Icons are sometimes considered an ultimate skill, but in actuality, they are core manifestations that come into existence after a person affirms their ideals. Icons are rare, much rarer than seals, and much more powerful as they never actually stop growing until a person reaches their peak.
Professor Caldred Kyrendor
Awakened advancement theory
Sector 5, Ragnarok.
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Second lieutenant Tyrus Hadjen walked into Conquestia, the border city of the 7th sector, and without wasting much time, he made his way to the command tent. He had just returned from his mission in the 12th sector and was here to report his arrival.
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and prevent his hands from shaking before pulling the command tent open. The commander—his father—was seated behind a sturdy black desk filled with a heap of military files, while his familiar, a large raven, was perched on his shoulders, its head bent in sleep.
“Second lieutenant Tyrus Hadjen reporting his arrival, sir.”
The commander looked up from the file he was reading and observed him for a moment before gesturing for him to take a seat, but Tyrus remained standing.
“Suit yourself.” The commander closed the file he was working on and leaned back. “Are you aware that the Sunstonian army is marching towards us as we speak?”
"No, sir, I—”
“Of course you don’t.” The commander replied with a disappointed sigh, and Tyrus berated himself for not asking for the latest news before rushing to the command tent.
“They are only a few miles away and are expected to arrive by tomorrow afternoon. I hope you at least know why we cannot afford to lose our hold on this city.”
"Yes, sir, because Conquestia is both a strategic position as well as a vital supply route to the capital. If the Sunstonians take it, they could starve out the capital, or—”
“Astute as always. Strategy is about the only useful talent you possess, but I doubt things would become so dire. Still, I’ve sent for reinforcement, and the major general informed me that an extra ten thousand soldiers will be sent from the 8th Sector to bolster our forces.”
“Won’t that leave the 8th sector almost defenseless?” Tyrus asked, but the commander sniffed and replied.
“The 8th sector doesn’t have dogs breathing down their necks; Conquestia is what we need to worry about.”
Tyrus acquiesced, not wanting to argue with his father, and asked. “Do you have any special orders for me, sir?”
“No, not tonight.” The commander replied dismissively, but as Tyrus turned to leave, he suddenly asked. “How did your mission in the 12th sector go?”
Tyrus froze. “It was uneventful, sir.”
“Nothing of note? No promising recruits?” Commander Hadjen asked curiously, twiddling his pen in a way that managed to instill fear into Tyrus, but he forced the emotion down and replied in a casual tone.
“Nothing too special, sir, although one of the children, a girl, is uncommonly good with the sword.”
The commander sneered. “Swords won’t win us this war, Tyrus; we need an edge quite alright, but not of the physical kind.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
The commander observed him for a moment before he continued and asked. “These Sunstonians’s, you’ve fought them before. Tell me what you’ve noticed about them.”
Tyrus hesitated, picking his words carefully before he replied. “They are stronger than us.”
“Do you know why?” When Tyrus remained silent, Commander Hadjen’s voice dropped and took on a threatening edge. “I asked you a question, lieutenant.”
Tyrus shuddered as terrible memories surfaced, but he pushed them down with a force of his will and replied. “I don’t know—”
“You don’t know anything!” Commander Hadjen shouted. Darkness rippled across the room, and the sleeping familiar jerked awake, its red eyes staring at the room in confusion. Tyrus stumbled backwards, and in a lower tone, the commander spoke. “The Sunstonians aren’t stronger than us; they’re just sending better troops against us, while we send our dredges to be massacred. It’s no wonder we are losing the damn war.”
Tyrus shook from fear, and as much as he tried to control himself, terrible memories resurfaced. The Sunstonians had killed his mother before the war even began, and for some reason, his father had directed his anger and hatred towards the twelve-year-old boy he’d become saddled with.
The commander observed his son as he shook slightly, and he chuckled bitterly. “You lied to me; you said your trip was uneventful, but one of your soldiers reported that you let a particularly skilled awakened escape.”
