Paragon of Destruction

In the days after the battle, Arran hunted the escaped soldiers with grim determination. Deadly though the battle had been, many survivors had managed to flee, and thousands of them now filled the woods surrounding the camp.

After just three days, he had already killed more soldiers in his hunt than he had killed during the battle, and even if most of the temporary strength of the Blood magic dissipated quickly, he could feel that there were permanent benefits, as well.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to shrug off major wounds the way he had right after the battle, but any small wounds he sustained healed easily, and his strength had more than doubled.

Several times, groups of soldiers tried to ambush him. They did not live to regret the mistake. Arran’s Shadowsight allowed him to see through their ambushes easily, and even if most of the strength of the initial battle had dissipated, Arran was strong enough to crush them effortlessly.

More troublesome were the ones who neither fought nor fled, choosing to beg for their lives instead.

While Arran felt no remorse for killing enemies in battle, killing defenseless soldiers who pleaded for mercy was another matter. And although they had followed a monstrous leader, he could not be certain that they had taken part in the man’s crimes.

In the end, he decided to spare them. It might be a mistake, but he could not bring himself to simply execute them in cold blood.

Before he released them, however, he questioned them. There were many things he wished to know about how the mage had gathered such a vast army of Body Refiners.

The answers they gave not only surprised him, but also caused him more than a little worry.

From what the soldiers told him, the now-dead mage had begun to gather his army half a decade earlier. He had lured bandits and mercenaries with promises of power, then made good on those promises by teaching them basic Body Refinement techniques and feeding them food with Natural Essence.

Rather than telling his soldiers that they were learning Body Refinement, however, the mage had said the power was a gift from some deity he called the God of Blood, and had described the Body Refinement techniques as prayers.

This, Arran knew, would cause problems for the region far beyond anything the army had already done.

A religion whose ’prayers’ brought actual power would surely spread like wildfire, and there would be at least some true believers among the escaped soldiers, even after their disastrous defeat.

Worse, from what the soldiers told Arran, the religion the mage had created was as cruel as it was false, with its followers believing that their so-called Blood God demanded numerous sacrifices in exchange for his favors.

Yet as much as Arran wanted to scour the cult from the face of the earth, he knew he was unable to do so. He did not have the time to spend months chasing down all the survivors, and even if he did, hundreds would still manage to escape. There were just too many of them for a single man to hunt down.

Without any better options, he did his best to explain the truth to those who surrendered, telling them that they were actually practicing Body Refinement and that their ’prayers’ were merely training techniques.

Perhaps, he hoped, the truth would stop the new religion from spreading, or at least slow it down. If the soldiers found out that there was a simple explanation for their power, maybe they wouldn’t be so eager to believe the lies the mage had told them.

Most of the soldiers who surrendered to Arran were convinced easily. To their eyes, Arran was far more powerful than their old leader had been, and his words carried more weight than those of a dead prophet.

Others responded differently, seeming to accept Arran’s words but looking at him with an almost religious fervor, some even vowing to hunt the followers of the Blood God in Arran’s name. While it made him uncomfortable, he still released them — if nothing else, they would at least hinder the spread of the mage’s cult.

Finally, a few rejected what he said, insisting on clinging to the mage’s lies. These, Arran killed without hesitation. Defenseless or not, they would continue to be a danger to the region.

After learning about the mage’s cult, Arran hunted with renewed determination. The fewer soldiers remained when he left, the harder it would be for this new religion to spread.

His determination further grew on the fourth day, when he came across the ruins of a village that had been attacked by a group of surviving soldiers.

Most of the buildings had been burned to the ground, and with them, most of the villagers’ bodies. Yet the few bodies that remained intact bore signs of violence, torture, and other atrocities.

After that, Arran no longer spared any of the soldiers he found.

Over a week passed as Arran mercilessly hunted down any survivors he could find, but although he wanted to continue, he knew it was time to return to the castle. Just the journey back would take him well over a week, and already, he suspected Snowcloud would be less than pleased with his prolonged absence.

Moreover, the survivors he found grew sparser by the day, and Arran was far from an expert tracker. During the first few days after the battle, the woods had been filled with prey, but now, any soldiers who had survived both the battle and Arran’s hunt had fled far and wide.

Despite his misgivings about the many soldiers who had escaped with their lives, he set off toward the castle. There was no point in delaying any further — even if he hunted for another week, he doubted he would catch more than a few dozen enemies.

Yet he only had barely started the journey back when he came upon the tracks of a large party of soldiers — at least a hundred, from what he could tell.

With barely a moment’s thought, he set off in pursuit of them. He would not let a group this large escape, no matter how angry Snowcloud would be when he returned.

The large group’s tracks were easy to follow, and Arran pursued them at speed, his unnaturally strong body allowing him to run without pause. Even so, it took him the better part of a day to catch up with them, and when he did, he found them attacking a large village.

For a moment, he looked on in confusion. While the attacking group was over a hundred strong, at least two dozen escaped soldiers fought on the side of the defenders.

And Arran was certain that they were escaped soldiers — he could Sense the Natural Essence in their bodies, and there was no reason why a random village would hold two dozen Body Refiners whose strength matched that of the soldiers.

He did not pause to consider the matter any further. Whatever the explanation, there would be time to figure it out after he dealt with the attackers.

The villagers had been fighting a losing battle, but Arran’s arrival quickly reversed the situation.

He cut down a dozen soldiers before they even realized they were under attack, his blade tearing through his enemies effortlessly. Then, filled with the strength of the Blood magic, he began to attack in earnest.

What had been a battle quickly turned into a massacre, Arran’s opponents panicking when they realized they were facing the man who had singlehandedly broken their army. Some tried to escape while others begged for mercy, but none were spared Arran’s wrath.

He knew what the villagers’ fate would have been without him, and by comparison, the quick deaths he gave the soldiers were already more mercy than they deserved.

The last of the attackers fell within minutes, and after Arran wiped the blood off his sword, he turned toward the defending villagers and soldiers, who were looking at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

"Who’s in charge here?" he asked, his voice calm but forceful.

One of the villagers stepped forward, a short woman with a bloodied sword in her hand. She approached Arran, then fell to her knees.

"Thank you, lord knight," she said, her expression holding a mixture of relief, fear, and awe. "If not for you, Riverbend would have fallen."

Arran raised an eyebrow. "Riverbend?"

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