The courtyard was deathly quiet, the tension mounting as the prisoners waited. Osias stood at the front, his mismatched armor barely holding together, the weight of his great sword heavy at his side. Behind him, the ragtag group shifted uneasily, their eyes flickering to the grand stone entrance across the courtyard. It wouldn’t be long now.

Suddenly, the great iron doors groaned open, a deep metallic sound that echoed through the courtyard like a death knell. From the shadows emerged the Black Warden.

He was a giant of a man, wrapped in dark, thickened plate armor that seemed to absorb the light. His face was hidden beneath a blackened helm, the only visible feature the gleam of his cold, gray eyes. His steps were slow and deliberate, each footfall sending small vibrations through the stone beneath them.

Behind him, the dim light barely caught the trailing edges of his cape, which shifted like the shadows themselves. His gaze locked onto Osias and his band of prisoners.

“What is the meaning of this, rats?” The Warden's voice boomed, low and thunderous. His eyes flicked over the scavenged armor the prisoners wore, armor that once belonged to his men—his prison guards, now quickly realizing their fates having been stripped by these scoundrels.

He sneered beneath his helm.

The silence lingered as Osias stood, unflinching, his jaw set. The Warden took another step forward, his eyes narrowing.

“And here I thought the House of Silk would stay out of my affairs,” the Warden muttered darkly, mostly to himself. "That wench mistress must have her hands in this." His voice dripped with disdain.

“They send their champion to sow chaos, and now I’m rushed back to my keep by whispers of treachery. This reeks of them and their damnable courtesans — the moment my lord wasn’t allowed into the inner chambers as we’ve done so many times in the years past.”

The Warden's voice echoed in the empty courtyard as he continued to speak, the frustration evident. “Fools think they can lay hands on my keep, my prison? No doubt their reach spreads even to the palace. Damn the House of Silk—”

Osias cut him off without hesitation, stepping forward and lifting a bundle in his hand, a handful of thick, light locks that had once belonged to the Warden’s daughter.

‘Thanks, Uron.’

“Your daughter,” Osias said bluntly, his voice cold and cutting through the Warden’s dark mutterings. “She’s not in her chambers, warden.”

The Warden's body went rigid. The shock was clear, even through his masked visage. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his saber, but his voice betrayed his fury.

“Another trick of those whores? His words trembled with rage as he stepped closer, the air around him seeming to darken.

“Wait…” He spat the words with venom, the crackling tension almost palpable.

Without another word, the Warden reached to his side, drawing forth a massive saber from its sheath. It gleamed with a wicked silver, its edges sharp and menacing, a deadly contrast to the golden blade Osias had seen before in the hands of Surtil. This one was more vicious and darker in its intent.

The prisoners behind Osias shifted, sensing the danger, but Osias remained still. The saber in the Warden’s hands felt as though it thrummed with power, cutting the very air as he brought it forward. He didn’t call for the city guards, nor the palace sentries—this was personal. It seemed that upon closer study, the locks in Osias’s hands weren’t a ploy.

With a guttural growl, the Black Warden lunged at Osias, calling upon his great saber arcing through the air with lethal precision towards the rough formation of the prisoners.

Osias immediately deposited much of his reservoir into the great sword to increase it’s weight to its utmost, and ignited the rest to strengthen his body to brace.

A brutal clang sounded, even a grunt of surprise surfaced from the irked warden at an Ordinary who managed to stop him for just a second.

Osias barely managed to parry, the force of the strike sending a shockwave up his arm. His body ached from the fight before, and his muscles burned, but there was no room for hesitation now. He gritted his teeth and surged forward, leading the charge as the prisoners descended from behind him, armed with nothing but scavenged gear and desperation.

“Kill the coot, enjoy his daughter after for all they’ve done!”

“For Minos!”

The prisoners struck with a vicious flurry as coordinated as they could, but in an instant, something impossibly black wrapped around the nightless plate armor of the Black Warden rendering their attacks futile.

‘He’s a brute.’

Picking back to his feet, Osias charged ahead, his sword aimed at the less protected chinks and gaps in the warden’s armor as the others continued their onslaught like a wave of steel. They had to overwhelm the warden with both numbers and intensity.

