The sun dipped slowly behind the jagged western hills, casting long, ominous shadows across the deserted dirt path. A chilling evening wind swept through the valley as Leornars Servs Avrem marched forward, draped in a tattered black cloak that billowed around his ankles. Following silently in his wake were his two undead companions, Ascian and Bellian—soulless, spectral, and utterly lethal.
A suffocating aura of dense bloodlust clung to Leornars like a gathering storm cloud, growing thicker and heavier with every deliberate step he took. Beneath the shadows of his deep hood, his crimson eyes glowed with a faint, predatory light. A thin hiss of hot steam escaped his lips as his internal mana surged, unconsciously channeling stats into the undead marchers behind him.
"This place stinks of absolute filth," he muttered, his voice low, raspy, and ice-cold.
Just a few dozen meters ahead along the tree line, eight heavily armed slave traders were lounging carelessly around three iron-caged carriages. Inside the rusting bars sat a score of crying human and demi-human captives—their eyes hollow with despair, their gaunt bodies severely malnourished.
Suddenly, the bandits' coarse laughter ground to a sudden halt.
A thick, blood-red mist had begun swirling gently through the air—unnatural, heavy, and sickeningly oppressive.
One of the slavers stood up, scratching his head in confusion. "What in the hell is this fog...?"
*FWIP—!*
A sharp glint of metal flashed through the crimson haze. Before the man could even blink, a throwing knife buried itself hilt-deep into the front of his throat. He gagged on his own blood and collapsed like a sack of lead.
"H-He's down! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
Panic spread through the camp like wildfire.
"ARM YOURSELVES! DRAW YOUR BLADES!!" the bandit leader barked, kicking over a wooden stool as he unsheathed a notched broadsword.
From the depths of the swirling red mist, a voice answered—rough, echoing, and terrifyingly calm.
"So... you're the leader. Thanks for clarifying. I'll be sure to make your death particularly unpleasant."
Leornars stepped out from the vapor, his cloak fluttering around him.
The remaining slavers charged forward with bloodcurdling yells, but Ascian pounced like an unleashed apex predator, dragging one man directly into the dark brush; his blood-chilling scream was cut short in a fraction of a second. Simultaneously, Bellian materialized out of a shadow behind another bandit, his blackened longsword slicing cleanly through skull, muscle, and spine in a single, fluid blink of an eye.
Leornars casually raised his right hand, extending his open palm toward the main cluster of bandits.
"Skill: **Bubble**."
Dozens of iridescent, translucent spheres floated gently into the air, drifting toward the men—strangely delicate and hauntingly beautiful under the twilight.
"Huh...? A... a bubble?" One of the bandits stared, lowering his guard in utter bewilderment.
Then the screaming began.
The moment the spheres brushed against skin, the corrosive, ultra-pressurized acid exploded outward. Their flesh bubbled, boiled, and liquefied instantly, melting off their bones in a gruesome display. Three men collapsed at once, their horrifying shrieks echoing through the trees before going dead silent.
Within less than a minute, only three slavers remained standing, trembling uncontrollably.
"Tch..."
Leornars vanished from sight, instantly reappearing directly behind one of the panicked survivors.
"**Touch of Decay**."
The instant his dark-infused fingers pressed against the man's back, his entire physical form rotted into a black, foul-smelling mush, dissolving directly into the topsoil.
The two final survivors dropped their weapons, shaking like leaves in a gale. One snapped under the psychological horror, screamed at the top of his lungs, and blindly charged with a hidden dagger.
Leornars ducked effortlessly under the wild swing, surged upward with explosive speed, and plunged his own dagger straight under the man's jawline, driving it upward into the brain before slicing outward—decapitating him in one clean, horrifying motion.
The last remaining bandit dropped to his knees, throwing his hands into the air as tears and sweat streamed down his dirt-caked face.
"P-Please! I'll give you everything I have! All the coin! The keys! Just... please don't kill me!"
Leornars approached him with slow, deliberate steps, his crimson eyes burning ever brighter in the darkness.
