Vayne accepted the weapon, then fell silent for a moment.
She really was interested in the Sentinels of Light.
But she had never expected to come into contact with them like this.
Looking at Lamins, someone she had only met once, Vayne could feel the weight of the relic in her hand, along with the burden of the duty it carried.
"If you're willing to become a Sentinel of Light, then go to Eze City. A guide will appear there to lead you."
Lamins could feel that her time was running short. Looking at Vayne, she began making her final arrangements. "If you're not willing, then when you see Lucian again, have him take it back to headquarters."
This time, Vayne nodded seriously.
"Use this to activate it." Lamins rested a hand against Vayne's temple. "Your will shall become its arrow."
The howling wind brought by the Black Mist was drawing near now, and the wails of ghosts and specters seemed to be right beside their ears.
"Your Highness! Vayne! Get on board!"
Cithria waved from the ship. At this point, everyone else had already boarded.
"Do you have anything else you want entrusted?"
Luke knew it was time to leave, and he looked at Lamins.
Lamins shook her head, then fell into silent stillness.
Seeing that she would say no more, Luke and Vayne boarded the ship. As the vessel began to move, many people stood on deck and looked back toward the island.
Most of their eyes lingered on the lone figure standing there by the shore.
Behind her was a sea of Black Mist, looming like a storm front.
Luke's gaze remained fixed in that direction.
In the final moments of her life, this Sentinel of Light was still fighting the Black Mist.
At a moment like this, as she looked back on her life, had there ever been even a single instant when she regretted it?
Maybe there had been.
But in that final instant, her eyes were still resolute.
In the end, the Black Mist swallowed the island whole. Before that endless tide of darkness, Lamins looked impossibly small.
Everyone watched as she vanished into the Mist and was never seen again.
In silence, they offered her the deepest respect they could.
Most of them did not know Lamins' identity, but everyone knew she was worthy of admiration.
The ship sped away from the island as fast as it could, seeming to open up some distance from the Black Mist behind them.
Even so, it would still take at least six more hours to return to Dawnhold.
No one knew what was happening there now.
Sitting on the ship and staring quietly at the water, Luke knew that no matter how anxious he felt, there was nothing he could do about it.
After all, he had never expected the Harrowing to strike on the very first day they arrived.
Vayne sat at the other end of the deck, looking at the Sentinel relic in her hands.
It was a very unusual-looking wrist-mounted crossbow. It was strange because it had no trigger.
And there was no visible place to load bolts.
Its exterior felt like marble, as smooth as polished stone. The silver-white shell was carved with a few lines, and it carried a faint chill to the touch.
But it was surprisingly heavy, even heavier than an iron crossbow.
She and Lamins had only met once, but the way they had fought together on the island had been incredibly seamless.
And yet, during that fight, Vayne had not noticed at all that Lamins had already been in an undead state.
Lamins had personally placed this weapon in her hands.
Did that really mean she had the talent to become a Sentinel of Light too?
Vayne took a deep breath. The words Sentinel of Light were still far too unfamiliar to her, and now, in a daze, she had somehow been entrusted with a weapon by a fallen Sentinel.
After seeing the Black Mist, Vayne had felt that there was still far more darkness in this world left unpurged.
Especially that Mist. In front of it, she had felt as small as an ant.
Becoming a Sentinel would let her grow stronger.
At that thought, her eyes hardened with resolve, and she decided to shoulder that responsibility as well.
She fastened the light weapon to her wrist and tried to follow Lamins' instructions, attempting to activate it with her mind.
But after trying for ages, nothing happened. No matter how she tried to exert her will, the weapon refused to fire a single arrow.
She couldn't help thinking back to how Luke had managed it instantly last time, and she had assumed it would be simple.
Now it looked like it wasn't.
Her eyes drifted toward him.
Luke had already noticed Vayne fiddling with the light weapon. Seeing the look she sent his way, a grin curved across his lips.
"Want me to teach you? This thing's super easy."
"No!"
Vayne immediately turned her head away and went back to trying on her own.
The second she saw that smug expression on his face, she felt a surge of stubborn refusal. She was going to figure it out herself.
Ten minutes later.
Vayne stood up, walked over to Luke, and held the Sentinel crossbow out to him. Looking away, she said, "Teach me."
