NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 7: Undead Settlement
-Irithyll of the Boreal Valley-
Irithyll was a cold and silent city, blanketed in snow and battered by frigid winds that howled through its streets. Its inhabitants patrolled the frozen pathways, their figures illuminated by lanterns and torches burning with a disturbingly unnatural fire.
Above, the starry night sky, adorned with shimmering auroras and bathed in the constant glow of the moon, cast an eerie blue light over the city's ancient architecture—a fitting tribute to the deity who had once commanded its construction.
Translucent spirits drifted aimlessly, spectral remnants of all who had perished within the city's borders. Among them, a newly fallen knight, still clutching a massive hammer, joined their mournful procession.
Once a glorious stronghold, Irithyll now lay under the rule of a new master, its former protectors replaced by maddened ice knights and unholy witches. One such knight of the self-crowned Pontiff of Irithyll hurried toward the city's grand cathedral, his mind racing with the weight of the news he bore.
He pushed through a pair of massive double doors and entered a vast chamber, its golden chandeliers casting flickering light upon stained glass windows, rich red carpets, and rows of solemn church pews.
At the far end of the chamber stood a lone figure, tall and thin, dressed in flowing white robes. Twin swords rested in their sheaths at his side as he silently perused a scroll, his back turned to the knight.
"Pontiff Sulyvahn!" The knight called, dropping to one knee and pressing a hand over his heart in reverence.
The figure did not respond at first, absorbed in his reading. Only after a few moments did he roll up the scroll and turn with a slow creaking sound—his very body composed of polished wood, resembling a humanoid marionette.
"Speak," Sulyvahn commanded, his voice deep and stern, devoid of warmth. His subordinate flinched under its weight.
"I bring grave news, my Pontiff," The knight began, his voice quivering in both reverence and fear. "Our scouts report that a new Unkindled has defeated Vordt, advancing on his journey and clearing the path to the settlement."
"Are your words true?" Sulyvahn leaned forward, his faceless wooden visage betraying no emotion, yet the subtle shift in his tone carried the unmistakable edge of anger.
"Yes, my Pontiff! I swear on my honor!" the knight exclaimed, his entire body trembling. Fear coursed through him—an animalistic instinct foreign to the hollowed souls of most who roamed this land.
"Hm…" Sulyvahn's wooden fingers tapped rhythmically against the hilt of one of his swords as he considered the news. Then, with the deliberate patience of a ruler accustomed to the failures of his subordinates, he spoke.
"Calm yourself. I do not blame you for Vordt's failure. He was strong and loyal—yes—but weak-minded. A beast bound by instinct, incapable of strategy. It is no wonder he fell to one more resourceful."
He stepped forward, the sound of creaking wood reverberating through the grand chamber.
"Prepare a detachment of our finest warriors," Sulyvahn commanded. "This Unkindled will undoubtedly continue his path toward the Road of Sacrifices. Should he persist—should he refuse to crumble like the countless others before him—you will intercept him. Break him. Cut him down until his soul withers, until his will rots, until he is nothing more than a Hollowed husk, cursed to wander in madness."
The knight, who had quivered in fear only moments before, now straightened with a sudden, almost manic enthusiasm. His voice, once trembling, now rang with fervor.
"Yes, my Pontiff! I swear, I will not fail!"
His entire posture shifted—no longer that of a cautious soldier, but an eager hound awaiting the command to hunt.
Sulyvahn's imperceptible gaze drifted downward, locking onto a glint of metal on the knight's left hand. Wrapped around his armored index finger was a ring, sculpted to resemble a half-lidded eye. A gift. A mark of favor.
"Tell me," Sulyvahn intoned, his voice adopting a rare softness—almost fatherly, yet tainted with something else. Amusement? Curiosity? A subtle plaything of cruel delight. "Has my gift served you well?"
The knight looked down at the ring as if only now remembering it was there. He traced its surface with an almost tender reverence, gloved fingers lingering over the smooth black orb at its center.
"Yes, my Pontiff," he whispered, the words laced with a deep, unsettling devotion. "It has saved me from battles I could never have survived alone. Each strike I land, each wound I inflict—it sustains me, strengthens me. And yet… the eye, it calls to me. I find myself staring into its depths for hours, unable to look away."
