The revelation hung in the humid, stagnant air of the Darkling Woods, heavier than the fog that coiled around their ankles. Sword Saint Veresha.
To the galaxy at large, she was a myth, a human who had achieved a level of martial perfection that rivaled the supernatural power of the demons. To others, she had been a bedtime story whispered by their mother, a symbol that humanity was not entirely helpless.
And Julian was her disciple.
Adam looked at the redhead with new eyes. The arrogance, the fluid movement, the impossible speed, it wasn't just talent. It was a lineage.
"Sword Saint Veresha," Adam repeated, the name tasting like iron and ash on his tongue. "I've heard tales. Even in the slave pits of Yandhaq, the elders whispered about her. She was from Jehanna, the Country of Swordsmen. The only human nation that held off the Empire's expansion for fifty years."
Julian nodded slowly. He sat on the trunk of the fallen tree, his black katana resting across his knees. His gaze was distant, piercing through the canopy of the false forest to a time and place that no longer existed.
"Yes," Julian said softly. "Jehanna was a land of steel and cherry blossoms. In my country, the sword was not a tool of murder; it was an extension of the soul. We didn't fight to conquer. We fought to perfect the self."
"So, she trained you?" Panchenko asked, leaning on his spear. The usual jester's sound was gone from his voice, replaced by a somber respect. "What was she like? The woman who could cut the rain?"
Julian's lips curved into a faint, melancholic smile. The harsh lines of his face softened, making him look younger, less like a killer and more like the boy he must have been.
"She was a storm contained in a teacup," Julian said. "She was small. You wouldn't think looking at her that she could split a boulder. But her presence… it filled the room. She was strict, incredibly so. Every stance, every breath, every stroke had to be perfect. If my foot was an inch out of alignment, she would make me hold the pose until my muscles screamed and my vision blurred."
He ran a hand along the scabbard of his blade.
"But she was also kind. She found me in the gutters of the capital, a starving orphan stealing apples. She saw something in me, a spark, when everyone else saw vermin. She taught me that the blade is not for anger. It is for protection. Discipline, focus, respect for life… these were her true lessons. The killing was just a necessity of the times."
"Sounds like a good teacher," Jones rumbled, nodding approvingly. "A teacher who builds the man, not just the soldier."
"I was happy," Julian whispered. "For ten years, the world outside the dojo didn't exist. There was only the wood floor, the smell of incense, and the pursuit of perfection."
The atmosphere in the clearing shifted. The shadows seemed to lengthen, and the temperature dropped. Adam felt the dread coming before Julian spoke the words.
"Until the sky turned red," Julian said, his voice hardening. "Until the High Seat came."
Harry shivered, hugging his knees. "A demon invasion?"
"Not an invasion," Julian corrected. "An extermination. They didn't send an army. They sent one woman. Lilith."
Adam's breath hitched. In the demon hierarchy, names were power, and Lilith was a name that made even Taskmasters tremble.
"She was… different," Julian continued, his ruby eyes narrowing as he replayed the nightmare. "Most demons are brutal. They crush, they eat, they destroy. But Lilith… she was beautiful. And she was cruel. She didn't just want to kill us; she wanted to break our spirit. She walked through the capital of Jehanna, and people didn't just die, they turned against each other. She possessed them, twisted them, made fathers kill sons."
Adam felt a surge of cold fury. It mirrored the scene of Edward Bloodrose, the Kinslayer. Was this the weapon of the High Seats? To turn love into murder?
"Veresha went to meet her at the Palace Gates," Julian said. "I watched from the battlements. It was a single human woman, holding a steel sword, against a creature as old as the stars."
"Veresha fought her?" Ylva asked, her warrior instincts piqued.
"Fought her?" Julian laughed bitterly. "She held her off for three days. Three days and three nights. The shockwaves from their clash flattened the city blocks. Veresha moved so fast she was invisible. She cut Lilith a thousand times. She was… magnificent. She was the pinnacle of what a human can be."