Luke let out a little chuckle. "That's the attitude you use when asking someone for help? You didn't even add a please."
Vayne took a deep breath. "Please teach me."
Luke smiled. He wasn't in much of a mood to tease her now, so he took the Sentinel crossbow, strapped it to his wrist, aimed at the sea, and moved his mind.
The next second, with a sharp whistling sound, an arrow of light shot out and plunged into the water.
Seeing that, Vayne's eyes widened immediately.
No matter how unwilling she was to admit it, she had absolutely nothing to say now.
"Here."
Luke handed the Sentinel crossbow back.
He had mostly just wanted to confirm whether being able to use Lucian's pistols last time had been a fluke.
Now it seemed it hadn't.
Sure enough, his talent for Sentinel weapons really was absurdly high.
Vayne took the Sentinel crossbow back.
After a brief pause, Luke said, "Put simply, this thing runs on spiritual energy."
"And then?"
Vayne asked, puzzled.
She knew what spiritual energy was. Recently, she had been practicing the spiritual energy cultivation method Luke had taught them.
But knowing what it was and knowing how to actively use it through a Sentinel weapon were two completely different things.
Looking at her, Luke said bluntly, "You've used an outhouse before, right? And you've had constipation before too?"
"..."
Vayne went quiet for a second, then nodded.
So Luke continued, "When you're constipated, don't you get that blocked-up feeling, and then use every bit of strength in your body trying to force that blockage to move?"
His example was crude.
Very crude.
But Vayne suddenly felt like something had clicked.
Seeing the thoughtful look on her face, Luke added, "Also, when you're constipated, eat more carrots, spinach, celery—"
Before he even finished, he saw Vayne shoot him a cold look, then turn and walk away.
The further from that man, the better.
Vayne sat off by herself and replayed his words in her mind.
Activating a Sentinel weapon didn't just mean pushing at it with thought alone.
It meant using every part of your being.
Turning those ideas over in her head, Vayne began trying again.
An hour later, with a sharp sound, an arrow of light shot toward the sea.
A trace of delight appeared on Vayne's face before she could stop it. Now that she had found the feeling, she raised her hand and moved her mind again, sending out another arrow.
After several more shots, Vayne had already grown used to the method.
She felt a real sense of accomplishment, but when she remembered that she had succeeded using that idiot's constipation theory, she rubbed her temple and felt certain she would never be able to forget that explanation any time soon.
At the same time—
Midnight, western harbor of Dawnhold.
Garen frowned deeply, his expression grim as he looked out over the sea.
At that moment, everyone's attention was fixed straight ahead.
The endless sea had gone utterly still, without even the slightest wave.
But replacing the waves was a mass of pitch-black mist rolling up from the water.
The Black Mist moved with the sea wind and radiated a bone-piercing cold. It gathered over the surface of the sea like a vast black tidal wave.
The speed of the Mist's movement was unnatural. Looking carefully, it felt almost like some living thing, writhing as it advanced.
When it drew a little closer, every eye widened.
Within the churning black fog were countless undead, letting out shrill, miserable screams that reflected the deepest nightmares in every person's heart.
A surge of fear rose uncontrollably in everyone.
So this was the Harrowing His Highness had spoken of?
Garen raised his weapon and bellowed, "Prepare for battle!!"
He pulled on his helmet, the silver-white metal covering nearly his entire face, leaving only his eyes, nose, and mouth visible.
Every soldier at the harbor entered a combat-ready stance.
Garen tightened his grip on his sword and looked toward the all-consuming Black Mist.
His Highness had been right.
The coast really was dangerous.
If they hadn't listened and prepared in advance, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
"As long as they're undead, they'll always have traits that humans don't. Watch carefully. Don't let their appearance fool you!"
Garen shouted.
Luke had told him that line, and Garen had repeated it to everyone three separate times.
His Highness had said the undead could take on human appearances, and that under no circumstances should anyone hesitate out of misplaced mercy, or disaster would follow.
But as long as they were undead, they would always show some sign that they were no longer human.
Sona had been placed farther back, outside the direct battlefield, but she had seen the Black Mist too.
Looking out over the sea, several strands of worry appeared in her eyes.
She tightened her hands and felt that she ought to do something.
The Black Mist drew closer, that cutting cold seeming to pass straight through armor.
