The Northern Reckoning - Suhail's Return

  Suhail arrived at the northern village with his five remaining soldiers. Something had changed. Their auras, once vibrant and confident, now flickered with silence. No laughter. No words. Only the weight of what they had done.

  As they approached, the village guards emerged, weapons drawn.

  "Traitor!" one shouted.

  "You left us as our commander—and returned as a butcher!

  You burned our homes!

  You killed our people!

  Is this what you call purification?"

  Suhail smiled faintly.

  "It's too late.

  Even this village... has been touched by the plague."

  "No!" another guard cried.

  "You told us not to consume southern crops.

  We obeyed!"

  Suhail's expression didn't change. He advanced.

  The clash erupted.

  Twenty guards—men Suhail had once trained—now fought against him.

  They wielded the very magic he had taught them: purification spells, healing wards, protective sigils. Suhail's soldiers countered with the same techniques, twisted by desperation.

  The battle was brutal. Psychological. Tragic.

  Some guards fell. Others lost limbs. Some couldn't bring themselves to strike—paralyzed by disbelief.

  One guard, his blade glowing with white light, confronted Suhail.

  "Commander... look at my sword.

  It's the purification magic you taught me.

  You believed in me when no one else did.

  You said I could master it.

  And now... this?"

  Suhail's eyes didn't blink.

  He unleashed a violet wave of wind and magic, hurling the guard into a wall. Blood filled the man's mouth. He staggered, trembling, and charged again.

  "I don't believe this!

  You were never like this!"

  Their blades clashed—white against violet.

  Then, the green comet blazed across Silva's sky, illuminating the battlefield.

  The shockwave threw Suhail backward.

  His soldiers continued fighting.

  Suhail rose, shaken, staring at the comet.

  "What's happening?

  You're not infected..."

  Suddenly, a gate opened in the heart of the village.

  Three cloaked figures emerged, releasing a cloud of violet smoke.

  "We're under attack!" a guard screamed.

  "It's the same stench—the plague!

  Stay back!

  They're Black Order!"

  Chaos erupted.

  Guards charged the intruders—only to be cut down with ease.

  The wounded guard who had confronted Suhail stood, gasping.

  "Commander!

  We need you!"

  One of the cloaked figures stabbed him through the chest.

  Suhail's eyes widened.

  The three figures raised violet gemstones.

  From the smoke, infected villagers and soldiers emerged—drawn to the gems, pulled toward the gate.

  Suhail trembled.

  His sword began to crack, its white aura mixing with the violet corruption.

  "Men!

  Attack the invaders!"

  He charged, blade flaring with white light.

  "I will purify you!"

  He struck one of the cloaked figures, driving his blade through the chest.

  "Ahaaa!"

  The figure dissolved into smoke.

  The remaining two were overwhelmed by Suhail's soldiers, who now fought with renewed strength. Their faces cleared. Their eyes brightened.

  The purification magic surged.

  The guards of the village, stunned, watched as Suhail's men drove back the plague.

  Then—the gate opened again.

  A horde of infected villagers poured out, weapons in hand, eyes blank.

  Suhail stood at the center of the storm.

  He looked at his hands.

  At the blood.

  At the soldier who had awakened him.

  He remembered:

  "Purification comes from the heart.

  The purer your intent, the stronger your magic.

  If your cause is noble—your light will reach even the darkest sea."

  Suhail drew his sword.

  "Cleanse them!"

  His soldiers' blades ignited—white halos blazing.

  Suhail's sword cracked further, glowing violently.

  The green comet pulsed again, casting radiant light across Silva.

  Each strike from Suhail's men passed through the infected without wounding—cleansing their spirits. The villagers collapsed, unconscious but alive.

  Axes, arrows, staffs—all glowed with white fire.

  The tide turned.

  The village was being saved—not by destruction, but by redemption.

  The Fall of Suhail - The Rise of Redemption

  Suhail whispered to himself, voice trembling beneath the roar of battle:

  "This should have happened from the beginning...

  What a disgrace I've become—to my grandmother... to my village...

  To Sylvance... to Lainas, who trusted me.

  I ruined everything.

  I helped the Black Order... with my own ignorance.

  Now I understand why Grandmother chose Mowj instead of me."

