Kael had never experienced a pain this sharp.
The agony didn't stem from a sword slash, a spear thrust, or monster claws tearing into his flesh, but from the healing process itself. Lying on a cold stone cot in the medical ward of the Northern Gate Tower, Kael ground his teeth until his jaw went numb. Above his chest, a Support Formation comprised of eight runes rotated slowly in the air, radiating a golden-green light that pierced straight into the pores of his skin.
The healing magic was tasked with burning away the remnants of the Vesper poison polluting his bloodstream. Every time the golden light pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, it felt as though thousands of needles, heated in a blacksmith's forge, were simultaneously driven through his veins. The dark toxin was forced to evaporate through his skin as thin, black smoke that reeked of rotting meat and sulfur.
Kael let out a muffled groan, his head tilting back as the tendons in his neck strained tight. His left hand gripped the edge of the stone cot so fiercely his knuckles turned white, nearly crushing the marble edge. His right hand, however, wasn't gripping stone. It held tightly to a small object—a wooden carving knife smeared with blood that had now dried into a dark crust. Erik's knife.
"Hold your breath, boy. Don't fight the magic's current," instructed a senior military healer draped in a pristine white robe. His wrinkled yet strong hands held Kael's shoulders down to prevent him from thrashing. "The Abyssal poison from a Vesper is designed to rot the flow of Aether within the victim's body. If I stop the rotation of these runes now, the toxin will settle into your core. You will never be able to use magic for the rest of your life."
Kael shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to obey the command. He was drenched in cold sweat. He tried to access the Light Aether within himself to aid the cleansing process, but there was nothing there. The point where his Aether core resided—just beneath his solar plexus—felt entirely empty, dark, and hollow.
It was total depletion. After unleashing that desperate burst of energy in the border woods, Kael had drained his magical reserves down to the very last drop. For now, he was no stronger than an ordinary human. With his body torn both physically and magically, he felt profoundly weak.
On the adjacent cot, mere steps away, Aldric sat in calm silence. The Special Operations Captain had removed the upper half of his leather armor, allowing two other healers to bandage his left arm and shoulder. Aldric had suffered far more severe lacerations from the Lycaon claws. Yet, the veteran's face was as flat as newly forged steel. He didn't even flinch when the healers poured a magical antiseptic that foamed violently over his open wounds.
After several minutes that felt like hours of torture, the Support Formation above Kael's chest finally faded. The piercing pain was slowly replaced by a numbness that was overwhelmingly relieving.
Kael gasped heavily, desperate for fresh air. He stared at the stone ceiling of the medical ward with blurred vision.
Aldric turned his head, then gestured with a flick of his wrist. "Leave us," he ordered. His voice was hoarse but laden with an authority that brooked no argument.
The healers exchanged brief glances, bowed respectfully, and hurried out of the room, leaving Kael and Aldric in a tense silence.
Aldric rose from his seat. Even though his shoulder and half his chest were now wrapped in thick bandages, his posture remained perfectly upright. He walked over to Kael's cot and looked down, his eyes fixing on the young man's right hand still gripping Erik's wooden carving knife.
"That knife won't bring your friend back," Aldric stated. His tone was flat. There was no false pity, no hollow comfort.
Kael swallowed hard. "The Third Battalion... there were no bodies left in the ruins of Thornwood, Captain. Only dragged blood trails, and this knife. They... the enemy didn't eat those soldiers."
"I know," Aldric replied swiftly. "Low-tier demons kill out of hunger. Mid-tier demons kill out of hunting instinct. But when an entire battalion is wiped out without leaving a single corpse behind, it means they are commanded by an entity with a specific purpose."
"Prisoners of war?" Kael asked, his voice raspy.
"Or raw materials for something far darker," Aldric cut in sharply. "Don't lie to yourself with empty hopes, Kael. On the battlefield, false hope is more lethal than Vesper poison."
Kael gripped the knife tighter. The image of Erik's face collided violently with the cruel reality of the blood-scented border woods.
Aldric leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto Kael's. "Keep that knife in your pouch. Remember your friend. But when you step out of this room, grief cannot dull your instincts. Hesitate for a second, and you join the dead. Understand?"
Kael met Aldric's gaze. His captain wasn't trying to be cruel; he was instilling the only method for Kael to survive the days to come. Kael didn't shout, didn't argue. His emotions, though shattered, were slowly freezing into something solid and cold. In alignment with the military academy's teachings that had forged him.
Stolen story; please report.
Slowly, Kael uncurled his fingers. He slipped the carving knife into the leather pouch at his belt.
"I understand, Captain," Kael answered. His voice was steady, brief, and clear.
Aldric gave a curt nod. "Good. Stay here and recover your core. I need to deliver our report to the War Council at the palace. The Thousand-Year War has just restarted, and Varen won't let us rest tonight."
In the heart of the Valdorian Capital, miles away from the dirt and mud of the front lines, the War Council Chamber resonated with a suffocating tension.
The circular room was built of solid white marble, illuminated by dozens of Lux crystals. In the center, a large round table displayed a holospheric map of the Teranthos continent. The point symbolizing Thornwood Fortress had turned black, bleeding a crimson fog that crept slowly southward.
