Chapter Eleven: The Paladin in the Swamp

The blood moon bathed the Rottenbone Marsh in a crimson glow. Thick, clinging mist writhed slowly across the surface of the mire, as if some dying creature were struggling to draw its last breath. Lia's arms had long since gone numb, yet she held the burning-hot bundle in her arms with every ounce of strength she had left.

Her knuckles had turned white from the effort, fingernails digging into pale skin. The baby's unnatural heartbeat throbbed through the cloth, each pulse like a brand searing into her chest.

"Its... its eyes..." Lia's voice trembled, nearly shattering. Tiny beads of blood welled up from her cracked lips.

Her pupils were dilated in terror, reflecting the inhuman eyes peeking from the swaddling cloth—where pure irises should have been, black web-like veins crawled across them, writhing unnaturally as if alive.

Her throat tightened. A bitter taste surged from her stomach.

Raen's breathing quickened. He seized Lia's shoulders, fingers digging deep into her flesh.

"Don't look into its eyes!"

His voice was low and urgent, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.

The crystal heart in his chest trembled wildly, resonating with the shard embedded in the baby's breast. It was a suffocating, maddening harmony. His temples pounded, and eerie whispers echoed in his ears—sibilant murmurs from the heart of the marsh, as if countless voices rubbed against each other in the dark.

A cold shiver crawled up his spine, soaking his back with sweat.

The blacksmith suddenly roared, veins bulging on his muscular arms like furious worms beneath the skin. The near-spent branch of silverbloom in his grip flared with a blinding light, illuminating the scarred fury on his face. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with rage as he bared his teeth.

"Filthy goddamned abomination!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.

In the brief blaze of that light, every face froze.

The old hunter's remaining eye narrowed sharply. His cracked lips trembled, no sound escaping.

He gripped his longbow tightly, knuckles pale with strain.

Twisted humanoid figures emerged from all directions, crawling closer. Their spines arched unnaturally, bent backward like drawn bows, their limbs contorted at grotesque, impossible angles.

As if sensing they had been seen, the foremost monster surged forward. Its jaw split open with a sickening crack, unhinging all the way to its chest to reveal a writhing mat of black fungal tendrils, riddled with tiny, pulsating holes.

"They're here," the old hunter rasped.

"Everyone with silverbloom branches—back to back!" the blacksmith roared. He swung his burning branch, fire licking across a creature's face. It shrieked and fell back, but more lunged in.

Raen's silver-edged blade, entwined with silverbloom, swept through the air in a perfect emerald arc. His eyes were hawk-sharp, muscles taut as a drawn bow.

Three corpses fell in pieces. Yet even as they hit the ground, black mycelium burst from the stumps, spreading like sentient roots.

Raen's brow furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. Fear coiled tight around his heart, but he forced calm into his voice, his lips pressed into a determined line.

The baby in Lia's arms suddenly let out a piercing screech. The high-pitched shriek stabbed into their eardrums. She instinctively tightened her grip, her face twisted in pain and panic.

As a ring of green light exploded outward, she turned to shield the child. Her golden hair whipped in the surge of power, tears glinting in the firelight.

"It can't hold on!" Lia cried, her voice cracking.

The Corrupted sensed it, too. Their assault intensified.

The old hunter had long since run out of arrows, now slashing wildly with his hunting knife, movements sluggish, his lone eye bloodshot. The blacksmith's flame weakened, and the shadows kept coming.

"By the gods..." the blacksmith muttered, his throat convulsing. His scarred face twisted in fear as he clutched the silverbloom branch tighter, knuckles white. The flame dwindled rapidly, mirrored by the hopelessness in his eyes. His shoulders sagged, breath coming in ragged gasps.

At that critical moment, seven streaks of silver light flared from the depths of the swamp.

The mire roiled violently, like boiling water.

Leading the charge, a mounted knight soared above the horde of corpses. His silver cloak billowed behind him like a battle flag. As his steed landed, the earth shuddered. Holy fire erupted outward from his spear, incinerating the Corrupted in a ten-meter radius.

