Rolling hills and the dense trees caught Killian’s eyes as he stood on top of the half-reconstructed wall along with a few other workers, who kept themselves accompanied by different tasks that were assigned to them,

Killian couldn’t bother to pay less heed than they deserved— his eyes stayed glued to the hills. Deep scars from the recent encounter with the beasts now marred the once-vibrant greenery.

Patches of scorched earth, fallen trees, and the eerie silence that lingered as a spectre reminded him of just how close death had been.

A month ago, beasts had torn through the land, leaving nothing but ruins and the loss of people who put their lives forward to save the city. They left a kind of ruin that swallowed hope and dragged you into the abyss of fear.

His fingers traced the rough stone beneath him, still in the process of being laid anew. Just a month ago, he had stood in this very spot, heart pounding, as the monstrous roars echoed from the hills, thinking he would never see another sunrise— Putting out a fake brave front to hide away his feelings of terror and unease.

A brave front to shower hope to any and every person who looked up to him, and that meant more than half of the guards who trained under him.

Death— it was quite a funny thing to even ponder over.

There had been moments in that battle when the gnashing teeth and ripping claws came too close when the force of a beast's swipe had sent him flying, bones cracking under the impact. He had accepted his death more times than he could count— felt it in his chest, in the desperate breathlessness of battle.

But somehow, here he was. The bruises that once marred his body were nothing more than faded memories, and the deeper wounds had healed into scars, mementoes of survival carved into his skin. He was alive, and that was something he still grappled with.

His gaze shifted from the forest to the bustling scene below.

Labourers moved quickly, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt, but there was no panic in their steps, no fear weighing down their shoulders. New tents dotted the landscape, homes for the refugees who had fled from villages that no longer existed.

The village rebuilding project hadn’t even started yet—the sheer devastation of them made it a hard task— but the refugees had found ways to survive, to keep pushing forward. Temporary shelters had sprung up in organised rows, crude but functional, their patched roofs waving lazily in the breeze.

And the people. Killian’s brow furrowed as he observed the villagers. They worked with smiles on their faces, laughing together as if the horrors of the beast wave were already long behind them. It was strange, almost unsettling.

Just weeks ago, these same people had been inches from death, their homes destroyed, their families scattered. And yet here they were, chattering away as if everything was fine. As if they hadn’t faced down the jaws of annihilation.

“Resilient,” he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible. Or foolish, he thought, but he couldn’t deny the strength in their smiles. The human spirit had a strange way of bouncing back, even when crushed.

His hand unconsciously brushed over the hilt of his sword, the cool metal grounding him in the present.

They weren’t safe, not yet. They had more enemies than just the beasts, and the walls were still only half-finished. But standing there, amidst the noise of construction, surrounded by the laughter of survivors, it felt like they were on the verge of something— recovery, maybe. Or at least a reprieve.

And for now, that was enough.

Killian’s thoughts wandered back to the man responsible for their survival.

Even if he wanted to deny it, there was no escaping the truth— it had all been possible because of one man.

The strategies, the reinforcements, the uncanny ability to lead even when hope had been nothing but a distant flicker. Without him, Killian doubted they’d still be here, rebuilding instead of mourning.

As his mind lingered on that thought, a familiar voice broke his concentration.

“You look like a man with a lot on his mind.”

It was Francis.

Killian turned to the older man, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Francis had been the castle’s administrator for ages, a man of paperwork and logistics, but in the past few months, he had become something more— an unexpected friend.

They had talked about a lot during these rebuilding efforts, from the trivial to the heavy, and Killian had come to respect the older man’s wisdom and dry humour.

“Nothing unpleasant,” Killian replied, leaning his elbows against the wall. “Just thinking about everything that’s happened the past few months.”

Francis let out a low chuckle, his hands rubbing circles in his stomach.

“Pretty wild, isn’t it? Most exciting period of my career, without a doubt. Never thought I’d be caught up in all this— beast waves, refugees, and war councils.”

He paused, his eyes twinkling with something akin to admiration. “You know, it does make me think—sometimes, one man is enough to change the tides of war. ‘A single spark can start a wildfire,’ as they say. That man… Well, we both know who I’m talking about.”

