The moon, nearly full, hung bright and majestic in the sky, asserting its dominance at the zenith of its nightly journey. It bathed the dark green landscape in a pale, ethereal glow, casting long shadows and revealing every detail within the embrace of its silvery grace.
Meanwhile, on a rough dirt road...
"Listen!" Ernst urged, snapping the reins of the horse his hands held onto. "The camp you're about to capture is fortified with thick, wooden palisades. There's only one way in or out—one entrance." Ernst again whipped the horse's reigns, and the wagon jerked forward, picking up more speed.
"Where do they keep their prisoners?" Adolph called out at the back over the rumble of the creaky wheels, his voice directed at Ernst who held the reins as their coachman. The other three clung to the wagon's sides, enduring the bumpy ride.
"Your target is the old stone tower at the far end of the gate. There's a dungeon beneath it where they might be stashing their loot—both stolen goods and..."
"Captured prisoners," Niche interjected.
"Exactly. You'll pose as a buyer—a slave trader. Tell them you're there to purchase a slave."
"At the middle of the night?" Niche asked, bothered.
"You'll have to make them believe your words. Flash the false bag of coins Wilhelm gave you as your tasty proof, and make them hear the crispy sound of money. If you're lucky enough, their simple brains will fall for it. But whatever you do, don't hand it over just yet—they'll kill you right on the spot if your trickery's busted."
"Understood," Adolph confirmed with a nod.
"You are advised to rescue your friends first, and then find a place to hide them. Once you ensured their safety, then—and only then—can you begin to take the camp. If it’s too much, don’t hesitate to pull back. Think of another way to repay Wilhelm's effort—"
"No," Adolph cut in. "We'll do it." His tone was unwavering. Ernst couldn’t help but grin at his resolute words, a subtle curve forming at the edge of his lips.
"Spirit, my friend. I’m counting on you." Ernst tugged the reins, guiding the horse to halt at the side of the road before leading it under the sprawling shade of a tall, majestic tree. Ahead, the path split into two: the left continued as the well-worn route they had been following, while the right branched off into a grassy trail, patches of greenery sprouting between the ruts—a road less traveled.
"This is where I leave you. Take the road to the right, and you’ll reach the camp in no time." Ernst gestured toward the grassy path, and the four behind him nodded in silent agreement.
Everyone but Ernst dismounted the wagon, lining up beside it. Ernst’s gaze swept over them, noticing something amiss. "Where are your weapons?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"Concealed. Within us," Adolph replied, motioning to his torso, mirrored by the three behind him.
"Haha... You mean, inside your armor—"
"They mean exactly what they said," Niche added, hopping off the wagon. "Thanks for the ride, Ernst. We’ll be on our way."
"Eh... you're welcome. Be—be safe, you hear me!"
With that, Ernst was left alone, watching as the group walked down the road, staring at the back of the force he delivered to their battle. Slowly, their figures vanished at the turn on the road—their fate hanging in the balance of life and death. A pang of unease twisted in Ernst’s gut as he realized he wouldn’t be there to see it unfold...
The thought gnawed at Ernst, leaving him restless.
"Well... I’m not technically interfering if I’m just watching from a distance, right, Prolly?" Ernst reasoned, glancing at his horse. But Prolly, contentedly munching on the grass, paid no heed to his master’s musings.
"Haaaa... I shouldn’t be doing this but—"
Ernst hopped off his seat, landing on the soft grass at the side of the wagon. "I’m going to take a piss, Prolly. A long one, so don’t you dare wander off, got it?"
A little time had passed since Adolph’s group parted ways with Ernst...
"They can't speak? Why?"
“It’s because they can’t speak that they can’t tell us why, Niche.”
"Well, you've got a point there."
Adolph, Niche, and the rest of his band halted beneath the dense canopy of a towering mango tree. Its gnarled branches twisted overhead, casting deep, intertwining shadows that draped them in a somber gloom. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost as if the tree itself sensed the weight of their mission. They had stopped here at Adolph’s request—to talk things through before committing themselves to the battle that loomed ahead.
“No, I mean, can’t they speak like you do? Projecting thoughts through the soul?”
“I... I’m not sure how I’m even talking now,” Adolph admitted, stuttering, realizing something simple yet so confusing at the same time. “At first, I couldn’t speak either, but after my encounter with the soul wisp, I’ve been able to do this ever since.”
“That’s because you’re not talking, Adolph—not in the physical sense. You’re just used to speaking with a mouth from when you were a human, but now that you’re just a... soul, things work differently. The same goes for me, and the three of you as well. Have you ever noticed that my mouth isn’t moving when I speak?” Surely, Adolph and the others focused intently on Niche’s face, realizing with growing fascination that his explanation made perfect sense. “Alright, you can all stop staring now.”