  For the first time in years, Suhail's battalion—once the legendary unit of purification and plague defense—fought as they had in the final Sorcerer War. Their blades glowed with white fire, clashing against the shadows. Above them, the green comet blazed violently across Silva's dark sky, casting a radiant emerald glow.

  Then came footsteps.

  A man in a black cloak stepped through the gate, his aura monstrous. Everything he touched withered. His body was wrapped in a violent gray haze.

  "Hmph.

  You're quite the problem, aren't you?"

  Soldiers charged.

  With a single sweep of his blade, he cut down three.

  He approached Suhail.

  "Thank you...

  For gathering so many villagers.

  For killing those who refused the poisoned crops.

  You've been... most helpful."

  Suhail's fury ignited. His sword flared—but cracked faster than before.

  The comet pulsed overhead.

  Reiz leapt into the air, voice calm:

  "Lucifer's Tribunal."

  He descended.

  Their blades met—white light against scorched violet flame.

  Chaos erupted.

  Suhail's soldiers clashed with sudden reinforcements from the Black Order. Purification magic surged through the battlefield, healing the wounded and cleansing the infected. The comet's light intensified.

  Reiz pressed forward, each strike shattering Suhail's blade further.

  "Look at your sword.

  You were on the right path...

  But your foolishness broke it."

  Suhail roared:

  "It was corrupted—and I've cleansed it!

  You killed my people, and now you mock their salvation!"

  He slammed his blade into the ground.

  A wave of white magic exploded outward—healing the wounded, purging the infected, burning the Black Order's agents.

  Reiz hovered above, unimpressed.

  "Do what you like.

  We've already gathered your villagers.

  Your purification won't save them."

  Suhail smiled through bloodied lips.

  "If it's so useless...

  Why did you leap away, coward?"

  Reiz's eyes narrowed.

  He unleashed a black wave, swallowing dozens of soldiers.

  He clashed again with Suhail—each blow heavier, each strike more brutal.

  Suhail was buying time.

  One of his five surviving soldiers screamed:

  "Commander!"

  A dagger pierced Suhail's back.

  He collapsed.

  His soldiers rushed forward—only to be cut down, one by one.

  Suhail lay bleeding.

  The old man who had deceived him in Falia stood above him, laughing.

  "You?

  The fool who believed me?

  You're pathetic."

  Suhail coughed blood.

  He looked to the sky.

  The green comet shimmered.

  He saw her—his grandmother.

  Sylvance.

  Mowj.

  Lainas.

  The villagers he had failed.

  Children once climbed his shoulders, laughing.

  He closed his eyes.

  "Lainas...

  I tried to buy you time..."

  His soldiers, enraged, pushed back against Reiz's forces.

  Reiz watched, amused.

  "Pitiful.

  But I'll admit...

  You caused more trouble than expected."

  He pointed his blade at Suhail's body.

  A wave of shadow consumed him.

  "Let's finish collecting the villagers."

  Suddenly—

  "Commander Lainas!"

  The cry rang out.

  Lainas charged with dozens of soldiers, blades drawn.

  Suhail's remaining men fought beside them, purifying the infected.

  Reiz exhaled, annoyed.

  "These pests...

  No wonder Azalor burned their villages."

  He leapt into the air.

  "Retreat!

  We've done what we came for."

  His body ignited with gray fire.

  "Lucifer's Wrath!"

  A violet beam, wrapped in gray flame, tore through half the northern village.

  He landed before Lainas.

  "Commander, is it?

  You're in trouble now.

  Soon, your people will destroy what's left of themselves."

  He winked—and vanished.

  ---

  Lainas lowered his sword.

  The village was in ruins.

  Buildings collapsed.

  Bodies lay scattered.

  But the villagers—those who had been purified—slept peacefully.

  The mage-guard approached.

  "Commander...

  They're clean.

  Suhail... he saved them."

  The warrior-guard carried the wounded away from the flames.

  A soldier from Suhail's battalion knelt before Lainas, tears streaming.

  "Commander...

  We did this.

  But please... forgive him.

  He purified the villagers.

  He fought that monster.

  He didn't let them take us."

  Lainas looked down.

  "Stand, soldier.

  We've all lost something today.

  Some lost their leaders.

