From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 87: The Unbound Truth

They ran.

Through brambles that clawed at cloaks, down paths that hadn’t been trodden in years, back toward the ruined orchard where silence had become stranger than sound. The dead watched them go—but did not follow.

Leon didn’t slow.

He didn’t speak until the grove’s edge was behind them, until the first banners of sunlight bled through the eastern trees. Then he turned, breath tight in his chest, and spoke without looking back.

"Mount up. We leave Gorehill behind."

The riders obeyed without question. Whatever doubts they had—whatever questions—they buried them under steel and instinct. Only Elena lingered.

She stood in the clearing, face still pale. "He said I carry something. That I stole it."

Leon met her gaze. "You didn’t. But it might still be inside you."

She didn’t flinch. "Then you knew."

Leon looked past her, back toward the trees. "I only suspected. Since the Hollow. Since you touched the runes and they didn’t burn."

Tomas rode up, shaking. "What happens now?"

Leon pulled himself onto his horse. "We warn the next village. We break the next seal—before it trades itself for another name."

As the caravan wheeled around and began the descent into the valley beyond Gorehill, the world began to shift.

Not in light or colour.

But in sound.

A tremor behind their ears. A thrum beneath the soil. A whisper in the wind that bent language into breath.

One rider coughed and nearly fell. Another gripped the reins tighter and muttered a prayer. The ground beneath them pulsed.

Then the voice returned.

Not from the pit this time.

From everywhere.

"The Unbound walks. The pact is named. The watchers stir."

Elena jerked in her saddle. Her vision blurred. Her hands shook.

Then she heard it.

A second voice.

Familiar.

"Do not listen. Do not remember. And Do not return."

She gasped.

Leon turned sharply. "Elena?"

Her eyes locked with his, and in that moment, she was somewhere else.

Not riding, nor breathing.

Just...Standing.

In a room lit only by blue fire.

A woman stood opposite her. Cloaked in white. Hair like ash. Eyes like stone.

The woman raised a single finger.

"You are the gate."

Elena opened her mouth. fгeewebnovёl.com

And the world snapped back.

She was on her horse again. Leon’s hand on her shoulder. Riders watching.

She didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

But she remembered the woman’s eyes.

And the fire that had no warmth.

Hours later, they made camp beside a narrow stream, far from Gorehill’s rot. Fires were lit. Food was passed around, though few ate.

Leon stood apart, sword planted in the dirt, watching the road ahead.

Elena approached.

She didn’t speak right away. Just stood beside him, listening to the stream.

Finally, she said, "I think something inside me is... waking."

Leon nodded. "It’s not your fault."

She looked at him. "Then whose fault is it?"

He didn’t answer.

Because he knew the name.

Veyreth.

And he knew it wasn’t done with them.

The stars were beginning to break through the clouds when the whispers returned.

Not out loud.

Inside.

Elena sat by the fire, hands buried in her cloak, but her eyes were fixed on nothing. The others spoke in murmurs, arguing quietly over maps and trails, but she didn’t hear them. Not truly. Something deeper held her attention.

The stream whispered her name.

Not her ears.

Her blood.

She stood without realizing it.

Walked past the fire.

Down toward the water.

Leon saw her go but didn’t stop her. He followed, slow, quiet, his hand resting near the hilt of his blade. Not out of fear—but habit. Readiness.

Elena knelt by the water.

It flowed clear.

But in its reflection, she did not see herself.

A second face had joined hers.

The woman from the firelit chamber.

This time, she spoke clearly.

"You are not cursed, Elena Greystone. You are chosen."

Elena’s mouth was dry. "By who?"

"By what remains of old."

The reflection shifted—now showing the pit in Gorehill, but deeper. Past where they could see. Past where they could follow.

Something stirred.

A great shape, buried in time and root and name.

It did not speak.

But she felt its will.

Elena stood.

Leon was there now. Watching her carefully.

"What did you see?"

She hesitated.

Then, "It’s not just one voice. It’s a chorus. They don’t all agree."

Leon’s eyes narrowed. "Which one is winning?"

Her throat tightened. "The one that laughs."

They returned to camp, but sleep was distant. The riders kept watch in shifts, but no enemies came. The dead didn’t follow. Yet the fire seemed to crack louder than it should. Shadows bent too long. Horses stirred at nothing.

Before dawn, Tomas woke screaming.

He clutched at his face, eyes wild. "He’s still speaking to me! Caleb—he’s not gone! He’s not—!"

Leon rushed to him, gripping his shoulders. "Tomas. Look at me."

Tomas sobbed. "He’s inside the silence. He keeps calling it home."

Elena reached them. Her fingers brushed the boy’s wrist. A flash jolted through her spine.

For a heartbeat, she saw it too.

A river made of ash. A child kneeling beside it. And a voice whispering over and over—bring me home, bring me home, bring me home...

She pulled back, gasping.

Leon steadied her. "What did you see?"

Her voice cracked. "A soul caught between. And something feeding on the echoes."

He turned to Tomas. "You’re still linked. Through blood. That’s why it chose your brother first."

Tomas shook his head. "I didn’t mean to—I didn’t ask for any of this."

"I know."

Leon stood.

"We ride at sunrise. We find the next seal. And we end this."

Elena looked toward the treeline.

A single figure stood just beyond sight.

The man with no shadow.

Watching.

Waiting.

When she blinked, he was gone.

But the air he left behind still tasted like ash.

Later, as the others packed quietly, Elena caught movement again—this time not at the edge, but inside the camp.

A young rider, no older than sixteen, stood rigid beside the horses. His eyes were wide, mouth ajar, unmoving. Elena called to him.

He didn’t answer.

Leon was there in an instant.

The boy’s voice finally came. "He asked me... if I remembered my name."

"Who?"

The boy’s eyes met Leon’s.

"The man without shadows. He said names are keys. That mine had been used."

Elena felt cold rise from the base of her spine.

Leon reached for the boy’s hand. His skin was freezing.

"Your name is Alden," he said firmly. "Alden, son of Marrin. Remember that."

The boy blinked, once. Then again. And something was released.

He staggered back, tears springing to his eyes. "I couldn’t remember. Not until you said it."

Leon’s voice was grim. "It’s starting. The erasure."

"What does that mean?" Elena asked.

Leon looked at the rising sun.

"It means Veyreth’s not just claiming bodies now. It’s claiming names. And if it holds your name... it holds you."

A second rider, older, approached Leon as he finished checking the eastern flank. "Sir, we’ve lost another. Nora. She was just gone when the watch changed."

Leon’s jaw tensed. "No tracks?"

"None. It’s like she... vanished. Her blade was left in the dirt."

Leon nodded slowly. "Her name’s been taken."

Elena, listening nearby, whispered, "How do we fight something that doesn’t touch flesh?"

Leon turned to her. "We don’t fight it with swords. We find the seal. We break it. And we pray we’re not too late."

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