The Anomaly's Path

The desk in the study room of Highmere Manor always smelled of old paper, wood, and wine.

”Look at this blade, Marius,” a booming voice had once said.

A large, ring-covered hand slammed a fancy steel sword onto the desk. The handle was covered in rubies, the crossguard made of gold. It was far too heavy for a ten-year-old boy to lift, but young Marius reached for it anyway, his eyes wide with wonder.

”It is beautiful, Father,” the boy had whispered.

The Marquess of Highmere let out a loud laugh, running a hand over his thick mustache, his sharp eyes gleaming with pride.

”It is expensive, boy! That is what makes it powerful. The gold on that hilt tells every minor lord in the realm who we are before the blade even draws blood. A Valmont does not fight in the dirt like a common soldier. A Valmont stands above, dressed in the finest steel, commanding those beneath him.”

Young Marius looked at his own small, eager face in the polished blade.

He remembered his mother’s quiet bedtime stories of honorable knights who stood as shields for the helpless, how she would tap his nose with a weak, gentle smile and tell him that a true knight protects everyone, guarding the helpless with their very life

He looked at his father, loud, grand, covered in gold chains and fancy hats... and truly believed the Marquess was the greatest hero in the world.

Even back then, Marius had glimpsed the truth: his father was a vain, harsh, and arrogant man trapped by his own greed and pride. Yet, despite knowing his father was far from a saint, young Marius had still loved him.

To a lonely boy desperate for love, the Marquess’s booming command was law, and earning his cold approval became an obsession. He hadn’t understood back then how that desperate thirst would turn him into a cruel bully.

”Remember, Marius,” the Marquess had said, gripping the boy’s shoulder with suffocating pressure. ”Never let them see you bow. Never let them see your back.”

_

The memory shattered into a thousand jagged pieces...

Marius blinked. Or rather, he attempted to. His left eyelid was gone, torn away along with a chunk of his cheek. The bare socket burned with a dull, distant pain, exposed to the cold air. He couldn’t feel his left arm at all.

It hung limp at his side, useless, his collarbone crushed beneath his bloody clothes.

His ribs were broken inside his chest, each shallow, rattling breath scraping like glass against his lungs. His channels weren’t just burned, they were shattered from the power he had forced through them.

How long... has it been?

He couldn’t tell. Time had lost all meaning in the narrow alley.

The ground was buried under a mountain of black flesh, torn limbs, and thick monster blood. Dozens of lower-grade beasts lay piled across the narrow passage. He had killed them one by one, long after his power gave out, turning his noble sword moves into crude, desperate swings.

At the far end of the alley, standing on top of the pile of bodies, was the last beast.

It was a shadow-hound, its dark hide torn open across its ribs, one leg crushed, its jaw hanging crooked as black spit dripped from its fangs. It was dying, just like him, but its red eyes burned with the wild instinct of a beast trapped under the barrier above.

Marius shifted his weight.

His right hand was locked around the grip of his heavy sword. His fingers had cramped so badly into the leather wrap that the leather had stuck to his torn palms with dried blood; he couldn’t have let go even if he wanted to.

The blade was notched, dull, and bent near the middle. The fancy gold bar between the blade and handle, the part his father had shown off, was stripped clean by bone and beast-hide, leaving only raw, ugly iron.

He took a step forward.

His boots squelched in the blood. His body shook so badly that his knees nearly locked in place, his right boot slipping twice on a slick patch of blood before he found grip.

The shadow-hound let out a ragged, gurgling growl and lunged down the pile of bodies. It didn’t leap with power, it dragged its broken back legs, throwing its whole weight down the slope like a falling corpse.

Marius had no power left to brace his legs.

He couldn’t move fast enough to block. He had no stance left, no noble posture, no grand Valmont technique. He just braced his broken body, leaned into his front foot, and drove his weapon forward with the raw weight of his falling body.

Fangs sank deep into Marius’s right shoulder, tearing through cloth and leather, biting straight to the bone. The sickening crunch echoed inside his head.

Marius didn’t scream. He couldn’t spare the breath. Instead, a dark, breathless gasp escaped his lips as his one eye widened in pure agony.

He pushed forward with every bit of strength left in his legs, forcing the chipped tip of his sword through the beast’s chest, scraping past ribs until the point burst out between its shoulders. They hit the wall together with a sickening crunch.

