After the beast tide battle, the city did a full count.
Because the soldiers held their positions and successfully endured until three companies of the Dauntless Vanguard arrived, no one died in the defense of the city.
And among everyone, the person with the greatest credit was Luke.
As Edessa's acting governor, his calm command stabilized morale. That was the real reason the troops didn't collapse mentally even in the face of a beast tide of that scale.
Now, the three Dauntless Vanguard companies were gathered together, and the civilians—having received the all-clear—began post-battle cleanup.
Looking at the magical beast corpses scattered everywhere, countless people were stunned.
You could almost see the battle that had happened here just from the ground alone.
Even Garen had a trace of surprise in his eyes.
Before leaving the capital, he hadn't expected that in Edessa he would witness a beast tide—and uncover a vile cult tied to dark magic.
He couldn't help looking toward Luke.
Because if Luke hadn't sent that letter three days ago—requesting reinforcements from the Vanguard—
Then what would this city look like right now?
It would have been a tragedy.
Just that alone meant Luke's contribution under this beast tide was enormous.
"Did Your Highness know in advance?" Garen asked as Luke walked over.
Luke looked at him. "You heard it yourself. This was coincidence. I just didn't expect the commotion here to be entirely caused by that cult."
Garen frowned. "That cult…"
"It was after me," Luke said.
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe they're after my looks."
At that shameless answer, even Vayne rolled her eyes—then immediately realized, annoyed, that he did have a little "looks" worth being angry about.
Garen's brows tightened. His expression grew serious.
A cult of dark mages targeting a royal prince?
That was extremely serious.
"I'll order a search," Garen said without hesitation.
This wasn't something they could treat lightly. Not a single cultist could be allowed to escape.
They had to launch a full manhunt and give the prince an answer before dawn.
And if there was anyone who wanted that old bastard dead the most right now, it was Luke.
He truly hadn't expected some old man had been watching him for so long.
It made his skin crawl.
If Luke didn't kill him outright tonight, who knew what kind of trouble would come later?
So tonight, that old man had to die.
Luke's eyes held a rare seriousness as he ordered Garen, "Call everyone. Assemble at the gate."
Garen looked confused.
Luke said simply, "I know where they are."
Garen didn't question him further. He nodded and began gathering forces.
Luke held half of the snapped staff in his hand and submitted it to the Godspeed Tracking Decree.
A low buzz sounded.
A pillar of red light shot up in the distance—deep in a valley—moving steadily.
With a precision tracker like that on them, Luke wasn't worried about the old man escaping.
Ten minutes later, at the city gate…
Two hundred fifty Dauntless Vanguard soldiers sat astride fine warhorses, assembled and ready.
At Luke's side were Garen, Cithria, Quinn, Vayne, Frey, Yurna, and the others.
The remaining soldiers—as well as over a hundred Vanguard fighters and trainees—stayed behind in Edessa in case anything else went wrong.
"Move!"
Luke cracked his whip and his horse surged forward.
He led, with Garen and the others right behind him.
That red pillar in the night was impossible to miss.
And tonight's Blood Moon gave the world a strange, oppressive atmosphere.
After chasing for a while, Luke saw the pillar stop—no longer moving.
He immediately spurred his horse faster. The others followed without a word.
Half an hour later, riding hard, they reached a valley about a thousand meters from the red pillar.
Under the Blood Moon's glow, the valley felt especially sinister, and a thin mist drifted through the air.
The moment they arrived, the warriors all sensed something wrong.
A thick, undisguised darkness soaked the valley.
They hadn't followed the wrong trail.
"About one thousand meters ahead," Luke said, halting his horse and turning back to the group. "That's where they are."
Garen's eyes flickered. He turned and ordered, "First squad, second squad, third squad—step out. Scout ahead with me."
At once, twenty-four Vanguard soldiers rode forward.
Garen gave Luke one glance, then cracked his whip and rode toward the mist.
The twenty-four followed, then split smoothly into three directions after advancing.
All three squads were elite. The scouting was to prevent the cult from setting an ambush.
If something happened, their reaction speed would let them respond immediately.
A few minutes later, Garen returned with the teams. "No danger within five hundred meters."
Luke nodded.
The force moved again.
Five hundred meters in, the fog grew thicker, the valley so silent it didn't even feel real.