Screams and wails rang as if right beside everyone's ears. Within the Black Mist gathered undead, phantoms, and all kinds of twisted undead creatures.
Among them, one could even vaguely make out a troop of undead knights, riding through the Mist like generals assured of victory, looking down from above with lofty disdain.
"Aah!"
A shriek rang out as several flying undead were the first to leave the Black Mist, trailing plumes of dark smoke behind them as they charged at the army stationed at the harbor.
Without hesitation, Garen charged forward, swinging his massive blade with a heavy hum as it came down on the leading undead.
In a single blow, that leading undead wailed and met death once more, bursting apart into a cloud of black smoke under his sword.
Charging through the smoke, Garen's greatsword fell on the second undead. Another wail followed. Then he leaped up, spinning in midair before crashing back down.
Every undead touched by that enormous blade met destruction.
The next second, a glowing mass of Black Mist suddenly engulfed Garen, and within it appeared ghostly creatures ravenous for flesh.
A thin layer of frost formed over the outside of Garen's silver armor, but with a shake of his body, it all broke away.
His eyes swept across the specters around him without the slightest trace of fear.
But he also realized that this Black Mist was not just some simple fog.
It was cold beyond belief, and if their armor had not been made from Demacian steel and consecrated with holy water to resist magic, then in front of this Mist it likely would have corroded outright.
On the skin he still had exposed, he could feel a burning pain. It wasn't severe, but it was deeply unpleasant.
The others were probably in the same state.
They were all being affected by the Black Mist.
Now that the Black Mist had fully reached land, battle erupted in full at the harbor.
Then, at that very moment—
A soft note rang out.
It was so gentle that it felt almost out of place amid the tense battlefield.
People looked toward the sound and saw Sona there.
For some reason, the Black Mist halted at a short distance around her and could not touch her, as though it did not dare approach.
Facing all those wailing, shrieking undead, there was not the slightest fear on Sona's face.
Her breathtaking features held only determination.
Then, in the next instant, she raised her slender hands once more and placed them upon the strings of the etwahl.
At once, a beautiful melody spread outward.
As those notes reached their ears, the soldiers suddenly felt the pressure weighing on their hearts ease.
The fear and insecurity they had instinctively felt in the face of such darkness began to fade.
And even the effects the Black Mist had been having on their bodies seemed to lessen.
Under that music, every one of them felt full of strength, as if they had returned to their peak condition, their hearts stirred with a strange excitement.
The undead, meanwhile, seemed deeply wary of Sona.
Some of the lower-ranking ones fled from her altogether, while some of the stronger ones took her as a thorn in their side and charged at her screaming, trying to stop the piercing music.
But they couldn't even get close.
Sona kept her focus entirely on the instrument, paying no attention to the undead around her.
Because of the trust she showed, the soldiers all gained a common goal.
Protect her.
Listening to Sona's music, Garen felt his whole body lighten.
Maybe it was partly psychological, but it truly helped him.
His movements became faster, more fluid.
After cutting down the specters around him, Garen saw them drift along with the Black Mist, gathering ghostly green light and piecing themselves back together as new wails emerged from the fragments.
Dark clouds regathered. Dark spirits rose again.
Even though Luke had already warned him, seeing the undead die and return with his own eyes made even Garen feel the difficulty of it.
The thing before him now, pieced together out of various broken parts, looked like some hideous patchwork monster.
It roared deafeningly.
Garen's gaze sharpened, and with a shout, he brought his sword down on the monster before him.
Then he would keep killing it until it stayed dead.
As the battle dragged on—
A colossal sea beast appeared out on the water.
Its body was as large as a great ship, dragging its massive bulk through the sea while ghostly mist poured off it, until it came lumbering onto land.
It resembled an octopus, with several thick tentacles writhing hideously.
Ghost-like spirits floated around it, screaming in what sounded almost like excitement.
The sea beast slammed a huge tentacle down, producing a thunderous crash. Several soldiers were sent flying, and a crater opened in the ground.
Garen cut down another specter and turned his gaze toward the sea beast.
Without the slightest hesitation, he raised his sword and charged straight for it.
"Look!"
At the same moment, Quinn and Frey noticed it too.
Both had been fighting the undead fiercely the entire time. Even though Luke's warning had prepared them mentally, facing the Black Mist in person was still a staggering shock.
Now, seeing that sea beast, neither hesitated.
