The light of dawn greeted Kieran as he pushed his way out of the building and took his usual seat. Like clockwork, the old wolf emerged from the building a few minutes later.
“Still here, Kieran?”
“Well, I thought it would be rude to just disappear,” he half-joked. “Besides, the cat still needs to be healed.”
Judging by her grin and rumbling laugh, Rah’Na found the jab at Aivor quite amusing, especially when delivered in Kieran’s customary monotone. “Yes, that would be for the best. He will go to the Vault today.”
“What do you think? Which of the gods will pay him a visit?” Kieran asked.
“Fahra’Uhn and Gir’Amal are always safe choices,” Rah’na replied. “Though, after your fight yesterday, Vahr’Khul is also likely.”
“Really?” Kieran looked at her curiously, contemplating for a moment. “I suppose that makes sense… we were both on the edge of death.”
The old wolf nodded as heavy footsteps echoed from the building’s interior. “Exactly.”
Aivor appeared and joined them, slumping heavily into his own chair. Kieran recognized the signs of exhaustion even through the warrior’s leonine features.
“Couldn’t sleep, eh?” he asked, watching the lion’s movements closely.
Aivor grumbled as he rubbed his eyes. “Is it that obvious?”
“And then some.” Kieran stood and stretched. “Well, good luck at the Vault, buddy. I’m off to bring the fight to the enemy.”
Turning to go, Kieran patted Aivor on the shoulder and cast Mend. All visible traces of the lion’s wounds quickly vanished.
“May your conquest be fruitful, Kieran,” Rah’Na called as Kieran walked away, headed for the Queen’s Promenade.
“What is a buddy…” Aivor grumbled in confusion, giving Kieran no small amount of amusement.
As Kieran stepped through the archway into the Queen’s Promenade, he mentally bid farewell to Eon’s Peak. For a while, at least. He didn’t intend to return without completing his task fully, and he planned to take his time with this particular mission.
After all, this wasn’t just an adventurous outing to fuel his own progression. This was war. And in war, rushing was all but guaranteed to get him killed. Having seen the consequences firsthand while in the army, he was keen to avoid the mistakes of his former superiors.
Kieran walked slowly down the promenade. Following his customary pre-battle habits, he began a ritualistic inspection of his gear and supplies.
First, he drew Last Breath and spun it around his fingers for a few seconds. Looking closely at the dagger, Kieran found that it seemed… sharper, than when he had first acquired it.
“Strange,” he muttered aloud to the morning mountain air. “But not necessarily a bad thing.”
Kieran sheathed the dagger and moved on, drawing Defiant Aphelion next. The sword’s weight had become so familiar to him that even just holding it brought a sense of comfort. The blade was as beautiful as ever, its prismatic sheen reflecting the morning light and showering the promenade in a dazzling display.
It wasn’t condensing light into a beam at the moment, as it had when guiding Kieran to the survivors. Still, the sword itself was both a powerful symbol and a reliable weapon. Kieran flourished the blade before sheathing it, savoring the sensation of shifting weight in his hands.
Finally, he checked his supplies. Waterskins, dry rations, bandages, a bedroll, and a small tent. And, of course, his coroner’s tools. He wasn’t sure how much chance he would have to use them during this mission, but having them in his pack made him feel more… prepared. Complete.
Satisfied with his gear check, Kieran slung his pack back onto his shoulder and continued down the promenade.
Then, he remembered another step to add to this ritual: checking his skill screen.
He ran his thumb across the gem on his wrist.




General: Recall II
Domain of Death: Mend / Maim, Form of Death (advanced)
Domain of Defiance: Shield Counter
Domain of Strife: Blood to Strength
Total: 1000 essence




Kieran was more than a little surprised to find a skill of Strife in his arsenal. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t once checked his skill screen since going to the Vault for his reward from Fahra’Uhn.
All that time, he’d possessed a skill he could’ve used. While rescuing the survivors, in the fight with Aivor… But he simply hadn’t taken the time to check.
Kieran scolded himself mentally as he tapped on the skill, bringing up its description.




Blood to StrengthYou might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Empowers the caster by increasing their strength, speed, and resilience. Yet this power comes at a cost. It slowly drains the caster of their life until it is deactivated.
When the caster draws blood from a living creature while the spell is active, this blood is consumed instead of the caster’s own life force.