Killian nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the one who had steered them through the storm. A spark, indeed.

“Sure is,” Killian said, his voice thoughtful. “Lord Arzan’s changed so much, it’s hard to think of him as the person I once served under.”

Hearing his words, Francis’s expression tightened into a complicated mix of concern and something unspoken. A slight frown appeared on his face.

“Are you thinking back to that same conversation again?”

Killian sighed, glancing away. It was a topic they had circled back to many times in the past few months. No matter how much they tried to avoid it, neither of them could keep it bottled up for long. Talking it out always felt like a relief, even though it also carried the weight of fear— fear of what it meant to doubt their lord, even just a little.

“Yeah,” Killian admitted, his tone heavy. “It always comes to my mind. I’ve seen people change, but never like this. I would’ve chalked it up to rumours, or the usual gossip, but… it’s not that.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Francis remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Lord Arzan doesn’t even remember much from his childhood anymore. When he asked me about Count Chase’s son, Reyk—” Killian said, thinking back to the man who had lost embarrassingly back in the capital—“that’s when I was sure something was different. Really different.”

He shook his head, still processing it himself. “He’s exceptional now. Those mana cannons… his spell-casting… it’s getting bizarre, Francis. You know it too. Balen told me his methods are revolutionary. Even the things he knows about the Enforcers… it’s not normal.”

Facts over feelings began to dominate his thoughts as he considered Lord Arzan—not just his remarkable abilities, but also the personal things he had done for him.

“I have skills now that can stand against a Mage. Can you believe that? Me, a Knight, fighting on equal ground with a Mage. All because of what he’s taught us. It’s… unbelievable."

Francis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, I understand. I’ve thought about it a lot too. Anyone would. Lord Arzan… isn’t normal. But whatever secret he has, it’s his. We can’t ask. Or… do you think we should?”

Killian frowned. Once again, the conversation was about to end in an endless curve of curiosity.

“I don’t know. The only thing I’m sure of is that Lord Arzan is on our side. No man pushes himself to sacrifice the way he does without a larger goal or philosophy. But… it’s the secrets that crawl at the back of my mind. They’re always there.”

Francis nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sun began its lazy climb to its peak, casting a golden glow over the rebuilt tents and the forest beyond. “I get it, believe me. But I’m an administrator, Killian. I handle problems I can see, measure, and fix. Problems that I can calculate and get an answer to. This… this is something different. Maybe you should talk to him. Clear the air.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Killian admitted, exhaling deeply. “But I feel like if I try to, something might change. And not necessarily for the better.”

“Maybe,” Francis agreed, then paused mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed as he looked out into the distance, where a figure was approaching fast. “Hold on…”

Killian followed his gaze and spotted a lone rider approaching. A man on horseback galloped toward the wall, kicking up dust as the horse’s hooves pounded against the dry earth. The man was moving too fast as if he had finally found the place he had been looking for days.

“Who do you think that is?” Francis asked, his brow furrowed. “A traveller? A merchant?”

Killian squinted, and then his eyes widened slightly as he noticed the rich, flowing robes the man wore with his enhanced eyesight. “No,” he said, his voice dropping. “I believe it’s someone more important. Look at his robes— those are the kind I saw in the castle. The ministers wear those. Or those working directly under them.”

Francis’s posture straightened, his casual demeanour quickly shifting to something more serious. "Then we should find out what message he’s bringing,” he said quietly, watching the rider come ever closer.

***

Kai stood in the quiet graveyard, his eyes moving over the rows of simple graves marked with stones. Each one bore the name of someone who had fallen during the beast wave—a reminder of lives cut short in the chaos. His expression was measured, though sadness lingered at the corners of his eyes.

He sauntered, the weight of loss evident in the way his shoulders sagged. Stopping in front of a grave where the dirt had caked over the marker, Kai raised his hand, casting [Cleanse Touch], which was a first circle wind spell to cleanse a particular area.

A soft, blue glow enveloped his fingers as he cast the spell, cleaning the grime and debris from the stone.

He repeated the process as he moved among the graves, each action slow but intentional, as if his touch might somehow bring a measure of peace to the dead.

The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves, the hum of his magic or whenever he stepped on one of the dried leaves that fell from the trees that surrounded the grave.