…The Black Warden’s weapon style was something both brutish and rigid — encapsulating a slight connection to the premises of the Red Sky’s style, but much different in its techniques. It was much more uncompromising and less erratic.

Steadily taking the brunt of attacks relying on the defensive Ordeal Ability he possesses, weaving its usage into the rhythms Osias tried to fight through.

‘He’s strong. Far from Kiran’s strength, but strong enough to not be threatened while being surrounded by sixteen pseudo First Ordeals.’

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A moment later, Osias lept from behind the cover of his followers and his swift and giant edge shot downwards at the Black Warden's head from a cloud of risen dust.

Yet right before his blade met the both the black protective Ordeal Ability and the thick armor, Osias drained his entire reservoir into his great sword, using the force of the swing to both cut and slam the Black Warden.

A crushing ring sounded and the ground below their feet trembled. The eerie veil-like cover shattered into nightless shards as both Osias and the warden was thrown back from the monstrous blow.

His tattoos pooled into his reservoir, quickly filling it with his abundance of essence — something it seems he’ll need because through the backs of his followers… the warden didn’t look too affected.

However, Osias observed too soon as he saw trickles of blood spilling from beneath the jagged helm.

Just as Osias was to lead another attack, the nightless veil that protected the Black Warden changed — and it felt as though the dark courtyard shifted. Like their shadows themselves screamed and groaned at the onset of the warden.

“And here… I wished you vile Red Feathers would suffer longer.”

“Still thinking of our imprisonment when we have your daughter?” Someone beside Osias laughed out, hiding their nervousness.

“Visalros… engage again?” Another hushed whisper asked.

“I don’t know, but what else can we do? I’ll lead, only three of you follow this time.”

Osias didn’t like this motionless warden. It was frightening, even more so than usual. He felt immense pressure pressing down on him by the warden… and even though the brief exchange was enough to instill a little confidence in both him and his band of prisoners, a Second Ordeal Path Finder wasn’t an enemy to be taken lightly.

Looking to his side, Osias found three others — valiant and skilled as they could be in the conditions they were provided. Rats of the cells they were… ferocious ones at that.

Perhaps these were the most bloodthirtsy or foolhardy among them to follow first, but Osias didn’t complain.

Inhaling deeply, Osias poised himself and imbued more essence into his great sword to make it lighter for the charge.

“Behind — tear his back open!” One of the three coldly hissed, circling around.

Osias brought his sword up again to do another one of his dreadful blows that used an immense amont of essence to give weight to his weapon.

The nearest of the three timed their attack along with Osias, bringing a spiked hammer behind them before wickedly lashing it towards the Black Warden’s side.

“A shame… I was welcoming all of you to die in a single stroke!” The still warden cackled below their black helm.

And suddenly the dark veil pooled beneath the knelt warden, spreading like a shadow on the ground.

“Back!” Osias bellowed, shifting the weight of his great sword to be as light as it could before letting go and using a free hand to nab the scruff of the closest follower away from the black pool.

Darting his eyes to the other two unfortunate enough to enter the black veil, Osias watched as the pools rose up into spikes and blades as they impaled the two.

The sharp points and edges cut and dismantled the two into a bloody mess, each cut slid thorugh their armor, flesh and bone with such ease.

Osias suddenly felt dangerously cold — unknowingly, the others did as well.

‘But he’s not moving… can he only choose between attack and defend using that black veil at a time?’

“To me.” Osias huffed out as the remaining band of prisoners made a ring around the warden.

Shaking his thoughts aside, he focused on deciphering the limits of this insidious black veil that the Black Warden seemed to have been named from.

‘I wonder… what would Kiran do in my place? Without a means to heal from such wounds, would he still brave the black veil? Ordinary projectiles wouldn’t work against such a foe either with their amount of strength — perhaps Osias, but the warden would only have to counter a single blow rather than the onslaught of numbers.’

“You… you can’t move with such an attack?” Osias suddenly blurted out, “I must say, for a Second Ordeal, to be so wary of Ordinaries is something astounding to me.”

“All the same as you meet your end — with myself or you all coming forward.” The Black Warden responded with spite, suddenly withdrawing the black pool below his feet back to cover his armor.

