Novels by Ramutshatsha Arikonisaho

The sight before him was horrific.Rows of captives, their bodies frail from starvation, their skin clinging to their bones.Some lay motionless, too weak to move. Others had already succumbed—lifeless, their suffering evident even in death.And then—the worst.The ones who had been abused beyond recognition.A slow, cold rage spread through Mevrick’s chest.His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, his body trembling not from exhaustion—but from wrath.Jarn’s subordinates, those still breathing, staggered in fear. They saw what he saw. They knew.They begged.Mevrick showed no mercy.Blades howled.Bodies fell.Screams faded into silence.By the time he was done, not a single enemy in the camp remained.The battlefield lay silent, bathed in the eerie glow of the full moon.The cold wind carried the scent of blood, death, and smoldering campfires.Mevrick sat on one of the makeshift chairs in the enemy’s camp, his body still, his sword sheathed at his side.His fingers traced th

"Cloud Dancing Technique: Fifth Wave—Inanis."The world bent.Mevrick’s sword spun, flipping upward like a coin tossed into the heavens.As it turned, it multiplied.One blade became two.Two became four.Four became countless.A barrage of slashing arcs descended upon Jarn and Goba from all directions, faster than the eye could track.Clang! Clang! Clang!Goba barely raised his gauntlets in time, blocking an oncoming strike—only for another to slash at his ribs from the side.Tch! Jarn twisted in the air, his blade meeting one of Mevrick’s phantom swords—only for another to carve toward his shoulder from an impossible angle.What is this attack?!It was like fighting a ghost.Every time a sword landed a strike, it was as if Mevrick himself had slashed them—yet he hadn’t moved.And yet, he was everywhere.His form flickered, present yet absent, his image warping with the ripples of energy still cascading through the battlefield.It was an illusion.No—it was something beyond that.Me

The insult was deliberate, his words cutting like the edge of his blade.Goba growled, his fists clenching as frost crackled around his gauntlets.Jarn, however, laughed—a low, guttural sound that sent chills through the air.“Big words for a man standing in my domain,” Jarn said, his voice laced with cold amusement.“But don’t worry, Mevrick. I’ll make sure you won’t feel the cold for too long.”Both men stared each other down, the battlefield silent except for the faint crackling of frost and the rhythmic pulsing of energy ripples.The tension between them was palpable, the weight of their reputations hanging in the air.The next moment would decide the fate of the valley, and neither intended to take a single step back.The battlefield shifted in an instant.Mevrick exhaled slowly, his sharp gaze calculating as he assessed his opponents.“Unlike most duos, these two are nearly equal in strength,” he mused, gripping his dao sword tighter.His instincts sharpened.“Jarn is in the int

Fwoosh!The sound of metal sliding free was followed by an immediate surge of energy.The weapon was a dao sword, its broad, curved blade gleaming like polished silver.As soon as it was drawn, ripples of translucent energy pulsed outward from the blade.These ripples were faint yet visible, shimmering in the air like droplets hitting the surface of a still pond.Each ripple distorted the moonlight for a brief moment before dissipating into the night.The blade hummed faintly, resonating with the vice lord's own energy.It was a weapon forged not just for cutting but for channeling power, amplifying Mevrick’s aura with every swing.The air around him seemed to respond to the weapon, growing heavier and charged with tension.Mevrick twirled the dao sword once in his hand, its edge cutting through the cold air effortlessly.The ripples grew in intensity, spreading outward in a display of both beauty and menace."This will be interesting," Mevrick thought, his eyes narrowing as he strode

Cling... Cling...Thud... Thud...The muffled sound of metal scraping against itself, followed by dull thuds, echoed faintly across the camp.Inside a large, weathered tent decorated with torn banners and bloodstained fabric, a man with a hoarse voice stirred."Huh? What is that noise?" the man muttered, rising from his chair.The dim, flickering light of a lantern illuminated his imposing figure.He was tall, standing well over six feet, with lean, corded muscles that hinted at years of brutal training.His short, frosted hair faded on the sides, accentuating a striking tattoo of a blood-drenched hand etched into the right side of his head.His face was angular, with sharp cheekbones and cold, piercing gray eyes that seemed to radiate menace.A jagged scar ran from his temple to the corner of his lip, adding to his fearsome appearance."It seems some people are attacking our camp, Boss Jarn," another man spoke, stepping into the dim light of the tent.The man, known only as Jarn, the

A Few Minutes Before Midnight – One of the Camps Near MistvalleyThe camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire.The air was thick with a tension that weighed heavily on the warriors from Belvan.The faint glow of a dwindling campfire cast long, flickering shadows across the faces of the Belvan warriors gathered in the camp.Some sat cross-legged, others leaned against their weapons, but all bore the same heavy expression.Their expressions reflected hopelessness, their morale shattered by weeks of hardship.This was one of the three groups Oasis had promised to handle personally, the weakest of the lot.Many in the camp had already given up before the fight had even begun. One warrior, sitting with his back against a jagged boulder, sighed deeply as he stared into the flames."We’re just lambs to the slaughter," he muttered bitterly, his voice thick with regret."All my life, I’ve fought to survive... and this is how it ends."Another, sharpening his blade out of h