Behind him, Claire followed him like a shadow.

“Lord Arzan… it wasn’t your fault that they passed away,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.

Kai paused, lowering his hand after finishing another spell. “I know,” he replied, his tone steady but tinged with regret. “It was a battle. Things happen. People die. But guilt—” He pressed his lips together. “Guilt remains.”

He stepped forward, brushing his fingers along the edge of a headstone. “I come here to lessen it. We have already compensated their families, made sure they have less burdens, but lives are still lost.”

Claire’s brow furrowed as she glanced over at him. “But it’s the third day you’ve been here,” she pointed out, her tone soft yet insistent.

Kai’s eyes didn’t leave the grave before him as he answered, “I have that much guilt.”

The quiet between them thickened, only broken by the occasional flicker of magic as he continued cleaning the graves. His movements were slower now, as though even the simple spells were becoming taxing. He felt Caire glanced at him, noting the subtle wince that crossed his face with each cast.

Since getting out of bedrest a week ago, Kai had thrown himself into every task that required his attention, and his recovery took a backseat. His Mana heart—fractured from the strain of his last battle— was still healing, and every spell he cast sent a dull ache through his chest, almost as if someone was squeezing it from the inside, ever so gently but the nails scratched a part that hurt.

His goal was to reach the fourth circle, but the road ahead felt longer than ever, and every use of magic reminded him of just how fragile his Mana heart had become.

As he cast yet another spell to clean the graves, he felt the familiar twinge of pressure in his chest. His hand faltered slightly, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through, finishing the spell structure with a calm exterior that masked the strain within.

He wasn’t ready to stop. Not yet. Not until the graves were clean.

After making sure the last bit of them was clean, Kai turned away from the graves, his movements deliberate and slow. Claire was waiting by the carriage, her arms folded as she watched him approach. “Lord Arzan, we should hurry. You haven't had breakfast yet,” she said, her tone gentle.

“I was thinking of heading back to work,” Kai started, but Claire interrupted, her voice firm but kind.

“You shouldn’t, not yet. You just recovered. I know you said you can live on mana for a long time, but it’s still good to eat.”

I mean, she isn’t wrong. Kai felt his stomach rumble remembering the barely touched dinner last night.

He nodded, conceding to her logic, and climbed into the carriage. As it rolled forward, he glanced out the window, his gaze catching the occasional wave from the people or curious glances from those on the streets. They all knew whose carriage this was by now due to his frequent visits to different parts of the city.

But as his eyes moved to the roads and crumbling buildings, his thoughts darkened again. The city wasn’t in good shape.

Despite the beast wave not causing extensive damage, it was clear that the infrastructure had been deteriorating long before the attack. Rebuilding efforts had been delayed, overshadowed by battles and other urgent matters. He hadn’t managed to address it yet, and guilt gnawed at him… Again.

That needed to change.

To distract himself from spiralling thoughts of responsibility, he turned his attention to Claire. “So, has she not woken up yet? How’s her health?”

Claire immediately understood who he was talking about and shook her head, her expression softening. “Not yet. But her condition is stable. I believe Amyra will wake up any moment."

Kai sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I hope so,” he murmured, his thoughts heavy with worry and confusion. Worry, because the road to recovery was long, not just for him but for those who had been caught in the storm with him. Confusion, due to something Killian had mentioned.

He had told him about the strange powers she’d unleashed during the beast wave— how her magic had dispelled not just the fiends, but every beast in the area, scattering them like leaves in the wind. Yet, no one knew what kind of spell it was, not even Kai.

He had never encountered anything like it in all his studies, and Amyra herself shouldn’t have had access to such advanced magic.

The questions churned in his mind until the sights became a blur, but they would remain unanswered till the time she woke up.

A shuffle of the carriage, stumbling upon a stone broke him out of his trance of thoughts as he looked outside.

They had already approached the gates, he sat up, his hand resting on the window frame.

They arrived at the entrance, and as he stepped down, he immediately spotted Francis and Killian standing together with a man he didn’t recognize. The two of them turned to look at him, but something was off. Their expressions were strange— as if they had just heard something that had shaken them to their core.

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the unknown figure before meeting Killian’s gaze. “What’s going on?”