Tyrus stiffened, but regained himself quickly and replied. “I didn’t let him escape; he was smuggled out by his parents, and we searched for—”
A sudden pressure cut him off, and Tyrus swallowed as the pressure of an advanced core pressed down on him. It was a minute later before the commander spoke again. “I would strike you down, but you’re my only son, so I can’t do that, but the next time you lie to me, I won’t be so lenient.”
Tyrus gasped as the pressure suddenly disappeared, and he chocked out an apology. The commander dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and he hurriedly walked out.
Tyrus kept his composure until he stepped out of the tent before rushing to lean against a wooden pole. He should have known that his father wouldn’t send him on a mission unmonitored, and he should have known that one of his father’s spies was watching. He’d been careless, and if this had happened before his awakening, then he would have been beaten to a pulp for it.
He gathered himself a minute later, after his panic had subsided, and he made his way to his tent. On the way there, though, he saw the soldiers who had gone with him to the 12th sector, seated around a fire, and he moved to join them.
Tyrus sighed as he sat down. He wasn’t here to confront them or find out the mole among them. He just wanted to rest and take in the cool breeze before entering his tent.
The tension in the air was palpable, though, as they mostly knew of his relationship with his father, and Boyd, a beautiful dark-skinned soldier, subtly checked him out for bruise marks. After a moment of silence, Finn, a Tier 16 soldier with a scar across his cheek, sighed and said,.
“I can’t believe it has come to this; just last week, we were skirmishing along the border, but now we have a real battle on our hands.”
“Aye.” Agreed Tomas, his voice grim. “But there’s no turning back now. We fight for our kingdom, for our homes, and for our families. That’s all that matters.”
Boyd nodded, his jaw set in determination. “We’ll give them hell tomorrow, but tonight, let’s enjoy the alcohol, the men, and for some of you, the women."
Laughter erupted from the gathered soldiers, but their conversation was soon interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and they turned to see Captain Reynolds, a stern-faced man, striding toward them.
“Listen up,” he said in a commanding voice when he reached them. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and we need to be ready. Get some rest while you can. We’ll need every ounce of strength we’ve got.”
Tyrus sighed as they all moved to his feet, but Tomas asked him. “What do you think, Tyrus? Do you think we’ll win tomorrow?”
His mind flashed to the dead body of his mother, stoking the rage he always kept on a leash, and in a harsh whisper, he replied. “We’ll give it everything we’ve got. That’s all we can do.”
….
Tyrus awoke before dawn the next morning, but as usual, the camp was already awake, and the hustling and bustling of soldiers filled the air. Tyrus wiggled his shoulders as he stood from his bed and gently nudged Boyd, who was butt naked beside him. “Come on, Boyd, wake up.”
Boyd groaned and muttered. “Ugh, no. If I’m going to die today, then I deserve a little extra sleep.”
Tyrus snorted as he grabbed his pants from where Boyd had thrown them the night before. “We are not going to die, idiot; I thought you were feeling positive last night.”
“I was drunk,“ Boyd replied with a groan, but he opened his eyes after a few seconds and asked. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be.”
“This isn’t some skirmish along the border, Tyr; it’s a real battle.” Boyd replied, and Tyrus sighed. “We’ve trained for years; we’re prepared for this.”
Boyd kept silent for a moment before he muttered. “We don’t even know what we’re fighting for; we have no cause.“
Tyrus fastened his belt and knelt beside the bed. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and they weren’t the only ones bothered by it. No one knew the cause of the war except for the officials at the commander rank and above.
All they knew was that five years ago, the rulers of both kingdoms had declared themselves at war, and although his father knew the cause of the war, he hadn’t deemed it necessary to pass the information along to him.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Tyrus didn’t care much about the cause, though; after all, he hadn’t joined the war to fight for his kingdom but to avenge his mother by bathing his blade in the blood of the Sunstonians.