Adolph leaned back against the rough trunk of the mango tree, its cool bark pressing into his armor. “The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m losing touch with what it meant to be human,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Then don’t dwell on it too much,” Niche advised. “Rather, what was it you wanted to discuss?”
"I want to talk about our battle plan."
"Do we even have one?” Niche asked, tilting its head.
“We don’t—and that is the one part of the plan.” Oh how bold, to declare these words with such confidence.
"Brute force then..."
"You could say that, Niche."
"Then I guess," Niche started, "We just have to remember every piece of advice we got from Wilhelm and Ernst, and the rest shall fall to our shoulders."
"I also would like to give a few words of advice, especially to these three."
"What is it?" Niche asked.
Adolph straightened, turning to face his three allies gathered before him. "I know everything happening to you right now feels strange—very strange, and that's alright. I once also woke up like that—can't blink, can't breathe, can't talk, and can't see the body I should have in the flesh. We became the armor, and the armor became us—that’s the reality we’re all facing now. The fact that you three accepted to be revived means you’ve chosen to bear this curse, along with everything else that comes with it." The three young men listened intently, their gazes locked on Adolph as he spoke—his words drew them in like a lifeline in the dark.
"No one remembers you—not your name, not your existence. No one. But you must hold on to the reason you had that made you choose to keep existing, standing at the state between life and death. If you can do that, it’ll be enough to keep you moving forward."
Adolph's words told the very embodiment of a soul reaver's path. A moment of silence brushed over them as the truth hung within the minds of the three.
“I still consider myself dead, as are the three of you,” Adolph continued, reclaiming their attention as he clenched his right hand into a fist. "But here’s the thing—we’re already dead, and we’ve already had the grim taste of the other side. Now, cast away your fear of death, because death won’t be the end for you anymore. No stab will make you bleed, and no blow will knock you out. We don’t die. We never die—and that’s our only battle plan."
Unbeknownst to Adolph, his words stirred something deep within the souls of the four individuals before him, their spirits ignited with newfound resolve. Even a hidden presence lurking in the tall grasses nearby felt the surge of determination.
"Quite the romantic speaker... and a leader of quality," The hiding man whispered. "Still... what is this death you're talking about?"
“Now, stand up,” Adolph commanded, and the three young men rose as one, their resolve solidified. With everything set and ready, the fight drew ever closer. But just before they stepped out from under the tree’s protective shade, Niche bumped against Adolph’s foot.
"What is it Niche?" Adolph asked.
“Before we go, there’s something you need to do first.”
“And that is...?”
"Time to use your other blessing."
...
"Bah! This booze is also watered down—damn cheap swill!" A man in a tattered white tunic hurled a bottle onto the road, its contents splashing onto the dirt in two sluggish streams as he spat in disgust at what he had just swallowed.
"Fuck, why'd you do that? That was mine!" shouted another man beside him, his voice laced with irritation.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
These two rowdy men stood in the middle of the night, at the center of a road flanked by towering wooden walls made from bulging tree trunks. It was the entrance of a rather spacious camp, brightly illuminated with red torches scattered around. Flags adorned with the emblem of three coins fluttered against the walls, their vibrant colors dancing in the breeze at the gate's entrance.
This was the bandit's den—a camp ominously named "Triple Fortune."
"Hey! Heads up, you louts! Someone's coming," the voice of a lookout stationed atop a nearby wooden tower rang out, clear and sharp. The two bandits below immediately gripped their spears, one nearly pissing himself as the atmosphere shifted from drunken stupor to tense vigilance.
Footsteps echoed in the distance, growing louder as a small group of figures approached. Emerging from the darkness was a man with a wolf-mask, accompanied by a black fox by his side, with three knightly figures following closely behind.
"Stop right there!" one of the bandits barked. "What are you knights doing here?"
"We are not knights. We're here for a business," Adolph responded, his voice calm and steady.
"At this hour of the night? You jokers must be crazy!" The bandits chuckled, but their laughter quickly died down as Adolph pulled out a fat pouch of coins and shook it.
"We mean it," Adolph reiterated. The bright clinking of metal instantly silenced the laughter of the bandits. Their expressions turned serious, eyes fixed on the pouch of coins and on Adolph who was holding it.
"Contact Petro. We have guests," one bandit ordered, and another quickly ran inside. "Your weapons, hand them over!"
Adolph and his companions raised their hands. "We have nothing," Adolph replied, turning around to show their empty backs before facing the bandits again. Unsatisfied, the bandit stepped forward, running his hands over their bodies, arms, and legs, searching for hidden weapons. Alas, there was nothing... but something else surely took this bandit's attention.
