Blistering heat drenched the Auron Colosseum, casting jagged shadows across the weathered stone stands. The same arena that had once hosted the renowned Tetrasan Tournament now stood as a battleground for Arlan and his companions. The air was thick with the pulse of mana as dust and heat swirled around the sparring warriors.
Marie hovered high above, her wings of dark flame casting an ominous glow, her hands blazing with the energy of a fifth-tier spell. “You won’t absorb them all, Arlan,” she smirked as she hurled a barrage of [Firebolts] down at him.
Arlan stood his ground, his greatsword Starshadow glowing faintly as one of its runes absorbed the onslaught of flames. Each bolt sizzled into nothingness as they struck the sword, but the sheer number of them kept him pinned. He couldn’t go on the offensive—not yet. His eyes flickered with the golden glow of [Heraldic Vision], tracking Marie’s movements, waiting for an opening.
A flash of icy blue from the flank drew his attention too late—Chrysta had immobilized him with a sudden [Frostbind]. Thick tendrils of ice shot up from the ground, wrapping around his legs, locking him in place. From the other side, Yuna dashed in, her staff glowing with the deadly promise of an on-hit spell. Her speed was faster than expected, and her timing impeccable.
Arlan’s jaw tightened, and with a burst of essence, he shattered the ice encasing his legs. His movements were swift and decisive. As Yuna’s staff closed in on him, he spun, delivering a powerful kick that sent her flying across the arena with enough force to knock her out of the fight. Her body hit the ground hard, sliding to a stop as her mana barrier flickered and failed.
Marie’s eyes widened as she saw Yuna fall. Her wings flared as she dove closer, ready to unleash [Infernohand], a spell that Arlan couldn't fully absorb even with Starshadow’s runes. But before she could close the distance, Arlan’s hand shot forward, and he hurled Starshadow at her with a practiced, precise throw. The greatsword spun through the air, absorbing the incoming [Infernohand] as it flew, the spell vanishing into its runes like it had never existed.
As Marie frantically deflected the greatsword, Arlan dashed toward Chrysta, who had begun weaving her own defensive spell. Ice crystallized into a barrier before her, but it was no match for Arlan’s brute force. He unleashed a series of [Arcflare] with his left hand, forcing her to divert focus to defense. Then, with a single punch, he shattered her ice shield and sent her crashing into the stone walls of the Colosseum.
Marie, now the last one standing, snarled in frustration. Her hand shot out, conjuring a flaming whip with [Flamewhip], its fiery tendrils lashing out at Arlan’s feet. At the same time, her other hand glowed with the deadly power of [Wrath of Ignis]. She unleashed it with a roar, engulfing Arlan in a torrent of blue and red flames that scorched the ground and left the air humming with raw mana.
The flames hit Arlan hard, searing through his defenses and burning his flesh. But then, his Monarch’s Regalia flared to life, activating his [True King] form. His aura exploded with golden light, pushing back the fire. Arlan burst forward in a flash, closing the distance between him and Marie, ready to strike her down with Starshadow, now back in his grip.
But before his blow could land, Marie activated her [Hellborn] form. Her human body was partially replaced by demonic features, like horns protruding from her head. It also created a fiery explosion so intense that it forced Arlan back. Her spells came at him in rapid succession—massive firestorms and pillars of flame that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.
Arlan’s eyes narrowed, and his arms became a blur of motion as he activated his new skill: [Crown’s Reprisal]. His greatsword moved at inhuman speeds, deflecting each and every spell hurled at him. Fireballs fizzled out, flames dissipated into sparks, and all the while, Arlan pressed forward. His defense was perfect, his movement relentless.
Finally, he was upon her. With a swift and calculated strike, he brought Starshadow down with just enough force to break through her mana barrier, sending her crashing to the ground. She lay there, panting, her barrier broken but her body spared.
Fiala and Niren rushed to the stage, their hands already glowing with healing magic. They quickly attended to Marie, Chrysta, and Yuna, who groaned as the aches of their sparring match set in.
“How?” Marie spat in frustration, still catching her breath. “How are you still this strong? I’m a higher-tier core! You shouldn’t be able to keep up with me.”