The hound thrashed wildly in its death, its rear claws kicking and tearing deep cuts across Marius’s stomach, blood spilling down his legs. Marius held on, locking his jaw so hard his teeth cracked, pressing his forehead against the beast’s wet snout until the kicking slowed.

Slowly... the thrashing stopped. The beast’s eyes went dull, and its heavy weight slumped against him.

Silence settled over the narrow alley.

Marius stood frozen against the wall for a long moment, pinned by the dead hound, his shallow breathing the only sound in the dead street. Slowly, painfully, he pulled his bleeding shoulder free from the monster’s jaws, the flesh ripping as the teeth slid out, and let the body slide to the ground.

His sword slipped from his numb fingers, clattering uselessly against the ground.

He tried to stand straight, but his knees buckled. He collapsed forward, his right hand catching the rough brick wall to keep his face from hitting the ground. He heaved, coughing up a mouthful of dark, thick blood that splattered over his shredded sleeves.

Move... he told himself, his fingers scraping uselessly against the wall. Get up...

His body refused. The signals from his brain simply stopped at his chest. His core was dead silent, an empty, shattered vessel.

Slowly, with great effort, Marius turned his body around.

He slid his back down the wall until he was sitting in the pool of dark blood, staring down the narrow alley toward the open street. Across his chest, his arms, his shoulders, and his face, his body was covered in cuts, bites, and broken bones. There wasn’t a single inch of his front that wasn’t torn.

But there was not a single scar on his back.

Not one.

When the wave had first hit this narrow passage, he had taken his stance facing the horde. He had turned his back on Cordelia, on Caster, on Julia, and on the thirty terrified civilians crying behind them... and he had never turned around again.

He had stood as a shield between the monsters and the people he had sworn to protect. A faint, bloodied smile tugged at the right side of his torn lips. A weak, breathless laugh bubbled in his throat, a tiny, raspy sound that turned into a soft cough.

I didn’t run... he thought, his vision beginning to blur around the edges as dark spots danced in his fading vision. Look at me, Father... covered in dirt and blood like a brute... and not a speck of gold left on my steel... I ruined the family name, didn’t I? I am sorry, Father... for failing your pride... but I couldn’t live as your puppet anymore...

The laugh faded, replaced by a quiet, overwhelming stillness.

Mother... I didn’t run...

His mind began to drift, slipping away from the agony in his flesh.

He thought of the civilians he had escorted to the plaza threshold. He thought of the young boy who had clutched his mother’s skirt, looking at Marius’s drawn sword with wide, fearful eyes. They made it. Cordelia got them out. They’re safe inside the shelter now...

He thought of Leo.

A cold memory of the entrance exam and the gala duel flashed through his fading mind.

He remembered his defeat, the shame of dropping to his knees, and the moment he had targeted Leo’s sister Sylvia out of pure, pathetic spite. He had been so desperate for status, so eager to prove himself, only to be crushed like an insect.

I am sorry... Lady Sylvia... for using you like a weapon... Marius thought, a tear rolling down his face. And thank you... Leo... If you hadn’t broken my arrogance that day... I would have died a coward in some noble hall... You showed me what a true knight looks like... even if you never looked back at me...

The light in the alley began to fade. The glow of the barrier above dimmed into grey. His thoughts grew heavy, tangling together like loose threads, turning toward the girl he had loved since they played together in the palace gardens as children.

He remembered his childish vow, promising to become the strongest knight in the Empire and stand at her right side. He had broken that promise when he lost his way, disappointing her and pushing her away.

Cordelia... he thought softly. Forgive me... for loving you so foolishly... for failing to become the strong knight I promised to be... I wish... I could have stayed to watch you grow into the grandest hero of this world...

Cordelia... don’t be angry... don’t come back out here... stay at the plaza... become the pillar... become the greatest knight you were meant to be...

The shadows crept into the corners of his vision, swallowing the alley, the dead beasts, and the wall.

Mother...

His final thought reached out toward a soft, long-forgotten voice from his childhood, a gentle touch on his forehead, a story about golden knights standing against the dark. He tried to remember her face, tried to finish the sentence he had carried in his heart for years—

Mother... did I... become a kni—

The thought snapped.

The vision went completely black.

In the quiet, blood-soaked alley of the residential sector, Marius Valmont’s head slumped gently against his right shoulder. His body remained seated against the wall, motionless, his face turned toward the sky, holding the line to the very end.