  Others lost their homes.

  But we've found our purpose.

  Suhail tried to fix what he broke.

  I didn't agree with his methods...

  But he left the rest to you.

  Finish what he started.

  Honor the reason your battalion was formed."

  Rain began to fall.

  Soft. Cleansing.

  Lainas raised his hands.

  The flames died.

  He smiled.

  "Suhail...

  It seems Silva has forgiven you.

  Well done."

  Jamih rode toward the assassins' stronghold, his men mounted atop valley beasts, their silhouettes cutting through the dusk. The wind was quiet, but Qaws raised a hand, pointing skyward.

  "Commander... look. That bird... is it magical?"

  Jamih squinted.

  "It's flying in our direction.

  It's not hostile.

  Let it be.

  Might be a message—for the boy."

  They pressed on.

  At the Stronghold

  The bird arrived, perching calmly on the shoulder of one of the assassins. Its presence was gentle, its energy strange and ancient.

  "A bird? What is this?"

  "It's magical.

  I can feel its aura."

  "Is this another trick from the Black Order?"

  "Don't be foolish.

  Look at it—peaceful.

  Let's take it to Mowj and the girl.

  They might understand."

  They entered the healing chamber.

  Mowjstood over Lidra, his hands glowing with soft green light. He pressed gently against her neck, eyes closed in concentration.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "I've removed part of the seal.

  I'm going slowly—too much magic could harm you."

  The bird entered.

  Mowj opened his eyes, startled.

  "This... this is from my village.

  One of our messengers.

  How did it get here?"

  Lidra sat up, watching.

  The bird flew to the table.

  Mowj placed his hand on it.

  It glowed.

  A voice emerged:

  "Healer Mowj...

  We need your help.

  The Black Order... they've begun a purge.

  After destroying the Luminous Tree, they've poisoned the southern fields.

  They've corrupted the soil.

  Villagers are dying.

  Others are being controlled—dragged into their black gates.

  We need support.

  From you.

  From anyone who still remembers what Silva once was."

  —Commander Lainas

  The voice faded.

  Silence fell.

  Mowj stared at the floor, fists clenched.

  Tears welled in his eyes.

  "Grandmother... Aunt...

  My village...

  The guardian of Silva...

  Our magic...

  They're erasing everything."

  Lidra placed her hands on his face.

  "Mowj.

  Look at me."

  He did.

  His tears fell freely.

  The assassins gathered—some solemn, some furious, all waiting. There was a shared look among them: they would follow him.

  Lidra's hands trembled.

  "This boy...

  He carries the weight of his people.

  It's unbearable."

  She stroked his hair.

  "It's alright.

  We'll face it together.

  Jamih Enters

  "Didn't I tell you all to be ready?

  Why are you standing here?"

  He saw Mowj.

  He saw the bird.

  He didn't need to hear the message.

  "Boy.

  What did the bird say?"

  An assassin stepped forward.

  "Commander... it's a message from his people."

  "What did it say?"

  Before he could speak, Qaws silenced him.

  Mowj wiped his tears.

  "The Luminous Tree has fallen.

  My grandmother is gone.

  The villages are under siege.

  The Black Order is poisoning the land.

  Commander Lainas... he's asking for help."

  Jamih sat beside him.

  "So it's a call for aid."

  Mowj nodded.

  "Yes."

  Jamih leaned back.

  "Strange...

  They sent it to you.

  Not to me.

  What does that mean?"

  Mowjlooked up.

  Lidra raised her brows.

  He's guiding him, she thought. He wants Mowj to understand the weight of the message.

  Mowj stood.

  "They want me.

  I have to go."

  Jamih grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to sit.

  "What's wrong with you?

  You think you're a hostage now?

  Don't act like you're helpless."

  The assassins chuckled.

  Mowj's flustered expression was almost comical.

  Lidra smiled.

  "Going alone, are you?"

  Mowj turned to her.

  "Of course.

  I won't risk your life."

  Jamih interrupted.

  "Listen, boy.

  I've seen their tactics.

  They don't rely on magic alone.

  They study their enemies.

  Strategically.

  Psychologically.

  You need to prepare—for the worst."

  He left.

  The assassins followed, briefing him on the latest reports.