Arlan sheathed Starshadow with a satisfied smirk. “It’s a combination of factors. My gold-core is something even I don’t understand. Add [Heraldic Vision] and Starshadow’s rune enchantments, and it gives me an edge.”
JD leaned back against the Colosseum wall, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Plus, we’ve all been pushing each other to the limits this past week. We’ve all been improving by dueling each other.”
Arlan then pointed toward the edge of the arena, where a towering figure stood, watching the sparring session with interest. “Savage, you’re up against JD.”
The warrior stepped into the arena, his black dreads swaying as he walked. The massive mithril greataxe strapped to his back gleamed under the sun, and his darkened mithril armor caught the light as he moved. He was a beast of a man, standing at least a foot taller than Arlan, with muscles that rippled with power. At just the age of 17, he already had the presence of a veteran warrior. He flashed a toothy grin, his dark eyes gleaming with the promise of battle.
JD grinned back, drawing his twin mithril longswords. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Savage.”
The clash was immediate. JD darted forward with his characteristic speed, his twin blades flashing as they cut through the air toward Savage. But Savage was no ordinary opponent. With a roar, he swung his massive greataxe, meeting JD’s attack head-on. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the arena, and JD was forced to retreat a step, eyes wide with surprise.
Savage didn’t give him a moment’s respite. He was on JD in an instant, his greataxe swinging with terrifying force. JD ducked and weaved, his agility saving him from the deadly strikes, but every time he tried to counter, Savage was there, parrying with shocking speed for someone of his size.
JD lashed out with a spinning strike, aiming for Savage’s legs, but Savage jumped back with surprising agility, bringing his axe down in a devastating arc. JD barely managed to deflect it, the force of the blow pushing him back.
The two continued their deadly dance—JD’s speed and finesse against Savage’s raw power and unrelenting aggression. Every clash of blade and axe rang through the arena, each strike filled with lethal intent. Savage roared as he activated [Bloodfury], his eyes glowing red as his strength and speed surged. JD grimaced, sensing the shift in power, but he held his ground, slashing out with his longswords in a flurry of attacks.
Savage deflected the blows, his greataxe moving faster than seemed possible for its size. He swung upward, catching JD’s blade mid-strike and sending him stumbling back. Savage pressed the advantage, launching a brutal overhead strike, but JD managed to roll out of the way just in time.
Niren watched from the sidelines, his eyes narrowing. “Impressive... Savage is holding his own against a Regalia Holder. That’s not something many can claim.”
Chrysta nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “Arlan mentioned Savage’s heritage. He’s from the Hak-Jefah, a warrior tribe with battle instincts ingrained in their blood. Each new generation receives the battle instincts of all the previous generations. It’s in their blood to be blessed in such a way.”
JD wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles burning from the strain of his bout with Savage, whose unyielding attacks had pushed him to the limit. The field was silent except for their labored breathing, the tension still thick in the air. Savage, the towering, muscle-bound young-man, stood with a small grin on his face. His massive frame heaved from the exertion, but his spirit was far from broken.
Savage chuckled, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. “You’ve got me,” he admitted, voice low but steady. “That was the best damn fight I’ve had in a while.”
JD smirked, offering his hand. “I’m Jan Derva, Banner of the Claw. You can call me JD. You’ve earned my respect.”
The two clasped hands in a show of mutual respect. Fiala, the group’s healer, stepped forward, her hands glowing a soft blue. She moved with grace as she placed her palms over their wounds, channeling healing magic into their battered bodies.
“You both pushed yourselves hard. Let me fix you up,” Fiala said in her gentle voice, her magic stitching flesh and soothing bruises. Within moments, both fighters were good as new, though the exhaustion lingered.
“Thanks,” JD and Savage said in unison.
As Fiala finished her work, Arlan stepped forward, motioning for two more figures to approach. A slim male mage with black hair in leather armor strode confidently forward, his steps deliberate. Beside him, a female warrior in full steel plate armor carried a gleaming mithril longspear, her grip firm but relaxed, as if the weapon was merely an extension of herself.
