The air inside the house was heavy, the weight of unspoken tension pressing down on everyone in the room. Faces that were previously full of confidence now bore serious expressions, even Plamon, who had been arrogant and dismissive when they first met. The gravity of the situation had clearly set in.
Oliver, still groggy from his restless sleep, shuffled into the room, his legs feeling like lead. He scanned the room for a chair, and someone handed one to him. Grateful, he sat down heavily, trying to shake off the fatigue clinging to his body.
"Can someone explain what's going on?" he asked, rubbing his temples as he glanced around the room, his tone calm but firm.
Ziggy, standing nearby, stepped forward and folded his arms. "Here's what we've confirmed so far," he began, his voice steady. "First, based on what you've told us from your dreams, this opponent has multiple blessings. Second, he seems to have innate control over those who also possess blessings, people like us. And from what we've observed, his control over individuals like us is even stronger. Beyond that…" Ziggy trailed off, glancing at Plamon. "Even the oldest among us has no further knowledge of him."
Oliver let out a slow breath, his fingers massaging his temples as he thought back to the chaotic events of the previous day. He remembered allowing the enemy to escape, a decision that gnawed at him now. Was it weakness? Caution? Or simply exhaustion?
He glanced down at his partially burned clothing, the scorch marks triggering a vivid memory. "What about the fireball yesterday?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "Do we know anything about it?"
Ziggy hesitated, but Plamon stepped in, his tone measured. "That," he said, "was likely a celestial technique. A power akin to the sun itself. But identifying who launched it? That's another matter entirely."
Oliver frowned. "No leads at all?"
Plamon shook his head. "No. This kind of technique is immense in scope and range. As long as sunlight shines, it can strike from anywhere. The one who fired it could be far beyond our reach."
Oliver sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Hidden allies," he muttered. "They always seem to show up when it's convenient, but never when you need them most."
He shifted his attention back to the room. "Then, the real question is, where do we go from here? Do we prioritize finding his hiding place, or deal with the remnants of the Black Crow?"
Plamon and Inga exchanged glances before answering. "We've been debating the same thing," Inga admitted. "An explained the entire situation to us. It's hard to accept that the Black Crow might sacrifice most of the elves to consolidate their power. But with the monster we saw yesterday... there may not be a better option than taking action quickly."
"Not much of a choice, then," Oliver murmured, his tone bitter.
Just as the room fell into another tense silence, Oliver's eyes lit up with recollection. "Oh, that reminds me," he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out the notebook he had found. "This was hidden in the mountains I found yesterday; survived the explosion somehow."
He opened it and began to read aloud from the first page. "'If you're reading this, then you've already faced the monster. Either something significant has happened or nothing has. What matters is that you act quickly.'"
Plamon leaned forward, curious. "What does it say?"
Oliver continued, "'The Black Crow and the monster will both be present at the same time. Your first step should be to approach the Black Crow, even if you're unsure of whether to fight them. They've likely lost their ability to engage in major battles for now. The key lies with the one wielding two swords, resurrected by your junior. I can't recall her name, but her rapier was a pivotal force in resisting the monster.'"
"Wait," Plamon interrupted, his brow furrowed. "What rapier? And who is this person resurrected by one of us?"
An and the others shared puzzled glances, equally confused. Only Inga seemed unfazed, though she didn't offer any clarification.
"None of you know?" Oliver asked, looking around. When he was met with blank stares, he sighed. "Fine. I'll explain it later." He flipped to another page and resumed reading.
"'By the way, you should inform others that Aegnor used one of my corpses to complete the resurrection. Be sure to explain it clearly.'"
The room fell silent, and Oliver's face twitched slightly in disbelief. "What… am I supposed to say to that?" he muttered under his breath. "Did she really not mention that before?"
Shaking his head, he returned to the notebook. "'For now, the resurrected one's abilities are unstable, including their control over blessings. I can't provide detailed guidance, but since your magic reserves are low, even if it's risky or outright foolish, prioritize making contact with the enemy during the final confrontation. That's your best shot at creating an opening for the one wielding the rapier.'"