  ---

  Lidra's Decision

  She watched Mowjpack his gear.

  "Stay here.

  Rest.

  I'll go and return."

  She wasn't convinced.

  She went to Jamih's quarters.

  "Commander...

  Let Mowj heal you.

  He can do it in seconds."

  Jamih drank.

  "No need.

  He needs his strength."

  "We defeated the assassin who kept attacking your men.

  Mowj purified him."

  "I know.

  My men told me.

  The green comet appeared when his magic ignited.

  That old woman knew he had a future."

  "The guardian of Silva was under their control.

  They nearly killed me.

  But he protected us.

  Protected Mowj.

  Protected your men."

  Jamih kept drinking.

  "You won't help him?"

  He paused.

  "He said he wants to go alone.

  I respect that."

  "Then I'll go with him."

  "You should.

  You still carry that curse.

  Staying close to him will help."

  Lidra left, conflicted.

  ---

  The Morning Decision

  Mowjj packed his gear.

  The assassins offered supplies.

  "Take this dagger.

  You'll need it."

  "And this meat.

  Your magic burns through energy fast."

  Mowj felt something strange—belonging.

  Lidra entered.

  "I'm coming with you."

  Mowj turned.

  "What?

  You can't."

  "I can't stay here forever.

  I need constant healing.

  I need to be near you."

  "That's true, but..."

  "Listen, Mowjj.

  Jamih wanted you to ask for help.

  You didn't.

  Lainas asked for support.

  You're going alone?

  With a wounded girl?"

  "I won't endanger them!"

  "And you'll die alone?

  Is that what your grandmother wanted?"

  Mowj snapped.

  "Be quiet!

  I need to think."

  The assassins watched in silence.

  Mowj climbed to the rooftop.

  The sun was rising.

  "I might get someone killed...

  I can't..."

  An assassin appeared behind him.

  "Don't be selfish, Mowj.

  We're family.

  We protect each other.

  Remember when Jamih saved you—before he even knew you?

  Remember Lidra—fighting through pain to shield you?

  They care.

  We all do.

  You're not alone."

  He left a drink beside him.

  Mowj drank.

  He took a deep breath.

  "Alright...

  I'll speak to the commander."

  The Request - Mowj's Resolve

  The midday sun beat down on the assassin’s stronghold, baking the stone walls in a suffocating heat. The compound was silent; most of the men were asleep, exhausted from the chaos of the previous night’s battle.

  Mowj stood before the heavy wooden door of the Commander’s quarters. His hand hovered, trembling slightly, before he finally mustered the courage to knock.

  He waited. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

  The door creaked open.

  Jamih stood there, stripped of his heavy armor, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak; he simply waited.

  Mowj swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

  "I... I need help."

  Jamih raised a single eyebrow, his gaze piercing.

  "Help? What kind?"

  Mowj looked down at his boots, then back up, meeting the Commander’s eyes with a desperate intensity.

  "I need your support. To help my people. I am sorry to ask this of you... after everything."

  Jamih didn’t answer immediately. He turned away, walking back into the shadows of his room. Mowj stared at the floor, his heart sinking.

  Then, Jamih’s voice cut through the air, calm and absolute.

  "You will lead the march. We move at sunset."

  Mowj’s eyes widened, his head snapping up.

  "Really?"

  Jamih stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "What? Did I stutter?"

  A wave of relief crashed over the young warrior. Mowj turned and ran down the hallway, shouting over his shoulder:

  "Thank you! Thank you, Commander!"

  Jamih watched him disappear around the corner, a faint, imperceptible sigh escaping his lips.

  Lidra woke to the sound of steel clinking against leather. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stepped out of her tent.

  The stronghold was alive. The assassins were not resting; they were preparing. Weapons were being sharpened, supplies strapped to backs, and armor tightened.

  "He did it?" she whispered, disbelief coloring her tone.

  Mowj appeared beside her, breathless but grinning.

  "We are leaving. All of us."

  Lidra blinked. "All of us? But I thought..."

  "I asked the Commander," Mowj said, his voice dropping to a humble murmur. "I realized... I am not strong enough alone. I want to save my people, Lidra. But I don’t want to die out there trying to be a hero."

  Lidra smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face.

