He turned around, seeing no one, but the voice repeated,

  "Come in, be my guest." The man approached the table and sat on an old wooden chair, and as he looked at the birch tree in the middle of the room, he could see the face of an old lady; her eyes were old amber, and her skin was the rough bark of a tree, showing countless years spent in isolation far from humanity.

  "I know exactly what you seek, and I know who sent you." The tree spoke.

  "Are you, The Lady of the Woods? The White..“

  "White Witch, yes, that was my name." The tree answered, and suddenly a form of a young lady made of faint bluish light and smoke formed and started walking on the wooden floor.

  "Young Nogryl, I could hear the whispers talking your name; even the birds would sing about the savior of mankind... So what made you change?“

  "Change?“ he answered.

  "You used to put every spark of your existence into keeping the people safe, to fight evil, and to protect humanity; now you are merely a husk of a man that you once were, feasting on the privilege and glory that you've earned."

  "I am here with a reason; I do not have time for this." He answered in an angry tone, and the spectre approached him, placing her hand on his chest, and his armor suddenly started bleeding black blood. It was right from the place where he received a sword wound from Nuula and where the dark figure in his dreams stabbed him.

  "There is only one thing that keeps you safe from the curse, but it is still slowly consuming you." She answered and pushed her hand inside his armor, pulling out a necklace with a sign of Xorael. "The thing that you will soon come to realize is that your god is a tyrant." She said as her hand sizzled with the touch of the relic.

  Nogryl quickly pulled the necklace from her hand and yelled,

  "Enough!" His dread started to grow, realizing that he visited a witch to ask her for her advice.

  "But is your curse truly a curse?“ she asked. "Or a simple change of perspective?“

  "Listen, Witch, I am not here to debate; I need your help to save a friend in danger!“

  "A friend? Is that so?“ She asked, leaving the man surprised; she clearly knew much more than he thought.

  "Alright“ She said, "But I do not help the followers of the tyrant!“

  "Listen hag, if you do not help me, they will burn her alive!“

  "Isn't that what your god would want?!“ She screamed, and Nogrly instantly felt a sudden headache. He fell on his knees and closed his eyes as the vision appeared in front of him.

  He saw the peasants scatter as the armored knights entered the village, with fire in their eyes and signs of Xorael on their tabards.

  They spewed fire from their mouths and hunted for the young women, cutting their hair off and binding them in chains, and soon the pyre was razed,

  and they were tied to the large wooden beam above the hay and tar. He could vividly see them burn as the priests watched, and knights slaughtered the men that rebelled and piled their bodies on the fire. He could hear their dying screams that ringed in his ears, and as he looked at the melting face of one of the young women, it slowly morphed into Lynda's face.

  He opened his eyes, kneeling before the specter, as he could still hear the menacing screams in his ears.

  "That's the justice of your god!“ The specter yelled and disappeared into thin air.

  Witnessing that, Nogryl quickly ran out of the cottage and down Wolf's Hill, through the darkness of the thick forest.

  He fell on his knees while breathing heavily as the screams still ringed in his ears, and he grabbed his necklace, tore it from the chain, and threw it into the woodland.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  A vile cough consumed him out of nowhere, and he fell flat on the floor, gurgling and grabbing his throat, and as his vision blurred while laying on his back, a scroll started coming out of his throat.

  He spat out the scroll and gasped for air and heard the voice of the specter:

  "The scroll will give you the answers that you seek." He grabbed the scroll and ran back to the village, mounting his horse and quickly riding back to Lindenrow as the night was slowly setting.

  Meanwhile, deep in the underworld, the forges were lit, smelting steel and preparing it to be made into the weapons. The hammers fell on the anvil, blasting away many sparks and burning iron petals. Among the many ur'gluns that forged scales and blades, there was Nal'zuk forging a thing of his own making.

  Hatred could be seen in his eyes, and with every blow he unleashed the rage into the steel that he forged, and a form of a thick black iron bow emerged from it.

  He quenched it in a bucket of water and forged another one that was alike.

  "Warchief! What are you making? Who can shoot a bow that thick? One of the ur'glun smiths asked as a group of ur'gluns returned with steel and coal from the mines and fed it to the forges.

  "You will find out in time,“ Nal'zuk answered as he continued beating the steel. His hands were bloody, but his swings were still beating restlessly against the steel, keeping a rhythm without slowing down to rest, and quickly the rest of the ur'gluns picked up the pace.

  Ur'glun elders, their shamans, and priests looked at their young warchief, and they could see the great potential in him. They spread the word among elders of other clans, many of whom were the advisors of their chieftains, and quickly a fame tied to his name went all across the underworld, in every cave and cavern, in every crevice of the world, unconquered by mankind.

  Nal'zuk knew that his reign as a warchief would not go uncontested, so he prepared the weapon that would be required for his quest, forging one iron bow after another.

  He took the bows from the hottest forge fires that the ur'glun forges could make, and as they shined a bright white glow, he forgewelded them together, his blows spared no strength or ferocity, as the flax flew around with every blow, and the iron petals sprung into life and bounced on the stone floor. He bored a hole through the middle where the bows met each other, and to each bow he forged another smaller one. The body of the crossbow was made of the dry black wood, grown deep below the underworld, brought by Nuula on her earlier journeys before she was captured, and no string could pull the bow, so he forged a steel chain. It was nearly impossible to pull the crossbow, so Na'zuk forged a gear reduction system from his memory.

  It was clear that the once-outcast hunter was a hidden genius with a dark ambition and a devilish determination fed by the burning rage and hate he felt towards mankind and their champion.

  The weapon he forged was very heavy, and it took a while to wind it, but the bolt fired by such a weapon could pierce any armor of any man or beast alike; it could shatter stone and splinter wood as it flew through the air like a bolt of thunder. And while the men dwelled in the town walls, Nal'zuk's name grew in every place in the underworld, and as his reputation became greater, he attracted the adversaries.

  One day, as Nal'zuk forged with his clan, they could hear the sound of a horn outside the cavern entrance.