The air beyond Malefic Vale’s borders was heavy with tension, the landscape a mixture of jagged volcanic rock and unnerving silence. Karyss Bloodlash crouched low atop a ridge, her crimson eyes scanning the terrain ahead. Her bow rested lightly in her hands, ready to draw at the slightest hint of danger.
Her task was simple: scout the unknown. But in Aethel, simplicity rarely equated to safety.
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Karyss moved with practiced stealth, her footfalls silent against brittle rock. The corruption spreading from Malefic Vale’s edges faded as she advanced, replaced by neutral ground—a desolate expanse of crumbled ruins and barren earth. Unlike the dark vitality of the Vale, this land felt empty, as though it were waiting for something—or someone—to claim it.
Her sharp gaze swept over the terrain, noting mineral-rich veins glinting faintly in the dim light, clusters of withered plants clinging to life, and the faint signs of movement in the dust below. Luke would want everything cataloged—the resources, the choke points, the threats. She committed the details to memory, her instincts guiding her search as she crept along the ridge, her posture low and predatory.
A rustling noise broke the silence. Karyss froze, blending seamlessly into the shadow of a jagged rock. Her breath slowed, her senses sharpening as she scanned the source of the disturbance.
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The noise grew closer, followed by faint, guttural voices. Karyss’s eyes narrowed as a group of humanoid figures came into view. Their ragged cloaks shifted with the wind, and their skin shimmered faintly with etched runes. They moved methodically, foraging among the ruins.
“Scouts,” she muttered under her breath. They carried no visible weapons, but the magical aura emanating from them suggested they weren’t defenseless. More troubling was their proximity to the Vale’s corruption.
Her instincts screamed to eliminate the threat before it grew. A single arrow, perfectly placed, could fell their leader. But Luke’s voice echoed in her mind: Observe, report, and let me decide what’s interesting. Reluctantly, she melted back into the shadows, retreating deeper into the uncharted lands.
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As Karyss continued her scouting, the Whisper Broker began its work on the fringes of the newly revealed terrain. Its form shifted and flickered, an amorphous shadow slipping through cracks and crevices, leaving no trace of its presence. Unlike Karyss, whose mission was to map the land, the Whisper Broker existed to infiltrate and sow seeds of disruption. Its very nature was deception embodied.
The humanoid figures Karyss had spotted were part of a small encampment nestled within a cluster of ruined towers. From the edge of the camp, the Broker observed, its shape melding seamlessly with the darkened environment. With a barely audible hiss, it crept closer, its movements fluid, its form shifting like liquid smoke. It needed no cover, for no eye could follow its formless body, and no ear could detect its ethereal presence.
The encampment bustled with subdued activity. The figures moved methodically, their tattered cloaks swaying as they inspected their surroundings. Their skin glimmered faintly under the dim light, etched with intricate runes that pulsed softly, suggesting a connection to some arcane source. The Whisper Broker’s incorporeal form slipped closer, phasing through the faint shimmer of a protective ward without disturbing it.
The Broker began its silent work, weaving through the camp with eerie precision. Its senses extended beyond the physical—able to perceive not only the conversations but the emotions woven into the words. It hovered near a cluster of figures gathered around a crude map etched into the dirt. Their voices were low and urgent, tinged with tension and curiosity.
“They’ve noticed the corruption spreading,” one said, a tall figure whose runes flared faintly with each word. “It’s stronger here than we’ve seen before. We need to understand its source.”
Another voice, sharper, responded. “The corruption isn’t random. There’s a will behind it, something deliberate. We shouldn’t push too far without more knowledge.”
The Broker shifted its attention to another group, where smaller fragments of conversation revealed their leaders’ names and the internal hierarchy of the faction. It hovered near a pile of their belongings, its formless tendrils brushing lightly against a rune-etched artifact. A faint pulse of information radiated from the object, a memory imprint of its use. The Broker absorbed it without hesitation, gleaning fragments of past incantations and the artifact’s intended purpose: unlocking ancient wards in ruins nearby.
