberate as he walked toward the necromancer.

  “Were those other adventurers friends of yours?” the necromancer taunted, a cruel grin spreading across his decayed face. “Are you thinking you and that weak archer are going to avenge them?”

  Ten finally responded, his voice cold and detached. “I barely knew them.”

  The necromancer frowned, pulling back his hood to reveal his half-decayed face. “That’s boring. I was hoping for a big speech about vengeance, how they were your comrades, how you’ll make me pay.”

  Tenebrae stopped a few paces away, his glowing eyes fixed on the necromancer. His voice was low and steady, devoid of any emotion. “This isn’t vengeance. These humans are valuable assets, vital components in any necromancer’s or lich’s plans. I would be a hypocrite to kill you for being what you are. That would be the pot calling the kettle black.”

  The necromancer’s group exchanged confused glances, their confidence wavering.

  One of the robed figures turned to their leader, whispering urgently. “Master Urg… Why aren’t the undead attacking him? It’s like he isn’t even there.”

  The necromancer froze, his eyes narrowing as he studied Tenebrae more closely. The realization hit him like a thunderclap. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “The only thing the undead don’t attack… is other undead.”

  Tenebrae’s lip curled into a smirk beneath his helm, the faintest flicker of satisfaction in his glowing eyes. “Now you understand,” he said, his voice laced with quiet menace. “I am not like you. I am more than you. And now…” He raised his sword, its dark edge glinting in the moonlight. “You are going to learn what that means.”

  The necromancer took a step back, his confidence evaporating as the towering figure of Tenebrae closed the distance. The undead continued to swarm the villagers and Eliza, but the necromancer’s attention was now entirely on the black-armored knight.

  For the first time, he felt fear.