Chapter 3: Death to Knights

The wind carried the scent of steel, blood, and holy incense.

Kael stood atop a jagged cliff, his red eyes narrowing at the golden-armored convoy winding through the canyon below. There were five hundred of them — Holy Knights of the Radiant Order — each bearing the sigil of the sun, the same emblem that had burned his village to ash ten years ago.

He recognized the lead banner. The spear crowned with white fire. Commander Ardyn’s vanguard.

His fist clenched.

Beside him, Eira crouched low, staff glowing softly with containment runes. Her white hair danced in the wind like silk flame, but her expression was still — calm, calculating.

“They’re moving toward the Shadelands border,” she said. “Scouting, maybe. Or preparing a purge.”

Kael’s voice was cold. “Either way, they die here.”

Eira turned to him. “We’ll be outnumbered. Again.”

Kael glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Then it’s a fair fight.”

She smiled slightly — just for a moment — then stepped closer. Her hand touched his chest, fingers brushing over the dark sigil burned into his skin by Umbra itself.

“Come back to me,” she said softly, violet eyes glowing with emotion she rarely showed. “Come back to me, husband.”

The word lingered in the air like magic.

Kael didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, and their lips met — fire and shadow entwined in a single kiss. When he pulled away, his voice was a low promise.

“Always.”

The battle began like a storm — sudden and merciless.

As the knights entered the canyon pass, Kael dropped from the cliff like a falling star, landing with such force the earth cracked beneath him. His blade, Darkblade, sang with fury as he cleaved through the first squad in a single motion, their shields splintering like paper.

Alarms rang out. Horns blew. Ardyn’s men formed ranks, blades drawn, chants rising to call down divine protection.

Too late.

From above, Eira raised her staff. Her voice, melodic and terrible, echoed across the battlefield.

“Ignis Tempestum.”

The sky ignited. Fire rained down in controlled torrents, targeting only the knights, their armor turning into molten tombs. Wind blades followed, slicing through exposed necks and joints. Eira descended like a phantom, teleporting into the fray with elegance and destruction.

Kael moved like a shadow made flesh — untouchable, unstoppable. Where his blade passed, knights fell in halves, their souls ripped from their bodies by the spirit bound within him. Divine wards shattered under his presence. Holy light flickered and died.

Within minutes, the canyon became a graveyard.

Still they came — wave after wave — men who believed they served righteousness.

And still Kael and Eira stood.

Back to back. Blades and magic. Demon and sorceress. King and queen.

By the end, only one knight remained — a captain, trembling, bloodied, crawling away.

Kael walked toward him, dragging his blade behind him.

“Mercy…” the knight whispered. “Please… I was only following—”

Darkblade struck the earth beside the knight’s head.

“There is no mercy for those who burn children alive,” Kael said. “Tell your gods: the Demon King has returned.”

And then he ended him.

As the smoke cleared and the fires died, Eira stood beside Kael, her eyes surveying the carnage.

“Five hundred,” she said. “No survivors.”