His breath hitched as he caressed the ring, the way one might cherish an old friend or a beloved pet.
Sulyvahn's lips did not move, yet satisfaction radiated from him.
"This pleases me," he said at last, his voice as cold as the city itself. "Few bear the mark of my favor as you do. Do not disappoint me… and greater rewards shall await."
The knight nodded frantically, his entire body thrumming with excitement. He muttered something—words lost to frenzy—before abruptly rising. His movements were hunched, beastlike, his hands nearly grazing the floor as he scurried out of the chamber like a creature barely containing its own hunger.
Sulyvahn watched his subordinate vanish into the shadows beyond the great doors. He remained motionless for several moments, his figure as still as the statues that lined the cathedral walls. Then, at last, he exhaled—a deep, weary sigh that should have been impossible for something that was not truly alive.
Slowly, he turned back toward the altar, raising a wooden hand toward its intricate architecture, its beauty a relic of a faith he had long since twisted to his own ends.
"Unkindled…" He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have shown yourself capable—more so than many. But I will not allow anyone, no matter how insignificant, to stand in my way. Even the tiniest ember of defiance must be smothered."
A sudden wind howled through the cathedral, snuffing out the golden candlelight in an instant. Darkness consumed the chamber, creeping like an encroaching tide—held back only by the single flickering, dark purple fire that now burned in the Pontiff's hand.
"Perish beneath the cold blades of my warriors," Sulyvahn declared, his voice rising like a final judgment. "But should you prove persistent… I will extinguish your flame myself."
The Profaned Flame his palm flared for a brief, violent instant, casting his wooden form in a ghastly glow before the chamber was swallowed by night.
-Undead Settlement-
Eraqus walked through the dusty, rocky, and twisted streets of the settlement, surveying his decaying surroundings that had once held life.
Wooden and cobblestone houses with partially collapsed walls and roofs, revealing their old, rotting interiors, where he found and lit another bonfire.
Dead, crooked trees with masses of branches stretching out like several arms, serving as perches for the flocks of dark crows whose shrill cawing tore through the air, and a final resting place for the unfortunates imprisoned in cages, some with only bones, and others with flesh devoured by the birds.
The inhabitants of the place were in no better condition, tall, thin, with gray skin and empty eyes, they wore dark, worn and dirty peasant clothes, and carried tools as weapons.
They showed no defiance and were easily dispatched, allowing the Master to enter one of the buildings and choke on the disgusting odor attacking his now-covered nose.
Corpses and more corpses adorned the interior of the enclosure, wrapped in cloth and hung upside down, crammed into cages, or resting on furniture, all with parts of their bodies missing, and the tools stained with dried blood indicated how they were removed.
'What happened here?! This was not the work of a monster or animal, but of human hands, the local people tore each other apart, but why?!'
He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to vomit and advancing through the place, collecting items of interest while asking for forgiveness from their long-dead owners. Suddenly, a blue glow emanated from his bottomless box, catching his attention, Greirat's ring reacted to something nearby.
Holding the peculiar object in his hand, he walked cautiously, noticing how the glow intensified and diminished as he approached something, a corpse hanging outside the building.
Fearing the worst, he pulled the corpse inside, laid it on the ground, and prayed that this was not the person to whom he was supposed to deliver the magical artifact.
Strangely, the bandaged thing seemed too light, even for a dead body, and his guesses proved true when he unwrapped it, revealing a pile of ashes and a single bone.
The ring became blinding, confirming that these were the remains of Loretta, now the Master needed to figure out how to report this news to the one who had entrusted him with such a mission.
With regret in his chest, Eraqus put the bone away in its bottomless box, muttering a farewell and a wish for peace in the afterlife before leaving the building, coming across another grotesque scene in a circular square.
A fervent crowd surrounded a large flaming tree with piles of cages full of bodies around it. The crazed peasants screamed incomprehensibly, falling to their knees in prayer, or throwing their arms up in praise.
Gradually, he realized the purpose of the mutilation of bodies throughout the settlement; their motives were religious, this was some kind of ritual, and the large figure kneeling in front of the tree seemed to rule everything.
