Eirene, Lyra, and Theron quickly navigated the wet sand and parted the heavy curtain of mangroves, joining Kaelen and Mira in the clearing.
As they stepped in, Lyra stopped dead in her tracks, her pale eyes widening in sheer disbelief. She stared directly at Renzoku, but spiritually, she felt absolutely nothing. As a tracker sensitive to soul essence, she could usually sense a person's spiritual heat from leagues away. But looking at the boy, her senses were met with a terrifying, absolute void. He stood before them, a physical presence they could see with their eyes, yet spiritually, he did not exist. Her instincts screamed a frantic warning: the boy before them was a phantom, and he was lethal.
Kaelen remained locked in his stance, his heavy shield raised and the bearded blade of his battleaxe pointed directly at Renzoku. Despite having four of his comrades flanking him, the veteran warrior was sweating. The physical pressure in the clearing was suffocating. The boy stood too relaxed, his posture completely open, yet it felt like a trap waiting to spring.
"I come from the Eien no Bannin," Renzoku said, his voice a low, dry rasp. He looked at Kaelen's battleaxe, his metallic, silver-gray eyes showing no hint of fear. "What is this place called?"
Renzoku kept his tone even, choosing to be polite. He had crossed the corrupted sea alone to find Aethelgard and the Orithys clan, hoping they could help him locate other Divines. He was entirely alone in this hostile world, and he hoped the Orithys would cooperate.
Eirene stepped forward, her golden hair catching the morning light as she placed a hand on Kaelen's arm. "Lower the axe, Kaelen," she commanded quietly.
Kaelen hesitated for a fraction of a second before slowly lowering the bearded blade, though his muscles remained coiled.
Eirene turned her amber eyes to Renzoku. "This is the village of Oakhaven," she replied, her voice filled with the natural authority of the Orithys Heir. "It lies within the territory of the Orithys clan."
Renzoku looked at her, his expression vacant. "Aren't you guys rude to not introduce yourselves?" he remarked, his tone flat. "Or has the world stopped introducing itself in the last century?" He paused, his metallic eyes scanning their pristine armor. "Take me to your village. I am thirsty, and hungry as well."
Eirene's jaw clenched. She was the Heir of Aethelgard, accustomed to respect and deference, and this strange, ragged boy was addressing them like hired servants. Her irritation flared.
"I am Eirene," she said, her voice sharp. "And I asked you a question. How did you cross the dark water?"
Renzoku didn't answer. He simply gestured toward the battered ghost of a ship marooned on the shore, then turned his gaze back to Eirene. "Take me to the village," he said. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked out toward the black, sluggish waves of the sea. "To your village chief."
Inside, Renzoku's own irritation was mounting. He had survived a brutal shipwreck and a near-fatal impalement by an Abyssal Terror the night before. His chest still ached beneath his shirt. He wanted answers from the village head about why a Terror-class abomination was nesting right on their shore, and he was in no mood to play games or answer their questions.
Eirene's patience finally snapped. "I asked you a question," she growled, stepping closer as her solar essence flared, radiating a warm, golden light. "Are you deaf?"
Renzoku's metallic eyes locked onto hers, a cold, dark spark igniting in their depths. "Are you the village head?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Furious at his insolence, Eirene reached back, her hand wrapping around the shaft of Solaris. But before her fingers could even unhook the sacred spear, the space between them shattered.
There was no sound of movement. No rush of wind.
In a swift, shadowy blur, Renzoku vanished from her sight. Before Eirene could even register his disappearance, she felt the bite of cold, black steel pressed firmly against the side of her neck. Renzoku was standing directly behind her, the dark edge of the Wanderer's Blade hovering a hair's breadth from her throat.
"I will only ask once," Renzoku whispered in her ear, his breath cold. "Take me to the village head. Now."
Eirene froze, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. For the first time in her life, a paralyzing fear gripped her soul. The sheer, impossible speed of his movement left her breathless. She knew, with absolute certainty, that if she flinched or tried to channel her essence, he would cut her throat before she could even blink. Her golden ponytail trembled against the flat of his blade. Clenching her fists, she swallowed her pride and gave a stiff, slight nod of submission, though a burning anger simmered beneath her panic.
"We will take you," Lyra said quickly, her voice trembling as she stepped forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "We will take you to Silas. Just... lower the blade."
Renzoku slowly lowered the black steel, sheathing the Wanderer's Blade with a soft, clean click. He gestured with a tilt of his chin for them to lead the way. It was a silent demand, bordering on extortion, but Renzoku was indifferent to how they perceived it. He knew he was forcing their hand, but he had no choice; he needed answers, and he needed sustenance.
Moreover, he was confident in his position. Over the five years of isolation in the silent necropolis, Renzoku had fully saturated two of his shadow cores, and his third—the Demon core—was already half-filled with shadow essence. Combined with the combat reflexes forged during his seventy-five-year pilgrimage, his strength far eclipsed theirs. If a fight did break out, he knew he could dismantle Eirene and her squad before they could coordinate an attack.
The squad fell into a tense, rigid line. Eirene walked in front, her posture stiff and her head held high, though her knuckles were white where they gripped her spear. The silence between them was suffocating. They all knew the grim reality: Oakhaven was a village of fishermen and faded warriors. If this stranger decided to turn his blades on the villagers, there was no one in the settlement strong enough to stop him.
They moved toward Oakhaven on foot, the only sound the crunch of wet sand and gravel beneath their boots. Mira walked at the rear, guiding the reins of their nervous horses. She kept her eyes fixed on Renzoku's back, her mind racing.
Eirene was the strongest of their team—an elite Successor carrying the lineage of the Sun—yet she had been disarmed and subdued in the blink of an eye. She hadn't even been able to draw Solaris.
Theron drifted closer to Mira, his confident smirk entirely gone. "I don't have a good feeling about this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "We shouldn't be bringing him to the village. If he decides to go wild inside..."
"He won't," Mira whispered back, though her own heart was pounding. She was easily the most shaken of the group. She had stood mere inches from Renzoku, watching a fatal wound close and knit itself together at a visible, shocking rate. It was a level of rapid regeneration that surpassed even the high-tier Ascended healers of the Orithys clan. "Just keep your voice down."
"He's a monster," Theron muttered. "We should have—"
Renzoku didn't stop, but his head turned slightly. His metallic, silver-gray eyes locked onto Theron with a cold, piercing intensity. His enhanced senses had picked up the whisper as clearly as if Theron had spoken it aloud.
Theron choked on his next word, his throat tightening as a cold sweat broke out across his neck. It was the third time today he had been cowed by the stranger, and he quickly shut his mouth, staring resolutely at the dirt. Renzoku held his gaze for a second longer before turning back to the path, saying nothing.
Within a quarter-hour, the low stone walls and thatched roofs of Oakhaven emerged from the morning fog. Renzoku had been walking near the front, but as they reached the entrance of the village, he stopped. He stepped aside, his hand resting casually on his hip near his katana, and gestured for the squad to pass.
It was a quiet, cautious movement. He was letting them enter their own territory first—a small gesture of courtesy, but mostly a tactical choice to keep the squad in his line of sight as they walked into the village.