Odyssey Of The Vale's {The Legend Of Tamiel Vale}

Moving toward the corpse, Tamiel's nose caught it the sweet, coppery scent that lured something primal from within. The moment it hit him, he froze.

Wolf's blood.

It was strange, almost fragrant, and the scent pulled at him with a hunger he couldn't explain. He knelt beside the corpse, raising a blood-stained hand to his lips, temptation coursing through his veins.

But the system's voice rang out in his mind like a blade across glass.

> [Do not attempt that, Master Vale. Wolf blood may taint your bloodline irreversibly.]

His fingers trembled mid-air, halted just short of contact. He exhaled and let his hand fall.

"Oh well… still good to know."

Rising from his crouch, he turned to leave only to stop cold.

They emerged from the trees like armored titans.

Over ten orcs, each nearly eight feet tall, their bodies thick with muscle like walking fortresses. Their skin was mottled green, weapons strapped across broad backs and hands heavy enough to crush skulls.

Most would have taken a step back, hesitated, or at least prepared for retreat.

Tamiel did none of that.

He couldn't even understand why but the urge to crush them, to tear them apart, pulsed in his chest like wildfire.

He didn't waste time.

> "System, activate Shadow Shift."

In an instant, his body sank into the darkness beneath his feet, swallowed by shadow. The orcs paused, sniffing the air, scanning the area in confusion. But they were too late.

Tamiel surged up from the shadow of one of the orcs, aiming to stab his clawed hand into its heart. But the beast's skin was too thick. His strike didn't break through the hardened hide. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he changed tactics.

> "Shadow Bind."

Chains erupted from the ground, forged of shadow, snapping out and coiling around every orc in sight. Roars and snarls echoed across the clearing as they thrashed against the restraints.

His MP was reduced to just 50, while the same could be said about his SE it had drained from his limbs like spilled water, but there was no time to slow down.

> "Shadow Slice."

A blade of darkness shot out from beneath one of the restrained orcs. In a single upward sweep, it cleaved the beast in half. Blood and viscera painted the grass in thick streaks.

He didn't bother checking the notification that followed. The remaining orcs had already broken free, snapping the chains like twigs beneath their brute strength.

His lips curled.

> "Predator of Darkness: Activate."

Darkness responded to him like a beast obeying its master. His eyes gleamed red, and a wave of shadow energy erupted from his body. His skin darkened slightly, his aura twisted with malevolence.

> "Shadow Flare."

Red and black flames burst from his palms in a violent blaze. The fire washed over the orcs, igniting flesh, consuming armor, and turning bones to ash. Their roars turned to death cries as their bodies crumbled beneath the unrelenting inferno.

When the last echo of flame died, only charred corpses remained. The battlefield was a wasteland of smoke and death. Tamiel looked around, breathing heavily, realizing just how powerful Predator of Darkness truly was and the condition for its activation was so simple. As long as he wasn't under direct sunlight, it could be used.

His level had increased, his stats had risen, and he'd earned more FP but he couldn't bring himself to read the notification.

His MP was drained, while the same could be said about his SE, so his vision grew blurry. His limbs trembled beneath his weight, unable to hold him any longer. With what strength he had left, he forced himself to sprint toward the nearest tree, his legs dragging behind him like lead.

And then everything turned black.

---

Elsewhere...

"My lady," the armored scout knelt before a darkened throne room, voice solemn, "the orcs I dispatched to scout the northern perimeter… their life force is gone. Something or someone killed them. Perhaps one of our kin."

The woman sitting atop the obsidian throne didn't bother looking at him. Her long silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and her fingers tapped against the stone with a rhythm that suggested growing impatience.

"Then go and find out what did it," she said coldly. "And stop whining in my ear."

The scout bowed deeper. "Yes, your Highness. Sir Kent will accompany me."

She stood, casting a long shadow that writhed unnaturally behind her.

"Good. I'll follow shortly. I need something more worthy to hunt… advanced-tier beasts. These intermediates are little more than sport."