"Let me hold this for you," the bandit muttered as his hand crept toward the bag of coins Adolph held.
SMACK.
Adolph swiftly slapped the bandit’s hand away, the man’s face twitching with greed. Though irritated, the bandit reluctantly conceded as he found no weapons on them. "Alright, tough guy. Come and wait inside."
Adolph and the rest had successfully executed their first maneuver. They passed through the open entrance, eyes rolled swiftly around the camp's premises.
Before them stood the stone tower—their primary objective. It loomed for about six people high, with a diameter of about three arm spans. A scout tower, one that effectively watches over the distant landscapes around the camp.
The scout tower's stout, cylindrical form was crowned with crenelated walls at the top, resembling the appearance of a mighty fortress. Composed of weathered blocks of stones, the tower's surfaces were worn smooth by years of wind and rain. Along with time, its walls were also heavily painted with nature. Vines of ivy clung to it, weaving in and out of the stone's crevices. Patches of moss added a touch of green to the grey stones. The tower, though old, was now tainted by the presence of the bandits who called it home.
Large tents were pitched on the left side of the camp, while straw dummies, poles of thick wood, and stacks of varied goods were piled on the right. A few bandits lounged around tables near the tents, their piercing gazes fixed on the newcomers. Their attire was light, and most were armed with either spears or hatchets.
This was the battlefield's layout. Adolph's group mentally mapped every detail, surely engraving everything in their mind.
The wooden door of the stone tower creaked open, and the bandit who had gone inside earlier emerged. Behind him was another figure—a gaunt, skeletal man.
His limbs were long and spindly, almost spider-like, with sinewy muscles that hinted at a wiry strength. His skin clung tightly to his bones, giving his face a hollow, almost deathly appearance. Dark circles shadowed his deep-set eyes, and his narrow face was framed by lank, greasy hair that hung in unkempt strands to his shoulders. He wore the same ragged, ill-fitting clothes as the others, hanging loosely from his bony frame.
"So, these are the slave buyers?" the man asked, his voice raspy.
"Yes, Master Petro," the bandit beside him confirmed.
Petro stepped forward to meet Adolph's group. His hands rubbed together nervously; a subtle, repetitive motion wherein his bony fingers interlaced and then pulled apart in a continuous loop.
"Do you lot know what time it is? It's tomorrow, for fuck's sake," Petro grumbled.
"We'll pay you generously," Adolph growled back, shaking the bag of coins he held.
"Oh, my..." A voice dripping with condescension. "Do you think a bag of coins will make this talk much smoother?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Well, I won't deny it. Huehehehe." What a twisted grin has formed on his face.
Adolph's patience was wearing thin with the old man's antics, but he held his composure for that is all he could do. "Do we bother you? Should we leave?" he asked.
"No... No," Petro's tone shifted to one of feigned warmth. "We're just surprised, you see? You're the second to show up tonight, and my boys have been on edge since afternoon. It feels like we're all cursed with amnesia or something... Forgetting a lotta things, yes. But we didn't forget how to welcome guests, of course! Huehuehe! So long as there would be... 'something shiny' that'll dance in our hands at the end."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is! Now you... what's your name?" Petro asked with an eerie voice.
"Adolph."
"Hrmm... Fierce one, like your mask—and I like it."
"Do you have anyone that I can buy as my master's slave?"
"Ohoh... Quite the straightforward fellow, wolf-mask. And that's very important to every business!" Petro sneered.
"Oh, whatever..."
"Hehe... Follow me, but only you... and the black dog, maybe." Petro turned abruptly, his baggy clothes dragging behind him. Adolph and Niche followed cautiously, with Niche again irritated for being called a dog. Their steps trudged the old man's short, shuffling gait as he led them toward the side of the stone tower.
"We keep our livestock in the dungeon. There are still some products left by the first buyer earlier, and you can freely choose which shackles you'd like to buy." Petro's words, filled with vile indifference, turned Adolph's thoughts to a dark place. The casual way he referred to people as mere merchandise made Adolph's stomach churn with disgust, even though he no longer had one. His fingers itched to strike the old man, who turned his back wide open. A tempting target to satisfy his growing rage, but obviously, he can't do it. Not this time.
They descended a stone staircase leading to the base of the tower. Large wooden doors, reinforced with thick metal braces and bolts, greeted them as they walked down the stairs. "Open the damned doors!" Petro's command barked at the ears of the half-drunk bandit before them.
The bandit heaved the heavy iron rings, and the doors creaked open, scraping against the stone floor. A narrow hallway stretched out before them, dark and foreboding. "Inside we go~" Petro sang silly, his voice echoing as he stepped into the shadowy passage.