"You traded children like livestock," Leornars whispered, towering over the groveling man. "You tried to sell human lives for a handful of dirty copper coins."
"I—I didn't know! I was just following orders—!"
"Can you buy back their trauma with gold?" Leornars raised his blade, his expression completely devoid of mercy. "Can you buy back stolen innocence with pathetic begging?"
*FLASH—!*
With a swift flick of his wrist, he cleanly severed the man's fingers. As the bandit shrieked in agony, Leornars combined both **Bubble** and **Touch of Decay** in a single concentrated burst, reducing the crying slaver to nothing more than a faint, dark stain on the earth.
"You are unworthy to serve even as my mindless undead," Leornars muttered, wiping a drop of stray blood from his cheek before coldly sheathing his blade.
Walking over to the cages, he unlocked the iron doors one by one. The freed captives stared at him in sheer disbelief before scrambling out and fleeing into the safety of the surrounding woods.
Except for one little girl.
She stood frozen by the edge of the broken carriage, clutching her torn cotton dress, her wide eyes staring up at him without a sliver of fear.
"Let's go," Leornars said, his tone softening just a fraction. "Your old man is waiting."
Nodding silently, the little girl stepped forward and followed close behind him.
A few hours later...
Tears poured down the father's weathered face as he tightly embraced his daughter near the forest edge, sobbing uncontrollably.
"What happened to the rest of the slave traders?" Stacian asked quietly, stepping up beside Leornars as he methodically packed their gathered herbs into a leather satchel.
"They ran," Leornars lied smoothly without missing a beat, completely unbothered.
"If... if it's not too much to ask, please..." the father turned around, wiping his eyes and bowing deeply until his forehead almost touched the dirt. "Please come eat at my humble home. I have no gold to offer a savior, but I can offer food and shelter."
Leornars narrowed his eyes, deep suspicion flickering within his dark gaze.
Before he could voice a harsh refusal, Stacian stepped in with a bright, gentle smile. "We'd love to accept your hospitality."
*(We? Who the hell is 'we'?)* Leornars thought, glaring sideways at her with pure irritation.
Later — The Village of Lost Light
They walked for hours deep into an uncharted, forgotten stretch of the forest until the dense foliage finally opened up to reveal a hidden settlement. It was a bleak sight: tattered wooden hovels, pools of stagnant green water, and the heavy, undeniable stench of rot hanging thick in the night air.
Leornars frowned, pulling his hood lower. "This place..." he whispered.
The old father stepped into the dim lantern light of the entrance and removed his worn cap, revealing a pair of soft, cat-like ears atop his graying hair.
"Leux...?" Leornars muttered under his breath. A sudden memory flickered in his mind—a ghost from a past life, an old friend who carried the exact same feline traits.
"Everyone, gather round! Come quickly!" the father shouted into the quiet village. "Our protector has returned! The White Plague has come to us!"
Slowly, skeletal villagers began creeping out from their broken homes—most of them visibly sickly, many weeping openly. A young woman shuffled past them, her hollow eyes staring blankly as she clutched the cold, lifeless body of her small child to her chest.
"He passed away this afternoon from the poisoned water... and lack of food," the man said softly, his voice echoing with utter hopelessness. "I don't even know what I'll be able to feed my own daughter tonight."
Leornars stood completely still, his face going pale beneath his hood.
"...Stacian," he said quietly, his voice laced with an unusual gravity. "Can you purify this water supply?"
Stacian walked over to the edge of the murky village pond, inspecting the thick black sludge beneath the surface. "The magical contamination goes... far too deep. My standard spells won't reach the root of it."
Leornars stepped forward, unhesitatingly plunging his bare hand into the black, foul water.
"Then I'll clean it myself."
Without hesitation, he unleashed both **Bubble** and **Touch of Decay** simultaneously, pumping vast reserves of his raw mana straight into the lakebed to aggressively corrode and dissolve the toxic heavy minerals and rot.