A tall, broad, and obese individual, of undefined gender, gray skin, and wearing the clothes of a preacher of the divine word, however, the heavy book and massive mace he or she carried indicated what he would do to those who contradicted his beliefs.
Eraqus knew better than to provoke a confrontation. As much as he wanted to intervene, doing so would only draw unnecessary attention. He moved to slip away unnoticed.
But fate had other plans.
A single devotee spotted him, their shrill scream slicing through the fervent chanting like a blade. The square fell silent for a brief moment—just long enough for every hollowed eye to turn toward the intruder.
Then, chaos erupted.
The frenzied congregation surged toward him, a mindless mass of devotion-fueled wrath. But their charge ended in an instant. A barrage of spells rained down upon them, turning zealotry into smoldering ruin.
Flames caught their ragged clothing, searing flesh and bone. Ice spread like a cruel frost, freezing limbs mid-motion before shattering them into lifeless fragments. Bolts of lightning lanced through their ranks, boiling blood and sending bodies convulsing to the dirt in violent spasms.
They were weaker than anything the Master had faced so far and their souls soon headed towards the one who defeated their owners, however, the figure that had previously preached the divine word now closed the distance at a speed impossible for someone of his weight.
Eraqus rolled to the side, dodging the mace swing that cracked the ground with a muffled metallic crash, raising a cloud of sand, and cut his opponent's side as he stood up, leaving a trail of blood in the air.
He or she or what didn't seem to care, laughing at the wound he had inflicted and swinging his weapon sideways, however, Eraqus crouched, dodging the weapon's handle, and rolled backward, avoiding the crushing blow aimed at his head.
The Master took advantage of the opening and advanced quickly, planning to decapitate his opponent, but to his surprise, a flaming explosion gushed from the book he was carrying, making him hold back a pained gasp and retreat with his clothes and body singed.
The figure laughed sadistically at the pain his enemy felt and sent a flurry of swings accompanied by swarms of insects that bit his flesh.
Eraqus frowned in pain and anger, dodging the glancing attacks and burning the disorienting insects with a flaming spell before focusing on his true target. A shower of ice and lightning paralyzed him, holding him in place before his steel tasted his flesh in a whirlwind of cuts.
The laughter turned to screams as blood stained the ground and the Keyblade Master faced his now kneeling opponent, delivering a precise cut to his throat before sending him crashing to the ground, absorbing his soul.
With that done, he approached the edge of the plaza and surveyed his surroundings, realizing the level of destruction that had taken over this place. The settlement clung precariously to the edge of a massive fissure in the earth, its halves connected by brittle bridges of crumbling stone and rotting wood.
Some buildings, their foundations weakened, slid inch by inch toward the abyss, while others hung in eerie suspension—held aloft only by the jagged rise of the ground beneath them, twisted as if wrenched by some violent upheaval.
Roots and creeping vines sprawled over what little remained intact, winding around shattered walls and crumbling archways like nature's futile attempt to reclaim the ruin. The roads splintered off in every direction, all leading toward a distant, mist-shrouded fortress looming like a specter on the horizon.
His next destination was close. But to reach it, Eraqus would have to cross this village of madmen.
And so, he did.
Towering giants, their sinewy arms hefting rusted saws and blood-slick jars brimming with human remains, let loose guttural roars at his approach, their hollow eyes fixed on him with predatory intent.
Lean, skeletal dogs with matted fur and sightless, pitch-black eyes lunged from the shadows, their snarls reverberating through the streets as their jagged fangs snapped at his flesh with savage desperation.
Hooded dwarves, twisted and hunched, slithered between the debris. They skulked in the darkness, leaping from corners with rusted daggers poised for treachery, seeking to bury their blades in his back.
Then there were the cages—rusted iron prisons filled with decomposing bodies. Yet, despite their grotesque stillness, some stirred. Like grotesque spiders, they crawled toward him, lifeless fingers grasping at his legs, their movements driven by some unnatural force.
Through streets and alleyways, through the skeletal remains of homes long abandoned, he pressed forward. He scaled crumbling staircases, descended into shadowed depths, and navigated winding sewer tunnels thick with the stench of rot.