They charged in too.
In only a short time, no fewer than twenty seasoned warriors had gathered around the monster.
"That thing's huge."
"Wouldn't be the first big brute that couldn't take a hit."
"Who's going to test what it's made of?"
A few of them were still able to joke lightly even in front of a monster like this.
These were all members of Garen's unit, each one strong enough to earn a place in the First Shield Formation.
"All together!"
Garen shot them a look and led the charge himself.
At once, everyone rushed in.
Surrounded by so many humans, the sea beast let out an enraged roar, raising several tentacles high before smashing them down.
But they hit nothing.
Every warrior who had made it to the beast's side was among the Dauntless Vanguard's strongest.
They showed remarkable speed, dodging the tentacles with agility before launching their counterattacks.
One tentacle after another was severed and fell to the ground, rising into ghostfire-like smoke before fading away.
The sea beast's eyes flared with even greater rage.
The next moment, still more tentacles rose up and lashed out in all directions.
Garen spun like a whirlwind, cutting several tentacles down in an instant. Then he leaped high into the air—but a tentacle from behind suddenly wrapped around him.
The sensation of being suspended came for only a split second.
Quinn fired a bolt, the sharp projectile piercing the sea beast's tentacle.
Garen hit the ground, shot her a grateful look, and sliced the tentacle off at the base with a single stroke.
That kind of coordination was happening all over the battlefield.
Before such experienced warriors, even a tyrannical sea beast like this one was simply tougher than average.
When the spirits floating around it sensed that it might be faltering, they let out shrieks and fled in all directions.
The sea beast grew even more enraged, smashing its tentacles down wildly in a display of helpless fury.
It had never set foot on Demacian soil before, and it knew nothing about the people here.
Now it did.
They were not easy prey.
"It looks like it's almost done for!"
"I'll take its head!"
"Don't start snatching kills, that one's clearly going on my commendation record!"
"You lot shut it right now!"
Sensing the restlessness among several of his subordinates, Garen immediately barked at them with a frown.
Some of those soldiers were even older than he was, but after being shouted down by him, they all settled.
No one dared fight over the finishing blow now.
Very soon, under Garen's command, they brought the sea beast down steadily.
That was Garen's style.
He always fought to win safely and never took unnecessary risks.
That calm, grounded nature, remarkable in someone so young, had saved him countless times already.
The sea beast's massive body collapsed, black smoke pouring from it as it began to dissolve.
After dealing with that dangerous monster, Garen and the others moved on to support the allied troops still fighting off undead elsewhere.
Under a cold like deep winter, the battle dragged on.
The Black Mist had spread completely over the harbor now.
Its destructive force was no joke. Some of the houses that people had once lived in had their roofs ripped off. Others had collapsed completely. Still others were covered in corrosion.
But in every single case, they were empty.
The excited undead rushed inside only to find nobody there, and were left dumbfounded.
So they turned their attention back toward the humans at the harbor and surged in once more.
Roughly two thousand soldiers were gathered at this harbor, holding the line against the Black Mist while listening to Sona's music, each of them fighting without pause.
They eventually discovered that the undead could not revive infinitely.
That sea beast, for example, never reappeared after dying once.
Some other undead vanished after one death, while others took several deaths before disappearing.
That was good news.
At least now they knew the undead were not endless after all.
Then, at that very moment—
The sound of hooves rang out, just as jarringly out of place as Sona's music had been before.
It was the knights in the Mist, who had been observing the battlefield the whole time with arrogant detachment.
Now that they saw their undead forces dwindling, they could finally sit still no longer, and came riding forward.
At their head was a knight in a helmet, beneath which a skull face burned with ghostfire.
He raised the great blade in his hand and let out a hoarse, icy roar. "Kill!"
Their ghostly horses came charging through the Mist, and with that bellow, the undead knights launched their assault.
Their strength was no joke. The force of their charge made the ground tremble, like a herd of monstrous beasts.
"Heavy shield infantry!"
Faced with that assault, Garen shouted immediately.
He was answered by a rapidly gathering unit of heavy shield bearers.
Holding silver shields even larger than normal tower shields, they formed a seemingly unbreakable wall in an incredibly short time, planting themselves in front of the charging undead cavalry.
The undead riders did not slow or veer aside.
The ghostfire knight at their head still held his great blade high and rode straight at them.