  "Unbelievable. We are actually going together."

  She immediately began packing her satchel. Two assassins stepped forward to assist her, treating her with a newfound respect.

  "Thank you," she said softly.

  Jamih stepped out of the main keep, fully armored. The black steel of his gear seemed to absorb the sunlight. He stopped at the gate, looking back at the empty stronghold—his home, his fortress.

  He walked past the training grounds to the small plot of land behind the compound. The graves.

  He stood silently before the fresh mounds of earth where his fallen men lay. He didn’t speak. He didn’t pray. He simply acknowledged their sacrifice one last time.

  Then, he turned his back on the dead to lead the living.

  "Mowj! Lead the way!"

  Lidra stepped forward, raising her bow toward Silva’s fractured sky. She drew the string, but no physical arrow was nocked. Instead, a bolt of pure azure energy materialized.

  She fired it straight up. It exploded high in the air, a beacon of blue light.

  Jamih watched, unimpressed but curious. "Summoning beasts?"

  "Yes," Lidra replied, lowering her bow. "We will need help carrying the heavy supplies."

  From the ridges of the valley, low growls echoed. Moments later, massive, tamed beasts of burden lumbered down the slopes, answering the call of the Luminous lineage.

  The march began.

  Mowj and Jamih took the vanguard, a wall of determination and steel. Lidra walked in the center, protected by the phalanx.

  Qaws, the sharpshooter, moved ahead, scouting the path. He glanced back at Lidra as he passed.

  "Rest, miss," Qaws teased, spinning a dagger in his hand. "You’re nothing but trouble. The Commander ordered us to protect you with our lives."

  Lidra smiled at Jamih’s back.

  "I can handle myself, scout."

  The sky over Lajira was black, choked by smoke and dark magic.

  The attacks were relentless.

  Dark gates—tears in reality—had ripped open across the valley floor. From them, the Corrupted poured out. But these were not just monsters; they were the villagers themselves, their bodies twisted by the Black Order’s plague, their eyes devoid of humanity.

  Lainas stood in the center of the village square, surrounded by chaos.

  Runners arrived from the eastern and western perimeters, breathless and bloodied.

  "Sir! The West Gate is falling!"

  "Sir! We’ve lost contact with the healers!"

  Lainas slammed his fist into a wooden post.

  "Damn it! We can’t purify them all! There are too many!"

  His men fought desperately, forced to strike down neighbors and friends who lunged at them with feral madness. The screams of the dying mixed with the unholy shrieks of the Corrupted.

  Lainas looked up at the darkened horizon, searching for a sign—any sign.

  "Mowj..." he whispered, his voice lost in the roar of the burning village. "Where are you?"

  The battlefield was not just a slaughter; it was a tragedy.

  Under the suffocating canopy of Silva’s darkened sky, the defenders of the Luminous Tree fought a desperate war on two fronts. They battled the Black Order’s monsters, but they also fought their own kin—waves of Cursed Villagers pouring from the black portals like a necrotic tide.

  "Don't kill them if you can help it!" a captain screamed.

  The defenders used dull blades and sleep powder, subduing the maddened villagers where they could. A few—mercifully—were caught by the remaining mages of Suhail’s fallen battalion, their bodies glowing white as they were purified on the spot. But for every one saved, three more attacked with feral screams.

  Commander Lainas stood at the heart of the storm. His blade was drenched in black ichor, his armor cracked, his voice hoarse from shouting orders over the din of war.

  "Hold the line! Reinforcements are coming! Defend until the last breath!"

  His men fell one by one, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of numbers. Yet Lainas did not falter. He fought with the fury of a man who had already lost too much to retreat.

  Then, the rhythm of the battle changed.

  Through the smoke and the spray of blood, a figure emerged. The Cursed Villagers parted around him like water around a stone.

  It was an old man.

  His back was bent, his skin wrinkled and pale as parchment. But his eyes... his eyes burned with deep, suffocating violet flames. A strange aura surrounded him—ancient, heavy, and smelling of ozone and rot.

  "Commander!" a soldier cried out, pointing with a trembling hand. "That’s him! The one who deceived Suhail! The one who struck him down!"

  Lainas turned, his sword snapping up instinctively.

  Lainas thought, his grip tightening.