And with a single breath, the warden lunged forward to meet Osias once again in a brutal clash of steel.

‘So it is a choice… but then again, he may be plotting for the moment we all gather close to him before he pools the veil below again.’

“Three more! Slaughter this wretched warden!” Osias commanded, braving a heavy blow with trembling arms.

—

“Plea—”

“Cease your pleading… I'll start cutting again.”

Uron was seated against the dark stone walls that made the hall that connected to the filthy chambers they called home for years. He tied the warden’s daughter with some spare cloth ripped from those they just massacred inside — the dirty stench still held thick in the air as it wafted outwards.

She was in a miserable state. Her face was beaten until red and purple with clear stomp marks on the back of her head. Her well-made dress was torn and made dirty from both the hands of their brothers and perhaps her squirming on the prison keep’s grounds.

Uron’s blade lay rested against his shoulder — a comfortable thing it was despite how brief the time he had it was… having scavenged it from a First Ordeal he crushed with his shackled hands.

‘Like the handle of a spade, right Yoren?’

But before his longing thoughts continued for another second… he felt it before he heard it.

A quiet rumble shook the walls and ground ever so slightly. The muted whimpers and raspy breath of the samnable warden’s daughter ssounded in response.

‘He's here…’

Stepping to his feet, Uron grunted as he realised how tired he was. Although he wasn't the most blessed with essence, the grueling training the military and Visalros has imposed on him was enough for him to be much more efficient then he ever was with his control.

‘Ah… she can't stand.’ He thought, throwing a glance at her legs and feet.

Suddenly the warm glint in his eyes turned eerily cold and dark as the memories of what an entire lifetime ago were pushed aside. Uron tightly clasped her bare ankle and began to drag her through the hall — closer to the entrance where the rest of his brothers were fighting.

Eventually, the two of them came dangerously close to the entrance and that was where Uron set the daughter down against a wall. It was far enough where an Urotys or Second Ordeal could sense like Visalros commanded him to.

“Stay, or do you want me to cut a leg to make sure?” He hissed to the tear and grime-ridden face below him.

Taking her erratic nodding as a proper answer, he slowly shuffled out to the entrance and stepped a single foot in the courtyard as he studied the raging battle.

But in the next moment, his eyes narrowed and his heart sank as his gaze crossed to the litter of bodies on the ground.

‘No, Uron… focus on what is important.’

Lifting his chin, his eyes met the back of their valiant leader, Visalros, an Ordinary just like him.

Although… they could be the furthest thing apart from each other. Visalros was a leader, whether his driven mind knew it or not.

He was the strongest of all the prisoners, yet he starved and ate what little scraps were given to him just like they all did. He alone took it upon himself to give what possible rites and respect to their fallen brothers — even using his Innate Ability to put them to complete rest. He taught them and nurtured their strength in turn for something as small as language. He cut their chains and fought to free them.

…So Uron couldn't disappoint such a man.

A heavy ring sounded from the clash of steel as Visalros along with a handful of their shackled brothers ripped their blades against a heavy mass of black armor. But only a few of the dreadful blows could even pass the elite guard of the Second Ordeal, and even less could shatter that black veil outside.

Yet, their leader’s great sword struck true like a monster of the Ordinary.

Visalros's long hair was dirty, and his face was strained. He was cut and prices of his scavenged armor was ruined already, but he fought with victory in sight.

“Back!” Visalros screamed, directing their brothers away from the Black Warden.

There, Uron watched as Visalros lept to his side to push the nearest brother away from something ominously black that spilled from the Black Warden’s armor.

‘I see… so he can't move in that move? Is that why he donned such thick armor — to cover when he couldn’t defend himself with his Ordeal Ability?’ Uron thought.

It also seems that such an offensive move was something that Visalros and their brothers have expeiranced before by the way they've reacted, only a few were even grazed before they the Black Warden huffed in annoyance before withdrawing the pool to cover his armor once more.

Uron’s mind was something he was proud of, and out of him and Yoren, he was the smarter one… definitely more than that witty fool.

‘Perhaps that's why I lived longer than you, friend.’

Stifling a wistful smile, he knew what his next action would be, and then he quickly headed back inside for the Black Warden’s daughter.