When a scout turned abruptly, his gaze sweeping the camp as though sensing something out of place, the Broker froze. Its form dispersed momentarily, becoming indistinguishable from the shadows cast by a flickering brazier. The scout frowned, muttering something about the air feeling "heavy," but soon returned to his work.
Satisfied, the Whisper Broker coalesced again and slipped away from the camp. It lingered briefly at the edge, catching one final fragment of conversation.
“We push further tomorrow,” the sharp-voiced figure said. “The ruins must hold answers. We’ll need to act quickly before others come.”
The Broker retreated, its intangible form gliding smoothly through the shadows of the ruins. The information it carried wasn’t just words but a tapestry of context—hierarchies, intentions, vulnerabilities, and hidden strengths. By the time it reached Malefic Vale, the gathered intelligence would be far more than a simple report. It would be a weapon for Luke to wield with devastating precision.
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Back in Malefic Vale, the Pillar of Lust pulsed faintly, its influence weaving into the neutral lands. Under Seloria’s steady guidance, the structure worked to quell unrest and spread loyalty, claiming nearby territory without open conflict. At its base, Seloria extended her hands, channeling its subtle power.
“They’ll come to us,” she murmured, her voice smooth as silk. “Sooner or later, they always do.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
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Karyss returned to the Vale hours later, her movements silent as she approached the throne room. She bowed her head slightly before speaking.
“Eastern border mapped,” she said curtly. “Found a small group—magic users, likely a neutral faction. They’re foraging close to our territory.”
Luke leaned forward, his crimson eyes gleaming with interest. “Numbers?”
“Five or six scouts. Their camp’s small, but there could be more nearby.”
“And the land?”
“Barren but resource-rich. Some ruins, potential choke points. Nothing significant yet.”
Moments later, the Whisper Broker materialized in the throne room, its form coalescing into a vague humanoid shape, wisps of shadow flickering at its edges. Its voice was a low, rasping hiss, filled with a weight that spoke of knowledge unearthed from the unseen.
“The camp is a fragment of a larger group,” it began, its tone deliberate, each word imbued with subtle menace. “Magic users. Their runes pulse with arcane energy, likely drawing from the ruins they protect. They are cautious, but disorganized. Their focus lies on unlocking ancient wards—they suspect something valuable lies within the ruins.”
Luke leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing with interest. “Do they understand the corruption’s source?” he asked, his tone measured but sharp.
“Not yet,” the Broker replied, its formless head tilting as though contemplating its own report. “But they have noticed its strength growing. It unnerves them. They spoke of its unnatural spread, of a deliberate will guiding it. They do not yet know it stems from the Vale, but they are wary.”
The Broker paused, its incorporeal form flickering briefly before continuing. “Their camp is temporary. A staging ground. They plan to push further into the ruins, seeking answers and… something more. Their leaders were mentioned—figures of authority who remain further west, directing their efforts from afar. These scouts are not the decision-makers, merely the hands.”
Luke’s fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his throne, his mind spinning webs of possibilities. “And their vulnerabilities?” he asked, his tone cold and calculating.
“They are uncoordinated,” the Broker hissed. “Each scout acts with independence, their focus divided. Their wards are weak, their defenses rudimentary—designed to deter creatures, not calculated threats. Their reliance on magic binds them, making them predictable. Disrupt their runes, and their strength crumbles.”
Luke’s gaze darkened, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Predictable… and therefore exploitable.”
The Broker shifted slightly, as if to draw his attention back. “Their artifacts,” it continued, “are key. Rune-etched tools imbued with memory. I absorbed fragments of their intent—these relics are designed to unlock barriers, likely those within the ruins. If acquired, they could be turned to our advantage.”
A moment of silence followed as the weight of the Whisper Broker’s report settled over the room. Luke rose from his throne, pacing slowly as his thoughts crystallized into action. The neutral faction posed no immediate threat, but their movements and focus on the ruins introduced a wildcard into his plans. Allowing them to act freely risked unforeseen complications, yet striking prematurely might reveal too much about his own intentions.