Blood-red moonlight. Thick fog. Absolute quiet.
Layered together, it was deeply unnatural.
So every soldier raised their alertness to the highest level.
Seeing the fog, Frey's expression turned heavy. "I smell black magic. There's likely a large-scale array carved out nearby… I don't know how they're activating it."
There were many kinds of arrays—teleportation, illusion, mist, defense. Generally, the larger the array, the more magic it required.
But here, Frey could feel the trace of a massive dark array—maybe already running.
No one knew how she could sense it.
But even Garen, and all the soldiers, grew more cautious.
Then, after moving forward a little more, they saw something horrifying.
Cloaked bodies appeared everywhere ahead—slumped against trees, sprawled on the ground, hanging from branches in twisted poses.
Blood-red moonlight filtered through the fog, washing them in crimson, making the scene sickeningly grim.
Those cloaks were unmistakable.
Shadow God cult.
Frey's teeth trembled as understanding hit her. "He… he sacrificed all of them…"
It was monstrously cruel.
The bodies formed a trail from here into the distance. The number was impossible to guess.
That kind of atrocity sent a chill through every warrior's bones.
Vayne's eyes hardened into ice. If there was any evil in the world worthy of her hunt, it was whatever waited in this valley.
Garen's face remained cold, as if the horror didn't exist. The closer they got, the more he shifted into action—dismounting and walking.
Luke and the others did the same.
The air reeked of blood and rot.
The deeper they went, the thicker the fog became, until it was nearly impossible to see beyond one meter.
Garen walked at the front. The only sound was boots on damp ground—
And then something snapped the world into terror.
A dry hand shot up from the earth and clamped onto Garen's ankle.
Garen didn't hesitate.
His greatsword came down, and the hand was severed cleanly.
"Careful—these bodies—"
He turned to warn the soldiers behind him—
And stopped mid-sentence.
Because something even worse had happened.
Garen frowned, turning in place, greatsword raised.
"Your Highness… Cithria… Quinn…"
He kept calling names.
No answer.
And the most disturbing part—
Behind him was no one.
Garen remembered Frey's warning about a large array and realized he'd likely been caught—without even noticing.
When had it started?
One minute ago? Five?
That meant the others were probably facing the same thing.
Illusion-type arrays were covered in the Vanguard's anti-mage training.
They interfered with the five senses in a brutally unfair way.
No matter how cautious you were, one moment of weakness was enough to get you.
The stronger the spell, the deeper the interference.
Illusion arrays didn't kill you directly. They existed to split you up, confuse you, and create openings.
Garen guessed the purpose: scatter them across the valley.
Then find a chance to strike Luke.
Garen trusted the prince's ability to protect himself.
But he still had to reach Luke as quickly as possible. The cult's target was the prince.
Garen took a breath, closed his eyes, and focused—slowly sensing direction again.
But before he could move—
A demonic silhouette blocked his path.
The same thing was happening all across the valley.
Some people were in small clusters, some were alone, scattered by the array's interference.
In a short span of time, everyone had been dragged far apart.
At that moment, Luke walked alone through the rolling white fog, watching it drift like living smoke.
Earlier, he'd been watching the red pillar deeper in the valley, noticed the fog thickening, and then—
Suddenly realized no one was beside him anymore.
He guessed he'd been hit by the array.
Or that the others had.
Either way, everyone's sense of direction was scrambled. Some might be walking backward. Some might be turning right. Some might be pacing in circles without realizing it.
Luke tried gathering wind to blow the fog away.
No effect.
The fog was thick enough that you could only see about a meter.
But Luke had one advantage no one else did:
In his eyes, there was still a red pillar of light.
And right now, that red light was moving rapidly toward him.
Like it didn't want to give him time to regroup.
A moment later, the red light reached him.
Elder Dande stood in the fog, holding a new staff that looked like twisted tree roots, and sneered.
"Prince. I knew you'd come. All these preparations weren't for nothing."
His voice felt unreal—hard to place, like it came from every direction at once.
Luke frowned. Dande was only five meters away. "I'm curious. How many of your cult are even left?"
Dande seemed to notice Luke's gaze tracking him. His expression paused for the faintest moment.
He shifted a few steps to the right and said, "That's none of your concern."
This time, Luke's eyes didn't follow.
So Dande didn't think much of it.
