The darkness unravelled modestly before the Valiant Subject’s Ward. It peeled from the Incarnate like a layer of dirt, leaving him feeling as though the world was basted with hope again.

The Demonling had underestimated just how suffocating the darkness was. He had thought that perhaps it was simply the absence of light fitted through the uncanny power known as Sorcery, disallowing Alabas and his people from leaving Ainfidd. But no. It was a lot more sinister than that. If one was drowned in it, all their senses would be voided. They would be crippled of their ability to perceive the world around them, and such a thing, which most people relied on for the majority of their lives, was essential to keeping their sanity.

The darkness was designed to inspire despair and terror, and the Incarnate was ashamed to even think about what would have happened if his shield hadn’t mysteriously warded away the sinister effect of the all-encompassing black.

Speaking of this mystery, after Incarnate ^8001 recalled his wits, his mind snapped into critical thought.

‘That… that was terrifying. I didn’t expect the darkness to feel like some massive pool of water.’

He then looked at the Valiant Subject’s Ward and his eyes bulged.

‘Of course! It’s the shield’s enchantment!’ he realized.

===

[Valiant Subject's Ward | Grade Potent]

+5 STR, +2 AGI

-

Enchantment I : Wards away harmful supernatural influences around the user.

-

Enchantment II : 1 in 7 chance of reflecting physical damage back to enemies.

-

===

‘The first enchantment wards aways harmful supernatural influences!’

The Incarnate was elated.

Even though his shield wasn’t that impressive according to the grading system for equipment, its enchantments had been indispensable so far.

‘Why did I forget this? The shield was able to lessen the effect of the Omen’s control over the sand. It was the only reason I was able to escape in the first place!’ the Demonling thought.

Indeed, that was the case. The Omen’s manipulation of sand had been curbed by the shield’s effect, though only slightly. The same was happening now. Interestingly enough, this made the Incarnate wonder…

‘It seems some of the powers Marar’bel and the Omen use aren’t entirely related to Far Ji and Kanva. The shield wasn’t able to stop Tenyen’s Blasting Buck, even though it was, in a way, a harmful supernatural effect. But it works against this, in any case.’

As intriguing as this subject was, the Incarnate tore himself aware from contemplation. He couldn’t relax and start writing an essay about the differences between Marar’bel’s Sorcery and Kanva.

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He was in unfamiliar territory.

He looked around.

The effect of the Valiant Subject’s Ward wasn’t that strong. It barely allowed him to see things half a meter away. Unfortunately, this effect was only useful on the ground because anywhere else beyond was still covered in darkness. The Incarnate could see a little of the texture and color of the soil… and that was it.

‘It’s not much, but it’ll do,’ he thought.

Pacing as slowly as he could, the aspiring Tyrant walked on. He soon discovered, however, that this journey onward was going to be a lot harder than he thought. There were a lot of obstacles in his way.

Because he was usually preoccupied with checking every direction, in case something lunged at him, the Incarnate had smashed into a wall more than once in the span of five minutes.

The next hour of exploration reminded him that he really was in a place that housed humans – or perhaps had housed humans. Tall and broad structures, however decrepit, littered the place, as did the remains of many people.

Indeed, the Incarnate had once again felt the crunch of bone under his foot. Millions of people had perished long ago and echoes of their former glory were strewn about, only visible to the Demonling when they were close to his feet. It was a tragic sight.

The record he had read made him loathe the selfishness of those in power all the more.

How was implicating so many innocent people in the name of ambition and power a righteous thing to do in someone’s eyes?

The Incarnate didn’t consider himself innocent, but he had lived out his days regretting the actions he had chosen. He understood how terrible they were. Even if it was his duty to serve his nation, his King, it was inexcusable that he was the King’s sword, sent to slaughter innocents as part of a strategy to weaken and devastate another nation.

He had done this many, many times.

The Incarnate stopped and scowled. He spat on the ground.

‘Am I a hypocrite?’ he thought when before his feet, the darkness parted to reveal the eroded skeletons of an adult and a child that probably hadn’t even been a year old.

The Incarnate remembered…

On the very day that he died, he had killed a family of three; a father, a mother, and a son. He vividly remembered how the man he stabbed cursed him with his dying breath. He remembered the excuse he had given for his cruelty: that he was only a messenger of the King. Somehow, that excused his actions.

That excuse doused the guilt in his heart a little each time he said, but the Incarnate couldn’t count on it now.

He couldn’t hide behind it. Not after seeing that it meant nothing when he was involved in the senseless murder of millions, like Marar’bel… and Maestus.

The Incarnate balled his free hand into his fist. His nails stabbed in his palms, making them bleed.

‘I’m not so different from them after all…’ he thought begrudgingly.

But there was nothing for it. After a bout of self-loathing, the Incarnate continued his march through Ainfidd for more than seven hours. It was large and diverse, though he couldn’t tell just to what extent. There were collections of buildings for residents, where he found the most human remains and commercial centres – a staggering number of them. He had found ancient, rusted and worthless treasures, clothes, food and furniture lying in the street.

The Incarnate imagined that when the darkness first set in, the chaos had been particularly brutal. The collection of walls with many scratches on their faces, no doubt made my human fingernails, told of the nature of the terror – the madness.

The Demonling sighed.

After two more hours, he grew tired of wandering around aimlessly and glimpsing the devastation and demise.

Where was he supposed to go?

What was he supposed to do?

This place was just too big.

But just as he wondered, something caught his eye, something flickering in the darkness far, far away.

It was an orange light!

It looked so tiny from this distance, but it rejuvenated the numb mind of the Demonling immensely.

Finally, something that wasn’t the nigh living darkness!

Finally, a goal!

The Incarnate gulped and took a breath.

‘Even though something terrible is probably waiting for me there… I don’t really have a choice,’ he thought before hastening his pace towards the light.

It was located on higher ground and partly obscured by either the thick darkness itself or the structures devoured whole within it. The Incarnate imagined that this was the reason he hadn’t been able to see it before now. He had even meandered a lot through his journey here and yet he hadn’t been able to see anything.

After a few moments, the Incarnate hastened his pace again.

He grew used to spotting obstacles quickly and avoiding them as soon as they were revealed to him through the illuminated area before his feet.

At some point, perhaps because some form of limit to his time here had been established, he began to put focus on mastering the art of avoiding obstacles impeccably even while jogging his way toward the light.

The Incarnate discovered that he still had a lot of spare time to do this after spending two more hours on his journey without the slightest evidence that the distance between himself and the tiny, flickering light was dwindling.

This had to mean it was quite large from up close.

While continuing the difficult exercise, the Incarnate eventually convinced himself that before reaching the light, there wouldn’t be any hostile threats. If there were, they probably would have shown themselves by now. Still, he didn’t loosen his guard completely.

In fact, it was impossible to do so when he was keeping his senses keen in order to avoid skeletons, walls, suspended store signs, broken blocks, glass, nails, ditches and so much more. His instincts seemed to level up every hour.

Ten more hours later, the Incarnate had gotten used to this ‘game’ but better yet, he found that he was quite close to the light.

Its position in relation to where he was, got even more elevated until it looked as though it was on top of a great hill.

‘Almost there…’ the Incarnate thought. He was rather hesitant to speak in this place as it just seemed too unnatural.

When he took a step forward – a large stride – his skin tingled furiously, as though a spider had crawled across it. The Incarnate immediately retrieved his foot. Somehow, he had felt a nasty warning, or perhaps a grave presence. He inched his way forward, wondering what could possibly in front of him when…

“What in the…?” he voiced in dread as he looked below.