Chapter Eight: "The Crimson Fang"
The name echoed in Raizel's mind as he stared down at the unconscious warrior.
Crimson Fang — a title whispered in fear, tied to a legend. The man who led the Black Aura Clan. Said to have destroyed cities. Said to wield a sword that drank the aura of his enemies.
"Is he the one who burned Loren?" Lyra asked quietly.
Raizel nodded, jaw clenched. "If he's not, he still commands the ones who did."
They tied the masked warrior and pressed deeper into the Scarred Valley. Strange markings lined the canyon walls — sigils pulsing faintly with corrupted aura. A war camp loomed ahead, tucked into the shadow of the cliffs.
Scouts. Watchtowers. Dozens of tents.
Raizel crouched, eyes scanning the perimeter. "Too many to face head-on."
"Then we strike where it hurts," Lyra whispered. "The aura forge."
He turned to her. "Aura forge?"
She nodded. "They use it to amplify their weapons. If we destroy it, we cripple their strength."
Raizel's grip tightened on his sword. "Then let's break their spine before we cut off the head."