“Seloria,” he called.
She appeared almost instantly, her steps silent yet purposeful, her smile sharp and knowing. “Yes, my Lord?” she asked, her voice carrying a faint lilt of amusement that she rarely allowed to surface. Luke’s precision always impressed her. His commands were deliberate, his vision unyielding—a rarity in a world where power often unraveled into chaos. He didn’t just navigate the storm; he bent it to his will.
Luke studied her for a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming with calculated intent. “Push the Pillar’s influence further east. Claim the surrounding territory before they get any ideas.”
As Seloria inclined her head, Luke’s mind turned over the possibilities. The Pillar of Lust was not merely a tool for quiet conquest. It was a lure, deliberate and provocative, drawing attention in subtle but inevitable ways. The neutral faction’s curiosity about the Vale’s encroaching corruption was a vulnerability, and vulnerabilities were meant to be exploited. Let them see the edges of his influence, he mused. Let them question its origin, its intent. Curiosity was the first thread in the snare.
“Their runes…” Luke’s voice trailed into a murmur, half to himself. “They give them strength, a false foundation. Show them how fragile their anchors truly are.”
Seloria’s sharp smile deepened, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “The Pillar’s influence can unravel their confidence in ways they won’t notice until it’s too late,” she said smoothly. “Fear and allure—two sides of the same coin, my Lord.”
Luke nodded, his thoughts crystallizing. The neutral faction would not be broken with swords or arrows; they would be frayed, strand by strand, their will undone by the weight of unseen power. When they finally acted, it would not be with purpose but with desperation, driven by fear—a fear he would control.
“Let them come closer,” he murmured. “Curiosity will draw them in. When they think they’ve uncovered something valuable, they’ll find only shadows.”
Seloria inclined her head again, her movements almost reverent. Yet beneath her calm, she suppressed a flicker of satisfaction. She knew the Pillar’s power was not just subtle; it was insidious—a force that reshaped minds and twisted loyalties without the stain of blood. To her, it was art. Luke wielded it like a tactician, but Seloria saw its elegance. Territories bending to their will without force wasn’t merely efficient—it was poetic.
“Of course,” she replied, her voice calm, her smile widening slightly. She was already steps ahead, planning the intricate dance of influence she would orchestrate. “Consider it done.”
As Seloria turned to leave, her thoughts lingered. The Vale’s spread was inevitable; that much was clear. But she relished the artistry of the process—the way shadows crept unnoticed until they surrounded and suffocated. Luke believed this was about control, and in many ways, it was. Yet, to Seloria, it was about perfection. Every move was a brushstroke, every conquest a masterpiece. She couldn’t help but think: perhaps this was what true power looked like—not brute force, but the quiet symphony of inevitability.
“And the scouts?” Karyss asked, her voice tinged with anticipation.
Luke’s smirk returned. “Leave them. Let them wonder who we are—and what we want. When the time is right, they’ll come to us.”
Karyss frowned, her head tilting slightly, crimson eyes narrowing. “With respect, my Lord, leaving them alive gives them time to act first. If they report back, their leaders might decide to strike before we’re ready.”
Luke’s smirk faltered, but his tone remained measured. “And striking them now would only confirm their suspicions. Letting them wonder is a weapon of its own.”
Karyss’s lips thinned, her stance rigid. “I hope you’re right. Because if you’re not, we’ll have more than suspicion to deal with.”
Luke’s gaze hardened, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. “I am right. Trust the strategy. For now.”
Karyss held his gaze for a moment longer before bowing stiffly. “As you command, my Lord.”
As she withdrew, Luke’s smirk returned, though his fingers drummed more slowly against the throne’s armrest. “When the time is right, they’ll come to us,” he repeated under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
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Luke returned to his throne, his gaze lingering on the newly revealed portions of the map. The neutral camp was a piece on the board, a variable in his growing plans. For now, it would remain untouched. But soon, it would either fall under his control—or be erased entirely.
“Every shadow creeps closer,” Luke murmured, his smirk sharpening. “And they won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”