A familiar rage began to bubble within him, but he pushed it down and replied. “If we don’t know what we are fighting for, then we’ll fight for our lives and for the lives of those who can’t fight for themselves.”
Boyd nodded, and Tyrus stepped out of the tent a moment later. There were soldiers everywhere, either polishing their pristine armor or sharpening already-sharpened blades. Unlike unawakened wars, there was no smell of gunpowder nor signs of heavy machinery; instead, runes covered their armors, and a stack of explosive talismans filled their rings.
An aura of bloodlust shimmered faintly above the camp, igniting his passion as he breathed it in. It invigorated him like a dose of caffeine, and any lingering effects of sleep were washed away.
Tyrus moved to sit with a group of Tier 17 soldiers and took out his armor from his spatial ring. The armor was in pristine condition, but he polished it anyway. The process grounded him and calmed his emotions, and when he began sharpening his blade, the anger morphed, becoming more focused like a dagger instead of a hammer.
Tension filled the air as the sun rose, and the Tier 15 soldiers rushed around, brimming with nervous energy, while most of the veterans meditated, some even going as far as sleeping. Most of the battlefields had been declared Sigma 15–25 by the Council of Lords, meaning only those between Tiers 15 and 25 could fight on them; fortunately, the border land of Conquestia was among these battlefields.
That sigma law had saved the kingdoms, as it had essentially removed both Mythics and calamities from the equation. There were still a few advanced soldiers among them, those who had managed to breakthrough before crossing the second milestone.
Tyrus felt a pang of regret at his own unevolved status, but it wasn’t really his fault. His life had been in danger only a few days after his awakening, and he'd had to choose between the healing that came with advancement and his future potential. He’d been at the 4th tier at the time, and despite having the knowledge of spirit locks, he’d chosen to advance, a decision that only worsened the situation between him and his father.
A memory tried to surface from the mental pit in which he’d buried it, but he pushed it down with his will and sighed before returning his sword into his spatial ring. Before he stood up, though, a messenger arrived and informed him that his presence was required in the command tent.
Tyrus acknowledged the message with a nod and swallowed nervously before downing his armor. He steeled himself as he walked towards the command tent. If his father required his presence, then it had to be a strategic meeting.
Tyrus walked into the tent ten minutes later and found half a dozen captains gathered around the map at the center of the tent.
“Defending the city walls should be our priority.” A woman dressed in blue runic armor suggested as Tyrus walked in, but captain Reynolds countered. “Fighting head-on with the Sunstonians isn’t a favorable tactic, Legion. What we need is an edge, something they’ll never see coming.”
The commander waved Tyrus over so he could see the whole map and pointed to a section of it. “We’ve chosen the plains just beyond the wall of the city as our battlefield; it slopes upward, which gives us an advantage, but it’s not quite enough to make a difference, especially against aerial troops.”
“How many troops are we expecting?”
“Just under fifteen thousand.” Captain Demount replied.
“And we have twelve thousand, not including the extra ten thousand sent from the 8th sector.” Captain Legion argued. “We have enough soldiers to take fifteen thousand.”
“You’re right, sir, but something doesn’t add up.” Tyrus spoke up after staring at the map for only a minute. “They usually aren’t this bold; surely they know we have the advantage of numbers.”
“Perhaps they have an artifact or weapon that has emboldened them.” The commander suggested.
Captain Legion laughed. “They must be underestimating us and our strength; this is an opportunity for us to crush their forces.”
As much as Tyrus wanted to crush the Sunstonians, something felt off with the numbers. The Sunstonians had a lot of soldiers, so why send only a few? Were they truly underestimating them, or was luck finally on their side?
Tyrus racked his mind, but before he could come up with a suitable explanation, the bell rang, signaling the imminent arrival of the Sunstonian army, and soldiers began rushing toward the portal.
The commander immediately dismissed the meeting, and two minutes later, Tyrus rushed through the portal and into formation. As a lieutenant, Tyrus had a troop of soldiers assigned under him, and he spotted Boyd, Ollie, and Finn among them.
