Morvan finally arrived at another hideout of his organization, his heavy steps echoing on the stone floor. Fatigue and frustration were etched on his face, marked by pain and anger. He hadn't expected to lose an arm, let alone an important base, because of a simple worm.
As soon as he entered, a stern-looking man approached him, his eyes shining with worry and curiosity: "What happened? I heard a thief broke in?"
Morvan nodded, hiding the truth behind a mask of impassivity: "Yes, he was formidable and managed to take my arm, but I eventually killed him."
He couldn't admit that it was all due to a worm. Where would his dignity be if word got out that a worm had succeeded where so many others had failed?
The man frowned, trying to understand the situation: "Do you think it was the academy's dogs or the royal family?"
Morvan shook his head, rejecting the idea: "No, it was just a greedy thief, ignorant of the vastness of the earth and sky."
A sigh of relief escaped the man, his features relaxing slightly: "Fortunately, you took all the armor, leaving no clues for those who will investigate after you."
Morvan nodded, avoiding giving more details. Losing the hideout and his arm was already a hard blow. No need to dwell on it.
The man continued, glancing at Morvan's wound: "I see the base's doctor has already treated you. Rest today; I'll need you tomorrow."
Morvan nodded, grateful for the temporary respite. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmering orb, handing it to the man: "Try to see what's inside when you have time. My mana is quite chaotic now. It's a diffusion orb from an apprentice knight."
The man took the orb with a mix of curiosity and disinterest, his initial enthusiasm tempered by the modest origin of the object. Nevertheless, he carefully put the orb away, aware that even the smallest clues could sometimes reveal crucial information.
Morvan watched the man walk away, feeling the throbbing pain in his amputated arm. He knew the days ahead would be difficult, but for now, he needed to rest and regain his strength.
Just as he arrived in the great hall, he heard someone calling him urgently: "Chief, our blacksmith has finished the task you asked for."
Hearing this, the chief felt a weight lift off his shoulders, thinking that finally, some good news was coming after so many setbacks. Hiding his happiness behind a stern expression, he replied firmly: "Good, I'll go there right away."
He quickly climbed the spiral staircase, his boots echoing on the worn wood. With each step, his anticipation grew, the rhythmic sound of his steps accompanying the dull hammering emanating from the forge. Arriving before a massive iron door, the rhythmic blows could be heard from the other side. This was their organization's forge. Crossing the threshold, a wave of intense heat hit him head-on, like a burning wall. The air was heavy, filled with the smell of white-hot metal and the sweat of men at work.
Their base, a single large building in the woods, couldn't afford the luxury of a village. Too difficult to protect, too exposed. Here, every room had been designed for defense and discretion. Thick walls and narrow windows made the base almost invisible to outsiders.
In the center of the forge, a middle-aged but still robust man was striking a sword with unparalleled precision. His graying hair and face marked by years of labor did not mask the vigor of his movements. Each blow resonated with force, an echo of his expertise and determination. Hearing the door open, he turned, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a calloused hand. His face lit up with a smile of satisfaction.
"Chief," he said, slightly bowing his head, his eyes sparkling with pride. "The sword you requested is finally ready. I forged it according to your most precise specifications."
The chief stepped forward, his eyes shining with anticipation. The sword the blacksmith still held firmly shone with a deadly gleam, its perfectly balanced blade reflecting the forge's glowing light. He reached out, taking the weapon with silent reverence. The weight was perfect, the handle molding to his palm as if it had been designed just for him. The blade seemed to vibrate with contained energy, ready to be unleashed.
Seeing it, the chief's face lit up. Their organization had recently discovered an ancient plan that allowed weapons to grant ordinary people the powers of sacred knights. It was a breakthrough that would significantly aid their cause, and now that they had succeeded, it was natural for him to be happy.
The chief looked at the blacksmith with gratitude: "You have done a remarkable job. We will give you a great reward for your hard work."
The blacksmith, nodding, was about to ask where all the recently arrived people in their base came from. But at that moment, he noticed something strange. While turning the sword to better admire it, the chief accidentally dropped an orb from his pocket.
The orb fell to the ground with a small tinkle, rolling gently on the stone floor. In his haste to pick it up, the chief stumbled slightly and, in a desperate gesture, inadvertently activated a magical flame embedded in the sword.
The flame burst forth with unexpected vigor, almost joyful in its newfound freedom. It made a spectacular arc in the air before heading straight for a pile of old oil-soaked rags in a corner.
"No, no, no!" the chief cried, frantically trying to control the situation. But the flame, unstoppable, touched the rags, which ignited instantly.
In a fraction of a second, the small spark turned into a massive explosion. The blast propelled the chief backward as the forge itself seemed to convulse under the impact. The flames spread quickly, reaching the black powder reserves carefully hidden in a cabinet. Time seemed to slow as the chief realized the magnitude of what was about to happen.
The entire base exploded with a deafening roar. Pieces of wood, metal, and stone were hurled in all directions, and a gigantic fireball rose into the sky, visible for miles around. The building, once an impregnable fortress, was now a heap of smoking rubble.
Cries could be heard from all sides. The injured desperately tried to pull their comrades from the debris, their faces marked by terror and pain. Screams of distress echoed while others, exhausted and in shock, sought refuge under the surrounding trees, trying to rest away from the flames and choking smoke.
Morvan also emerged from the rubble, his clothes in tatters and his face covered in soot. He coughed violently, trying to clear his lungs of dust and ashes. "Damn! We can't have a moment of peace," he growled between coughing fits, his eyes squinting in irritation. "What happened?"
