The village awoke not to birdsong, but to screams.
Steel clashed in the streets as Kael's mercenaries stormed through the gates, torches in one hand, blades in the other. The scent of smoke thickened, black plumes spiraling toward the morning sky.
Eryan's body ached with every movement, but he forced himself forward, dragging the cursed blade from its sheath. The weapon pulsed, as if eager to feed on more blood.
Selene gripped his arm desperately. "You're not ready—your wounds—"
"There's no choice," he rasped. His eyes burned with grim resolve. "If I don't fight, everyone dies."
The first wave came fast. Bandits clad in Kael's sigil rushed through the square, cutting down villagers who tried to resist with pitchforks and axes.
Eryan moved.
His body screamed in protest, but the blacksmith instincts guided his strikes. The cursed blade sang, cutting through armor as if it were parchment. Limbs fell. Blood sprayed. The cobblestones were painted crimson in moments.
Selene gasped as she watched him—half in horror, half in awe. The shy, quiet blacksmith she had once known was gone. What stood before her now was a warrior forged in fire and blood.
But the mercenaries were endless. For every one Eryan cut down, two more appeared. They surged from alleys and smashed through windows, setting homes ablaze.
Selene ran to help pull villagers to safety, shouting, "This way! Get to the church!" Her voice cut through the chaos, her hair whipping as she guided children and elders away from the fire.
Eryan fought to clear a path, his vision blurring as his wound reopened, blood soaking through his bandages. The whispers of the blade pressed harder against his mind.
Give in, it urged. Let me guide your hand. Let me feed, and none shall stand against you.
His grip tightened. "Not yet," he growled.
A massive mercenary, twice the size of a man, roared as he swung a spiked mace toward Eryan.
The blow crashed down, shattering the cobblestone where Eryan had stood a heartbeat before. He rolled, pain lancing through his chest, before driving his blade upward. The cursed steel pierced the giant's throat, splitting it open in a spray of gore.
The body collapsed, shaking the ground.
The villagers who saw it cheered desperately, hope flickering in their eyes.
Selene stared at him, panting, ash smeared across her face. "Eryan…"
But even as she whispered his name, another horn sounded. From the far hill, fresh troops marched—disciplined, armored, carrying banners of Kael's forge. This wasn't just a raid. This was war.
Eryan staggered back, his chest heaving. He could barely stand.
Selene caught him, wrapping his arm over her shoulders again. Her cheeks were flushed, her body pressed against his, but her eyes were fierce. "You can't keep fighting like this. You'll die."
"I don't… care," he rasped. "I can't let him take this village."
Her hand pressed against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. For a moment, she hesitated—her lips parting, her breath trembling. "Then let me fight with you."
He stared at her, stunned.
She smirked faintly despite the fear in her eyes. "I'm no blacksmith. But I can still swing a blade."
The church doors slammed shut, the iron bar dragged across to hold them in place. Villagers huddled inside, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. Children cried against their mothers' skirts as the muffled roars of mercenaries echoed from outside.
Eryan leaned heavily against a pillar, his chest heaving. Blood seeped through his bandages, dripping down his side. The cursed blade pulsed faintly in his hand, like a heartbeat too eager to spill more lives.
Selene knelt before him, tearing fresh cloth to press against his wound. Her hands were firm but trembling. "You're bleeding out again," she whispered harshly.
He smirked weakly. "I've had worse."
Her eyes narrowed, tears threatening to fall. "Stop pretending to be invincible. You're not a god—you're just a man."
For a brief moment, her fingers lingered on his bare skin, tracing the scars that crisscrossed his torso. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "But you're my man," she murmured under her breath, too soft for the others to hear.
Eryan caught it, though. His heart stumbled, and for once, the whispers of the blade went silent.
The respite didn't last.
A thunderous crash shook the church as the mercenaries outside rammed the doors. The iron bar creaked, splinters flying. Screams erupted among the villagers.
Eryan pushed himself up, gripping his blade. His vision swam, but his stance was unyielding.
Selene rose with him, seizing a fallen sword from a villager. Her knuckles were white, but her resolve burned. "If they break through, we fight. Together."
He shot her a sidelong glance. "You're insane."
"Then we're both insane," she snapped.
The doors burst open.
Mercenaries flooded inside, armored boots pounding against the stone floor. Torches flew, igniting the wooden pews. Shadows danced across stained glass as the church turned into a battlefield.
Eryan roared, his blade cleaving through the first wave. Steel met steel, sparks flying, blood spraying across holy walls. The villagers screamed, but some grabbed makeshift weapons and fought back, desperation giving them courage.
Selene stood at his side, her sword clumsy but fierce. She parried a blow that would have struck Eryan's flank, gritting her teeth as the impact numbed her arm.
"Not bad," Eryan grunted, swinging his blade through another foe.
"Shut up and focus!" she shot back.
But as the battle raged, the cursed blade grew heavier in his grip, its whispers louder. Let go. Let me take control. They cannot win. Not like this.
His eyes burned, the edges of his vision darkening. His strikes became faster, brutal, inhuman.
Selene turned, catching the look in his eyes. They weren't his anymore—they glowed with a hungry red, like a beast unchained.
"Eryan!" she shouted, grabbing his arm as he prepared to cut down a villager who stumbled too close. "It's me! Stop!"
For a heartbeat, his blade hovered above the terrified villager's neck.
Then Selene pressed her forehead to his, her voice breaking. "Please… come back to me."
The whispers faltered. Eryan staggered, gasping, the blade trembling in his hand. Slowly, he lowered it, blood dripping onto the stone floor.
Selene held him tight, her body against his, grounding him in the storm.
The mercenaries suddenly pulled back. Confusion rippled through the church as the attackers stopped, forming a line at the shattered entrance.
Then the crowd parted.
A tall figure strode into the ruined church, his armor dark and polished, his eyes sharp as forged steel. His presence alone made the air heavy, suffocating.
Kael.
The rival blacksmith at last.
He looked at Eryan with a smirk that held no humor. "So. The boy with the cursed blade survives." His voice was deep, resonant, dripping with disdain. "I'll admit… I didn't expect you to last this long."
Eryan tightened his grip, forcing himself to stand straight despite the pain. "Kael."
Kael's gaze flicked briefly to Selene, his smirk widening. "And you've even found yourself a pretty anchor to keep you sane. How quaint."
Selene stepped forward, sword raised, though her hands shook. "Stay away from him."
Kael chuckled, low and dangerous. "Oh, I won't hurt him. Not yet. First… I'll break everything he loves."
The villagers gasped, the fires crackling louder as Kael's shadow filled the church.
The true war had only just begun.