Intermission: War

War, the ultimate expression of conflict, has been an ever-present specter throughout our history.

It's a ruthless force that leaves in its wake a trail of destruction, shattered lives, and broken

dreams. It compels us to ponder whether the beliefs that drive nations and individuals to war are

worth the sacrifices they demand. Are the ideals, ideologies, and causes that lead us to take up

arms truly worth the incalculable cost in human life and suffering?

It is a conundrum that gnaws at the heart of our moral and philosophical fiber. On one hand, we

are driven by the innate instinct to protect our beliefs and values. These beliefs, often rooted in

cultural, religious, or political ideologies, provide a sense of identity and purpose. We're willing

to fight and die for these beliefs, convinced that they are the bedrock upon which civilization is

built.

But on the other hand, the human cost of war is staggering. In the crucible of conflict, the value

of a single human life is weighed against the beliefs we hold dear. As we see the bodies pile up,

the question nags at us: What is the worth of these ideals if they require us to sacrifice so many

lives, dreams, and aspirations? Can any belief, no matter how noble or righteous it seems, truly

justify the immense suffering and destruction that accompanies war?

It's a troubling paradox that reminds us that the value of life is immeasurable. Every individual

carry with them a universe of experiences, hopes, and dreams. Yet, in the heat of battle, these

lives are reduced to numbers, statistics, and casualties. It's a stark reminder of the fragility and

preciousness of human existence.

We must reflect on the true cost of war. We must challenge the belief systems that lead us into

armed conflicts and consider if there are alternative paths to resolving our differences. Perhaps,

by placing a higher value on life and seeking peaceful solutions, we can transcend the seemingly

endless cycle of violence that has marked our history.

In the end, the question remains: Do our beliefs hold enough value to justify the loss of countless

lives? It's a question that may never have a definitive answer, but it is a question we must

continue to ask as we strive for a world where the sanctity of life is cherished above all else, and

where war becomes a relic of our darker past.

Chapter 17: A Welcome Home

The following morning, the true cost of the battle weighed heavily upon us as we counted our

fallen Sworn. I insisted that we take care of the fallen, both our comrades and the civilians who

had been caught in the crossfire. These people hadn't chosen to be part of the conflict, and we

couldn't simply leave their bodies lying there. It was a somber task, reburying the dead in a more

respectful manner.

While as a general, I should have been content with the strategic victory and the fact that the

undead had saved lives, my perspective as a healer made it hard for me to ignore the destruction

and loss of life. It was a heavy price to pay for a show of strength.

We began our journey back to the Sworn headquarters, Lord of the castle now in tow, with no

intentions of holding onto the blood-soaked castle we had conquered. Our mission had been to

display our strength and challenge the king's rule, and that was successfully accomplished. The

castle, now a symbol of that challenge, was not our prize.

The silence between me and Drury persisted during the march back. I couldn't help but feel a bit

uneasy about the undead, even though I knew deep down that I shouldn't judge Drury for his

abilities. I had known what he was capable of from the very beginning. But there was something

unsettling about seeing an army of the undead in action, a reminder of the dark curses that had

once plagued his father.

Upon our return, I immediately set to work helping to heal the injured Sworn from various

expeditions to take down castles. Some had been victorious, while others had suffered losses. My

skills as a healer were put to good use, and it was a way for me to contribute positively to our

cause.

Rhyden and his battalion return, bearing the visible scars of a difficult battle. Rhyden's face is

contorted with fury upon spotting the lord of Slyborn. Without a moment's hesitation or remorse,

he brutally beats the lord to death, leaving a somber aftermath in his wake.

"He's a berserker," Drury's voice cut through the air, low and filled with a somber gravity. I

turned to find him behind me, his eyes carrying a weight I hadn't noticed before.

"A berserker?" I questioned; my curiosity piqued.

"Yes," Drury replied, his gaze fixed on Rhyden's brutal display. "Berserkers are warriors who tap

into an uncontrollable rage during battle. It grants them enhanced strength and endurance, but it's

a double-edged sword. They can lose awareness, becoming a force of primal ferocity."

Rhyden continued his ruthless assault on the lord of Slyborn, and Drury's expression tightened.

"Rhyden's a formidable force, but that berserker state... it's unpredictable, and sometimes,

destructive."

"He wouldn't hurt one of his own," I asserted confidently. But Drury remained silent, his

expression revealing an internal conflict, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities within the

Sworn.

As Rhyden storms off, his fury evident, the atmosphere becomes charged. Soldiers approach me

with gratitude, and the crowd starts to celebrate. Drury, however, seems visibly troubled, his

unease palpable in the way he shifts his eyes.

"What forbidden magic does Vaelar use?" I ask Drury, curiosity and concern etched on my face.

Drury hesitates for a moment before responding, "Sometimes, I still see you as the farmer boy,

you know, from before I got you involved in all this."

The air in the room grew tense as the soldiers praised my efforts. Drury's expression tightened,

and he subtly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat and, with a

forced smile, said, "You know, they're just grateful for the healing. It doesn't mean you're some

hero."

