Shadows in the Moonlit Forest
The Moonlit Forest breathed like a living creature—its leaves whispering in unnatural rhythm, its shadows stretching as if eager to swallow those who entered.
The silver glow that gave the forest its name flickered unnaturally tonight, dimming and brightening as if the moon itself feared to shine upon what lurked beneath.
Voltaro stood at the forest’s border, cloak swaying, face wrapped with the black cloth that marked the identity he rarely revealed unless the situation demanded absolute ruthlessness.
Behind him, his men followed suit—Raven tightening his hood, Eran fastening the scarf around his nose, and Selena adjusting the dark fabric with trembling fingers.
It was her first time seeing Voltaro fully assume the mantle of the Shadow of Ashenveli.
Voltaro turned, eyes glowing faintly with power.
“Listen carefully,” he said, voice low but cutting through the night air. “Everyone covers their face. We move in silence. And remember—”
He glanced back toward the depths of the cursed woods.
“—we kill every black mage we find. Except one. I need one alive.”
Selena swallowed hard. For the first time, Voltaro seemed… different. Not the village lord who joked with children, not the warrior who trained her patiently, not the young man who carried the burdens of his people with quiet strength. This version of him was cold. Sharp. Shadow incarnate.
But she followed anyway.
Because she trusted him with her life.
The group slipped into the forest. Each step was swallowed by the grass, leaving no trace. Raven signaled with silent hand gestures—a language all Voltaro’s men had mastered long ago. Eran moved ahead, scouting with fluid motions, disappearing between the crooked trees like a drifting leaf.
Selena stayed close behind Voltaro. She could sense the dark energy lingering around them, like the forest itself remembered the screams and rituals performed here.
After an hour of silent advance, the faint scent of burnt herbs and old blood drifted through the air. Selena shivered.
Voltaro’s hand lifted sharply.
Halt.
They crouched among the twisted roots.
Ahead, a faint orange glow flickered. Voices. Human voices. The malicious chant of black magic.
Voltaro tilted his head, listening. His expression hardened.
“Six,” he murmured.
Raven nodded. “I sensed six as well.”
“We take them fast,” Voltaro said. “Raven, flank left. Yoran, take right. Selena stays behind me. Eran, circle and seal the back.”
Selena whispered, “Voltaro… I can fight. I’m ready.”
He didn’t look back. “I know. But tonight, you watch.”
There was no insult in his tone. Only a quiet promise that her time would come.
Voltaro’s eyes gleamed.
“Move.”
Voltaro blurred forward—an afterimage streaking across the clearing. Raven shot up into a tree, landing silently above one of the mages. Eran melted into the undergrowth like a hunting beast.
Selena watched, breath frozen, as Voltaro stormed the ritual site.
The black mages were hooded, drenched in the stench of corrupted mana. They circled a crude altar made of bone and dark stone, muttering incantations. Before they even realized something was wrong, Voltaro crashed into them like a storm.
A fist engulfed in shadow slammed into the first mage—sending him skidding across the clearing. Raven dropped down, blade slicing cleanly through another’s throat. Yoran rammed his spear through a robed figure’s stomach, pinning him to the altar.
Cries erupted.
“Enemies!”
“Protect the circle—!”
“Who—”
Voltaro grabbed one mage by the hood and hurled him against a tree, stunning him. Another attempted to cast a spell, but Voltaro appeared behind him in the blink of an eye.
“I told you,” Voltaro whispered.
He snapped the mage’s neck with a single twist.
“Only one lives.”
Selena’s heart pounded. She had trained with Voltaro for months, but this was the first time she witnessed his full brutality. Every motion was precise. Efficient. Terrifying. His aura bent like a shadowy crown around him, filling the clearing with oppressive weight.
Eran dragged the last conscious mage forward and slammed him onto the ground.
“Got the one alive,” he said coldly.
Voltaro straightened, wiping blood off his hand.
“Tie him.”
Raven bound the mage’s hands with rope infused with mana-seal knots—preventing any spellcasting. They gagged him, blindfolded him, and threw him over Yoran’s shoulder.
Voltaro surveyed the fallen bodies. Quiet. Clean. Swift.
Selena finally stepped forward, exhaling shakily.
“You… you killed them so easily.”
Voltaro turned toward her.
“They chose this path,” he said simply. “Everyone killed tonight was involved in Krogar’s tribe massacre.”
Selena stiffened. So it was true. The Moonlit Forest wasn’t only cursed—it was the breeding ground of the darkness that wiped out the orcs.
Voltaro stepped closer and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I didn’t let you fight tonight because this wasn’t a battle,” he said softly. “It was an execution.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I don’t want you to lose your first kill in a place like this.”