They stood on the sloping plains of the border as they waited for the arrival of the Sunstonian army. Tension rose steadily, and a thick aura of bloodlust filled the air. Tyrus breathed in slowly, maintaining the leash on his anger while trying to find balance.
The Sunstonian army arrived a few minutes later, dressed in white runic armor designed with gold, and immediately they appeared over the hill. Commander Hadjen shouted. “This is a Sigma 15-25 battlefield; according to the laws of the Council of Lords, anyone above the 25th tier is forbidden from participating."
“We know the laws, heathen.” The enemy commander shouted and raised a golden staff. “In the name of Aeloria, the goddess of blazing sun, I demand your surrender.”
“Dog!” Commander Hadjen replied with a furious bellow. “Over my dead body, will you set foot in this city?”
The enemy commander chuckled, but it was a sinister sound. “If it is death you want, Hadjen, I will gladly plunge my sword into your rotten guts a hundred times; in fact, it would give me immense pleasure.”
Tyrus stood with his platoon, tightly clutching his sword as he tried to keep his rage under control, but it was hard. Now that the Sunstonians were finally within his line of sight, all he wanted to do was give into his rage and tear them apart.
He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself as he impatiently waited for the signal to charge, but when it finally did, Tyrus was almost caught off guard by it. Almost.
He rushed forward immediately, charging towards the Sunstonian army, even as the furious roar of his comrades drowned out his thoughts. The world was suddenly pained in several hues as skills were activated, and a second later, explosions rocked the earth.
The Tier 15 soldiers fell almost immediately, slaughtered like sheep, as they were still unprepared and undertrained for a battle of this scale. Tier 16 fared a little better, but the real battle only began when the Tier 17 soldiers clashed.
Tyrus manipulated both energy and willpower into a complex weave before channeling them into his awarded skill {Flame imbuement}, and his sword was instantly coated in white hot flames. Anger burned within him as he dove into the battle like an animal; all thoughts disappeared as he cut down one soldier after the other.
He slashed the neck of a Tier 18 soldier, cutting off the head in one smooth move before turning to his next victim. A mace slammed into his back, causing him to stagger and dislocate an ankle.
Tyrus ignored the pain and slashed backwards, perfectly aiming at the enemy’s midsection. The soldier was instantly cut in two, spraying him with blood and guts, but his fury only roared for more.
His ankle popped a second later as his regeneration kicked in, and Tyrus dove into the battle with vigor. He fought with no techniques or finesse, even as various skills slammed into him. His armor took the brunt of it, but many got through, and half an hour later, he was covered head to toe in blood, and his once pristine armor was dented and blackened.
The earth shook vigorously as a beam of lightning struck, and an area several meters in diameter instantly disintegrated, along with the soldiers who had been struck by the skill. Space twisted violently, and Tyrus found himself deep within enemy ranks.
He stumbled, and a poison-coated spear pierced into his gut, but he retaliated quickly and stabbed his sword between a soldier’s eyes. His blade tore through her skull like a knife through butter, and Tyrus stumbled back, coughing out blood as poison rushed through his veins.
Several soldiers rushed to attack him, but he threw out a dozen explosive talismans that gave him enough time to swallow a red alchemical pill called the White Flame Pill.
It was a healing pill, specifically a flame-infused healing pill, and as the pill rushed down his throat, it burned through his veins with a sensation akin to that of lava. Tyrus stumbled as the pill burned out the poison from his veins, but he never stopped moving, and he never stopped attacking.
Sunstonian soldiers rushed at him, deeming him defenseless as he dealt with the pain from the pill, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. First, he channeled another braid of energy and willpower into {Flame Imbuement}, but this time his blade wasn’t his target.
Blue flame instantly covered his entire body, roaring with an intensity that made him look like a demon from hell. Explosive strength filled him, and the modicum of control he’d had over his anger snapped.