He leaped from perilous heights, charted shortcuts, and lit bonfires, their flames offering fleeting respite amid the horror. He scavenged through the remnants of the lost, collecting trinkets and relics—among them, a talisman depicting the sun.
Yet the deeper he ventured, the more his disgust festered.
Until at last, he stumbled upon an unexpected sight.
Suspended within a rusted cage, swinging gently in the wind, sat a peculiar figure. Clad in faded blue robes and a turban that concealed most of his face, the man seemed wholly unbothered by his captivity.
Then, with a lighthearted chuckle, he spoke.
"Ah-ha, an Unkindled, huh? Welcome to my residence, I am Cornyx, an old pyromancer, a crow in a cage, as you see now, but here we are, a meeting for the ages! I heard that the unkindled make great vessels, would you like to learn pyromancy from this old man?" The man, now identified as Cornyx, spoke in a light tone, smiling friendly, unconcerned about his imprisonment in such a dangerous place.
Eraqus studied the man carefully, questioning the sanity of the inhabitants of these lands again, but the person in front of him seemed more like someone trying to play a trick on him than a lunatic talking nonsense, so he preferred to focus on what the man had to offer.
"Pyromancy, could you tell me more about it?"
"Oh, but of course, pyromancy is the technique of manipulating flames through your being, unlike sorceries which require study, and miracles that require faith to be conjured. Let's say that training, dexterity, and self-understanding are some of the main skills to master the art of the ancient witches." Cornyx spoke cheerfully, similar to a professor teaching his students.
"Wouldn't pyromancy be something similar to that?" Eraqus said, creating a small flame in the palm of his hand, making the pyromancer smile broadly.
"You have already been enlightened by the flames, I could share my knowledge with you if you wish."
TheKeyblade Master stopped to think. It was hard to trust people from such a seedy place, but he hadn't been given a reason to refuse their help so far, so perhaps there was no harm in accepting their proposal as long as he kept his eyes open for deception.
"Very well, I accept being taught by you." He replied, causing the pyromancer to nod in approval.
"A wise decision, a chance encounter not to be wasted. To reiterate, I am Cornyx, of the Great Swamp, and the pleasure is mine."
Eraqus was about to free the man in front of him and begin his apprenticeship, but to his surprise, he disappeared into luminous particles, leaving an empty cage and a confused Master behind.
'If he could escape all the time, then why waste time in such a dangerous place? Was this some kind of joke? Does he enjoy waiting for random travelers in his prison? The people here are truly mad.'
In the end, Eraqus returned the way he came and advanced through the settlement again, approaching the building, but stopping when a tingling sensation ran through his body.
Raising his sword and assuming a fighting stance, he spotted a translucent purple specter approaching, an old man wearing armor and carrying a circular shield and a flamberge.
Immediately, he remembered Emma's words about invaders and the item she had gifted him, removing it from its bottomless box and watching as the moon design glowed a soft blue.
Simultaneously, the old man struck his chest with a flaming hand, enveloping himself in a reddish aura before attacking, however, two blue specters emerged from circles of the same color on the ground, placing themselves in his path.
The first wore chainmail armor and carried a short sword and medium shield, while the second wore tight dark leather robes and carried two daggers. Both nodded briefly to their summoner before focusing on the enemy.
It was an unbalanced fight for the invader, the technique he had conjured certainly strengthened him, allowing him to attack with greater speed and force, but in return, it degraded his health.
The chainmail-clad summon was content to distract his opponent, making himself the center of attention, blocking most of the attacks with his shield, and attacking during the small openings.
His partner closed the distance from the corners, delivering swift, deep, and deadly blows, spilling blood before disappearing into the shadows.
The invader found himself outmatched on all sides, approaching the fissure of the settlement where he fell to his death when Eraqus struck his chest with lightning, absorbing the souls when he reached the bottom.
Summoner and summoned exchanged a respectful bow before parting ways, their brief alliance ending as swiftly as it had begun.
With their departure, Eraqus was left alone once more, his journey continuing toward the next point of interest—a towering figure clad in heavy armor reminiscent of a gargoyle.
