When Corvus opened his eyes, he felt the deep pain that enveloped first the ceiling of the tent and then his body. A sharp burn penetrated every fiber of his smashed muscles. When he tried to move, he felt the weight of his body; each of his bones ached as if they had been struck. Realizing he was awake, Kaelyra immediately bent over him. Kaelyra's voice echoed, but the words lost their meaning. It was muffled and distant. Just lost in the intense pain. Involuntarily, a single word escaped his chapped lips:

"Water..."

Kaelyra quickly fetched a bowl of water and gently held it to Corvus' lips. His body relaxed for a moment as the water ran down his throat. The burning inside him eased and his head became a little clearer. The coolness of the water drowned out the pain, if only for a brief moment. But a moment later, an unexpected silhouette entered his vision. Valerius Tiamat, holding a bowl. Corvus' uncle and the next in charge after Sanguinar. His stern features and the authority in his gaze made even the air in the tent heavy.

Valerius silently handed the bowl to Kaelyra. Without a word, Kaelyra took it and brought it to Corvus' lips. He didn't know what was in the cup, but he knew that he had to drink it. It tasted disgusting. It smelled bitter, sour and rotten. But after a few sips, the burning sensation inside him gave way to a sharp relief. The pain was gone in an instant. The fog in his brain cleared, the heaviness in his muscles eased. When he regained full consciousness, the first thing he asked was:

"How long have I been asleep?"

"You've been snoring for two days."

It was Valerius who answered. He spoke coldly and clearly. Corvus' mind suddenly started working. He had been unconscious for two days. What had happened during that time? What had the enemy done? What was the situation in Bahoz?

But Valerius' continued words lightened the heavy burden. The Rhazgord army had recovered and arrived at Bahoz. The enemy army had fled in panic as soon as they learned of the arrival of the powerful Rhazgord troops. When Corvus heard this, he felt the pressure that had been weighing on him for so long dissipate. His eyelids relaxed for a moment, his shoulders relaxed, the war was over. At least for now.

"Stand up if you are conscious! Even if I have arrived, you have one last task."

Corvus knew very well what that task was. He had to attend the funeral to honor the souls of the fallen warriors. After all, he was their commander. Despite Kaelyra's insistence, Valerius did not change his mind.

With Kaelyra's support, he slowly stood up. His body was heavy, his muscles tired, but whatever Valerius had given him was taking effect. As he opened the tent flap, he was dazzled by the sharp light of the pale moon hanging in the sky. He squinted and looked ahead; he was in the middle of the camp of the huge army, but it was strangely silent. Without the normally echoing footsteps and the shrill rumble of steel, the camp seemed empty and deserted. But this silence was not the silence of loneliness, but of mourning.

The ceremony was too big for the camp grounds; all the soldiers had gathered outside the camp to say goodbye to their fallen comrades. As Corvus took his first step, the weight of fatigue weighing on his body, he tripped and his knees buckled slightly. But before he could fall to the ground, two strong hands grabbed him. When he looked up, he met the stern but friendly gaze of Zarqa and Baldrek standing beside him. Their presence made him forget his exhaustion, even if only for a moment.

The three friends exchanged silent greetings without the need for words. The pain shared in their gaze reflected the weight of Kragan's loss. Each of them was carrying their own grief, but at the same time supporting each other. As Corvus made his way out of the camp and into the crowd of soldiers, attention turned to him. Everyone, friend or foe, was united around a single emotion as they looked at him: Respect.

This young man had overcome an impossible threat, defeated an army five times larger than his own. But what was truly admirable was his courage and strategic brilliance on the battlefield. Even while he was unconscious, his stories spread by word of mouth and became legend around him.

Suddenly, a burly man emerged from the crowd and approached Corvus with heavy steps. Corvus had to raise his head as the man's imposing form cast shadows over him. He looked as solid as a mountain, with chiseled features, eyes full of experience and a stern gaze. The man spoke in a thick, authoritative voice:

"Are you Corvus Tiamat?"

Corvus did not know who the man was or what he wanted. But he did not feel fear either. Determined and calm, he gave a short but clear answer:

"Yes. I am."

After that single word, the man's face softened. A deep sadness and a heavy sorrow replaced the hard gaze of a moment before. At that moment Corvus realized who the person in front of him was. The old man, his eyes fixed on the ground, spoke in a low but soulful voice:

"I heard you wielded my son's axe on the battlefield, and with it you gave the enemy a taste of doom and honored his soul. Thank you."

This man was Kragan's father. Though he had never met Corvus before, he knew well the commander his son had served so faithfully. And now he was here to show his gratitude to this young man for keeping the name of his lost son alive.

In Rhazgord tradition, a warrior's weapon was part of his soul. To take the weapon of a fallen warrior and triumph on the battlefield would honor his spirit and bring him to the realm of the gods. With this in mind, Corvus took up Kragan's axe and went into battle. Now he stood before the father of the axe's rightful owner, looking at him with grateful eyes.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The big man made way for Corvus, moving his mountainous body slightly to the side. As Corvus stepped forward, the warriors in the crowd bowed in respect, showing silent devotion. The young warriors vied with each other to see him up close and to speak a word to him. Some excitedly held out their hands, waiting for a chance to shake Corvus' hand. But Corvus moved with dignity, maintaining the solemnity of the moment despite the attention.

He moved slowly through the crowd and moved to a place where he could watch the ceremony from the front. The space in front of him was filled with silence, but it was a silence of respect, not of mourning.