"Three days?" Harry gasped. "Against a High Seat? But a human's stamina…"
"Is finite," Julian finished. "A demon has a core that draws energy from the Nether. They don't get tired. Veresha fought until her heart gave out. She fought until her bones fractured from the impact of her own strikes. And in the end… she fell."
The silence in the woods was absolute. Even the distant howl of the monsters seemed to pause out of respect.
"Lilith stood over her," Julian whispered. "She wasn't even out of breath. She looked… bored."
"Which Rank?" Adam asked, his voice tight. He needed to know the scale. Azazel, the one Edward fought, was Rank Nine.
Julian looked at Adam, his eyes bleak.
"Rank Four."
Panchenko let out a low whistle. "Rank Four. A catastrophic entity. That is… godhood."
"I saw my master fall," Julian said, his voice devoid of emotion now, detached by trauma. "And I lost my mind. I forgot her teachings. I forgot discipline. I screamed and I charged. I dashed toward Lilith, my sword raised, a boy trying to cut down a mountain."
"What happened?" Adam asked.
"She caught my blade with two fingers," Julian said. "She looked at me. And she laughed. It was a sound like breaking glass. She said I wasn't worth killing. She said death was a mercy I hadn't earned."
He looked at his hands, trembling slightly.
"She shattered Veresha's core, but didn't kill her instantly. She took us both. She threw us on a slave transport bound for Kazakhar. Veresha… she died in my arms in the cargo hold, three days later. Her last words were not of vengeance. She told me to live."
Julian stood up abruptly, breaking the spell. He turned his back to them, shoulders heaving once. When he turned back, the mask of the cold warrior was back in place.
"That is why I am here. That is why I survived Level One for three years. Because if I die, her art dies with me. And I will not let Lilith win twice."
The story ignited a fire in the group. It wasn't the manic energy of fear; it was the cold, blue flame of resolve. They realized that Julian wasn't just a powerful ally; he was a survivor of the very apex of demonic power.
"The lesson is over," Julian stated, his voice firm. "Now, we apply it. The woods are waking up."
They moved out. The formation was tighter now. Julian took point, with Adam and Ylva flanking. Jones and Panchenko guarded the rear, shielding Harry and the injured Lee.
They hadn't gone a mile when the ground beneath them began to churn.
"Tremors!" Tom shouted, checking his scanner. "Subterranean movement! Directly below!"
"Scatter!" Adam ordered.
The group broke formation just as the earth exploded.
Three massive shapes burst from the soil. Root-Ghouls.
They were grotesque parodies of humanoids, composed of knotted roots, rotting wood, and grave soil. They stood ten feet tall, their limbs long and whip-like, ending in thorned claws. Their "mouths" were jagged vertical splits in their wooden faces, glowing with green necrotic energy.
"Remember the training!" Julian barked, drawing his black blade. "They are slow, but they regenerate. You must severed the Taproot, the central bundle of nerves in the chest!"
A Ghoul lunged at Harry. The boy yelped, scrambling backward over a log. The Ghoul's wooden claw smashed the log to splinters.
"Harry! Don't run! Aim!" Adam shouted, sprinting toward the monster.
Adam slid under a sweeping root-arm, the wind of the blow ruffling his hair. He came up behind the Ghoul and slashed at its leg joints. The blade bit deep, severing the vines that acted as muscles. The Ghoul stumbled.
"Jones! The shield!" Adam yelled.
Jones roared, rushing forward with a piece of scavenged hull plating he had fashioned into a shield. He slammed into the Ghoul, knocking it off balance.
"Now, Harry!"
Harry, trembling but focused, drew his bow. He took a breath, remembering Julian's words. Don't look at the monster. Look at the target.
He saw the pulsating green light deep within the tangle of roots in the Ghoul's chest.
Thwip.
The arrow flew true. It pierced the gaps in the wood and struck the green core.
The Root-Ghoul shrieked, a sound like trees snapping in a storm and collapsed into a pile of inanimate mulch.
"One down!" Panchenko cheered, dodging a swipe from the second Ghoul. "Two ugly sticks to go!"