The knight's thick-plated form was motionless, seated atop a stone ledge. His armor was jagged and dark, resembling corroded iron, and a massive war hammer rested at his side. A shield, almost comically large compared to his already colossal weapon, leaned against his shoulder.
Eraqus hesitated, uncertain whether the knight was friend or foe. His imposing stature and ominous presence suggested hostility, yet there was no immediate aggression. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Eraqus maintained a friendly posture while keeping his senses sharp, ready to act should the situation demand it.
"Greetings."
He raised a hand in a polite wave, his voice calm yet firm.
The knight stirred. Slowly, his head turned, the dim glow of his hollowed eyes flickering beneath the shadow of his helm. He regarded Eraqus with the dull indifference of one who had seen countless travelers before him—none of whom had likely left an impression.
Then, with a heavy exhale, he spoke.
"Hm… Another one of those Unkindled, are you? All of you faceless undead, shambling about as if you deserve respect."
His voice was deep and grating, each syllable dripping with scorn.
"Hmph, never mind. Heed my words, if you have any sense at all. Find a coffin to crawl into and stay there. You, here, in this land of Hollows, are like a fragile maiden tossed onto the front lines of war."
Eraqus remained silent, watching the knight's gauntleted fingers tighten slightly around the hilt of his hammer.
"If, like the others, you are foolish enough to play the champion… then go ahead."
The knight motioned lazily toward the distant ruins.
"Pass by the abandoned church, and you will face death. And it will not be pretty. Death enough to leave you broken, time after time, until all hope is wrung from your wretched husk."
His voice dipped into a growl, as if he had seen this play out before—too many times to count.
"All of you… like little moths, fluttering mindlessly toward the flame."
The Master's kindness and politeness diminished as did his patience, lowering his hand at the same speed as the man glared at him while an irritated grimace formed on his face.
'What kind of person starts a conversation like that? Will I be insulted immediately every time I meet a stranger? Aren't Hawkwood's depressing words enough? Has everyone here already given up hope without even trying?'
Eraqus thought, taking a deep breath to calm his anger and walking past the knight, ignoring his laughter and provocations and spotting two paths, one leading to the fortification identified as a church and the other to a small cave to his left.
Rather than follow the main path, Eraqus chose to explore the cave, having long since learned that straying from the obvious route often led to hidden discoveries. However, what he found inside was far from reassuring.
A young woman sat on the cold stone floor within a rusted iron cell. Her pale complexion was almost ghostly, framed by long, disheveled blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore simple white robes, now stained with dirt, and her posture was one of despair—head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands resting limply in her lap.
She muttered softly to herself, words laced with sorrow, until the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears.
At once, she jolted upright, her breath catching in a mix of surprise and fear.
"Ahh… Who's there? Is there anyone there? Anyone?"
Her voice trembled, both hopeful and afraid.
"The darkness… it envelops me, gnaws at my flesh. Little creatures, they never stop biting... So please, reach out and touch me…"
Eraqus frowned, taking in the state of the woman before him. Her frail form, her tattered robes, the way her fingers twitched in restless agony. But what stood out most was the raw desperation in her plea.
Without hesitation, he raised a hand, conjuring a flickering flame at his fingertips. With a simple spell, the cell's rusted lock shattered, sending the iron door creaking open.
The woman gasped softly at the sound, and Eraqus stepped forward, extending a hand to help her up.
"Don't worry, miss. I'm here to help."
At his words, she lifted her head, revealing milky, unseeing eyes. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out, her fingers brushing against his gloved hand. Her grip was weak, but the warmth of his touch seemed to ground her, drawing a relieved sigh from her lips.
"Ahh… yes, there you are, so close indeed." A small, trembling smile crossed her face. "So I'm not completely alone yet. Praise the merciful gods…"
She straightened slightly, smoothing her robes with shaking hands before lowering her head once more in a gesture of gratitude.
"Oh, forgive me… I am Irina of Carim. I came to this land so that I might become a Keeper of Fire. Your touch has freed me from the darkness… So, tell me—are you a champion?" Her voice wavered with cautious hope, as if afraid of the answer. "I'm weak and unfit to tend the flames, but if it doesn't bother you, may I enter your service?"
