March of the Cultist

"Runa, I found something I think might help you," Kyren said, summoning two bracelets into his hand with a flicker of mana.

"What are these, Kyren?" Runa asked simply, eyeing them curiously.

"They're enchanted. I think they'll sync with your ability. Just put them on," he replied, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Runa reached out hesitantly, taking the bracelets. The moment she slipped them onto her wrists, the runes etched into their surface began to glow faintly.

"Thank you. I'll use them well, Kyren," Runa said, hiding the huge smile blooming across her face behind her hands.

Kyren turned to begin cleaning up the camp. Runa and Lydel joined him without a word. They packed quickly and carefully, hiding all traces of their presence before crouching in the tall grass just off the path.

"Do you even know if the cult is actually marching into town?" Lydel asked, a smug expression on his face as he turned to Runa.

"I believe the intel I got," Runa shot back, sharp and confident. "The man I spoke to had no spirals on his skin, no robes, nothing. He was the only one like that in the shop."

"Hush. Quiet," Kyren whispered. "Don't you hear that?"

The rhythmic thud of dozens of synchronized footsteps rolled over the grass, growing louder with each second.

"Wait for them to pass. We'll slip in at the back. If anyone asks, we were late leaving the village," Kyren murmured.

The sound was right on top of them now—an unnatural silence broken only by the unified march of feet. They waited until it felt like the line had passed before Lydel cautiously lifted his head.

"Let's go. Quick." He stood and stepped onto the path, followed closely by Kyren and Runa.

They fell into step at the rear of the group, blending in. Ahead of them marched about forty cultists, all dressed in identical red robes. Kyren couldn't decipher the meaning of the colors yet, but his gut told him these were likely recent converts.

No one spoke. No one even looked back. They walked with heads down, steps perfectly aligned, like puppets on invisible strings.

Let's use the mental link, Kyren thought, reaching out.

"Why is it so quiet?" Lydel asked through the link.

"Let's stay low. Not the time to play detective," Kyren replied.

"I can find out pretty easily," Runa offered. She summoned two small grass-blades, sending them silently through the grass.

The blades shot out, slicing past two cultists near the center of the line, barely nicking their faces. Blood welled up from the shallow cuts.

Neither of the men flinched.

"Yep. Something's wrong. They didn't even react," Runa confirmed.

"You think whoever's controlling them is here?" Kyren asked.

"Only one way to know."

"Not yet. Let's move up. We need to see who's leading them," Kyren said quickly.

"Agreed," Runa replied. She darted to the side, running silently along the grass as she passed ten rows of cultists before slowing and slipping back in.

At the front, two robed figures moved their hands in complex gestures—ritualistic and rhythmic. Both wore the same red robes but carried themselves with deliberate control.

Kyren and Lydel quickly caught up, falling in beside Runa again.

"I'm doing it now," she whispered.

The grass-blades surged forward, slicing through the grass with lethal speed. Runa aimed for their throats—but at the last moment, both men dodged. The attack missed, but the reaction caused chaos.

The entranced cultists continued marching and slammed into their leaders. Like dominoes, they tumbled forward, falling into a pile.

Some groaned.

"Where… where are we?"

"Why am I wearing this?"

"Why are we on the road?"

A chorus of confusion rose from the fallen converts.

"Not again!" a shrill voice shrieked.

"It's fine!" the second cultist barked. "Just group them—five at a time. I can put them back under."

Not if I stop you first, Kyren thought, eyes narrowing.

He stepped forward, summoning his armor and the Fang of Requiem. The obsidian blade shimmered with mana.

His target: the one who said he could re-entrance the converts. But as Kyren lunged, the second cultist stepped in with blinding speed. Nature mana swirled around him, and though his body didn't transform, his reflexes were unnatural.

He met Kyren's blade with a short sword, the metal gleaming in the sun.

At the same time, the trance-user touched his temples and stared at Kyren.

A strange pressure clawed at Kyren's mind—thick, warm, and smothering. But the Crownshard Pendant pulsed at his chest, glowing faintly. The pressure vanished.

Runa darted forward, her blades orbiting her like a storm. One in her grip, two more floating like phantom limbs. The mentalist shifted focus to her, trying to subdue her mind—but the Ironheart's Aegis cloak dulled the intrusion. She slowed, but kept fighting.

Behind them, Lydel sprang into action.

"If you're not part of the cult—RUN! Head back to the village!" he shouted, helping groggy villagers to their feet and shoving them toward safety.

A few didn't run. They dropped into fighting stances, fists clenched.

Lydel grinned. Hand-to-hand? Fine.

He slipped into his father's training—dodging, weaving, countering. His fists struck vital points, dropping cultists with speed and precision. At one point, he summoned his afterimage, which joined the brawl. A blur of fists and kicks, Lydel moved like a storm, leaving fallen enemies in his wake.

Kyren, meanwhile, was faster than his opponent—but the man's armor was strong, too strong. Kyren's blows deflected again and again. Sweat beaded on his brow. His stamina was slipping.

Time to end this.

He funneled all his mana into the Fang of Requiem. The blade began to hum, a low, dangerous sound.

He struck.

The cultist raised his sword to block, as before. But the infused katana tore through it, cleaving into his arm. Kyren pulled back, then slashed again—faster this time.

The second strike cut through his armor and into his stomach. The cultist gasped, clutching his wound as blood spilled down his robes. He dropped.

Runa was faltering, the mental pressure finally weighing her down. Her movements slowed, but she stayed sharp enough for one last move. She hurled one sword far past her target, then dove forward.

Her blade came down in a wide arc—he dodged.

But he had to raise his hands to block the sword above. The moment he did, Runa lunged.

She stabbed forward.

The front sword returned.

One pierced his chest.

The other stabbed through his back.

He fell.

Runa absorbed the weapons into her bracelets and turned to the boys, who stood among the aftermath of their battles.

"Let's get to Zybana," she said, nodding toward the unconscious bodies Lydel had dropped. "Before any of them wake up."