"This is Lucius Nightshade, and this is Frej Aikhan," Arlan introduced, his voice commanding attention. "They'll face off against Sir Niren and Yanie."
Lucius gave a respectful nod, his floating wand already at the ready, while Frej gripped her spear tightly, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Without a word, they took their positions across from Niren and Yanie, the tension rising. The moment Arlan gave the signal, the match exploded into action.
Frej moved like a bolt of lightning, launching herself into the air with inhuman agility. Her spear spun through the air, poised for a deadly strike aimed at Niren. Meanwhile, Lucius remained grounded, his wand floating beside him, its smooth motion almost lazy in contrast to the chaos around him. He raised a hand, and spectral hands erupted from the ground, creating shimmering shields that deflected Yanie’s incoming arrows.
Yanie, moving with the fluid grace of a seasoned ranger, darted through the stage. Her arrows flew with deadly precision, each one aimed to pin down Frej and Lucius. But Frej’s aerial mastery made her untouchable, her body twisting and diving through the air, while Lucius calmly expanded his wand into a large shield.
Niren, however, was unfazed by the chaos around him. His calm, collected demeanor never wavered as he tracked Frej's rapid movements. When her spear came thrusting toward him with blistering speed, Niren sidestepped with impeccable timing, his sword clashing against her mithril weapon in a shower of sparks. Their strikes and counterstrikes became a rapid-fire blur of steel and determination, Frej’s spear spinning in intricate patterns, trying to find any gap in Niren’s perfect defense.
“Not bad,” Niren commented coolly as he deflected another thrust, his eyes sharp. “But you’ll need more than speed to break me.”
Frej’s grin widened. “Good thing I have more than just speed.”
With a sudden burst of essence, Frej launched herself even higher into the air, disappearing into the blinding light of the sun. Niren squinted, struggling to track her as she circled above, positioning herself for a dive. This time, she came down like a falling star, spear first, aiming directly for Niren’s exposed shoulder.
The impact of the blow was fierce, Niren’s sword barely catching the spear in time, but the sheer force pushed him back several paces. Before he could counter, Frej twirled in midair, her spear lashing out in a deadly arc toward his legs. Niren leaped back, but the tip of Frej’s spear caught his armor, grazing it with a screeching sound.
Meanwhile, Lucius and Yanie’s duel had escalated. Yanie, darting through the stage, unleashed arrow after arrow, but Lucius’s floating wand was like a sentient shield, deflecting each one with perfect precision. Spectral hands erupted from the ground, swatting away Yanie’s arrows or creating temporary barriers.
Lucius, realizing that Yanie was quick and adaptive, changed his strategy. His wand morphed into a blade of pure energy, extending outward and slashing through the air. At the same time, he used Spectral Hands to manipulate objects in the field, disrupting Yanie’s evasion. He sent one of the relics to create an arcane barrier behind her, trapping her movements.
Yanie, sensing the change in the battle’s pace, nocked an arrow infused with mana. As she released it, the projectile split into three mid-flight, each aimed at a different angle, designed to overwhelm Lucius’s defenses. Lucius reacted swiftly, casting a series of overlapping arcane shields with his wand, but two of the arrows struck through the gaps, grazing his arm.
Lucius winced but pressed forward. He manipulated the floating relics, sending one hurtling toward Yanie’s position. Yanie dodged, but the relic exploded with a burst of force, the shockwave knocking her off balance. Lucius seized the moment, sending his energy blade toward her, catching her off guard. The impact hit her hard, sending her flying to the ground, where she lay unconscious.
“Yanie!” Niren called out, a flicker of concern breaking his usual calm. But he couldn’t afford to lose focus. Frej had taken advantage of his momentary distraction, and now she was coming at him with relentless speed, her spear flashing in rapid succession. Each thrust, each strike, was faster than the last.
But Niren was a master of defense. With each of Frej’s attacks, he countered with precise parries, his movements efficient and controlled. He bided his time, waiting for the perfect opening. And then, when Frej overextended on a downward thrust, Niren seized his chance.
