If you like the story ! please support it
And the best way to do this is through patréon
You get access to +5 chapters !
Or even 12+ chapters if you want !
So please check out my patréon
https://www.patréon.com/c/zakx205
Don't forget to change "é" to "e"
/*************************************************************\
After Elythion left the command tent, his conversation with Vilaria still echoed in his mind. A sorcerer came rushing toward him from the direction of the medical tent. The sorcerer's face was slightly pale, his features reflecting a mix of urgency and concern. He stopped before Elythion, bowed slightly out of respect, then spoke in a serious tone:
"Lord Elythion, Commander Darcian is summoning you. He said he needs to speak with you immediately… and he emphasized that it is urgent."
Elythion's expression shifted instantly from calm to serious. He knew that Darcian never described something as urgent unless it truly was. He nodded to the sorcerer, then strode quickly toward the medical tent, his steps steady, though a growing sense of unease coiled within him with every step.
As he entered the tent, the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and bandages. A dim light flickered from oil lamps hanging here and there, casting faint shadows on the faces of the wounded. He found Darcian lying on his cot, his face pale but his eyes gleaming with a strange resolve. Bandages covered his chest and shoulder, but it was clear that the pain hadn't stopped him from calling for Elythion.
Elythion stepped closer and sat on a small stool beside the bed, his eyes filled with both concern and focus.
"Darcian… tell me. What is so urgent that it couldn't wait?"
Darcian took a deep breath, as if gathering what strength remained in him, then spoke in a quiet yet resolute voice:
"Elythion… the man in the black cloak… he is not just a powerful sorcerer. There is something wrong about him. When he struck me with that spell, I felt something different… it wasn't just physical pain. It was as if my very soul was being devoured. I felt a cold creeping into my core—not the cold of wind… but the cold of emptiness."
Elythion froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he absorbed every word.
"What do you mean by emptiness?" he asked in a low tone.
Darcian pressed a hand to his chest, as if the pain still lingered there.
"It was as if his spell didn't just harm me… but took something from me. I felt my spirit weaken, as if I was losing a piece of myself. But he wasn't truly targeting me, Elythion… he was sending a message."
Elythion's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping even lower.
"A message? What are you talking about?"
Darcian took a deep breath, struggling to steady the tremor in his voice, then said:
"The man in the black cloak… he spoke during the battle. He didn't care about killing me or wounding me. What mattered to him was that you knew… that he is watching you personally. Everything that happened to us was just the prelude. You are his target, Elythion. He said… that your fall will be the beginning of the end."
He paused, trying to summon his strength for the next words.
"And he added… that after your fall, he will bring down the kingdom itself. He will turn Elinthera to ash, making it a warning to all other kingdoms."
Elythion remained silent for a few moments, his eyes burning with a mix of shock and fury. Slowly, he reached out, placing a firm yet gentle hand on Darcian's shoulder, his voice sharp and resolute:
"I understand… Thank you for telling me, despite your pain."
Elythion rose to his feet, his back straight, his eyes gleaming with unwavering determination.
"If he thinks I will be the beginning of the end… then he is wrong. I will be his end."
Darcian nodded weakly, but in his eyes, there was a small spark of hope.
Elythion left the tent, his mind ablaze with thoughts. He knew that what awaited him was not just another battle… but a defining struggle, where more than just his life was at stake—the fate of the entire kingdom hung in the balance.
Days passed, as Elythion and his convoy made their way back to the Kingdom of Elinthera, just as he had agreed with Serinos. The air was heavy with silence, and unease crept among the soldiers like an unseen shadow. None of the scouts or soldiers who had been sent to the distant villages had returned. Suspicion and fear grew, but Elythion kept his heart steadfast, even as the chill of doubt began to creep into his core.
Time passed as Elythion struggled to make sense of everything—until that fateful day arrived.
As the convoy moved through a dense forest, everyone suddenly halted before a horrifying sight. The bodies of the men sent on reconnaissance missions hung from the high branches of the trees, dangling like broken puppets. Their corpses were scorched by dark magic, the blackened burns eerily similar to those that had struck Darcian and Valinor before. But here… death had left its cruel mark.
Elythion stepped forward, his movements slow and heavy, as if the earth itself resisted carrying the weight of this sorrow. His eyes scanned the bodies with an exterior of cold composure, but inside, a volcano of rage was boiling. His hands clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. This wasn't just an attack… this was a declaration of war.
His voice cut through the heavy silence of the forest, sharp and commanding:
"Take them down… carefully."
The soldiers moved forward, their hands trembling slightly as they cut the ropes suspending the fallen men. The bodies dropped gently to the ground, as if in death, they were granted more respect than they had been in life.
Elythion stood over them, gazing down as though each one had been a brother lost under his banner. His voice, though quiet, carried weight that all nearby could hear—the weight of grief, and of fury.
"Your deaths will not be in vain… I swear it."
He felt a storm boiling inside him—not just because of the loss, but because of the clear message left behind by this brutal act. This was not mere killing… it was a display of power. And the goal was clear: to plant fear in their hearts.
But Elythion was not a man who feared.
He was a man who fought back.
Elythion rode forward on his loyal steed, Stormeth, advancing ahead of the soldiers whose souls were weighed down by grief. Some had tears in their eyes, while others burned with rage over the loss of their comrades. The silence among the troops was heavy, laden with sorrow and despair… but Elythion would not allow this dark shadow to consume them.
Standing tall in his saddle, he raised his voice, a powerful call carried by the wind through the ranks like a thunderous echo:
"Brave friends, comrades in arms, my brothers in sorrow and joy…!"
Tearful eyes ceased their weeping, bowed heads lifted, and all turned to listen to their leader—the man whose heart knew no fear.
"The deaths of your loved ones will not be in vain! They will not be mere memories, but the spark that ignites the flames of our vengeance!"
His grip on his sword tightened, his voice growing stronger with each word:
"This is not the end of the road… it is only the beginning! The beginning of our fight for them, for every drop of blood unjustly spilled, for every soul burned by treachery. This time, we will show no mercy! We will cut down, we will destroy, and we will bring down all who stand in our way!"
The murmurs of grief turned into angry shouts, and then—like a rising tide—a wave of chants surged through the ranks.
Then, Rajareth's voice roared through the fervor, thundering:
"Our loyalty to our champion! Death in our pursuit, his chosen creed!"
Serinos followed, his voice ringing with unwavering strength:
"Long live our champion! Long live our champion!"
Their words echoed like an earthquake, shaking the hearts of the soldiers. With a cry rising from the depths of their souls, they all shouted in unison:
"Long live our champion! Long live our champion!"
The chant was stronger than any spell, filling the sky and shaking the earth beneath them. Even the wounded felt a renewed pulse of energy coursing through their veins.
Lying on a cart among the ranks, Darcian and Valinor remained weak, their bodies still recovering, but a faint smile graced their faces. That smile was more than just joy… it was a new hope, born from the depths of pain.
Seated at the front of the cart, Vilaria watched Elythion with a warm gaze, her eyes filled with determination. She smiled to herself and whispered in her heart:
"I will follow you… no matter the cost."
It was not just a promise… it was an unbreakable vow.
A new spirit had been born in Elythion's army—a spirit that knew no fear… only resolve and vengeance.
/*************************************************************\
If you like the story ! please support it
And the best way to do this is through patréon
You get access to +5 chapters !
Or even 12+ chapters if you want !
So please check out my patréon
https://www.patréon.com/c/zakx205
Don't forget to change "é" to "e"