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A cold wind swept across the borderlands as the Arakuro Clan’s contingent of Magi descended the ridge on horseback and approached the stronghold.What was once a vigilant outpost, with its lanterns lit throughout the night and banners fluttering with proud colors, now stood eerily silent.
No guards at the gates. No sentries on the walls. Nothing.
Only stillness.
The Arakuro Magi exchanged tensed glances as they crossed the threshold. They were ordered by the can to visit this place and find out what happened. If it were up to them, they would have never come to this ghostly place.
The main gate of the stronghold hung open, one hinge broken as though someone had kicked it in without resistance. Dust drifted across the courtyard. Even the torches had been burned down to brittle, blackened stubs.
"Be vigilant," the leader murmured as he unsheathed his sword. "There might still be enemies."
This was a small group sent here for reconnaissance. So their numbers were only half a dozen. The leader was at the Mana Vortex Rank, while the rest were Mana Liquefaction Magi.
Just as the group silently entered through the gates, they froze.
One of the Magi dropped his sword as his eyes widened. Then he bent over and retched his guts out. The rest of the Magi didn’t fare any better. Their stomachs churned, and their eyes teared up. Only the leader seemed somewhat normal. But even he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.
They saw them...
Just beyond the outer walls, planted into the hard earth like grotesque monuments, stood a row of tall wooden pikes. On each one hung the lifeless body of Ironhide Stronghold’s previous guardians... the Arakuro Magi.
Their clan robes were torn and stained. Pale arms dangled limply. Thier heads slumped forward. Some faces were twisted in their final moment of terror. While others were expressionless, their eyes were hollow and dry.
Over a hundred Magi had once stationed this stronghold. They consisted of a vast majority of Mana Foundation and Mana Liquefaction Magi, led by a handful of Mana Vortex Magi.
Yet all of them were now dead. Impaled.
Blood streaked down the pikes and into the dirt, dark and already dried by the wind. One of the crows perched atop one of the corpses, pecking idly at the face before flapping away before the newcomers arrived.
The leader of the group stepped forward, his jaws clenched as tears streamed down his face.
"How dare they..." he spat through gritted teeth. "How can they be so cruel!"
This was warfare unlike anything they’d ever seen.
The Ironhide Stronghold hadn’t fallen in battle.
No.
It had been emptied.
Then displayed.
After a long time, the leader turned to his group and softly murmured, "Scout the entire place first. Then we’ll give our brothers a proper burial."
The other Magi nodded with tearful eyes, their attention shifting between the impaled corpses of their brethren and the wrathful face of their leader.
A few moments later, everyone dispersed. They thoroughly checked every inch of the stronghold. Of course, they still went in groups of twos, afraid they’d be ambushed. But in the end, they found the stronghold devoid of any Magi from the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
Almost half an hour later, the group gathered back at the courtyard.
"The stronghold is... empty."
"We didn’t find any corpses belonging to the mortals either."
"The food supply and any item of value have been looted."
The leader frowned. "The corpses of the mortals... aren’t here?"
Judging by the usual actions of those from the Unorthodox Sects, the mortals should have been butchered along with the rest of the Magi. But surprisingly, the Arakuro Magi didn’t find a single mortal corpse within the stronghold.
"Could it be... that they were spared?" A young Magus guessed.
The leader sneered. "Spared? These bastards from the Unorthodox Faction know not what mercy is. And this Heavenly Demon Divine Cult is more diabolical than the rest of the organizations in that faction. I believe the mortals here must have been kidnapped!"
"Captain!"
Suddenly, one of the Magi called out in panic.
"Over here!"
The leader, as well as the rest of the group, rushed towards the source of the voice. When they arrived at the location, they froze in shock.
On a wall, written in the blood of those who had been slain, a few crude words stood out starkly.
They read:
"Blame Kurozane Arakuro for bringing this calamity upon your clan."
The Magi trembled as their eyes fell upon the bloody message. A chill crept down their spine. And for a few moments, no one dared speak.
The accusation was unmistakable. Each word was a deliberate provocation, not aimed at them, but the Patriarch himself.
Soon, the leader of the Magi stepped forward and started to wipe away the blood-painted words, as though destroying them would somehow erase the humiliation and the damage that had already been done.
He had just seen the looks on the faces of his subordinates. Although they were enraged, something far more corrosive had begun to take root in their hearts...
Doubt.
Their eyes drifted from the impaled corpses on the pikes to the crimson words on the wall, then to one another.
Blame Kurozane Arakuro...
The Heavenly Demon’s message had done its work.
The seed had been planted.
If the Patriarch hadn’t provoked him...
These were good men. Loyal men...
Why are we the ones paying for the price of his decisions...
These were the thoughts that were swirling inside their minds. The thoughts grew like cracks spreading through stone. Even those who remained utterly loyal to the clan felt a faint tremor in their faith.
The leader of the group knew this very well because even he was beginning to feel the same. But being a veteran Magi, he knew that the enemy was sowing discord among their ranks.
This was psychological warfare at its finest!
Terror.
Sheer terror crafted meticulously by the Heavenly Demon himself.
By the time the Magi had finished gathering the corpses, that terror had already seeped deep into their bones.
They could feel it.
To make them question everything they stood for...
And it was working.
As the group prepared to return, nobody spoke. Their faces were pale, and their expressions grim.
The Heavenly Demon had not merely killed their brothers and impaled them. He had struck at their morale, their unity, their faith.
And soon, as the war continued, the Arakuro Clan would learn that fear and doubt could cut deeper than the sharpest of blades.