With a surge of essence, Niren activated his Archangel’s Regalia, his body glowing with radiant energy. His sword swung upward, deflecting Frej’s spear with tremendous force, knocking her off balance. In one fluid motion, he followed up with a powerful blow, sending Frej crashing into the ground.
Before Lucius could react, Niren turned toward him, his eyes blazing with determination. He lifted his sword, the glow around him intensifying.
“[Final Verdict],” Niren declared, and a massive shockwave of energy erupted from his sword, crashing into both Lucius and Frej simultaneously. The force of the attack was overwhelming, sending both of them flying across the training field. The ground shook, and dust filled the air as the two young warriors collapsed, unconscious from the sheer power of the blow.
The field fell silent as Niren stood victorious over the fallen pair, his breathing steady but his stance rigid with focus.
“Enough,” Arlan called, stepping into the circle in a calm authoritative voice. Niren immediately sheathed his sword, his eyes softening as the glow of his Regalia faded. He knelt beside Lucius and Frej, placing his hands over them. He whispered a few words, and a soft glow emanated from his hands as healing magic began to mend their wounds.
As the two stirred awake, Arlan spoke again, his voice steady but warm. “That’s enough for today. Let’s head back. Jovann has prepared a feast for us at the manor.”
Later that evening, the atmosphere in the Reeve Manor dining hall was warm and welcoming. Laughter and conversation filled the room as everyone gathered at the long table. Frej, JD, Marie, Chrysta, Savage, Lucius, Sir Niren, Yuna, Yanie, Fiala, Nightingale, and Tebald were seated together, the tensions from earlier forgotten as food and drink were passed around.
Frej, seated next to JD, leaned over with a smirk. “So, JD, what’s it really like serving under Arlan? He seems like he could snap a tree in half with just a look.”
JD grinned, his sharp wit on full display. “Oh, he’s even worse than that. Trees, boulders, morale—nothing stands a chance.”
Marie chuckled from across the table. “Don’t let him fool you, Frej. Arlan is actually just a big softy sometimes.”
JD shot Marie a mock glare. “Well, I’m not sure if that’s how I’d introduce him but yeah he has his moments.”
Chrysta, ever cold and calm, added with a smirk, “Marie is equally as scary as Arlan at times.”
Laughter erupted from the group, and Frej’s grin widened. “You lot are ridiculous. Maybe I’ll like it here.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Further down the table, Sir Niren leaned toward Fiala, his tone more serious. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about your time with the Nymedes party. Care to share?”
Fiala looked at Niren, her eyes softening as memories surfaced. “It was a bit ago. The Nymedes party... Was a party with my brother but most of the Nymedes have died… Only Yanie and I are left.”
Niren nodded, his own expression mirroring hers. “I know that feeling well. My first command... It felt like we were invincible. Until we weren’t.”
Fiala sighed, a sad smile touching her lips. “It’s never easy losing comrades. But we carry them with us, in every step forward.”
Niren placed a hand on hers. “You’ve kept moving forward. That’s what matters.”
Across the table, Tebald leaned forward eagerly, his curiosity piqued by Lucius. “Lucius, I’ve been dying to ask—your knowledge of artifacts is impressive. Did you study ancient relics specifically? I majored in it at Lancel High.”
Lucius’s eyes lit up, finally finding someone who shared his passion. “I did, actually. It’s fascinating how much power is locked inside relics that the world has forgotten about. The way they channel mana... it’s almost as if they have a will of their own.”
Tebald nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Some of the relics we studied back at Lancel High had properties we couldn’t even begin to understand. There’s so much untapped potential.”
The two dove deep into conversation, their excitement bouncing off each other as they discussed theories and artifacts, completely absorbed in their shared interest.
Meanwhile, Savage ate quietly at the far end of the table, his eyes fixed on his plate. Arlan approached, sitting beside him. For a few moments, neither spoke.
“I can see in your eyes, you’ve seen just as many battles as I have,” Arlan said softly.
Savage paused, his fork hovering above his plate. “Aye… I thought you were a prim and proper stuck up noble. But I see in your eyes too. You’ve killed numerous.”