He circled, found an opening, and suddenly lunged at Luke.
The staff came down like a club through the fog.
Luke raised his sword and blocked.
After a single clash, Dande retreated back into the fog and laughed without caution.
"Heh… heh… the second strike won't go so well for you."
Dande wasn't surprised by Luke's reaction speed—he'd seen it already.
In this fog, Dande had full vision. Others couldn't see him, but he could see them.
He was certain the prince couldn't dodge every attack by instinct forever.
Now he would torture the prince until he'd vented every ounce of rage.
And Luke realized Dande believed he was invisible.
"Right now," Dande taunted, "you must really want to know where I am."
Dande stood there—his body glowing with bright red light.
Then he immediately shifted position, moving behind Luke and attacking again.
Luke spun and blocked again.
Dande withdrew again, then appeared in front and sneered, "I am everywhere."
Luke stared at the glowing red light on his body for a second.
Are you messing with me?
Luke decided to play along.
"You're full of surprises," Dande said smugly, "but this is my domain. Here, I'm invincible. With a thought, I can move freely within a thousand meters."
To maintain the illusion of being "everywhere," Dande kept changing position while speaking, so his voice would seem to come from all directions.
Luke tightened his grip, scanning around grimly.
That reaction pleased Dande. He smiled coldly, silently stepped behind Luke, raised his staff—
And then—
Thnk.
A blade sank into flesh.
Dande looked down at the sword lodged in his chest, completely stunned.
He staggered backward, blood spraying from the wound, pain hitting like a hammer.
He stared at Luke in disbelief.
Luke, meanwhile, was still looking around as if searching for something, and said blandly, "Huh. Why'd you walk into my sword? Trying to scam me?"
Scam your—
Dande's eyes turned crimson. He clutched his chest, blood spilling at his mouth.
Could the prince see him in the fog?
Impossible.
The array was his. In this fog, only he should see others.
So was it luck?
Seeing Luke still acting cautious, swinging and scanning, Dande convinced himself it had to be luck.
The prince got lucky. He guessed right.
But Dande refused to gamble again.
He retreated farther and began chanting, black light blooming from his staff.
Then he saw Luke snap his head toward him—
And in the next second, Luke's figure flashed straight at him.
He could see!
Dande's heart jolted. He cut off the spell mid-chant, forced into defense to block Luke's slash.
"How can you see me?" Dande demanded, eyes wide.
This had never happened to him.
Why could Luke locate him so precisely in the fog?
Luke's blade gleamed. "Guess."
Luke stopped playing. He pressed the attack.
And as he fought, his eyes caught something that made his expression flicker.
Dande's chest wound—
There was no heart.
Blood kept pouring out, yet Dande moved as if the stab meant nothing.
Any normal person would be dead ten times over.
But Dande wasn't.
Was the Blood Moon amplifying him that much?
Or was he using some forbidden method to hold onto life?
Dande retreated under Luke's pressure, then found an opening and released an instant spell.
A burst of energy knocked Luke back.
Dande used the chance to jump farther away, chanting rapidly, black orbs pouring out like ghosts and blasting toward Luke in a frenzy.
At the same time, several mutated demons emerged from the fog and rushed Luke.
These mutated types were stronger than the slaughter-hungry ones.
Luke didn't dare relax. He dodged the orbs while dealing with the mutated demons.
Behind them, now that he had breathing room, Dande chained spell after spell—
The pressure on Luke spiked sharply.
Then a shadow cut in.
A figure with a black dagger struck the mutated demons with clean, lethal movements.
It was Yurna.
She looked like she'd already fought through hell to get here—and her expression barely changed.
Luke seized the chance and surged after Dande again.
Dande kept retreating. More mutated demons closed in.
But now the fog began thinning. Shapes became clearer.
As Luke chased, he realized he had entered a cavern with an open ceiling.
Blood-red moonlight poured down into the space, painting everything crimson—
And what he saw inside was nauseating.
Bodies hung along the walls like grotesque lanterns, arranged into a strange pattern.
At the center sat an altar.
On both sides were two blood pools. Ten living people were bound at each, their blood draining continuously into the pools.
The blood ran through grooves carved into the ground, circulating again and again.
On the altar were "offerings"—limbs, hearts, and strips of skin torn off while the victims were still alive.
One glance felt like his eyes had been contaminated.