Their charge had never failed.
No matter how solid a line was, it could not stop them.
Sona turned her eyes toward that direction.
With a firm pluck of the strings, the melody shifted into something fierce and stirring, transforming invisibly into a wave of energy that spread over the shield line in pulses of protection.
Behind that line, Garen felt something.
His grip on his sword tightened on its own.
Then he fixed his eyes on the undead cavalry rushing toward them.
Boom!
In the next second, the two sides collided.
Hooves slammed into shields with deafening force, delivering an enormous impact.
And yet the shield line only slid back a few steps.
There was no sign of it breaking.
A flicker of disbelief seemed to pass through the ghostfire knight's eyes.
Then he raised his great blade and slashed hard at one of the shield bearers in front of him.
The answer came from a huge sword cutting out from behind the shields. The moment the two weapons collided, the horse beneath the ghostfire knight stepped back.
Garen burst out from behind the line and, catching him off guard, chopped at the horse's legs.
The ghostfire knight reacted with astonishing speed and yanked hard on the reins, trying to rear the undead horse up.
Hum!
But a heavy musical note rang out, and the undead horse's body stiffened. The undead knight himself seemed struck by a sudden stab of pain in the head.
Garen's sword flashed down and cut off both of the horse's forelegs.
The undead horse screamed and collapsed heavily to its knees, throwing its rider to the ground.
At the same moment, many soldiers seized the opening and launched their counterattack.
The ghostfire knight rolled clear of Garen's follow-up strike, sprang to his feet, and then looked toward Sona, his gaze fixing on the ancient instrument in her hands.
The next moment, he stopped fighting Garen altogether and charged straight for Sona.
He had clearly judged her a greater threat than Garen.
But in the very next instant, he halted.
Garen stood in his path, the face under his helmet deadly serious, his presence as immovable as the shield line behind him.
The ghostfire knight seemed to realize that passing him to reach Sona was impossible.
"Fight!"
With a roar, he raised his great blade and brought it down at Garen.
Before the blade even arrived, ghostfire colder than ice washed over Garen's armor, instantly frosting it over.
Garen raised his greatsword and swung with all his might.
The duel between commanders was savage.
The ghostfire knight was an undead being every bit as strong as Garen. In some ways, the fact that he did not die and did not fear pain even gave him an advantage.
But that advantage vanished in front of Sona.
Garen had Sona behind him, a top-tier support whose beautiful music steadied his mind and drove the cold away from his body.
To the ghostfire knight, however, that music sounded like a tormenting curse screamed by demons, splitting his head with pain.
Under that level of interference, it did not take Garen long to find a chance to kill him in one stroke.
His greatsword drove hard into the ghostfire knight's chest, piercing that rotten heart, then was ripped free and swung again, severing the knight's head.
A moment later, the ghostfire knight's skull rolled across the ground.
The death of their leader dealt a heavy blow to the cavalry around him as well.
Very soon, with the warriors' cooperation, those undead riders met the same fate and were annihilated.
After dying, they did not return from the Mist. And after a while, the rest of the undead gradually thinned out as well.
By holding the line, they seemed to have defended the harbor against the Black Mist.
The undead were disappearing at a pace visible to the naked eye.
At this point, for the soldiers, it had become little more than mopping up the battlefield.
This Black Mist had left a deep psychological shock on all of them.
The wails of those nearly unkillable dead still seemed to echo in their ears.
If not for Sona's music, they did not even want to think about what state they would be in now.
Looking at the comrades who had fallen, the mood on the field remained subdued.
After glancing around, Garen knew the battle was not over yet. He raised his head and looked toward the Black Mist that still had not dispersed.
The night was only half gone.
Very soon, Garen received a message from the other defensive line.
It said that they too had been attacked by the Harrowing.
But they had also held the line.
Their casualties were around two hundred.
Garen lowered the letter and looked back out at the sea.
Fine strands of dark vapor floated across the water, with ghostly green lights flickering here and there.
According to what His Highness had said, if the Black Mist had not dispersed, then that meant the Harrowing had not ended.
"Diadoro, you'll take command here and continue holding the line."
Garen gave the order.
A black-haired swordsman with sharp eyes and a trimmed beard stepped forward. "Yes!"
He was the most senior Dauntless warrior under Garen's command, thirty-seven years old, and also the strongest.