Arlan leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. “Even as a child, I’ve also fought then… Fighting is all I know.”
Savage finally looked up, meeting Arlan’s eyes. “You understand the true warrior’s path.”
Arlan nodded.
Their conversation lingered in the heavy silence of shared understanding, both warriors shaped by battles they hadn’t chosen.
The talks around the table were interrupted when Edgar, Dimitri, Erin, and Katalina arrived. Arlan stood, raising his glass to greet them.
“These are some of the finest warriors of the Banner of the Claw. Edgar, Dimitri, Erin, and Katalina,” he introduced. “Unfortunately, Duke Louis won’t be joining us, as he’s occupied with recovery efforts in the capital.”
He then turned to the group, addressing everyone with a sense of gravity and warmth. “Tomorrow, we’ll be undergoing a large exercise led by Dink Rorschach. Everyone here will play a pivotal role. Whether inside the Iron Grotto or battling the dark fiends outside, I trust in each of you.”
He raised his glass. “Eat well, rest up. Tomorrow, we will train for the upcoming battle.”
The group raised their glasses in unison, a toast to the challenge ahead. The atmosphere was warm, filled with camaraderie, laughter, and the bond of warriors who had fought and bled together.
Later, Arlan found himself alone with Katalina on the mezzanine overlooking the banquet hall, her usual fire dimmed by the weight of her grief.
“I miss him,” Katalina whispered, her voice cracking. “My father... I thought I’d be stronger, but it’s harder than I thought. Mother still hasn’t spoken a single word and Katherine is no longer afforded a childhood, she’s now taking on responsibilities at her age.”
Arlan’s heart clenched, the memory of Count Emile still fresh in his mind. “He was a great man, Katalina. I wish... I wish I had been stronger that day.”
She turned to face him, her eyes filled with steely resolve. “I want you to destroy the Malum Incarnate, Arlan. No mercy. For my father.”
Arlan met her gaze, his own resolve matching hers. “I won’t rest until I see it through.”
Katalina nodded, her voice firm. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve been preparing to command the 1st Galdo Banners, and your training has helped.”
Arlan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Erin will command the Banner of the Claw next week. He’ll support you as best he can.”
With a small smile, Katalina looked around the manor. “It’s been a while since we were all gathered like this. Feels like just yesterday when we were waking up to attend the academy.”
Arlan chuckled softly. “Despite it being a year, it really does seem like it was just yesterday.”
“I wish at times, we can go back to those days,” mentioned Katalina remorsefully. But before Arlan could respond, Katalina had already turned and started leaving for her quarters. Arlan lingered for a moment, contemplating about his companions down below who were still lively.
As the dining hall slowly emptied and the evening’s conversations began to fade, Arlan found himself wandering back toward his chambers. The warmth of camaraderie lingered behind him, yet his thoughts were clouded with the weight of tomorrow’s challenges.
When he stepped into his quarters, the moonlight softly illuminated Emmeline lying in bed, her face peaceful, her breathing steady as she slept. Arlan paused, admiring the serene beauty of the woman who meant so much to him.
Silently, he undressed and slipped into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her slumber. As he rested his head on the pillow, exhaustion finally caught up with him. His eyelids grew heavy, and within moments, sleep claimed him.
But as soon as the darkness of sleep engulfed him, it shattered. He wasn’t in the manor anymore. Arlan, now back in the identity of Rove, jolted awake in the middle of a warzone. The familiar weight of his Astrium Power Suit (APS) settled on his body, the hum of its systems activating in sync with his heartbeat.
He was holding his carbine, its cool metal familiar in his grip, while his left arm bore a high-frequency blade, ready but not yet extended. Around him, the sky burned with fire and the sound of distant gunfire echoed across the shattered cityscape.
Rove’s earpiece buzzed with frantic radio chatter. “This is… Saber 4… Position being overrun… we need orders... Captain Rove, we’re—” The voice cut out.
"Saber 4! Fall back immediately!" Rove commanded, his voice tight with urgency. But there was only silence in response. No one answered.