  The old man stepped forward, eerily calm amidst the carnage.

  "Greetings, Commander," he rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "Or should I say... the last desperate guardian."

  "You are the source of this curse?" Lainas growled, stepping over a fallen beast. "You aren't wearing the Black Order’s robes. Why destroy these families? What do you gain from this madness?"

  The old man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. He glanced around at the wounded defenders and the screaming villagers with a look of twisted pity.

  "Look at your people, Commander. This is what happens when no one comes to help. We defended our city alone once... With a commander in Linovard."

  Lainas froze. The name hit him like a physical blow.

  "Linovard? That kingdom fell during the Third Magical War... The Black Calamity... It was obliterated by the Black Order’s dark bomb—the Cataclysm."

  The old man’s face twisted in sudden rage. He slammed his staff into the ground.

  "No! We did not fall! We were devastated, yes. Abandoned, yes. But we endured in the ashes! And now... we repay the silence of the world."

  He turned his staff, casting a spell directly into the soil of Lajira.

  "Witness our endurance."

  Dark vines erupted from the earth—not green and vibrant, but black and oily. The ground blackened instantly as the roots spread. Rot consumed the grass, the flowers, and the soil itself.

  "Stop!" Lainas shouted, lunging forward.

  But the old man dissolved into violet mist, his voice lingering in the air.

  He was gone.

  A mage-guard beside Lainas gasped, backing away from the spreading black patch.

  "Commander! The corruption... it’s spreading to the crops! We must purify it quickly!"

  Lainas stared at the spot where the sorcerer had stood.

  "We are fighting allies of the Black Order now?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I thought Linovard was lost... That bomb destroyed everything."

  A warrior-guard stepped up, confusion written on his bloody face. "Why would he help them? The Black Order ruined his homeland. Why join the monsters that killed your people?"

  Lainas shook his head grimly.

  "I don't know. Maybe he was controlled. Or maybe grief drove him to make a deal with the devil. Either way—we need to cleanse this land before it swallows us."

  He turned to the mage.

  "Summon the village’s strongest spellcasters. Contain this rot. Do not let it reach the roots of the Luminous Tree."

  As the mage ran off, Lainas paused, his mind racing.

  Before he could process it, another runner arrived, breathless.

  "Commander! Report from the granary! Food supplies are dwindling. The southern crops were taken by the corruption. The valley beasts aren't enough to sustain the refugees."

  Lainas clenched his jaw until it ached.

  "Reduce rations," he ordered, his voice heavy. "One meal per day. Send hunting parties into the upper ridges. Feed the villages until we find a solution."

  The soldier nodded somberly and ran off.

  The ground shook again.

  More black portals tore open in the sky. More Cursed Villagers spilled out, wailing in agony and rage. More agents of the Black Order marched behind them.

  Lainas drew his sword again, the weight of it feeling heavier than before.

  "Form ranks! Defensive formation!"

  The battle resumed.

  Every strike, every parry, reminded him of the past. Of his grandmother’s warnings. Of the war stories. Of Suhail’s face before he marched to his death.

  Lainas grit his teeth and swung his blade. The questions remained, but for now, the only answer was to fight.

  The assassins rode swiftly through the Valley of Wonders, their massive beasts thundering across the cracked, arcane terrain. Above them, the green comet shimmered like a emerald scar across the night, casting a soft, eerie glow over the path ahead.

  Jamih rode at the head of the column, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Without looking back, he spoke, his voice steady over the wind.

  "Do you know how to heal the infected, boy? Do you know how to cleanse the land and restore the crops?"

  Mowj hesitated, gripping the reins of his mount tighter.

  "I... I think so. I will use what I learned during the battle with Silva’s guardian. The light... it responds to me."

  Jamih slowed his beast slightly, placing a heavy, gauntleted hand on the boy's shoulder.

  "Your people are watching you—even in their darkest hour. If you sense danger you cannot handle, call for me. Use my name."

  Mowj looked up, his wide green eyes reflecting the comet's light with a mixture of fear and determination.

  "Thank you... Commander."

  Jamih turned in his saddle, looking toward the rear guard.

  "Go to the girl. Tell her to send a spell—a message to the commander waiting for you in Lajira. He needs to know we are coming. He needs hope."