He paused, frowning at the final lines of text. "'Lastly, I've hidden some arrows. Some are meant for me, and some are for you. When you retrieve them, bring mine back with you. We'll cross paths eventually.'"
And that was it. The final words left him staring at the empty space on the page.
"Well," he said dryly, closing the notebook, "I suppose that's helpful… in its own cryptic way."
The room remained quiet for a moment as everyone processed what they had just heard. The implications of the notebook and the resurrection; hung heavy in the air.
Finally, Plamon spoke, his voice grim. "If the Black Crow and the monster are connected, then we have no time to waste. We need to move."
Oliver nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. 'A rapier… a resurrection… arrows left behind… and a hidden ally with the power of the sun.'
The pieces were starting to come together, but the full picture was still out of reach. And deep down, he wasn't sure if they were ready for what lay ahead.
Oliver blinked, his expression shadowed by a heavy gloom. The room was still, the air tense, as the people around him fixed their eyes on him, waiting for him to speak. They had come to rely on him for direction, but at this moment, his silence felt like a storm about to break.
Plamon, ever impatient, muttered under his breath, "He's so stingy with his words." His voice was low but not low enough to escape notice.
Ignoring the remark, Oliver finally spoke. After sharing the teacher's cryptic instructions, he pointed toward the location marked on the map. "I'm heading there," he declared simply, his voice steady, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in his eyes.
As he stepped away, his thoughts churned. 'But according to the teacher, isn't she dead?'
The realization made him falter for just a second. 'If that's true, why not tell everyone from the beginning? Was it to keep them from wasting time searching for someone who might not even be alive? Or… was there something more?'
---
In another part of the battlefield, a swordsman; a survivor of the recent chaos, sat on the ground, his gaze unfocused. Luck had kept him alive. He had been positioned at the front right of the formation, away from the main group that had fled toward the waterfall. Unlike them, he wasn't swept away in the initial onslaught of the monster.
Yet, despite his survival, he couldn't shake a strange feeling. He had witnessed the deaths of countless comrades, their lives snuffed out in an instant, and it had stirred something deep within him. A memory? A regret? He couldn't place it.
His mind replayed the scene over and over, the brutal efficiency of the slaughter, the way life had been stripped away so quickly. The feeling in his chest was unfamiliar, a flicker of guilt? Of loss? Whatever it was, it gnawed at him.
'What am I feeling? What did I lose?'
---
Meanwhile, the elves and the Black Crows were locked in a tenuous stalemate. Neither side had much strength left to push the other, and though the elves weren't particularly eager to fight, the Black Crows had been dealt a far worse hand.
The young man who had appeared suddenly during the battle had caused devastating losses for the Black Crows, their once-organized defenses now in disarray. Most of their fighters had left the city to carve their names into history or gain some advantage from the conflict. But their ambition had backfired, leaving them vulnerable and unable to resist even the elves' modest advance.
The elves swept into the city with little effort. The main gates weren't even properly secured; Aegnor hadn't had time to organize a defense. The Black Crow's elaborate preparations had been rendered useless, thanks to Lucy's sabotage.
Now, though, Aegnor was worried. His sharp mind wasn't concerned about the destruction of their defenses; that had been inevitable. What worried him was that Lucy's involvement hadn't gone unnoticed. An and Nisha had seen her.
He paced, trying to think of a way to explain it.
At least, he thought bitterly, there wasn't widespread bloodshed as they had feared. Whether it was the lingering shock of the monster's appearance or simple exhaustion, both sides seemed too drained for a full-scale slaughter. It was the only bright spot in an otherwise bleak situation.
Enola followed behind him, her usual detached demeanor still present, though her movements seemed even slower, as though the weight of the past few days had finally sunk in. Her earlier declarations about ending the war now seemed laughableb empty words from someone who barely felt like a participant in the grander scheme of things.