Eraqus flinched slightly, disconcerted by the devotion and adoration she showed to a stranger, even if he had helped her. This would not end well if it had been a different person rescuing her.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Irina, my name is Eraqus, and yes, you could say I am a champion. Not that I am ungrateful for your help, but why do you wish to help me? Have you no place or people to return to?"
He immediately regretted these questions when the young maiden's face darkened, returning to the sadness of when she was imprisoned.
"I am a frail and purposeless woman, declared a saint, but unable to fulfill my destiny according to my protector. I have nowhere to go, for no one awaits my return. I only wish to be of use to someone, rather than remain a blind burden."
The Master's heart sank at these words, and he pondered whether or not to interfere. How many people had died empty-handed because they had found no purpose in life? Their consumed hearts would only fuel the darkness this way.
Eraqus folded his arms, regarding the frail woman before him with a critical gaze. "I may place you under my service, Irina, but what do you have to offer?"
Irina gasped softly, then quickly bowed her head in reverence. "Oh, thank you, sweet Champion. Now, I will make my vows." She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice steady with devotion. "I, Irina of Carim, solemnly swear to serve you with my miracles."
"Miracles?" Eraqus narrowed his eyes. "Forgive me, but what exactly are they? I have never heard of anything like that."
His question made Irina inhale sharply, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. "That is impossible," she whispered, shaking her head. "How could anyone be unaware of the power the gods have bestowed upon mankind?"
She straightened slightly, her expression a mixture of shock and concern. "Miracles are sacred incantations, conjured through faith and a talisman or bell. They are divine light shining against the darkness, the very proof of the gods' grace."
Eraqus's interest piqued at her explanation. Divine light? Sacred power? He urged her to continue as he gently guided her toward the cave's exit.
However, as they stepped outside, another voice cut through the still air.
"You went to rescue her, did you not?" The tone was thick with genuine inquisitiveness instead of his usual disdain. "How curious… to pity creatures that cannot be helped."
Eraqus turned toward the source, his gaze falling upon the towering knight, his presence alone exuded a foreboding aura, but his words carried even more weight.
"Very well. I am tired of taking care of her, at least. I am Eygon, a knight of Carim. Your ally… as long as you guarantee the girl's safety." His tone darkened. "And only as long as it remains that way." The knight scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if burdened by a great weight.
Irina flinched at his words, turning her face away as though ashamed. Meanwhile, Eraqus remained still, his sharp eyes locked onto Eygon with growing suspicion.
His fingers twitched near the hilt of his weapon.
"Tell me," he asked, his voice even but laced with accusation, "Were you the one who locked her up in that cell?"
Eygon did not hesitate. "What if I was?" He tilted his head slightly. "I did it for her safety. I cannot have her wandering around."
Eraqus clenched his fists. "Aren't you ashamed of your actions?! A knight of your stature, mistreating this poor woman?"
Eygon exhaled, his indifference unwavering. "Do not mistake my actions for cruelty. Protecting her is my duty, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it." His eyes, shadowed beneath his helm, flickered toward Irina. "I will ensure she remains unharmed. However, I will use whatever methods I deem necessary."
Eraqus opened his mouth to argue, anger rising in his chest, but a soft tug at his sleeve stopped him.
He turned to see Irina looking up at him, her pale hands clutching his coat, her expression pleading.
"Master Eraqus… that's enough," she whispered. "My protector has made his choice. I can only accept it now. Please… do not give him a reason to start a fight."
Eraqus studied her face, searching for hesitation, for some unspoken plea hidden behind her gentle words. But there was only resignation.
Slowly, he exhaled through his nose.
"Eygon is your protector?" He asked, his voice quieter now.
Irina nodded.
Eraqus glared at the armored knight one last time, his jaw tightening.
"What is the problem? My terms are very simple, I am your ally as long as you guarantee the girl's safety."
"That is not the point, but it would be useless to argue with the likes of you. Come on Irina, I will take you to the shrine."
For now, he would let it go. But he would not forget.
END OF CHAPTER