Disgust and anger surged up in Luke so hard it made his jaw tighten.
How many people had this old bastard sacrificed?
"See it?" Dande shouted from the altar, excitement turning insane. "This was all prepared for you!"
Luke was pinned by the mutated demons and couldn't spare breath to answer.
Then a bolt shot in from the side—straight at Dande's forehead.
Dande shifted his staff and knocked it aside.
Vayne stood there with her crossbow, eyes cold, a lingering edge of exhilaration still in her gaze like she'd fought nonstop to reach this place.
Next, a tall figure charged in from the cave entrance, roaring, greatsword raised, cleaving into a mutated demon.
Then more bolts followed, dropping another.
Cithria's voice rang out.
"Your Highness— we're here!"
Cithria, Quinn, Vayne, Frey, and Garen had all arrived.
Right behind them came more than a dozen Vanguard soldiers.
Luke finally wasn't alone. He pulled back and reset his stance.
"Good," Dande sneered as more of them arrived. "More and more."
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't running.
He swung his staff, and in the fog all around them, pairs of crimson eyes lit up.
Then mutated demons stepped out—so many you couldn't count.
They screamed and attacked.
The fight exploded again.
Luke barely had time to breathe before he had to join back in.
But as more Vanguard soldiers arrived, the mutated demons' numbers started dropping.
Seeing that, Dande still showed no fear.
He stared up at the moon, growing redder and redder, devotion turning feverish.
"Soon! The true Blood Moon moment is almost here!"
He stood on the altar like a man bathing in blood, arms raised high, sleeves falling back to reveal withered skeletal arms.
It was so wrong to look at that it made people's skin crawl.
No one knew what he was about to do.
But everyone sensed it would be horrible.
Garen raised his greatsword and charged for the altar.
Everyone knew the same thing:
Kill the cult elder, and the nightmare ends.
Dande didn't move as Garen rushed him. Arms still raised.
But as Garen closed—
Dande's lips curled into a cold grin.
"Got you!!"
The voice came from behind Luke.
"NO!"
"Your Highness!"
The Dande on the altar dissolved like a mirage.
Garen's eyes widened. He spun and sprinted toward Luke—
But it looked too late.
Dande's real body appeared behind Luke like a ghost. That withered old frame exploded with terrifying speed and force.
His face twisted into a crazed smile.
As if everything had been for this moment.
He knew he couldn't "defeat" the prince.
But it didn't matter.
He only needed one drop of blood.
Just one.
Dande swung a dagger at Luke.
Slash!
A blinding white flash erupted from nowhere, so bright Dande couldn't see for a split second.
But he felt his blade bite into flesh—
And he didn't care about anything else.
He had it.
The Fated One's blood.
The flash also stunned everyone's vision for an instant.
When it faded, Dande had already returned to the altar with inhuman speed.
Everyone's eyes snapped to Luke—
Who was clutching his right arm. Blood dripped steadily from it.
Worry surged through the group.
"I'm fine," Luke said, his face pale.
Garen turned toward Dande, fury blazing.
Under his protection, the prince still got hurt.
That was unacceptable.
In that instant, Garen's aura erupted. He raised his greatsword and charged the altar again.
Many Vanguard soldiers charged with him.
And then—
The sky burned red.
The Blood Moon blazed at its brightest.
"Hahaha! You're too late!"
Dande laughed wildly. Bathed in red light, he slammed his staff into the altar's center.
Power erupted.
The blood flowing around the altar flared crimson, and a massive wave of energy exploded outward—
Launching everyone away.
Then something truly unnatural happened:
The Blood Moon's light gathered, condensed, and poured straight down onto the altar.
Dande ripped off his cloak, revealing a dried, pallid torso. A sword wound marked his chest—
But the rest of him was covered in strange carved patterns.
He threw away the staff and raised both arms high.
In his hand was a blood-smeared dagger—held greedily above his head.
He tilted his head back and opened his mouth.
A single drop of blood fell from the dagger into his mouth.
Every pattern on his body ignited.
The blood from the pools surged into the altar, then streamed into Dande, gathering into his body.
Under that concentrated Blood Moon light, his body began to fill—no longer dry and gray, but swelling into something fuller, more "alive."
Feeling power increase by the second, Dande roared, ecstasy and madness fused together.
