SWNOVELXO Chapter 6: 6 - Judgement of White
Marek sprinted through the stone alley.
He needed to move—fast.
"Wait—" he muttered, reaching into his mind.
He pictured a simple mask. Black, tight, something a stage villain wore in a traveling play he'd once seen with his childhood friend.
It wasn't fancy, but it covered just enough to make people second-guess his face.
The mask formed in his hand in a shimmer of light, then snapped over his eyes.
Next, a long black cloak—ripped and dramatic, the kind a villain would wear while laughing mid-monologue. He once saw it on a play too.
He imagined the folds, the seams, the way it whipped behind them. It wrapped around his body instantly, shifting his appearance.
He looked down.
Perfect.
"Alright, Velk—" Marek shouted as he bolted toward the west gate. "Can you make me fly?! Just for a few seconds?!"
Velkaroth popped beside him midair. "You want flight now?"
"Fast flight! Just—just launch me west."
Velkaroth rolled his tiny shoulders and snorted. "Fine. Hold your guts."
Suddenly, a wind blasted beneath Marek's feet. His entire body lifted, then blurred forward like a spear launched from a cannon.
WHOOSH—
In three seconds, he was gone.
Stone streets flew past in a blur. People on rooftops and guards along towers barely even noticed the dark blur streaking through the night.
Then—
THUD.
He landed hard, rolling once, and shot to his feet in front of the wall.
He stood at the western quarter now—Sector A-0. Smoke rose in the distance. Guards shouted at each other near the walls.
He clenched his fist.
---
General Albrecht Renier stood tall above the western gate.
He looked over his men—young, shaky knights from Valdren, all lined up behind the makeshift barricades.
Most were 1-stars. A few bore the glint of a second star on their pauldrons, but even they looked uneasy.
He raised his voice with a sharp authority that cut through the chaos like steel.
"Men of Varex!" he barked. "You were not trained to stand behind walls! You were trained to defend them! You are the shield of this city! The beasts beyond that gate—no matter their size or ugliness—they are not immortal!"
His sword pointed to the rising smoke.
"They bleed. They fall. And if you do your duty now, they will fall tonight! On my mark—charge!"
"CHARGE!"
The men roared and surged forward through the open gate. The first rows crossed the field in tight formations, weapons drawn.
That's when they saw them.
A hulking rock golem, its body made of cracked boulders with glowing red seams.
A Bowler—massive and snorting—gripping a twisted tree like a club.
And worst of all, a caterpillar beast the size of a house, covered in slick black plates and long twitching legs.
"WHAT IS THAT?!" a soldier screamed.
"It's huge!" shouted another. "Why are there three of them?!"
The Bowler hurled the tree. It slammed into the ground, flattening half a squad.
"NO! Garen—he's dead—he's DEAD!"
The golem stomped forward, its fists smashing down with sickening crunches. Dirt exploded. Limbs flew. Screams filled the air.
"Help! HELP ME!" one knight shrieked as the caterpillar monster spat acidic fluid, melting through a man's shield and helm.
"Fall back! We need to—!"
"No! We keep pushing!" someone shouted, though his voice cracked with panic.
General Renier gritted his teeth from the wall above. Even he knew this was spiraling. They hadn't expected a triple-type attack.
The front lines were breaking.
Then, someone near the barricades stopped.
His voice trembled.
"Wait—wait—look… up there…"
All heads turned. Even the monsters seemed to pause for a breath.
On the rooftops, above the chaos and screaming and smoke, a single figure stood with his arms crossed.
A black mask covered his face.
His dark, ripped cloak fluttered behind him like the wings of something unnatural.
He didn't flinch at the carnage below.
He watched it silently.
Someone whispered with wide eyes.
"Is that him…?"
"The one who killed the Bowler last time…"
"No way… Is that really…"
"The Judgement of White?"
---
"The Judgement of White?" Marek muttered under his breath mid-leap.
He almost laughed. That name is way too cool. Wait—is that what they're calling me now?