I looked at him, a bit puzzled. "I'm just doing what I can to help. Why does it bother you?"

He shook his head, feigning nonchalance. "It doesn't bother me. I just don't want you to get a big

head over this. We're a team, after all."

I felt a pang of confusion but chose to let it go. The unease lingered, though, as I couldn't shake

the feeling that Drury's reaction held more than met the eye.

The day pressed on, and the uneasy tension between us lingered beneath the surface. As we

moved through the headquarters, attending to various tasks, Drury seemed increasingly distant.

Whenever I tried to engage him in conversation, he responded with short answers, as if

preoccupied with something else.

Later that evening, we found ourselves in the common area, surrounded by other Sworn

members who were recounting their battles and victories. The atmosphere was charged with

camaraderie, but Drury remained aloof.

Sensing his mood, I approached him. "Is everything okay?"

He glanced at me; his eyes guarded. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just thinking."

"About what?"

Drury hesitated before finally admitting, "I'm not used to sharing the spotlight, you know? We

used to be in this together, just the two of us. Now it feels like you're getting all the attention."

Surprised, I replied, "Drury, it's not a competition. We're a team, and we each have our strengths.

Your skills in forbidden magic are crucial to our success."

He sighed; his frustration evident. "I know, I know. It's just... things are changing, and I'm still

trying to adjust."

We stood there, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging in the air. The transition from our

secluded life to the Sworn and their complex dynamics was taking its toll on both of us.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, I placed a hand on Drury's shoulder. "You know, none of this would

have happened without your plan. The castle strategy was brilliant, and the undead diversion was

a stroke of genius. We make a great team, Drury."

He looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and lingering uncertainty in his eyes. "I guess I'm just

not used to being in the spotlight, especially when it's not for my magic."

I nodded understandingly. "You're an essential part of the Sworn, and your magic is as

formidable as anyone else's. We're in this together, and we'll share the victories and challenges

alike."

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the common area shifted. The initial celebration turned

into a more subdued camaraderie. I made a conscious effort to acknowledge Drury's

contributions whenever the opportunity arose, ensuring he felt recognized among our fellow

Sworn.

In the quiet moments between conversations, I caught glimpses of Drury's genuine smile, a

subtle reassurance that despite the changes, our bond remained unbroken.

Thorne summoned us to his study, a dimly lit chamber filled with ancient tomes and arcane

artifacts. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, hinting at the countless secrets

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hidden within the room. As we entered, Thorne gestured toward an ornate wooden desk, upon

which rested a tome of ominous significance—the Book of Forbidden Arcana.

"Drury," Thorne spoke with a commanding yet conspiratorial tone, "this is my personal copy of

the Book of Forbidden Arcana. It holds the secrets of magic deemed too dangerous or

unpredictable by the kingdom. Within these pages lies knowledge that can shape the course of

battles and alter the fabric of reality itself."

Drury approached the book cautiously, his eyes scanning the ancient script. Thorne continued,

his voice carrying the weight of centuries of arcane wisdom, "Soul, Time, Necro, Berserker,

Assassination, Tempest Knight, Corrosion, and Hemomancy. These are the forbidden magics

listed within. Each one offers immense power, but with power comes responsibility and, often,

sacrifice."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Drury flipped through the pages, absorbing the forbidden

knowledge laid out before him. Thorne's gaze shifted between us, his eyes betraying both pride

and expectation. "These magics have the potential to reshape the world, but they are not without

risks. Tread carefully, for the consequences of wielding such powers can be severe."

As I studied the intricate illustrations and cryptic symbols on the pages, a sense of both awe and

trepidation washed over me. Thorne concluded, "Use this knowledge wisely, and it shall serve

you well. The Book of Forbidden Arcana is a double-edged sword, and now it is in your hands,

Drury. May it aid you in our quest but be wary of the shadows it may cast upon your path."

Expressing our gratitude, we bowed slightly before Thorne, acknowledging the weight of the gift

he had bestowed upon us. "Thank you, Thorne," Drury said, his voice a mixture of reverence and

determination. "We understand the significance of this book, and we won't take its contents

lightly."

Thorne nodded, his piercing gaze seeming to penetrate our very souls. "Use the knowledge

within with caution, and let it be a tool for the betterment of our cause. Forbidden though it may

be, these magics have the potential to turn the tides of fate. Harness them wisely, and may they

aid you in your journey."

With those parting words, we left Thorne's study, the Book of Forbidden Arcana clutched in

Drury's hands like a key to mysteries yet unraveled. The fortress of the Sworn buzzed with

activity as soldiers prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. The air was charged with

anticipation and the gravity of the forbidden knowledge now in our possession.

As we returned to our room, the weight of the Book of Forbidden Arcana seemed to hang in the

air. Drury, however, wasted no time delving into its pages. The desk became his haven, and the

dim light of a solitary candle flickered as he immersed himself in the forbidden knowledge

contained within the ancient tome.

I watched him for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration, the pages turning as he sought

understanding in the enigmatic words. There was a palpable intensity in the room, a fusion of

anticipation and trepidation as Drury delved deeper into the secrets that the book held.