"The Shadow God's descent cannot be stopped! All of you will die!"
His body expanded.
The air turned crushing.
A pressure fell over everyone so hard it became difficult to breathe.
It felt like the altar had opened a door—
And something terrifying was stepping through.
In seconds, Dande's body—fed by blood—shifted into the form of a middle-aged man, eyes blazing with insanity.
He had succeeded.
The ritual was done.
And then—
Crunch.
The sound of someone biting into fruit cut through the moment.
It made Dande freeze.
It made everyone freeze.
They turned toward the sound.
Luke, somehow, had a piece of fruit in his hand, chewing loudly with an expression of bored impatience.
The entire atmosphere in the cavern warped.
Everyone was thinking, How do we deal with the Shadow God now?
So why was their prince casually snacking like he was watching a show?
Was something… fundamentally wrong here?
Dande felt the wrongness too.
But the ritual was still going, and his hatred for the man who ruined his cult burned hotter.
Once the Shadow God descended, the first person he would kill would be Luke.
Dande's body continued to change, swelling and reshaping as if becoming a vessel fit for the Shadow God.
The Shadow God's consciousness pressed into his mind—
And Dande ceased to be "just Dande."
Then, suddenly—
The blood on the altar began to boil.
"AAAAH!"
Dande screamed as pain like burning tore through him.
He looked down.
His swelling body was bubbling, blistering—blood-filled boils rising everywhere.
His frame—over two meters, pushing three—was covered in grotesque bubbles almost instantly.
Hideous.
Nightmare-inducing.
Even Luke's skin crawled.
"Wh-why?!" Dande tried to scream upward, his voice broken with disbelief.
The ritual… collapsed.
It had been working.
Why did it fail right at the end?
Wasn't it supposed to be complete by now?
He had been ready for the Shadow God to take the body.
So what went wrong?
The sudden reversal left everyone stunned.
It felt like—
A chance had appeared again.
"Because I was curious," Luke said, voice calm.
Dande couldn't lower his head anymore. His neck had swollen thick, his face warped, and if you forced yourself to look, he resembled a boar.
He could only glare at Luke.
Pain ripped through him from every direction, shredding his senses.
Luke smiled slightly.
"I wanted to see what happens if you try the ritual with a drop of pig blood."
Luke rolled his right arm, showing everyone:
There was no wound.
Just blood smeared across it.
So the blood… was pig blood?
The group went silent, stunned.
How did he manage to pull off something this absurd in the middle of a ritual apocalypse?
And where did he even get pig blood?
Questions piled up in everyone's mind.
They stared at Luke's innocent-looking face and didn't know what to say.
Dande looked completely blank.
The blood he swallowed…
Was pig blood?
So the ritual was doomed from the beginning?
This prince had prepared pig blood from the start?
Dande's mind shattered.
He couldn't understand.
Why—why would a country as serious as Demacia produce a prince this unserious?
Why did all his misfortune begin the moment he ran into this prince?
He had personally killed two-thirds of his cult's followers.
He had personally destroyed his own cult.
And at the end of it all—
This was the result?
He couldn't accept it.
He truly couldn't accept it.
"AAAAAH!!"
Pain like his soul was burning tore out of him.
His body twisted further, warping from human shape into something deformed and wrong—
In seconds, he became a creature that was neither man nor pig, so ugly it was hard to look at.
And that terrifying pressure vanished completely.
"No… NO!!"
The pig-thing screamed with human rage, and within the howl there seemed to be another voice—something else—layered faintly inside it.
But to everyone else, it was just a pig's shriek.
In a way, the ritual really had "succeeded."
"The Shadow God didn't descend," Luke said, walking toward the altar. "The Pig God did."
He looked up at the bloated, ugly figure.
The creature's eyes were full of hatred.
"Killing you like this is honestly too merciful, but… old bastard, you're done."
Luke's blade gathered wind. As he swung, sharp arcs of sword light flashed through the air—
And the ugly figure was cut into chunks of flesh in an instant.
Dande died without ever understanding how forty years of preparation was ruined in a single night by this prince.
He never understood what he did wrong.
Even at the end, his soul screamed in agony. When his body collapsed, his spirit didn't even qualify to enter the afterlife—
It drifted up, releasing a shrill wail—
And Luke's sword came down once more.
The spirit shattered completely, scattered into nothing.
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