Gritting his teeth, Rove activated the essence augmentations in his APS, feeling the surge of power as he propelled forward, his mind racing as he navigated the broken streets toward his squad’s last known position.
As he rounded a corner, Rove spotted two squads of Arusan soldiers ahead, their weapons trained on him. They fired instantly, but Rove was quicker. His carbine snapped up, bullets ripping through the first group in a flurry of rapid, precise shots.
He moved with a hunter’s precision, darting between cover, executing brutal hit-and-run tactics. As the second squad advanced, he engaged his HF Blade, the high-frequency hum echoing through the streets as the blade extended.
With a burst of speed, Rove closed the distance, slicing through armor and flesh with deadly efficiency. One soldier fell as the blade cut cleanly through his chest; another staggered as Rove flipped over a barricade, driving the edge of the blade into his spine. His movements were fluid, almost mechanical, as the last of the Arusan soldiers crumpled under his relentless assault.
Panting, Rove moved on, his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through him. Finally, he reached the coordinates where one of his squad was supposed to be.
But the sight that greeted him twisted his insides—his soldiers, his comrades, lay scattered on the ground, their bodies torn apart, some riddled with bullets, others mangled beyond recognition. The metallic stench of blood filled the air, mixing with the smoke of the ongoing battle.
Rove froze, his breath catching in his throat. He removed his helmet, his face exposed to the acrid air as tears began streaming down his cheeks. His legs buckled as he knelt beside the remains of one of his men, gently cradling the soldier’s severed head in his arms.
He whispered their names, each syllable heavier than the last, his voice barely audible over the chaos surrounding him. “Marvin… Drew… Tony…”
The pain was too much to bear, a weight too great for even the strongest warrior. He threw his head back and cried out, the raw anguish tearing from his throat in a scream that echoed through the war-torn city.
The desolation of his soul bared itself in that single moment, as Rove—the man who had once been Arlan Reeve—was broken by the horror of his losses.
Arlan's anguished cries shattered the stillness of the night.
Emmeline stirred awake to the sound, her heart racing. She turned to find Arlan thrashing in his sleep, his face twisted in agony, his body trembling. The sound of his cries sent a wave of panic through her. She sat up, reaching for him, her voice soft but urgent.
"Arlan! What’s wrong?!" she yelled, gently shaking him. "Please, wake up!”
But his struggles continued. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his fists clenching the sheets as though he were fighting off unseen horrors. Emmeline’s worry deepened. She pressed her body close to his, wrapping her arms around him, trying to calm him as best she could.
"Someone, help!" she called out, her voice trembling. A few seconds later, Jeanette and Maria, the household maids, rushed into the room, their faces pale with concern.
Before they could speak, Arlan jolted awake, gasping for air as if he had just emerged from the depths of a nightmare. His wide, haunted eyes scanned the room, disoriented. His body shook, still trapped in the emotional remnants of his dream.
"Arlan," Emmeline said softly, placing a hand on his cheek, trying to ground him. "You’re safe. There’s nothing dangerous here."
He blinked, his breathing still uneven as reality settled in. He glanced at the maids, and then back to Emmeline, his voice hoarse. "Was I... screaming?"
Emmeline nodded, her hand not leaving his face. “Yes. You were yelling in your sleep. It sounded like you were in pain.”
Arlan closed his eyes, a wave of shame washing over him. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible.
With a slight nod from Arlan, Emmeline turned to the maids. "You can go now. We’ll be fine."
Jeanette and Maria exchanged a worried look but bowed respectfully before leaving the room, closing the door behind them. The room fell into a heavy silence, with only the sound of Arlan’s ragged breathing filling the space. Emmeline shifted closer, her eyes full of concern.
"Tell me, Arlan," she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Was it a dream... from your previous world?"
Arlan stared at the bed for a moment, his mind still reeling from the vividness of it all. He nodded slowly, unable to meet her eyes. "Yes... It was." His voice trembled as the memories of the dream clung to him like shadows. "I was back... in that place... in the war."
Emmeline squeezed his hand gently, waiting for him to continue.