A wave of heat washed over the survivors, forcing their eyes shut.

"Get down!"

His voice was like quenched steel—cold, sharp, absolute.

As the fire swept over them, Raen looked up—straight into the knight's ice-blue eyes. They burned with something nearly divine, as if able to pierce all filth in the world.

With elegant precision, the knight removed his helm. He was shockingly young, silver hair cropped short to his skull. A thin scar slashed through his left brow, adding a cold edge to an otherwise flawless face.

"A paladin?!" the blacksmith gasped.

"Raen Claw?" The knight's voice was deep and resolute, tinged with sacred gravity.

Raen kept his blade raised, wary. "Who are you?"

"Adrien Visser."

As he spoke, the fleur-de-lis on his breastplate shimmered faintly. His voice bore the authority of noble blood.

Raen noticed his armor was anything but standard. Thorned filigree adorned his pauldrons, tiny runes lined the inner wrist guards, and even the buckles on his boots bore the mark of holy fire—a display typical only of ancient knightly houses.

Adrien's gaze swept across them. Upon seeing the baby in Lia's arms, his pupils contracted sharply. His left hand dropped to a silver case at his waist, fingers whitening around it.

Raen also noticed the knight's right glove was torn—beneath it, golden veins in web-like patterns shimmered faintly under the blood moon.

Stigmata.

Marks only given to those touched by the divine.

"Why is someone from the Holy Covenant here?" the old hunter asked warily, his single eye dark.

Adrien didn't answer. He raised his spear and pointed into the marsh.

"The curse deepens. Go any farther, and you die."

"Hans!" Adrien suddenly shouted. His voice crashed like thunder.

A young knight immediately rode forward. His armor was plain, his eyes shining with unshakable loyalty. "Captain?"

"Escort the civilians to the outer edge."

But before Raen's group could react, a thunderous rumble echoed from deep within the swamp. The ground shook violently.

Adrien drew his sword. A flash of steel, and he sliced open his palm. Blood dripped onto the silver case, which burst into blinding light.

The six knights dropped to one knee, blades point-down, and began chanting in an ancient tongue. Their voices were low and solemn, echoing across the swamp.

As the hymn rose, Adrien's silver hair lifted in an unseen wind, faint gold light dancing at the tips. His face took on a divine calm, something transcendent in his bearing.

Raen's crystal heart suddenly throbbed with pain. Within the glow surrounding Adrien, he glimpsed something impossible—a pair of ethereal wings forming behind him, like the silhouette of a seraph.

"Saint-blooded..." the old hunter whispered, horror in his voice. His knees wobbled, nearly collapsing. His calloused fingers fell from his bowstring, and the weapon dropped into the mud.

"The curse's source is awakening," Adrien intoned. His voice now carried an otherworldly resonance, as if an ancient entity spoke through him.

When he replaced his helm, the slits glowed with divine flame. His ice-blue eyes were now blazing embers, light pouring from the gaps in the visor.

The blacksmith's axe dropped with a clang. His hulking form trembled, lips working silently.

Even the infant stilled, the green shard in its chest dimming. Lia's grip loosened slightly, though her gaze remained wary.

The old hunter lowered his head and pressed his hand to his chest—an instinctive gesture of reverence.

But Raen felt only unease. His crystal heart spasmed violently under the holy glow, recoiling from the paladin's sanctity.

He gripped his silver blade tighter, veins taut with tension. Some primal instinct screamed a warning:

This radiant knight was just as dangerous as the monsters.

Raen's gaze sharpened, his body coiled once more, ready.

Adrien sensed it. He turned his head slightly, flames in his eyes locking with Raen's.

The air between them thickened. Pressure bled through the mist.

Then Adrien looked away, raising his spear toward the north.

"Move. In three quarters of an hour, this place will be ash."

His voice was human again—but still as cold and unyielding as tempered iron.