Selena lowered her head. He wasn’t belittling her. He was protecting her heart.
“…Thank you,” she whispered.
Voltaro nodded once, then signaled to move out.
They carried the unconscious black mage through the forest, leaving behind only ashes and shattered bones.
Outside the forest, the air felt less suffocating. They set up camp near the river, torches illuminating the area just enough for the interrogation.
Voltaro stood before the captured mage, whose hood was removed but gag still in place. The man glared with wild eyes, dark marks stretching across his face—evidence of prolonged dark magic corruption.
Raven kicked him to keep him still. Voltaro crouched before him.
“Speak,” he said calmly, removing the gag.
The mage spat on the ground, snarling. “You think I’ll say anything? Kill me and be done.”
Voltaro smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
“You misunderstand,” he said. “Death is a mercy you won’t get until I hear what I want.”
He lifted one finger.
Shadow flickered around the mage’s throat—tightening without choking.
“Let’s begin with something easy,” Voltaro murmured. “Who ordered the attack on Krogar’s tribe?”
The mage’s eyes twitched.
“You know,” Voltaro continued softly, “pain doesn’t scare me anymore. And it shouldn’t scare you either.”
He leaned close.
“But the things I can do without even leaving a mark? Those should terrify you.”
Selena watched, stunned. Voltaro wasn’t torturing him physically—he was using fear, aura pressure, and subtle shadow manipulation to break his spirit.
The mage shuddered.
“…Fine,” he gasped. “I’ll talk—just keep that… that thing away from me…”
Voltaro withdrew slightly.
“Good. Begin.”
The mage took a trembling breath.
“W-We were instructed by a masked man… a human. Not from this forest. He carried the royal emblem of Kaelmoor—a crescent gate and twin lions.”
Voltaro’s eyes narrowed.
A Kaelmoor emblem.
“So the kingdom was involved,” Eran muttered.
“Why target Krogar’s tribe?” Voltaro asked.
“Because… the tribe guarded something. A relic. Something the masked man wanted.”
“What relic?”
“I don’t know!” the mage cried. “We were told only to weaken the tribe, break their unity, curse their land so they abandon it. Then he’d retrieve the relic himself.”
Voltaro stood, expression unreadable.
“…Eran.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Scout that area again tomorrow. Watch for anyone approaching. Do not engage—just report to me.”
Eran nodded firmly.
Voltaro turned back to the mage, eyes colder.
“One last question. The man with the emblem—describe his voice.”
The mage trembled.
“H-His voice was deep… harsh… like someone used to giving orders.”
“And his name?”
“They never told us! He only said… the king himself entrusted him with full authority.”
Voltaro’s jaw clenched.
The king of Kaelmoor was directly involved?
Selena sensed the shift in Voltaro’s aura—anger mixing with lethal focus.
“Raven,” Voltaro said.
“Yes?”
“Send him to the kingdom. Alive. The king will discover the truth once this mage opens his mouth.”
Raven grinned. “With pleasure.”
Voltaro leaned in close to the mage once more.
“You will tell the king exactly what you told me. If you lie… I will find you again.”
Fear etched deeply into the mage’s face.
Raven dragged him away, preparing for the journey to the capital.
Three days later, with the black mage handed over and the truth beginning to unravel in the kingdom, Voltaro traveled to the palace.
This time he walked openly—not as the Shadow, but as the lord of Ashenveli.
When he entered the throne hall, the king sat rigidly, holding the mage’s confessions in a trembling hand. Guards stood on high alert, unaware whether Voltaro came as friend or threat.
Voltaro bowed respectfully.
“Your Majesty. I come seeking privacy.”
The king dismissed the hall, leaving only a few trusted generals.
Voltaro approached slowly.
“Now,” he said quietly, “I will tell you everything.”
He recounted the discovery of the shelter in Moonlit Forest, the rituals, the emblem, the involvement of Kaelmoor’s own agents, the massacre of Krogar’s tribe, and the relic that incited it.
The king’s face paled.
“Voltaro… do you think someone within my court acted without my command?”
Voltaro met the king’s gaze.
“I don’t think, Your Majesty. I know. And I will uncover who.”
The king closed his eyes, heavy with guilt.
“Then you have my full permission,” he whispered. “Do what you must.”
Voltaro nodded once.
As he turned to leave, Selena—who had waited outside the hall—fell into step beside him.
“What now?” she asked softly.
Voltaro’s eyes hardened.
“Now,” he said, “we prepare for the war hidden in the shadows.”
“And when the mastermind shows himself…”
His voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
“I will end him.”
Too be continue....