An ability to make myself more powerful, but it also puts me quite directly into danger, Kieran considered, dismissing the screen. How very fitting for Fahra’Uhn.
Kieran continued on his way, still angry with himself for making such an obvious mistake. It felt more difficult than usual to bury the anger. Still, he forced it down, trying to focus on how this skill might fit into his arsenal.
“No time for distractions,” he reminded himself coldly. “Strategize. Move forward.”
Gripping the hilt of his shortsword with one hand, he fixed his eyes on the road ahead.
—
The journey down the peak and through the surrounding forest passed without incident. Kieran continued following his bracelet, travelling towards a long-abandoned fortress at the edge of the forest.
He spotted the keep as soon as he emerged from the trees. The once-sturdy walls around it were in an obvious state of disrepair. Barely any merlons were left on the ramparts. The gate house, which faced the forest, had crumbled inwards. The rubble buried both the gate itself and part of the moat which surrounded the walls.
Beyond the walls, however, Kieran could see that the keep remained in a strangely intact state. It was as though whatever force had crashed against the walls, leaving several breaches still wide open, had completely circumvented the keep itself.
Yet the keep was not quiet. A thin layer of mist hugged the buildings beyond the walls, only just peeking through the crumbling gaps. From inside came the sounds of shuffling boots and the scraping of bone against stone. Kieran could identify dozens of individual footsteps.
He quickly fell back to the tree line.
Well… this is going to take some planning.
He reflected on all he knew of the Pale Watchers and their lower ranks. As long as their leader was removed, the rest would be effectively neutralized. All he needed to do, then, was identify the entity leading this undead warband and eliminate that entity as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Easier said than done, he mused.
His eyes scanned the fortress as he considered his options. Getting in would be easy, between Form of Death and the huge gaps in the wall. The difficult part would be identifying his target and eliminating it before he got swarmed.
He nodded once to himself. Some preliminary scouting, then. That’s the best call.
His observation of the walls had not yet shown him any lookouts. When he was confident there were none, he carefully approached the fortress. Then he cast Form of Death, landing directly on top of the wall.
Kieran dropped into a prone position as soon as his form was corporeal again. Inching forward, he peeked over the edge of the wall and looked down into the keep’s courtyard.
Among the ruined barracks and buildings for the civilian staff, at least fifty undead shambled aimlessly. Looking further, Kieran noticed a couple heavily armed and armored undead standing guard beside the doors leading into the keep.
Even in undeath, vanity dictates that leader must take position in a keep… Kieran shook his head. How predictable.
Kieran’s mind was spinning with plans for getting into the keep. He wasn’t too keen on facing an entire horde directly, but their erratic movements made infiltration difficult. Form of Death would be an easy way to move from place to place, as his incorporeal form would blend in with the ever-present mist. Yet, due to the scaling cost of Form of Death, he would have to plan his path carefully.
That was when Kieran remembered a piece of information that made him hesitate.
When he had faced lesser undead previously, they were leaderless, yet he could feel the Oculus’ gaze on his back until the undead forces were destroyed.
It’s likely that the Oculus can control these undead, from wherever it’s hiding, he concluded. That… complicates things.
He considered the chances that the Oculus would immediately know that its forces were being attacked. Clearly, when it had sent the undead after Kieran, it was present from the beginning. But how aware was it of the rest of its forces? From all he had learned, Kieran found it unlikely that even a being as ancient as the Oculus would be able to keep track of thousands of individual units at every given moment.
As such, if he struck down the local leader first, he would probably have some time to destroy the rest before the Oculus took notice.
His eyes wandered to the merlons lining the top of the perfectly intact keep. A rope was bound around each merlon. And at the other end of these ropes, hanging from the top of the keep by their necks, were robed bodies.
Kieran was close enough to notice that the robes were all bloodstained. They were also covered in the same spiraled pattern. Straining his eyes to notice more details, he spotted something truly unusual.
The bodies all seemed to all be the same person.
Well that is… strange.
Kieran was never disturbed by the sight of corpses, and this was no exception. Still, he found the situation very odd. Once he had dealt with the undead, he would have to inspect those bodies.
He took a deep breath, then put his plan in motion.
Calling on Form of Death, he placed himself by one of the ruined buildings. The spot was safely out of sight of the wandering horde, but only for a few moments. Before the blind spot would be covered again by undead eyes, he cast Form of Death again and moved closer to the keep, hiding behind a well. He could already feel the cold suffusing his body as his energy reserves ran low
Still, he didn’t hesitate. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he cast Form of Death a third time, aiming for a low-lying arrow slit on the keep’s side. It made him nervous to force his form through the arrow slit. Still, he had enough energy for the spell to take him all the way through, though just barely.
Kieran doubled over immediately once he reformed inside the keep. He took deep, shivering breaths as his energy slowly replenished, leaving him in the cold state he’d learned to find comfortable.
Still on alert, he scanned his surroundings. He was in a small, circular room which must have served as a guard tower. The arrow slits gave a perfect sightline for an archer to be able to fire upon the walls from within the keep. A last stand, in case the walls fell.
Yet there was no remnant of the keep’s former defenders in the room. Kieran saw no bodies or bones.
Probably because they are now shambling around outside with the other undead, he thought coolly.
With extreme care, he walked up to the door leading further into the keep and gingerly opened it, just a crack. Peeking through the gap, his eyes landed on a short hallway which ended in massive doors on either side. The door facing the outside was closed tight, yet the other was wide open, revealing a large, circular throne room.
A large table occupied the center of the throne room, while a throne sat against the opposite wall from the door. To the left and right of this throne were stairways leading further up into the keep, probably to the private quarters of the previous owners.
Yet those previous owners were nowhere to be seen. Now, a figure in full, ancient plate armor sat on the throne. It was leaning on one hand, as if asleep, but Kieran could glimpse a pale green glow emitting from the helmet’s visor.
Kieran drew Last Breath. He waited for another minute, allowing his energy to replenish. Then he cast Form of Death and threw himself at the figure.
His form became corporeal right in front of the throne. Before the undead could react to his presence, he stabbed at the gap in the thing’s armor, right above where the chest plate’s armor ended and right below where the helmet began.
When he felt the dagger meet bone, Kieran called on Death’s Arm to extend the blade. The quickly forming ice separated the vertebrate it encountered. The foe’s head fell to the floor, its body slumping unceremoniously.
Kieran took a step back to appreciate his handiwork, but his celebration was short-lived.
The skeletal body under the armor shifted. Rising from the throne, it picked up its head and casually placed it back on his shoulders. Then it spoke, its voice unnaturally distorted.
“There you are.”