Left and right, rows of cold steel bars lined the corridor, dimly illuminated by torches hung on sconces fixed to the worn, moss-covered walls. These bars served as the bitter divide between the free and the enslaved. "Let me introduce you to our prized possessions."
Petro stopped at the first cell near the entrance and turned toward Adolph. "Ever had lonely nights? Meet Emelia, the daughter of a once-great merchant, now reduced to a mere prostitute. Useful, nonetheless. But quite the screamer, I'm afraid." Adolph glanced at the woman trembling in one corner of her cold cell. Bare and vulnerable, she clutched a thin cloth around her shaking body, her eyes wide with terror.
Petro moved to the opposite cell and banged on the steel bars. "Wake up, douchebag!" he barked. A young, dark-skinned man sat up from the floor, his deep red eyes gleaming like a cornered beast’s. "This young man is named... Shiva. I'm not too fond of him, so I'll let him go at a fair discount—OH, WILL YOU STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE DISGUSTING EYES, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
As Petro let out a burst of foul emotion, Adolph was growing more worried. He still had yet to find the right people he was looking for. Hope still lingered, so he followed Petro as he led them to the next cell. But then, Petro said the words he mostly didn't want to hear.
"This is our last one."
Upon hearing Petro's words, Adolph realized the worst and looked down at Niche. Inside his mind, he whispered, "We were too late..."
"I don't know his name but, he was just freshly captured. Well... his state now is not as fresh, I believe. You see, a wound in his stomach was opened from a beating of one of my men, so if you—"
Adolph cut off Petro’s rambling with a bang on the prison bars. There was no mistaking it. The frail, slender frame, delicate limbs, dark curls... and the wound on his stomach. Adolph knew this man better than anyone in that room. "Austin!" he called out.
The young man, barely holding onto consciousness, looked up at the voice. His eyes, once lifeless, now flickered with a glimmer of hope at the sight of a familiar face. "Adolph..." he gasped weakly.
"An acquaintance... So that’s what this is about." Adolph’s gaze shifted to Petro, who had retreated behind two bandits now brandishing their hatchets. "I suspected something was off from the start—the timing, the fact that you knew we were dealing with slaves, and your reaction just now."
"Wait—what’s happening here?" Adolph demanded, his surprise noticeable as the atmosphere shifted to something he clearly didn’t want to be part of at the current time.
"I don't like petty lies, you see," Petro replied smoothly as he walked back and forth in the distance. "Besides, I'd love to don the armor you're wearing right now. The fierceness you project... Daunting... And I'm captivated by it."
Niche snarled menacingly at Petro, who looked increasingly displeased. The heated moment was about to burst anytime soon, and Adolph braced himself for it.
"Don't worry though. I assure you that you and your friends outside will reunite with your comrade... But you all will do so behind those bars. Get him!" Petro snapped.
Simultaneously, the two bandits charged at Adolph, their hatchets raised high. Adolph swiftly removed his left glove, revealing a hidden sword handle in which its guard was now missing. Gripping it tightly, he dropped into a low stance and unsheathed the short sword from his forearm, slashing it in front of him.
SCHRUT!
The short blade flashed across one attacker’s torso, drawing blood as the bandit narrowly dodged back at Adolph's swing. The bandit trembled from the close call, wiping the wound he received in his chest. The first drop of blood hit the floor between them, but then—
THUMP!
The second bandit landed a strong blow on Adolph’s right side. Satisfied as his attack connected, the bandit quickly retreated, slamming into the steel bars of an empty cell.
"That got to be hurt," sneered the said bandit.
"Keep that one busy, Niche," Adolph commanded as he turned toward the first bandit, the one he had wounded earlier. Without hesitation, he charged, thrusting his short sword forward. The bandit, with a swift side step, was able to dodge Adolph's attack.
But what the bandit did was rather... a fatal mistake.
SCHULK!
"Wha-what the fuck..." Petro gasped out his final words, wasting them with a curse of disbelief as Adolph’s short sword plunged deep into his frail chest. Blood poured forth from the wound as Adolph straightened and kicked Petro’s lifeless body away, freeing his bloodstained blade.
"Fuck, Petro you dumbass!" exclaimed the thug who dodged.
Niche next sprinted back to Adolph, the bright sound of jangling metal following in its wake. The black fox held a ring of keys in its mouth, its sharp eyes gleaming with a victorious look.
"Damn dog, that was mine!" the other bandit shouted.
"Keys secured," Niche growled through the metal ring. "I’ll leave the rest to you."
Adolph swiped his sword through the air, sending a spray of Petro’s blood toward the two remaining bandits. "Take those keys to Austin. I will be there to help..."
.
.
.
"After I send these two to their graves."