"I... I saw them again," Arlan whispered, his voice barely holding together. "My squad... my men. Dead... all of them. I tried to reach them, to save them, but when I got there..." His voice cracked, and tears welled up in his eyes. "They were already gone. Torn apart... like they meant nothing. I couldn’t do anything."
Emmeline’s heart ached for him as she watched the tears fall, his face contorted in pain. She pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly as his composure broke. His body trembled with the weight of his grief, and he clung to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
"It’s alright," she whispered into his ear, stroking his hair gently. "You’re here now, Arlan. You’re safe. They would’ve known you did everything you could.”
But Arlan shook his head against her. "I should’ve been faster... I should’ve been stronger. I failed them, Emmeline."
"You didn’t fail anyone," she whispered back, her voice steady and full of warmth. "You fought for them. You always do. It’s who you are."
Emmeline held Arlan tightly, her warmth slowly soothing his trembling body. His breathing eventually steadied, but the weight in his chest remained. The vivid memories of the dream still lingered, and despite Emmeline’s comforting embrace, Arlan knew sleep would not come for him again tonight.
As her breathing slowed and she drifted back into sleep, he gently untangled himself from her arms, careful not to disturb her. He stood from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, his mind still burdened by the images of his fallen comrades. With quiet steps, he walked out to his balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face as he stared out over the estate.
The moonlight bathed the grounds in silver, the distant murmur of the night giving way to the stillness that now surrounded him. He placed his hands on the stone railing, his thoughts drifting back to the warzone of his past life. No matter how many battles he fought in this world, no matter how many victories he earned, the ghosts of his previous world remained.
A soft shuffle behind him brought him back to the present. It was Nightingale who appeared silently at his side, her presence barely disturbing the air. She blended seamlessly into the shadows, her sharp eyes glinting in the faint light.
"General," she whispered, her voice low and steady. "We’ve found her. Akasha resides in a hidden section of the city, near the lower district taverns."
Arlan didn’t react immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the moonlit horizon, the weight of his past still lingering in his chest. After a long pause, he finally turned to face Nightingale, his expression composed but solemn.
"Good work," he said quietly. "I’ll get dressed."
“General, I heard your cries…” admitted Nightingale, “Are you well?”
“I am fine,” answered Arlan, “I’ll see to it that we have Akasha join us on our strike team.”
Nightingale gave a nod before melting back into the shadows. Arlan lingered by the window for a moment longer, his thoughts torn between the past and the mission ahead. But as the night deepened, the clarity of purpose returned to him, and with a steady breath, he moved to prepare for what awaited him next.
The streets of Auron were quieter at this hour, though the sounds of laughter and clinking goblets spilled out from taverns in the hidden corners of the city. Arlan moved swiftly through the alleyways with a brown cloak to hide himself, his [Heraldic Vision] active, scanning for threats or unexpected encounters.
“I can’t sense her, Arlan. You’ll have to rely on your instincts.” Sophia, ever-present in his mind, chimed in.
“I figured as much,” Arlan whispered to himself.
Finally, he reached his destination—an inconspicuous tavern nestled between buildings in a darker part of the city. Its sign swung lightly in the breeze, and from inside, the sounds of boisterous laughter and music could be heard.
Arlan’s eyes scanned the crowd as he entered, taking in the strange mix of patrons—nobles with women on their arms, merchants in deep conversation, and even a few dwarves and beastmen drinking heartily at the bar.
A bard in the corner sang a haunting ballad about Sir Lancel, the legendary hero who had once fought back the orcish hordes. The atmosphere felt charged with a wild energy, yet somehow familiar.
Arlan moved to the bar and ordered a goblet of ale, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any sign of his quarry. His Heraldic Vision combed through the tavern, picking up on the finer details of each person in the crowded space.
“Nothing,” he muttered. Sophia’s earlier warning echoed in his mind—this encounter would not be so easy.
Then, from his blind side, a seductive voice whispered, “Looking for me?”
Arlan’s body tensed as he recognized the voice immediately. He turned his head to see Akasha Renferal, the vampire who had piqued his curiosity. She slid into the seat next to him, dressed plainly in common clothing, but her alluring aura was impossible to miss.