  Mowj nodded eagerly, turning his beast around. "Right away!"

  He rode back to where Lidra was positioned.

  "Miss... I..."

  Lidra interrupted, her bow already in hand. She didn't need to be told; she had been watching.

  "I’ll teach you the mechanics of the spell later," she said, her voice calm. "Just focus for now."

  She closed her eyes, drawing a sapphire aura around the tip of her arrow. The magic hummed, vibrating in the air.

  "Speak, Mowj. What do you want the Commander to hear?"

  Mowj cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the moment.

  "I’m Mowj. I’m coming. I’m not alone. Please... hold on. We are close."

  Lidra smiled faintly. She released the string.

  The arrow soared into the sky, instantly transforming into a streak of blue light that raced the green comet across the heavens, arcing toward Lajira.

  Mowj gasped, watching it fade into the distance. "That was... beautiful."

  Lidra turned to Qaws, the scout riding beside her.

  "Send the boy back to the front. He belongs with the vanguard."

  Qaws grinned, nudging Mowj’s mount. "You heard the lady. Get up there, hero."

  Mowj pulled up beside Jamih, breathless.

  "I did it. With Lidra’s help. She promised to teach me the spell later."

  Jamih nodded, staring straight ahead.

  "Good. What did the message contain? Did you give them tactical instructions? Our estimated time of arrival? Defensive formations? Countermeasures against the Black Order?"

  Mowj’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. The assassins riding behind them began to chuckle low in their throats.

  "Well... not exactly," Mowj stammered. "I told them I was coming. And... that I wasn't alone."

  Jamih raised a brow, looking down at the boy.

  "That is your strategy? 'I am coming'?"

  Mowj looked down at his saddle, silent.

  Jamih smirked, a rare expression of amusement crossing his scarred face.

  "If I were the commander receiving that message... I would surrender the village immediately."

  Mowj’s eyes widened in horror. "No! He wouldn't! He wouldn't do that!"

  The assassins burst into laughter, the tension of the march breaking for a moment. Even Lidra, listening from behind, raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself.

  she thought.

  Mowj stared ahead, his embarrassment fading into resolve as the comet lit their path. He turned to Jamih again.

  "Commander... May I ask you something?"

  Jamih took a drink from his flask. "Speak."

  "I want you to teach me. Not just how to fight... but how to think. Like a leader."

  Jamih lowered the flask. He rode calmly for a moment, the only sound the rhythmic thud of the beasts’ paws.

  "Watch me," Jamih said finally. "Watch how I move. How I command. And watch the girl behind us."

  Mowj blinked. "Lidra?"

  "She is a powerful source of magic," Jamih explained. "But she does not cast recklessly like the Black Order. She thinks before she strikes. She knows when to retreat. Learn that patience from her first."

  He paused, his voice dropping an octave.

  "Then, if you are ready... I will begin shaping you. But be warned, boy. Our ways are different. We are assassins, not knights. You will need to prepare your stomach for what is necessary."

  Mowj nodded firmly. "I can do that."

  Jamih looked up to the sky. The green comet pulsed, a heartbeat in the darkness.

  He glanced west—toward the path they had taken. Toward the hidden oasis. Toward the fresh graves where his men lay sleeping.

  Jamih thought, gripping his reins.

  Lainas fought with everything he had, his blade a blur of steel against the encroaching darkness.

  Behind him, his mages struggled desperately to contain the corruption left by the old sorcerer. The cursed soil spread like wildfire, twisting the land beneath their feet, turning fertile earth into a necrotic swamp.

  "Damn it..." Lainas muttered, glancing over his shoulder as a defensive ward shattered. "It’s spreading too fast!"

  Then, as the last wave of Cursed Villagers retreated into the shadows, the air grew heavy. The old man returned, stepping out of the gloom as if he were part of it.

  Lainas raised his sword, pointing the tip at the sorcerer’s throat.

  "What do you want? Do you think we will surrender that easily?"

  The old man smiled coldly and stepped forward, unbothered by the steel aimed at his chest.

  "I must commend your courage, Commander. But it won't be enough. We were once stronger than this... We asked for aid from every kingdom. We begged. And we were denied."