And with that, she vanished into the shadows, her presence leaving the air colder than before.

[Activating self defense mode]

As usual, a dark and red miasma started flowing out of his body covering a metre around him.

Swoosh.

Two blurred figures zipped through the forest, leaping from tree to tree and darting across branches like shadows freed from gravity's rules. Their movements defied physics graceful, chaotic, impossible.

They were headed toward the center of a recent slaughter where monsters had begun to die in strange, unnatural ways.

Meanwhile, not far from the battlefield, the system's passive defense protocols began to activate. The corpse of the first orc half-scorched but still partly intact had become a strange beacon. The blackened flesh radiated something foul, something wrong.

Drawn by the scent of blood, other beasts began to approach. They crept closer, lured by the stench of death and power. But the moment they crossed within a meter of the orc's remains, they staggered. Their movements slowed. Their vision blurred. It started as a dizziness barely noticeable at first but it crept in like venom.

Yet hunger is a cruel master.

Despite the haze clouding their minds, they pressed forward.

They crawled toward the corpse, desperate to feed.

Then they fell one by one.

Intermediate-tier beasts dropped, convulsing in agony.

Even a few advanced-tier creatures twitched and collapsed, foam gathering at their maws.

Something was poisoning the air. Not just death. Not just rot.

This was corruption. An unnatural sickness born of shadows and flame.

And then, from the tree line, the two scouts appeared.

They came to a halt just a meter from the scene, gazing at the battlefield in disbelief. The corpses, the withered beasts, the blackened soil all of it screamed abomination.

"…What the hell caused this?" the first one muttered, eyes narrowed beneath a dark helm. His name was Sir Kent elite scout under the Queen's banner.

The second figure stepped beside him, her voice low but tense. "Can you explain any of this, Kent? How the hell are we supposed to move past it?"

Kent crouched, analyzing the layout, the markings burned into the earth, the very air that felt heavier with each breath. "These are no low-tier deaths. There are advanced-tier beasts among them. Whatever did this didn't just kill it corrupted."

He stood sharply.

"We need to report this. Immediately. Tell the Queen this isn't some wild beast or wandering Variant. This is something worse."

But just as he turned to leave, his companion grabbed his arm.

"Wait," she said, pointing toward the center of the corruption zone. "Is that…?"

Through the wavering heat, through the veil of poisonous mist and residual shadowflame, a figure could be seen motionless, collapsed at the center of the chaos.

Kent squinted. "A boy?"

He could barely make it out, but the outline was clear enough. Someone a child, maybe a teen lay slumped against a scorched tree, completely within the dead zone.

"How the fuck is he still alive in there?" she whispered. "That gas is thick enough to kill an advanced-tier beast in seconds."

Kent didn't answer immediately.

He was still staring.

Watching.

Processing.

Because deep down, he had a feeling whatever that boy was, he wasn't ordinary.

The corrupted air clung to their skin like a second layer of decay. The deeper they moved into the dead zone, the more unnatural everything felt. The trees had wilted into twisted silhouettes, leaves curled and blackened, and even the light dared not pierce the thick miasma that blanketed the clearing.

Sir Kent gritted his teeth. Every step closer to the epicenter made his head pound harder. The smell of burnt flesh, blood, and something ancient a scent he couldn't name twisted through his nostrils like barbed wire.

Behind him, Luna, her long silver hair braided back in a soldier's knot, narrowed her crimson eyes. "Whatever this is… it's not residue from an attack. It's ongoing," she muttered, covering her mouth with a cloth soaked in blood. "The rot in the air it's regenerating."

Kent didn't answer. He stepped closer to one of the beasts, a once-mighty horned lizard the size of a warhorse. Its hide was cracked open like a split shell, but what disturbed him wasn't the gore.

It was the absence.

"No core," Kent said, voice barely audible.

He moved to another corpse an armored fang-beast whose bones had melted halfway through its body. Again, no core. Not even a fragment. As if something had consumed it from the inside out. His brows furrowed. "There's nothing left. No cores. No essence signatures. Just... hollow corpses."

