A Final Goodbye

Nowhere Left to Run

The night passed in uneasy silence. No one slept soundly—not with the Holy Order so close behind.

By dawn, the group had gathered what little they had and sat in the ruined watchtower, debating their next move.

Tomas ran a hand through his hair, his expression dark. "We can't go south. That's clear."

Leila frowned. "Then what? We just wander? They'll catch us eventually."

Beren cracked his knuckles. "There's a way through the mountains. It's rough terrain, but the Order won't expect anyone to take it."

Mira crossed her arms. "Or we could stick to the forest. Easier to hide."

Arlan, leaning against the broken wall, said nothing.

It didn't matter where they went. As long as he was with them, the Holy Order would never stop hunting them.

His fingers brushed over Bones boney head

Then—

A snap of a twig.

Leila's head shot up.

"…Did you hear that?"

Everyone went silent.

Another rustling sound—this time, unmistakable.

They weren't alone.

The Holy Order's Scouts

Swords were drawn in an instant. Tomas raised Gerald, positioning himself in front of the others.

Through the misty trees, figures began emerging. Not bandits. Not monsters.

Paladins.

They wore the Holy Order's silver-white armor, their tabards marked with the golden sun emblem. Unlike the armored knights in town, these were scouts—lightly equipped but fast.

And they weren't here for questioning.

"That's them." One of the scouts pointed straight at them. "They match the descriptions. Take them down!"

The fight exploded in an instant.

A Desperate Battle

Beren charged first, meeting the nearest scout in a brutal clash. His massive axe, Stonebreaker, swung with devastating force, but the paladin's reflexes were quick. He sidestepped and struck Beren across the ribs, forcing him back.

Tomas locked swords with another, his newly named sword Henry clashing against a blessed blade. Holy energy sparked against steel.

Leila blinked behind enemy lines, appearing behind a scout with a dagger strike—but the paladin anticipated it, knocking her away with a heavy gauntlet.

Mira raised her staff, flames swirling around her hands—but before she could cast, a scout tackled her, forcing her to the ground.

Arlan was barely holding his own, ducking and weaving as a paladin's sword whistled past his head.

They were losing.

These weren't reckless bandits or mindless monsters. These were trained warriors, elite hunters of the Holy Order.

And they were overwhelming them.

Tomas got slammed into a tree, his breath knocked out of him.

Beren took a knee, blood dripping down his temple.

Mira screamed as a paladin pinned her down.

Arlan felt something inside him snap.

No.

Not like this.

Arlan Unleashes His Magic

A scout rushed him, sword raised.

Arlan didn't hesitate.

He raised his hand, channeling his necrotic magic without restraint.

Dark tendrils erupted from the ground, wrapping around the scout's limbs.

The paladin barely had time to scream before the magic tore through him—flesh rotting, skin blackening as the life was drained from his body.

Arlan turned to the next attacker.

His wand pulsed.

A [Shadow Bolt] launched forward—twisting, darker than before, hungrier.

It pierced straight through another scout, leaving a gaping, smoking wound in his chest.

The remaining paladins faltered.

They weren't just fighting an outlaw adventurer.

They were fighting a necromancer.

Arlan didn't stop. He raised his hand, fingers curling—and the corpses began to rise.

Their lifeless bodies twitched, standing in unnatural, jerking movements, their once-bright armor now stained with death.

A paladin screamed, backing away in horror.

And just like that—the Holy Order scouts ran.

The Aftermath – A Terrifying Truth

Silence.

The only sound was the crackling of Mira's flames still burning the undergrowth.

Arlan stood in the center of the carnage, breath ragged. His cloak billowed from the energy still lingering in the air.

Then—he turned.

And the others were staring at him.

Tomas. Leila. Beren. Mira.

Their expressions were not relief.

They were fear.

No one spoke.

Finally, Arlan swallowed hard. "I—"

But he didn't know what to say.

Because he had finally crossed the line.

The moment he had used necromancy in front of them—he had become what the Holy Order hunted.

He wasn't a Summoner.

He wasn't an adventurer.

He was a Necromancer.

Mira took a step forward, shaking her head. "Arlan…"

He clenched his fists.

"I have to go."

Tomas blinked. "What?"

Arlan turned away from them, starting to walk. "I can't stay with you anymore. If I do, they'll keep hunting us. You'll all die because of me."

Leila looked heartbroken. "That's not—Arlan, wait—"

Beren gritted his teeth. "Damn it, don't be stupid Arlan."

But Mira was the one who reached for him.

She grabbed his wrist, gripping it tight. "Don't you dare walk away from us."

Arlan didn't turn around. If he did, he wouldn't be able to leave her.

Mira's voice cracked. "You dont have to leave Arlan!"

Arlan shut his eyes. "Mira…"

She held on tighter.

But then—her grip loosened.

And she let go.

Arlan took a breath.

Then he stepped forward.

And vanished into the dark.