Up on the high wooden watchtower, the soldier stared into the darkness. His hands were shaking, as he watched the strange figures walking toward the camp.
"Ahhhh! What is that?!" he screamed, his voice full of pure terror.
Soldiers scrambled out of their tents, grabbing their swords and helmets. They rushed to the wooden wall, pressing their faces against the gaps to see what was happening outside.
"That... that is hideous," one soldier whispered, his face turning pale.
"Those aren't humans," another said, stepping back from the wall.
Jörn was there, too. He watched with a confused look on his face. He had fought in many wars, but he had never seen an enemy like this. These things walked slowly, dragging their feet, and their faces were completely smooth—no eyes, no hair, no mouths, just skin.
He didn't want to wait to find out what they were. Jörn climbed up the ladder to the watchtower. The soldier on guard was frozen in fear, holding his sword with trembling hands.
Jörn grabbed the sword from him. "Give me that."
He held the sword like a spear, aimed carefully, and threw it with all his strength. It flew through the air and hit the creature at the front of the pack, piercing right through its head.
For a second, nothing happened. The creature kept walking with the sword stuck through its face, as if it didn't feel a thing.
Then, suddenly—BOOM.
The creature didn't just fall; it exploded. It popped like a balloon filled with blood, spraying red mist everywhere.
"ARGH!"
A wave of pain followed, hitting everyone in the camp at the exact same time. Jörn grabbed his head, dropping to his knees. It felt like someone had stabbed a needle into his brain.
Soldiers all around him fell to the ground. Some of the weaker men actually fainted from the shock.
"What is happening?" Commander Lionex shouted, rushing up the ladder to join Jörn. He was clutching his own head, fighting through the pain. "What is going on?!"
"I don't know," Jörn said, trying to stand up. He forced a pained smile. "Witchcraft, maybe?"
"Did everyone feel that pain?" Lionex asked, looking down at the chaos in the camp.
"It seems so," Jörn replied.
"The General has collapsed on the ground," Lionex said, his voice serious. "That means I am in charge now."
He looked back at the army of faceless monsters. There were hundreds of them, marching slowly but steadily.
"We cannot fight this," Lionex decided. "We don't know what they are, and if killing one hurts us this badly, we will lose. We need to retreat."
Jörn looked disappointed. He wanted to fight, but he knew Lionex was right. This was a battle they couldn't win today.
"RETREAT!" the order went out.
The soldiers didn't waste a single second. Luckily, the faceless monsters were very slow. The soldiers ran into the night, leaving their heavy supplies and tents behind to move faster.
Soon, the camp was empty.
Well, almost empty.
"Where is he?" Jörn muttered to himself as he ran, looking for Kilis. But the panic was too great, and he couldn't stop to search. He had to keep moving.
Back in the abandoned camp, the silence returned.
Kilis hadn't run. In the middle of all the panic, he had quietly slipped into one of the large command tents. He sat there on a crate, calm and relaxed, waiting.
Outside, the shuffling footsteps got louder. The horde had arrived.
The flap of the tent opened.
One of the faceless monsters walked in. It stood there, motionless, like a statue waiting for orders.
"That should be enough," Kilis said to the monster. He didn't look scared at all.
A moment later, a human walked into the tent, pushing past the monster. It was the man with the eye patch. He had a wide, crazy grin on his face.
"So," the man asked, spreading his arms wide. "How was my performance?"
"It was good enough," Kilis answered coolly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing object. He opened his hand to reveal a burning red ember.
"Good... beautiful," the man with the eye patch breathed. He snatched the ember out of Kilis's hand, holding it up to inspect it closely. A wide, greedy grin spread across his face.
"How many lives did it cost to make this?" the man asked with playful curiosity.
"Too many," Kilis answered. He didn't sound sad about it, just tired.
"And what will your Master say about this?"
"I couldn't care less what she thinks," Kilis replied, his eyes fierce.
"Hahaha!" The man laughed loudly. "Whose plan was it to attack the demon worshippers with those idiot soldiers anyway?"
"The worshippers are idiots themselves," Kilis said, dismissing the question. "Anyway, that is not my problem anymore. Shall we continue?"
The man looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Let's complete my life's work."
They walked out of the tent into the cool night air. The tribesmen were already waiting for them in a circle.
"How many vessels did you need to prepare the curse?" Kilis asked the leader of the tribe.
"Twenty," the older man answered with a heavy voice.
"Then let's make sure their sacrifice wasn't in vain," Kilis said.
The man with the eye patch stepped forward. He raised his hands, gathering the attention of all the faceless monsters standing nearby.
"You know the drawbacks of doing this?" Kilis asked him one last time. "Once you do this, there is no going back."
"Let's finish it today!" the man shouted.
Without hesitating, he tossed the red ember into his mouth and swallowed it.
Instantly, his body reacted. Violent energy began to circulate through his veins.
"This..." he gasped.
Under his skin, his veins began to glow a bright, burning red. His body shook violently, and he bent over, coughing up a mouthful of blood onto the grass.
He wiped his mouth and stood up straight, his eyes shining with madness. "So... this is the power of the Gold Stage?"
He had forcefully catapulted his cultivation from the Silver Stage straight into the Gold Stage.
"Now, come to me, my creations!" he yelled, stretching his arms wide.
The faceless figures obeyed. They ran toward him, one after another. But they didn't stop. When they hit his body, they didn't bounce off; they melted into him. It was a hideous sight. Flesh merged with flesh, making him grow larger and more distorted with every figure he absorbed.
Kilis watched with a look of disgust on his face, but he didn't look away. There was no other option. For his plan to work, he needed this man to reach the Peak of the Gold Stage.
Finally, the last creature was absorbed. The man stood there, radiating terrifying power.
"Now!" the man roared at the tribesmen. "Cast the curse on me!"
The Elder nodded and began to chant in his ancient tongue.
"Selthara min elywen orathil..."
"Narelun sytha velorin tal..."
"AHHHHHHH!"
The man with the eye patch screamed as a wave of fluctuating energy exploded from his body, raging like a storm. The ground shook.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. The energy settled deep inside him.
"Finally!" the man screamed, clenching his fists. "I feel invincible!"
"Do not celebrate yet," the Elder interrupted him coldly. "I have locked your cultivation stage. This power will last for ten days at least, perhaps twenty at most. After that, your body will collapse."
The man didn't seem to care. He was too drunk on power.
The Elder ignored him and turned his dark eyes toward Kilis. He held out a wrinkled hand.
"Now, give it to me," the Elder commanded. "The hair of the King."