"What could eat the cores and leave the bodies?" Luna asked, keeping a healthy distance from the decay.

Kent didn't answer right away. His body swayed slightly. A sharp pulse shot through his chest. He looked down his armor's chestplate had begun to corrode at the edges. Even his vampiric resilience was faltering. The miasma wasn't just corruption it was something more intelligent. A parasite. And it was crawling into his bloodstream.

He dropped to one knee, gritting his teeth.

"Shit my regeneration is burning out trying to hold this back…"

Luna rushed over and pulled him out of the thickest part of the gas, dragging him back until they reached a more breathable point. She held out her wrist, slashed it with a fang, and shoved it toward him.

"Drink," she ordered.

Kent hesitated, but then latched on. Her blood, though not ancient, was potent enough to kickstart his regeneration again. The color returned to his face, and his muscles stopped convulsing. He spat out the last drop and stood shakily.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, eyes fixed on the center of the dead zone. "Because that boy is still alive... and if this is his doing"

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

Both vampires stared at the unmoving body at the eye of the storm. The miasma didn't just hover around him it pulsed. Like he was breathing it out in waves.

Then it clicked.

Kent's voice was a whisper. "He's the source…"

Luna clenched her fists. "We can't leave him here. If the Queen senses this corruption and thinks it's wild magic, she'll purge the entire region. We have to contain him. Extract him."

"But how?" Kent asked. "That gas will eat through anything. Magic seals won't hold it. Our normal cloaks wouldn't last two steps in that radius."

Luna's gaze dropped to her gloved hand then to her forearm, where a deep vein glowed faintly under her pale skin. A sudden realization lit her eyes.

"I have an idea."

They began the ritual.

Luna unsheathed the curved dagger at her hip, carved with glyphs of her bloodline. She stabbed it into her palm and let the blood spill onto the soil, speaking an incantation in Old Vampyric. Kent followed suit. Their blood pooled into a circle of symbols, glowing faintly crimson against the blackened earth.

"Blood Cocoon." Her voice rang with authority.

The blood shivered then rose.

Threads of crimson weaved into the air, swirling toward the unconscious boy. The blood spun faster, forming a dome that slowly encased him from head to toe. Within seconds, Tamiel was trapped in a shimmering cocoon of hardened blood, separating him from the ambient corruption.

But that wasn't enough.

"We still have to get close," Kent said, biting down hard on his wrist.

He smeared the blood across his lower face, forming a blood mask. A living filter, sustained by his own essence, to block the miasma. Luna did the same. Their masks pulsed faintly with runes, held together by their will and ancient bloodcraft.

"Let's move."

Step by step, they walked into the poisoned zone. Even through the masks, the air burned their throats. The miasma howled against the cocoon like a storm against glass, but it didn't breach. The spell held.

Kent's hands trembled as he knelt and carefully lifted the cocoon.

He could feel it the raw power radiating from the boy. It wasn't magic in the traditional sense. It was deeper. Older. Like something that had slumbered in the void and had now awakened in human flesh.

"Got him…" Kent said, standing slowly.

But the strain was visible. Veins bulged on his arms, black from internal poisoning. His regeneration was fighting to purge the corruption again, but it was slower now. Weakening. His fangs extended involuntarily.

"Don't fall," Luna warned, stepping close. "We're almost clear."

Kent nodded, wobbling as he moved. "He's heavier than he looks… or maybe it's the power. It's like holding a shadow made of fire."

They crossed the border of the dead zone. The miasma thinned. The oppressive weight faded. The trees slowly returned to their normal twisted forms.

The corruption had not spread beyond the epicenter.

Once they were safe, Kent collapsed to one knee, blood leaking from his nose and ears.

But he still clutched the cocoon.

"We got him."

Luna exhaled, turning her eyes back to the wasteland they'd just crossed.

"And now," she said coldly, "we find out what the hell he is… and whether we saved a weapon, or unleashed one."