The night wore on, and I could sense the fatigue settling in, both physical and mental. "Drury," I

finally spoke, breaking the silence that had consumed the room. "Perhaps it's time to rest. We

have a long journey ahead, and you need your strength."

He didn’t glance up from the pages, his eyes reflecting the myriad thoughts swirling within. "I

will be there in a minute." he said unconvincingly, his voice laced with a mix of awe and

uncertainty.

I approached the desk, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We have time, Drury. The

knowledge will still be there tomorrow. For now, let's rest and face what comes with a clear

mind."

Restlessness hung in the air of our small room, with Drury at the desk, poring over the

mysterious Book of Forbidden Arcana. The occasional rustle of pages being turned broke the

silence as he delved deeper into its secrets. Sensing his unease, I decided to break the quietude.

"What is Hemomancy?" I inquired, the question lingering in the dimly lit space.

Drury paused, looking up from the book, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. The

gravity of the topic seemed to weigh on him as he began to unravel the enigma of Hemomancy.

"Hemomancy," he started, "is a form of forbidden magic that manipulates blood. It's a power

entwined with life itself, a potent force that can be harnessed for various purposes."

As he continued, the shadows in the room seemed to dance in rhythm with the secrets he was

revealing. "Those who practice Hemomancy can control blood, whether it's their own or that of

others. It goes beyond mere healing; it's a symbiosis with the life force coursing through our

veins."

Drury's silhouette shifted, and a subtle tension filled the room. "With Hemomancy, a practitioner

can accelerate or halt blood flow, induce clotting or prevent it. They can siphon the vitality from

others, using it to empower themselves or unleash devastating attacks."

The room became a canvas for the forbidden tales, with each revelation painting an intricate

picture of a magic that blurred the lines between life and death. "It's a double-edged sword,

though," Drury warned, his gaze holding a mixture of fascination and wariness. "To wield

Hemomancy is to dance on the razor's edge, balancing between life and death. It demands a deep

understanding of the body's intricacies and a willingness to tread in morally ambiguous

territory."

I took in the gravity of his words, aware that we were now entwined with powers that challenged

the very fabric of existence. "And Thorne practices this magic?" I asked, a note of concern

threading through my voice.

Drury nodded solemnly. "Yes, among other forbidden arts. It's a testament to the complexity and

danger of the magic we've aligned ourselves with. We must tread carefully, for the path we walk

is fraught with peril and temptation."

I cast a thoughtful gaze at Drury, the words lingering in the air. "This is how Thorne shut down

your powers," I remarked, my eyes fixed on the book that held the secrets of forbidden magic.

Drury, still seated at the desk, looked up, his expression contemplative. "But not yours. Yours

doesn't come from the blood like normal magic."

I approached, drawn by the profound implications of his statement. "What do you mean? How

did Thorne disable your abilities?"

Drury leaned back in the chair, his fingers tapping the pages of the Book of Forbidden Arcana.

"Blood is a conduit for many magical forces. Hemomancy relies on it, drawing power from the

essence of life within. Thorne used that connection to sever my control over the blood – a

cunning move, really."

I nodded, absorbing the information. "And mine?"

Drury's eyes met mine, and he explained, "Your magic, the soul magic, doesn't have the same

dependency on blood. It's tethered to something deeper, something beyond the physical. Thorne

might be knowledgeable, but he couldn't grasp the intricacies of your unique abilities."

A sense of reassurance settled within me. "So, he can't just turn off my powers like he did with

Hemomancy?"

Drury smirked, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "No, he can't. Your magic defies the conventional

rules. It's a testament to the strength and uniqueness of your connection to the arcane."

As the weight of his words sank in, I realized that, in a world teeming with forbidden arts, my

magic remained an anomaly – a source of power untethered by the constraints of Hemomancy or

other conventional forces. It was a realization that brought both comfort and a new layer of

mystery to the journey we had embarked upon.

I left Drury immersed in the forbidden knowledge contained within the pages of Thorne's book,

his mind absorbed in the secrets of Hemomancy and the other arcane arts. As I retired to bed, the

weight of the newfound understanding pressed on my thoughts.

Lying in the quiet darkness, I pondered the implications of being potentially the most powerful

among the Sworn. The responsibility of such a realization rested heavily on my shoulders. In a

world where magic wielders were both revered and feared, where power could tip the balance

between life and death, being at the pinnacle of magical prowess carried both promise and peril.

The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the window, casting intricate patterns on the

room's walls. The hushed whispers of the night seemed to echo the secrets hidden within the

forbidden book and the depths of my own soul magic. The line between mastery and

vulnerability blurred, leaving me to grapple with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

As sleep claimed me, I drifted into dreams filled with swirling arcane energies, an ethereal realm

where the boundaries of magic and reality intertwined. The journey with the Sworn had thrust

me into a world of mysteries, and the revelation of my unique abilities added a layer of

complexity to our unfolding tale. The night held its secrets, and I, the Soul Reaper, would

navigate the enigmatic path that lay ahead.