“I see you found me,” Arlan said, his voice calm but wary.
Akasha smiled, her eyes gleaming with interest. “I could say the same. That golden essence... It's quite something. But I doubt you’re just here to chat about your core, are you?” She leaned in closer, her voice soft yet teasing. “So, what exactly do you want from me, General?”
Arlan met her gaze, unflinching. “I need you with me when I enter the Iron Grotto.”
Akasha’s smile widened. “Oh, is that all? You ask a lot for someone who hasn’t offered anything in return.”
“Let’s discuss the terms,” Arlan said, his tone direct.
Akasha raised an eyebrow. “Follow me upstairs,” she whispered, standing up from the bar and motioning for him to follow. Without hesitation, Arlan rose and followed her through the tavern, up the narrow staircase to a private room.
The moment the door closed behind them, Akasha turned to face him. Her charm washed over him, but Arlan, unaffected by her passive ability, reached for his adamantium dagger in a fluid motion and pressed it lightly to her throat.
“Charming won’t work on me,” Arlan said coolly, his eyes steady on hers.
Akasha’s lips curled into a smile as she leaned into the blade. “Good,” she purred. “I was hoping you’d be... difficult.” Her eyes gleamed with dangerous delight. “Do it. Cut my throat. Let’s see how far your conviction goes.”
Arlan held the dagger firm but didn’t move. “I didn’t come here to play games, Akasha. I need you to take this seriously.”
In a flash, Akasha lunged forward, using her vampiric strength to shove Arlan onto the bed. She loomed over him, her claws extended, her eyes glowing crimson. Her fangs glistened as she hovered above him, dangerously close.
“Is this serious enough for you?” she whispered, her voice a mixture of playfulness and threat.
Arlan remained calm, staring up at her without fear. “What do you really want?”
Akasha paused, her claws retracting slightly as her expression shifted. She leaned down, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered, “I’ll fight for you... if you allow me just a taste of your essence. Form a devil’s pact with me.”
Arlan’s brow furrowed. “Devil’s pact?”
Akasha's voice turned sultry as she explained, “A contract bound by your soul. If you break it, your body becomes mine to command. You’ll need to sign it in blood, of course.”
Arlan remained silent for a moment, considering her words. “What are the conditions?”
Akasha’s smile returned, dark and tempting. “I’ll feed on your essence once a week... until I’m satisfied.”
Arlan, skeptical, reached out to Sophia. “Is this safe?”
Sophia’s voice answered confidently in his mind. “She won’t be able to absorb more than a fraction—about 0.1% of your essence. It’s actually in your favor.”
Arlan, after a brief pause, nodded. “I agree.”
Akasha looked genuinely surprised. “You’re full of surprises, General.”
As she conjured a scroll seemingly from thin air, a dark glyph appeared on the parchment. Arlan took his adamantium dagger, pricked his finger, and pressed it to the glyph. Akasha followed suit with one of her claws. The devil’s pact bound itself between them, an ethereal glow sealing the contract.
Arlan asked, his tone cautious, “Will I turn into a vampire?”
Akasha laughed softly. “No, darling. That’s just a myth. I won’t need to bite you... unless you want me to.” She leaned closer, teasing.
“Then how do you plan on feeding on my essence?” Arlan asked, still confused.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Akasha leaned in and kissed Arlan deeply. As their lips met, Arlan felt a strange pull—his essence leaving his core and flowing into her. The feeling was intense, but controlled.
When Akasha finally pulled away, she gasped slightly, her eyes wide with surprise. “That... was more than I expected,” she admitted with a breathless laugh.
Arlan, still recovering from the sensation, smirked. “Maybe the neck bite would’ve been easier.”
Akasha chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming. “Whatever you desire... dearest.”
Standing, Arlan adjusted his cloak. “Meet me at the Auron Colosseum tomorrow morning. You’ll be introduced to the rest of the group.”
Akasha’s smile lingered as Arlan left the room, her curiosity piqued even further by the man who had just bound himself to her.