He roared as he channeled energy into {Fire manipulation}, and a ring of molten flame materialized around him. Without hesitation, he channeled half of his will into the skill, and the ring exploded outward to cover an area several meters wide.
The ring of molten flame began to revolve, and with each revolution, it gained momentum. With another savage roar, Tyrus rushed forward, and the air popped and crackled from the intense heat he was generating.
He stayed away from anyone above the 18th tier, as even blinded by rage, he knew not to needlessly throw his life away. How could he bathe his sword in the blood of Sunstonians if he died now?
The soldiers ranging from 16 to 18 were easy pickings, and as he ran through the ranks of Sunstonian soldiers, screams of agony filled his ears. His rage grew with each kill, the need for revenge insatiable, and everywhere he passed, all that was left was the charred corpses of his enemies and the pungent smell of burning flesh.
The roars of explosions filled his ears as destructive skills slammed down from the sky, tearing apart both friend and foe. Chaos built all around him, feeding his frenzy to the point of insanity, and at one point, he began to laugh, even as bodies burned around him.
They were winning; for the first time in a long time, they were finally winning against the Sunstonians. This was the glory of war he’d always heard about. This was what it tasted like to be victorious! This was—
{ICON MANIFESTATION: HUNGERING EARTH.}
The icon resounded in the minds of everyone present like the boom of thunder, and it broke through the fog of chaos that had clouded Tyrus’s mind. Terror gripped him immediately, and his fury disappeared, granting him clarity as the earth opened up like the maw of a beast, half a mile in diameter, that instantly swallowed hundreds of the Sunstonian army.
Tyrus ran, not towards his people, but away from them. Icons were like ultimate cards that shouldn’t be used until a battle was squarely in your favor, because once a person played them, another was sure to counter.
He wasn’t the only one running towards the Sunstonians, and with good reason. The Sunstonian army tried to block him, but he easily cut his way through. He found Ollie with a spear in his gut, and against his better judgement, he rushed towards him, pulled the spear out, and cauterized the wound before he could bleed to death.
Ollie screamed, but even he knew the danger they were in, and he gasped. “We need to run. Now!”
Tyrus scooped him up, but he’d barely taken a dozen steps when his fear was realized, and with the voice of thunder, another icon manifested above them.
{ICON MANIFESTATION: FLAMES OF DIVINITY}
Otherworldly flames descended from the sky like a river aimed at the Ragnarok army. Ollie managed to react fast enough, and the earth swallowed them just as a wave of blistering heat washed against them.
Others weren’t so lucky, even those not within the range of the manifestation, as the wave of heat was enough to kill soldiers up to the 20th tier. Hundreds of their soldiers were burned to ashes, with almost a thousand suffering from serious injuries.
When Ollie and Tyrus returned to the surface, the entire plain was filled with dust, smoke, and the agonized screams of dying soldiers. A cry of anguish tore itself from Tyrus throat as he watched the broken and burning bodies of his comrades.
Rage rose within him, filling his entire being with the intent to kill, but when he turned to their enemies, he found out why many just stood in helpless fury.
The Sunstonian army was gone. They’d vanished from the battle, and with a sinking feeling, Tyrus realized what he’d missed all along.
This battle had been a distraction, a way to pull the attention of the entire kingdom to the city of Conquestia and away from their actual target.
With no one to focus their fury on, the soldiers walked aimlessly amongst their fallen, hoping to find one person who was still alive. It took them several hours to gather up all the injured as well as bury their dead, and by the time they made it back to camp, it was already evening.
Tyrus walked into the command tent and found his father as well as the captains standing soberly around the map. His father gripped the radio in his hands hard enough to crack it as he listened to a report from the other end.
His expression was furious, but his voice was controlled, and when he finally dropped the radio, he turned to the gathered captains. “As we’ve all realized by now, this entire battle was a distraction.”
“Who were the real targets then?” Captain Reynolds asked, and the commander pointed to a part of the map not too far from their current location.
“Ironforge, the capital city of the 8th sector.”