  His voice grew bitter, echoing with the weight of centuries.

  "We were the Knights of Linovard. Soldiers of honor. Guardians of this ungrateful world. And in the end, we fell in silence. Our castles shattered. Our walls broken. Only the echo of hooves and the memory of our banners remain."

  He locked eyes with Lainas, his violet irises burning.

  "There was an old legend... If Linovard’s army marched one way, the Black Order would choose another. We were their deterrent. And when we needed help most... no one came."

  Lainas stepped forward, his anger rising to match the sorcerer’s grief.

  "Did you come here to tell your story? Or to poison our land while we listen? I don't care about your past, old man. But I know this—Shandriz never abandoned her allies without reason. All five kingdoms were on the brink. If she didn't send help... there must have been a greater threat."

  The old man’s face twisted with sudden, feral rage.

  "Lies! We defended the weak—even when we were weak ourselves! Our commander, the Great Knight Ramah, would never leave a plea unanswered!"

  He slammed his staff down. A shockwave of rot rippled outward.

  "Impressive resistance, Commander... But you have seen nothing yet. I suppose I should introduce myself properly. Forgive my manners."

  He bowed mockingly.

  "I am Senil

  And with that, he vanished into the mist, leaving behind a patch of cursed earth that pulsed with a sickening, rhythmic rot.

  Lainas turned to his mages, his face grim.

  "He’s powerful. One strike did all this. And now he’s using his grief to justify destroying the rest of us?"

  The sky tore open. A massive portal swirled into existence above the village square.

  From it emerged armored warriors clad in black plate mail, towering and silent. They carried jagged greatswords and shields that absorbed the light.

  "Commander!" a soldier shouted, terror in his voice. "We’re under attack! They’re Knights!"

  More portals opened. Cursed Villagers poured out in a frenzy, flanked by the silent, armored giants.

  Lainas gripped his sword, his heart sinking.

  Then—a high-pitched whistle cut through the air.

  A blue arrow fell from the heavens, striking the earth directly before Lainas.

  He flinched, then stared at it. It didn't explode. It hummed.

  He reached out and touched the shaft.

  Mowj’s voice echoed from the spell, clear and desperate, amplified by Lidra’s magic.

  Lainas froze. Then, a smile broke through the grime and blood on his face.

  "Mowj... you're coming."

  He turned to his men, raising his sword high. The exhaustion vanished from his posture.

  "SOLDIERS! Reinforcements are on the way! Hold the line! Fight until the last breath!"

  The village roared in response, a sound of defiance that shook the ground.

  "HAA!"

  The battle erupted.

  Lainas’s men clashed with the Cursed Villagers and the Black Knights. The Knights struck with devastating force—cracking the earth with each blow. Arrows bounced harmlessly off their enchanted armor.

  Lainas engaged one directly.

  He leapt, slashing at the Knight's helmet. The Knight blocked with a massive shield, the impact rattling Lainas’s bones, then swung a heavy blade in a lethal arc.

  Lainas parried—but the force sent him flying backward. He hit the dirt hard, blood spilling from his mouth.

  His men faltered, seeing their Commander down.

  The Knight advanced, raising its blade for the execution.

  The blue arrow from Mowj flared.

  A soft green aura—the color of the comet above—spread across the battlefield like a wave. The comet itself seemed to shimmer in response, pulsing like a heartbeat in the sky.

  Lainas watched as the wounds on his arms began to knit together. He felt strength flood back into his limbs, hotter and fiercer than before. The pain vanished.

  He smiled, wiping the blood from his chin.

  "Soldiers! Push them back!"

  The battle surged. Magic flared brighter. Arrows flew truer. Healing spells flickered across the field, empowering the weary defenders.

  Lainas charged again.

  The Knight swung its heavy blade. This time, Lainas didn't just parry; he dodged, weaving under the strike with newfound speed. He drove his blade into the gap in the Knight's armor, piercing the chest.

  The Knight staggered.

  Then, with a hiss of escaping magic, it dissolved into black smoke.

  Lainas gasped for breath, pulling his sword from the fading vapor. He looked to the horizon, where the green comet blazed.

  he thought.

  He turned back to the chaos. "Next!"

  The wave of the sea!

  Hope you like the chapters! let me know ofc!