He couldn't help it—he grinned behind the mask.
Alright then. Let's make it real.
Mid-air, he closed his eyes for a brief second and focused.
That sword—Dad's been working on it for weeks. A commission blade for a 3-star knight. Green core, wind etched into the steel… lightweight, curved, but strong enough to slice a tower beam in half.
He pictured the hilt. The engraving his father tested with the etching blade. He knew it perfectly.
His palm sparked, and the blade formed in the air with a gust of emerald light.
Then—BOOM—his boots slammed against the dirt. He stood just twenty feet from the hulking Rock Golem, its molten cracks glowing brighter now, as if accepting the challenge.
The beast growled, each step causing the earth to rumble. Its massive stone fists slammed into the dirt once—BOOM—sending a small quake rippling toward him.
Marek didn't flinch.
He dashed forward.
The golem roared and swung.
Marek ducked under the first strike, the rock fist missing him by inches and pulverizing a boulder behind him.
Dust exploded.
He kicked off the ground, blade spinning in his hand, and slashed upward with a wind arc. It carved into the golem's shoulder—but only chipped a chunk off.
It's tough… Marek thought.
He rolled sideways, avoiding a backhanded slam, and slashed again at the legs—slicing through one of the smaller support joints.
A wind burst followed the edge, knocking dust and pebbles in every direction.
The golem staggered. It roared and smashed both fists into the ground, sending a wave of jagged rocks upward.
"NOPE!" Marek launched himself with a spin, twisting midair as the green blade left a slicing vortex behind him.
He landed on its arm and sprinted up.
The golem swung, trying to knock him off. Marek dropped low and skated along the curved surface with wind under his boots.
"Velk, this thing's too heavy to topple!"
"Then don't topple it!" Velkaroth's voice echoed inside. "Cut through its core, you pebble-kisser!"
Marek reached the shoulder and stabbed down. The blade dug in—but not deep enough. The golem roared again, now thrashing wildly.
Marek jumped, blade glowing.
He spun once midair and yelled, "WIND PIERCER!"
The sword shrieked as compressed wind magic tunneled forward in a focused point. The green flash slammed into the golem's chest.
CRACK.
A large fissure opened. Steam hissed out.
He landed behind it as the beast staggered forward, punching wildly into the dirt. Marek dashed again and slid low, slashing through its leg tendons.
The golem tipped.
And fell with a thunderous crash.
Marek jumped, landed on its back, and stabbed the sword deep into its exposed molten core.
BOOM.
The core exploded in a flash of green wind and light.
Dust swallowed the field.
When the cloud cleared, he stood on top of the defeated golem, cloak flapping behind him, sword still buried in stone.
The soldiers stared in stunned silence.
One dropped his sword. Another whispered, "That guy's not human…"
A third finally screamed what they were all thinking.
"IT'S HIM! IT'S THE JUDGEMENT OF WHITE!"
The ground was still trembling from the fallen golem's collapse.
All around the battlefield, the remaining monsters—the caterpillar and the Bowler—froze.
For a moment, they simply stared.
Then, as if sensing the shift in power, they turned and bolted back into the darkness of the Wildlands.
The battlefield went eerily quiet.
Bodies lay across the field, but so did survivors. Others pointed, whispering like they'd just seen a ghost from legend.
And then came the slow, deliberate clank of armored boots against the stone path behind him.
Marek didn't move. He knew who it was even before he turned.
General Albrecht Renier.
The man approached with a straight spine and unreadable expression, flanked by two guards.
His crimson cape was torn slightly at the bottom from the chaos, but he walked like nothing ever rattled him.
He stopped a few paces behind Marek, eyeing the broken golem, then the sword still glowing faintly in Marek's hand.
"…Who are you?" the general asked, voice calm but stern. "And where did you learn to fight like that?"
Marek paused.
He looked back over his shoulder, the mask still hiding most of his face. His voice came out smooth, steady.
"As anyone said before me…"
He turned fully.
"I'm the Judgement of White."