Shadow Weaver: Sole Heir Of The Night-Chapter 185: Untitled

Atop the hill, where a semi liquid river rushed downward in a restless surge, an arm glossed by ice and stone reached out from the slope. It clawed against the frozen earth, fingers grinding over pebbles before dragging the rest of its body up onto the crest.

The surface of the river shimmered faintly, its waters thick like syrup yet moving with violent intent. Mist clung low over the ground, curling around the rising figure as if reluctant to let it go.

It wasn’t alone.

More shapes emerged from the riverbank, their slim builds coated in a sheen that reflected neither light nor shadow properly. One after another they climbed free, silent and deliberate, then straightened as though guided by a single will.

Without hesitation they rushed forward, feet barely making a sound against the frostbitten soil. The forest at the hill’s edge swallowed them whole, bark and branch accepting their presence as if they had always belonged there.

Assassin golems.

One of the many troop types Leon could conjure with careful calculation and steady mana control. They were crafted for discretion, for the quiet art of watching and ending threats before those threats ever realized they existed.

Through their senses he could see, hear, and measure the world ahead. A hundred silent scouts moving where flesh and blood would hesitate.

They flowed between the trees like diluted shadows, slipping past crooked trunks and low hanging vines. Even the brittle leaves beneath their feet failed to protest.

The forest thinned gradually, revealing the outer reaches of a desolate village perched atop the same hill. Crude wooden huts leaned at uneasy angles, smoke drifting lazily from one or two chimneys as if the settlement itself were tired.

"The crops always seem to die at this time of the month."

A tall old man squatted before a narrow strip of farmland carved stubbornly from the earth. His scalely hands hovered over a shriveled plant, fingers brushing its brittle stem with something close to grief.

The soil around him was pale and cracked, veins of faint darkness running through it like sickness trapped beneath skin. Nothing about it looked welcoming.

The under dark possessed its own ecosystem, its own flora twisted into forms that did not agree with surface dwellers. Most of what grew here carried bitterness or poison, nourishment meant for something else entirely.

Those banished or stranded below had little choice but to cultivate foreign crops. Seeds carried from above, planted in reluctant ground.

But the under dark was harsh even to those born within it, talkless of fragile plants dragged from another world. The air was heavy, the light dim, and something unseen seemed to gnaw constantly at anything that tried to grow.

"We will just have to try again. The meat meals are becoming disgusting."

The old man forced a bitter smile as he looked up at the younger man beside him. The younger one’s shoulders were tense, jaw tight as though he had long grown used to disappointment.

Hunger lingered in their movements. Resignation too.

At the forest’s edge, the assassin golems observed without blinking. Their glassy eyes recorded every detail, transmitting images and sensations back through the thin threads of mana that tethered them to Leon.

Far below, Leon stood still, eyes half lidded as he sifted through overlapping perspectives. The world ahead layered itself inside his mind.

"Well, they seem logical... but the corruption is definitely there," he muttered, voice low yet clear enough for the rest to catch.

Dark veins traced along the skin of several villagers he glimpsed from hidden angles. Not merely dirt or shadow but something embedded beneath flesh.

Thin lines like cracks spreading through porcelain.

There were patches where the skin looked eroded, faint discolorations that pulsed subtly. Marks no ordinary illness could explain.

Corruption.

The plague of the universe, creeping and patient. It did not always kill swiftly. Sometimes it lingered, reshaping those it touched into something unfamiliar.

Leon felt unease coil in his stomach.

Then it happened.

Through one of his scouts he sensed a sudden distortion, a jolt that snapped his focus sharply to the left. The golem had taken a single step beyond the forest’s boundary.

Its body rippled.

No blade. No spell flash. No visible attacker.

It simply began to melt.

Stone softened into slush, ice dissolving as though exposed to unbearable heat. Within a heartbeat the carefully constructed form collapsed into a puddle of water that seeped silently into the soil.

The connection severed.

"Hm?!"

Leon’s breath caught.