Lord Varen stood tall at the head of the table. The Supreme Commander of the Valdorian military wore his full gold and silver armor. Around the table, four high generals of Valdoria stood with taut expressions. To Varen's right, Magister Corvus stood quietly, his black robes a stark contrast to the gleaming metal in the room.
"The Red Beacon is lit," Varen said, breaking the silence. "And the report from Captain Aldric that just arrived confirms our worst fears. Thornwood was not merely attacked. Thornwood has been annexed by Shadow Knights."
General Kaelen, commander of the Inner Defense Division, looked between Varen and Corvus. "The report states the Third Battalion was annihilated leaving no corpses. Does our intelligence corroborate this, Magister?"
"It does," Corvus answered with a cold, analytical tone. "High-tier demons from the Corruptor faction use Dark Aether to extract magical residue and agony from the souls of slain soldiers. This is not simply a terror tactic. They are harvesting human bodies to refine their power. They are building something in the ruins of Thornwood. A massive-scale formation, or even a portal, that requires thousands of human lives as its primary catalyst."
Silence blanketed the room. That theory shifted their entire paradigm from merely defending against an invasion, to the imperative of halting an annihilation ritual.
Varen took a deep breath. There was no hesitation in his eyes. "Whatever it is they are building, we will not allow that project to reach completion."
"Lord Varen, if I may advise," General Kaelen interjected, raising a hand. "The situation is still too murky. Drawing troops to the border now is incredibly risky. We must activate the capital's absolute Sealing Formation. We sacrifice the outer villages, turn the farmlands into defensive trenches, and employ a full defensive tactic behind the Walls of Valdoria."
Varen's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Sacrifice the outer villages? Let them finish that damned catalyst project in our own front yard?" Varen leaned forward. "If we hide behind the capital's walls, we're just biding our time until they bring a weapon large enough to bring it down. Valdoria will not wage war in fear."
Varen pressed a rune at the edge of the table. Instantly, three pillars of bright blue light appeared within the borders of the Valdorian map.
"This war will not be won from behind walls," Varen declared, his voice thundering. "General Mirelle, prepare the main logistical routes heading north. General Kaelen, I officially reject your defensive tactic. Mobilize the First, Fourth, and Seventh Battalions."
The room flinched.
"Three full battalions?" General Mirelle asked in disbelief. "That's fifteen thousand combat troops! Moving a logistical chain of that magnitude in a matter of hours—"
"They will march in column toward the north before the sun reaches its peak today," Varen cut in, uncompromising. "We will retake Thornwood. We will shatter their magical foothold before they have the chance to stand firm. Valdoria will bring death straight to their doorstep."
Magister Corvus nodded slowly. "A massive counteroffensive will force the enemy to reveal their true strength. However, moving across territory saturated with Dead Zones is highly perilous. The main force cannot march blind."
"They will not march blind," Varen said with a lethal, thin smile. "Aldric's Special Operations Unit will be deployed. They will infiltrate one step ahead of the main battalions."
Dawn broke over Valdoria.
Pale morning sunlight washed over the sea of iron roofs and marble streets of the capital. From the narrow window in the medical ward, Kael looked down toward the main courtyard of the Northern Gate. The sound of massive bells tolled continuously. In that courtyard, thousands of Valdorian soldiers had formed a long, steel line.
The scale of the sight caught Kael's breath. This was no longer just a drill in the Simulation Forest. The Thousand-Year War had risen from its grave, and Valdoria was answering by baring its iron fangs.
The heavy thud of boots broke Kael's reverie. He turned to see Aldric re-entering the room. The Captain had changed into his combat armor. At his waist hung two short swords, and his massive Ironforge blade was strapped to his back.
"Can you stand, Kael?" Aldric asked.
Kael willed his body off the stone cot. His joints felt stiff, and his Aether core was still hollow. Magically, he was powerless. Yet, physically and mentally, he forced himself to stand straight, masking the pain.
"I can, Captain," Kael answered firmly.
"Good. Lord Varen has mobilized fifteen thousand combat troops to retake Thornwood," Aldric said, tossing a tactical utility belt toward Kael. "But a colossal force moves slowly. They'll be eating road dust for three full days."
Kael caught the belt and began strapping it on. "And where does our Special Unit fit in?"
Aldric offered a wry smile. "We are the spearhead, Kael. We leave an hour from now, infiltrating ahead of them through the narrow northern forest routes."
Kael's hands paused for a moment. "Our objective?"
"Reconnoiter whatever the enemy is building in the ruins of Thornwood, and ensure the main army's route is clear of ambushes," Aldric answered. He clapped Kael firmly on the shoulder. "You are suffering from total depletion, but I need your eyes. Your magical purity might be empty, but your sensitivity to Dark Aether remains active. You are the best detector we have out in those woods."
Kael looked down at his belt pouch, where Erik's carving knife rested. The horror of the previous night still lingered, but that raw terror had hardened into a quiet resolution. He remembered the oath he had sworn beneath the oak tree in Greenwood years ago.
He was no longer a poor boy running from the dark. He was the spearhead of Valdoria.
"I am ready, Captain," Kael stated. No hesitation. Only cold resolve.
Aldric nodded in deep satisfaction. "Then gear up. The drums of war have been struck, and we must dance to their rhythm."
— To be continued in Chapter 21 —