An injured man approached him, staggering and visibly suffering, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. His face was blackened, and his eyes wide with fear. "Sir," he said in a trembling voice, "it looks like the explosion started in the forge. The chief and the blacksmith didn't survive. I think... it was an accident."
Hearing this, Morvan felt his world waver. He was speechless, his gaze lost in the void, trying to comprehend the absurdity of the situation. "What kind of exaggerated scenario is this," he thought silently, anger and disbelief fighting for dominance over his emotions. A simple accident, and now the entire base explodes?
He glanced around. The forge, once the beating heart of their base, was now just a pile of smoldering ruins. Twisted pieces of metal and scattered tools littered the ground. The acrid smell of burning filled the air, adding to the already suffocating atmosphere. The members of their organization, once so proud and powerful, now seemed vulnerable, scattered, and disoriented.
"Gather all the survivors and start tending to the wounded," Morvan ordered, regaining a semblance of calm and control. "We must reorganize and find a way to rebuild. This is not the end, just another challenge to overcome."
Morvan continued, his voice resonating with authority: "Furthermore, do your best to retrieve any intact armor that remains, and I want the scouts to stay put. At the slightest sign in the distance, they must report it immediately."
Hearing this, the injured man nodded, determination visible despite the pain etched on his face. He staggered away, relaying the orders to the scattered members of their organization. Morvan watched him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of recent responsibilities and failures. He sighed deeply, inwardly wondering why their luck had taken such a dramatic turn. Every decision seemed to lead them from bad to worse.
A few minutes later, a man somewhat entangled in the debris was rummaging through the ruins, searching for any remaining armor. His face was covered in soot, his clothes in tatters, but his mind remained focused on his task. Each piece of intact armor represented a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.
Suddenly, something singular caught his eye. Under a collapsed beam, a smooth, black sphere gleamed, strangely intact amid the debris. His eyes widened, and a flash of greed crossed his gaze.
Casting quick glances around to ensure no one was watching, he seized the sphere with poorly disguised eagerness. He slipped it furtively into his pocket, a triumphant smile spreading across his lips. His heart raced, excitement and apprehension swirling in a whirlwind of emotions.
He resumed his search among the debris, his movements a bit more hurried now that he had a secret to protect. The armor could wait a little longer, he thought, as he continued to dig, his precious loot well hidden. Dreams of personal glory and quick wealth floated through his mind, giving him the strength to persevere despite the surrounding destruction.
***
In the heart of the royal academy tower, in a room dimly lit by candlelight, Sebastian and Alaric sat, lost in their thoughts. A letter with a broken seal lay on the table between them, bearing troubling news.
Alaric looked up, breaking the heavy silence that hung in the room: "The letter was written by Master Theodore. He informed me that the bandits' hideout had been demolished, apparently by their own doing. There were no bodies found, and even the hostages are perplexed about what happened."
He paused, observing Sebastian's reaction before continuing: "Speaking of the hostages, according to the information we've gathered, they were unaware of the organization's purpose. Their only order was to do everything possible to find as many apprentice knight armors as they could."
Sebastian, his face marked by worry, hesitated before asking, "If so many apprentice knights have disappeared, why hasn't the knights' academy reported anything?"
Alaric replied without delay, "It's because of their tradition. They have a mission system with points, and it's not uncommon for apprentice knights to be absent for months while on their missions."
Sebastian sighed deeply, expressing his frustration, "What an outdated tradition."
Alaric shrugged, a slight cynical smile on his lips: "According to the headmaster, it's to ensure only the most seasoned remain in their ranks, not hothouse flowers."
The room fell into heavy silence once more, only disturbed by the crackling of the candles. Shadows danced on the walls, reflecting the inner turmoil of the two men. Each pondered the implications of the news. The mystery surrounding the apprentice knights' armors and the inexplicable destruction of the bandits' hideout left a sense of unease and confusion in the charged atmosphere of the room.
Sebastian straightened slightly, fixing Alaric with renewed determination. "We need to learn more. Something bigger is at play here, and we cannot remain in the dark."
Alaric nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation. "I agree. It's time to mobilize our resources and uncover what's really going on. We cannot let these events remain in the shadows."
Upon hearing this, Sebastian thought of something: "What if the reason they destroyed their base is that they discovered what was inside the orb?"
A serious expression crossed Alaric's face as he murmured. "That's not impossible..."
He continued. "I will ask Master Lucien to double his efforts to discover the orb's location using what Master Alistair has provided him. Additionally, Master Sebastian, I need your help with another task."
Intrigued, Sebastian asked. "To discover this ancient person?"
Alaric shook his head: "No, we know nothing of their capabilities, and I fear stirring up a hornet's nest."
He continued, his gaze becoming sharper: "I want you to try to locate the worm that was ejected from Master Theodore's body."
Sebastian nodded, grasping the gravity of the new mission. The memory of the creature came back to him.
"Understood." said Sebastian, his eyes filled with determination and a glimmer of resolve. "I will need to use this room and my usual tools to try to prophesize its location."
He rose, his movements filled with a contained urgency, and headed to a shelf where various divination instruments were stored. He took a large crystal bowl, ancient cards, and a pentacle-shaped pendant. Each tool was meticulously chosen for its ability to channel the necessary energies for the prophecy.
Alaric watched Sebastian with renewed intensity. "Thank you, Sebastian. This worm represents an unpredictable threat. We must act quickly before it finds another host or causes more chaos."
Sebastian nodded without responding, already absorbed in the task at hand. He placed the crystal bowl at the center of the table, arranged the cards around it, and murmured some incantations to awaken the mystical forces. The pentacle pendant hung around his neck, catching the candlelight and casting dancing shadows on the walls.