Julian was already dismantling the second one. He moved like smoke, running up the Ghoul's arm, spinning in the air, and driving his katana down through the creature's skull and into its chest cavity. The monster disintegrated instantly.
The third Ghoul had grabbed Ylva. Vines wrapped around her waist, squeezing.
"Get off me, you oversized weed!" Ylva roared. She couldn't swing her hammer in the grip.
Adam and Astrid moved in unison. Astrid threw a flash-bang grenade scavenged from a dead guard at the Ghoul's face. The creature flinched, loosening its grip.
Adam vaulted off a tree root, launching himself into the air. He gripped his bastard sword with both hands.
Flowing Water Style: Waterfall.
He brought the blade down with all his weight, cleaving the Ghoul's arm off at the shoulder.
Ylva dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up swinging. Her hammer smashed into the Ghoul's knee, shattering it. As the monster fell, Adam thrust his sword into the chest core.
Silence returned to the woods.
"Clean," Julian said, sheathing his sword. He nodded at Harry. "Good shot, archer."
Harry beamed, a genuine smile breaking through the grime on his face. "I… I just did what you said."
"We're getting better," Jones said, kicking a pile of roots. "A week ago, these things would have eaten us."
"A week ago, we were individuals," Adam said, wiping green sap from his blade. "Now, we're a unit."
Dinner that night was the same bland paste, but the atmosphere at the table was electric. The other prisoners gave them a wide berth. The word was out: The redhead's group was dangerous. They hunted the hunters.
Adam sat at the center, looking at his team.
Panchenko was sharpening his spear tip with a focused intensity. Harry was repairing his fletching. Jones and Ylva were comparing bruises like trophies. Astrid and Lee were whispering tactics. Tom was sketching a map of the elevator shaft on a napkin.
And Julian sat at the end, the silent guardian.
They were ready. Adam felt it in his gut. They had plateaued on Level One. Staying here longer meant risking exposure to Ursa and his spies, or worse, becoming complacent.
Adam cleared his throat. The table went quiet.
"We've been here for a while," Adam began, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "We've fought in these woods. We've bled. We've trained under a master."
He looked at the empty spot where Pao should have been.
"We stayed to get strong. But there is a difference between getting strong and waiting to die. Every day we stay here is another day the demons watch us. Another chance for a lucky hit to take one of us out."
He met Julian's gaze. The ruby eyes were unreadable, but the nod was imperceptible.
"I think," Adam said, "I think we're ready."
He looked at Tom. "Talk to me about Level Two."
Tom pushed his glasses up. "Level Two: The Crimson Lake. It's a hydroelectric processing zone for the moon's core. High acidity. Humidity is 100%. The fauna is amphibious. Hydras. Sirens. Acid-Spitters."
"The danger," Julian interjected, "is the environment. The air burns your lungs. The water dissolves your skin. We need suits. We need to raid the Armory on the transfer deck between levels."
"That's a suicide mission," Lee whispered.
"Staying here is a slow suicide," Astrid countered, her eyes hard. "I say we go. I want to see this Bloodrose. I want to burn this place down."
"We have to move fast," Adam said. "If we hit the transfer deck during the shift change, we have a ten-minute window before the automated turrets reset. We grab the suits, we breach the airlock, and we descend."
He looked around the circle.
"This is it. Once we get on that elevator, there is no coming back to the Woods. We go down, or we die."
"I vote go," Jones said immediately.
"Me too," Panchenko grinned. "I'm allergic to pollen anyway."
"I'm in," Ylva said.
"Let's do it," Harry said, his voice trembling only slightly.
All eyes turned to Julian.
The disciple of the Sword Saint took a slow breath. He looked at Adam, seeing the same spark Veresha had once seen in him.
"The path of the sword is forward," Julian said. "We move at dawn."
Adam nodded, feeling the heavy click of destiny falling into place.
"Eat up," Adam said. "Tomorrow, we swim in blood."
The die was cast. They were leaving the nursery of the Darkling Woods and stepping into the true horror of Kazakhar. And somewhere deep below, in the darkness of Level Six, the Kinslayer waited.