From behind him, Enzo’s voice cut through the tension. "Something happened?"

There was no panic in Enzo’s tone, only readiness. The kind that could turn into an order to retreat within a second.

"I think someone attacked my golem," Leon said slowly, still probing through the remaining scouts. "But the others can’t find a trace."

He searched for residual mana, for movement, for even the faintest fluctuation in the air.

Nothing.

The forest remained still. The village unchanged.

Yet a chill ran down his spine all the same.

Whatever had erased his construct had done so without leaving a footprint, without stirring the leaves or disturbing the wind.

And that silence felt far more dangerous than open hostility.

""It’s probably something or someone powerful, telling you not to come in..." Raven mused, her gaze lingering on the distant hill as if she could peel back its surface with sheer focus.

Her voice carried no fear, only measured caution. The kind earned through surviving places where hesitation meant death.

Naturally, the people sent here were not small figures in the grand scheme of things. Each of them had faced battlefields that swallowed armies whole. They could sense danger the way others sensed heat from a flame.

They would not recklessly provoke a confrontation.

No one could conquer the under dark. That much was understood.

Still, they were not the sort to bow their heads at the first sign of resistance either. Power recognized power, and pride lingered even among the careful.

However, they would not take lightly to being harassed.

"We should go back," Raven said calmly, folding her arms as if the decision was already made in her mind.

The air around them felt heavy, the distant village quiet beneath the dim light filtering through the cavern ceiling far above. Even the semi liquid river behind them seemed to hush, its restless flow muffled by tension.

This time, Enzo did not immediately agree.

He stood still, eyes fixed on the hilltop village, expression unreadable. Something about the way his shadow stretched at his feet felt different, as though it too was listening.

"You’re mistaken. That wasn’t a warning to stay away," Enzo said at last, shaking his head slowly.

Leon glanced at him.

Raven’s brows narrowed slightly.

Enzo’s gaze remained steady. "If it was a warning, all the golems would have been erased at once."

His tone was firm, analytical.

"One melted. The rest were left untouched."

The distinction mattered.

It felt deliberate.

Like a knock on a door rather than a slam.

The sensation Leon had experienced through the severed connection replayed faintly in his mind. There had been no hostility in it. No surge of violent intent.

Just a quiet, precise removal.

It felt more like an invitation than anything.

A demonstration.

As if someone atop that hill had casually plucked a single thread from Leon’s web just to let them know they were aware.

The thought unsettled him.

Before anyone could respond further, the ground a few meters ahead shifted.

The soil cracked softly, frost and dust sliding aside as something small pushed upward. A rounded wooden head emerged first, followed by a compact body carved with simple joints and smooth edges.

A small puppet figure climbed fully out of the earth and dusted itself off with tiny wooden hands.

"Good day young one’s."

Its painted eyes curved upward in a polite expression. The voice that left its mouth was light and clear, strangely refined for something so small.

The group stiffened instinctively.

The puppet bowed slightly.

"Please come on up. The master is very eager to welcome you."

It spoke directly to them, its head tilting with mechanical courtesy.

Leon’s remaining golems froze in place, awaiting instruction.

Raven’s hand drifted subtly toward her weapon.

Enzo, however, stepped half a pace forward.

The puppet’s presence radiated no killing intent. No oppressive aura. Yet beneath its simple wooden exterior lingered something vast and controlled.

Its master had noticed them the moment they approached the hill.

Not when the golem melted.

Not when they reached the forest.

But the instant they entered the domain.

And one person among them carried a presence faintly familiar to the old man above. A thread of connection woven long ago, thin yet undeniable.

That recognition had stirred interest rather than hostility.

Curiosity.

As such, the master was genuinely pleased.

The puppet clasped its hands behind its back and waited patiently, as though confident they would accept.

The village atop the hill no longer looked abandoned.

It looked expectant.

"Sure, lead the way" this time Zeke spoke with a big smile on his face. As if not afraid in the slightest.