The lifeless bodies of the Rhazgord warriors who had fallen in the terrible battle two nights before had been carefully carried to the ceremony site. Here were the warriors who had lost their lives in Bahoz and in battle. A deep wave of sadness swept over Corvus as he faced the motionless bodies of Kragan, Tharvork and Draknar. This weight settled on his chest, stopping his breathing for a brief moment. But according to Rhazgord tradition, crying or mourning for fallen warriors was seen as a sign of weakness. In order for their souls to reach the gods with honor, it was necessary not to shed a tear for them. So everyone on the field buried their own grief in silence, keeping their trembling lips tightly closed.

With a stern but firm command from Valerius, the shamans emerged for the ceremony. Long, resonant chants and mystical prayers in the ancient Rhazgord language filled the night. In a deep ritualistic mood, the shamans began to circle the lifeless body of each warrior, one by one. The rhythm of the chants was like a tribute, reflecting the stories of the warriors' lives and the greatness of their souls.

The most sacred moment of the ceremony approached. As the shamans sang the last verses of the chants, everyone on the ceremony grounds held their breath. The dead bodies were to be cremated. The purpose of this ritual was not only to end the physical body, but if there were any warriors whose spirits had not left their bodies, to free their souls so that they could reach the gods. As the light of the flames pierced the darkness of the night, this final step would be completed, freeing the souls of the warriors of Rhazgord.

The stench of burning bodies was heavy and acrid, stinging as it filled his lungs. But Corvus did not move. The pungent odor wafting through the smoke was just one of the harsh realities of the battlefield. For inexperienced warriors, it was a different test - some could not stand it and moved to the back lines, vomiting up the contents of their stomachs and letting out their inner turmoil. But Corvus never took his gaze away from the burning bodies and the shamans circling the fire, their chants changing from whispers to howls.

Soon the ceremony was over. The time for mourning was over; they had to move on and continue their journey. The camp was bustling again as the warriors hurried back to their posts. For Corvus, however, this was the moment when he realized once again that his body was exhausted. The medicine Valerius had given him was slowly losing its effect, the heaviness returning to his muscles. He couldn't stay up any longer; he had to go back to bed and focus on his recovery.

He didn't know how long it had been between falling asleep and waking up. But it certainly must have been long. Because when he opened his eyes, the pain had subsided and he could feel the Lightstone energy coursing through his veins again. But something was different. This time he was not in a tent. Instead of soft fabric, he felt hard wood. When he lifted his head and looked around, he realized he was in a carriage.

"I can't understand how anyone can sleep so much!"

The words carried a hint of amazement mixed with humor. Corvus turned his head when he heard the familiar voice. He saw the figure on the back of the horse riding beside him, Ilyada skillfully holding the ropes. There was a playful glint in her eyes, a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

Corvus sat up, feeling his bones crunch into place. He tried to revitalize his body with a few stretches, his strained muscles tingled, but it was a sign that he was recovering. Glancing around, he once again realized the majesty of the massive Rhazgord army.

The great army marched in a long line, moving in discipline, in perfect order. The carriages carrying logistics were heavily guarded; the warriors scanned every corner around them, alert for the slightest threat. The messenger riders were constantly moving back and forth, carrying messages between different parts of the army, while the warriors were always ready to attack.

Corvus took a deep breath. It was time to move again.

"Do you have any extra horses?" Corvus asked.

Ilyada looked at him with raised eyebrows. It was one of the funniest questions you could ask an Iskat rider. She rolled her eyes and shook her head from side to side with a mocking expression. Then suddenly she whistled. Before the echo of the whistle had faded, a white horse quickly broke away from the herd and rode up beside Ilyada. Its muscular legs were planted firmly on the ground, its shiny coat gleaming in the light.

Corvus jumped onto the horse's back with a nimble movement. The horse was young, strong and a true warhorse. There was hidden strength beneath its muscles, but for now it moved calmly, as if surrendering to Corvus' hands.

Ilyada spoke, gesturing with her head to someone riding at the front of the army:

"My father heard that your horse was killed in the battle."

As Corvus bent down and fed the horse the apple Ilyada had thrown him, Ilyada smiled slightly and added a warning:

"It is a very good horse. Make sure you don't lose this one too."

Corvus nodded his head slightly in agreement. As he stroked his horse's neck, he imagined himself back on the battlefield. He was beginning to feel like his old self, even if he was no longer fully recovered.

"Are we going to the Laxon capital, or have you already destroyed it?" said Corvus, reaching for the canteen tied to Ilyada's horse.

Ilyada looked displeased at the theft of her canteen, but said nothing. She replied in a calm voice: "Don't worry, you haven't missed the action. We will be in the Laxon capital before nightfall."

Meanwhile Corvus saw the bottom of the canteen. He had been unconscious for a long time and had not drunk water. His throat was still dry. Realizing this, Ilyada handed him another canteen with a sigh. As Corvus quenched his thirst, the rumbling of his stomach suddenly echoed in the air.

Ilyada raised her eyebrows and grinned slightly. "It seems you're not only short of water, but also short of feed." she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a piece of dried meat. As Corvus greedily devoured the meat, Ilyada spoke in a mocking tone:

"You better not expect this kind of treatment when we get married!"

Corvus responded to Ilyada's words with an annoying smile. A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes and he suddenly spurred up his horse. "It's too early to talk about it." he said, and gave a light laugh.

Now that he was awake, he had to know all the details. And the best way to do that was to go to Valerius, who was leading the army. Ilyada joined Corvus, and the two of them rode side by side to the front of the army.