Once, by himself, he had held back an entire enemy force for a full day.
Garen could trust him with this position.
Then Garen added, "Two hundred men with me. We're boarding."
He had no intention of resting. He gripped his weapon again and stepped onto one of the ships moored at the harbor.
As a son of House Crownguard, his duty was to serve the royal family and protect every citizen.
The line here had held, but the prince had not yet returned, so Garen had every reason to set out again.
Very soon, two hundred men boarded the ship.
And Sona, holding her etwahl, came aboard as well.
"You can stay here. We don't know what dangers are waiting ahead."
Garen looked at her and still tried to persuade her to get off.
With the Black Mist blocking the way ahead, he truly didn't know what dangers awaited them, or whether he would be able to protect Sona.
But Sona held her etwahl and shook her head, her eyes resolute, clearly determined to go.
Looking into those eyes, Garen said nothing more and simply turned to give the order.
"Set sail!"
Very soon, the two ships headed out in one direction, cutting into the Black Mist.
On board, Quinn and Frey scanned the surroundings.
Moonlight could not penetrate at all. It was as if they had been swallowed by pure darkness.
Only the firelight let them see the path ahead.
Within the Black Mist came furtive sounds from lurking undead.
Inside the Mist, every person felt a chill rising from the very depths of their soul.
Sona sat quietly on the ship and began playing a gentle melody.
As the faint music spread out, the Black Mist seemed to avoid the ship, drifting away from it as though it found it ill-omened.
For the people on board, however, that same melody eased the cold in their hearts, and the path before them brightened a little.
No one disliked listening to Sona's music.
They had simply never imagined it could be used like this.
An hour passed.
The five ships were still sailing quietly across the sea.
Behind them, the Black Mist seemed to have fallen back out of sight, as if they had managed to leave it some distance behind.
After spending a good amount of mental energy, Vayne leaned back against the ship's side and closed her eyes to rest.
Cithria wiped down her weapon, her mind replaying the Black Mist she had just witnessed as she silently prepared herself.
Poppy stood near Luke, holding a white cloth and looking heartbroken at her hammer.
Earlier, several tooth marks had been bitten into it, and ever since boarding the ship, she had been polishing it nonstop.
Suddenly, she looked at the hammer, and visible delight flooded her eyes.
She immediately raised it and showed it to Luke, saying happily, "Look, they're gone! I wiped them off!"
Luke glanced at it and saw that the tooth marks really had vanished.
That hammer really was bizarre.
Still, seeing how happy Poppy looked, he smiled too. "Good. Glad they came off."
"Hehe~!"
Poppy's mood recovered instantly. Looking at the hammer, now bright and gleaming from all her polishing, she grinned in delight.
At that moment—
Yurna brought Luke a cup of hot tea.
Looking at her beautiful, expressionless face, Luke suddenly felt that his maid really did have it rough.
She was getting paid a few dozen gold, but after following him around, she had gone from fighting demons to dealing with cults, and now she had ended up running into the Black Mist too.
She was carrying burdens no salary at her level had any business carrying.
And even now, she had not complained once.
He immediately made up his mind.
Once they got back, he was giving Yurna an extra five gold a week.
A maid this good absolutely could not be allowed to slip away.
He took a sip of hot tea. The warmth spread slowly through his body, and just as his mood began to loosen a little, every hair on his body stood on end.
A chill ran down his back. He came back to full alert at once, his expression turning grave.
Out on the sea, the Black Mist came rolling after them at incredible speed, far faster than the ships themselves.
Vayne woke from her rest and frowned tightly as she looked into the Mist. She could feel a darkness unlike anything before.
Many others noticed it too.
Without Luke needing to stress it, everyone immediately entered a state of full vigilance.
Within the Black Mist, countless undead emerged, giving off strange, eerie lights.
It felt as though a storm had gathered inside it, booming with heavy crashes, like a giant gone mad and hammering iron on an anvil, while even the sea beneath seemed to tremble.
"What is that?"
Someone cried out in alarm.
Within the Mist, the outline of a rider appeared.
Ghostly light within the Black Mist traced his shape. He sat astride a warhorse with grotesquely distorted proportions, and his helmet was shaped like a demon's head.
Looking at that silhouette, a name flashed through Luke's mind.
Hecarim, the Shadow of War.
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