Seeing his action, Stacian immediately clasped her hands together, channeling her divine mana to support his effort.
"**Light Magic: Detoxification and Purification!**"
The entire lake surged with a brilliant, blinding white light. The sludge boiled violently, swirling in a massive vortex before suddenly calming down. A dense veil of toxic mist drifted away into the night sky, leaving behind crystal-clear, shimmering water that reflected the stars above.
The watching villagers gasped in collective awe.
"It's... it's clear! IT'S SAFE TO DRINK!"
Overjoyed cheers erupted across the small village, people falling to their knees to drink from the fresh water.
Leornars let out a long, exhausted sigh, walking over to sit down heavily on a weathered wooden bench near the water's edge.
"I may have gone a little overboard with the light magic," Stacian murmured, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Yap," Leornars replied, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. "We'll be visiting this village once a week... gotta make sure our little base of operations stays in good shape."
They spent the rest of the night sharing a warm, modest meal with the deeply grateful demi-human villagers.
The Next Day — Durmount Adventurers' Guild Hall
"Some high-and-mighty adventurers *they* turned out to be," the guild receptionist scoffed arrogantly behind her wooden counter, tossing a low-tier report aside. "Weak, useless trash who take all day to gather simple herbs—"
*SWOOSH—!*
Before she could finish her sentence, Leornars leaned across the counter, his shadow completely swallowing her. He leaned close to her ear, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
"The audacity you have... you should really be careful. One of these days, you might just find yourself dead and buried... right next to a public toilet."
His crimson eye flared with a sinister, bloodthirsty glare that sent a chill straight down her spine.
The receptionist went deathly pale, her mouth flying shut as cold sweat poured down her neck. Without another word, Leornars turned on his heel and walked out, Stacian following close behind.
At the Central Market
"Why on earth are we in this part of town?" Stacian asked, looking around nervously as they navigated the crowded market stalls.
Leornars shoved open the door to a high-end women's clothing shop and pushed her inside.
"Make her look presentable," Leornars instructed the stunned shopkeeper flatly, tossing a heavy sack of coins onto the wooden desk. "Get her some proper civilian clothes... and basic undergarments."
Stacian's face turned beet red in an instant. "L-Leornars—?!"
Ignoring her complete embarrassment, Leornars turned around and walked back out into the bustling street.
*BZZZZT—!*
Suddenly, a magical loudspeaker horn mounted on the central watchtower flared to life, amplifying a voice that resonated across the entire city square.
*"People of Ultoria, this is Prince Edgar broadcasting emergency news regarding the realm. The Kingdom of Durmount has officially summoned heroes from another world to combat the impending dark threat... however, an anomaly was also summoned among them."*
The crowded market went completely silent as citizens stopped to listen.
*"The White Plague—a prophesied force of absolute calamity—currently resides among us. My father, King Edmund, seeks to hunt down and enslave him for the crown. I, however, will not stand by such foolishness."*
The Prince's voice echoed with intense gravity.
*"He is heavily armed. Exceptionally dangerous. Yet he possesses mercy toward those who deserve it. Leave him be... or face absolute, swift destruction at his hands."*
The surrounding crowd erupted into shocked, frantic chatter.
"Durmount is actively hunting him already...?" Leornars muttered under his breath, nervously biting the tip of his thumbnail as he listened to the panicked murmurs around him.
"If the White Plague is real... the demi-humans in the border sectors might revolt!" a merchant whispered nearby.
"He could unify all the fallen demi-human tribes under one banner..."
"If he actually unifies them... the Kingdom of Durmount is completely finished!"
The anxious whispers swirled around him like a raging tide.
Slowly, a dark, wicked grin spread across Leornars's face.
*So I really am that big of a problem for them... Good.*
He turned away from the market, stepping into the golden light of the setting sun, his deep crimson eyes glowing with absolute determination.
"I'll unify every single one of the demi-human races... I'll end this worthless global war myself."
His hands clenched into tight fists as his aura flickered darkly around his cloak.
"But before any of that... Durmount must fall."