I finished the last bite of my meal, the warmth of the stew settling in my stomach. Across the table, Valdyr wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the blood from our earlier raid still smeared across his fingers. "The bodies are buried," he reported, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather.
"Good," I replied, leaning back in my chair and studying him. "You should clean yourself up before the next meal."
He shrugged, glancing down at his hands. "What's the point? They're just stains. Blood is either a curse or a badge of honor. Depends on how you look at it."
I arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "I'd prefer my badge to be cleaner. But if it doesn't bother you…"
"It doesn't," he interrupted, a grin spreading across his face. "Maybe it's a sign that we're doing something right. It's just blood, after all."
With a shake of my head, I stood up, pushing my chair back as I prepared to face the next task. "Let's hope the next batch of enemies sees it that way," I muttered, moving toward the back room where the captured soldier awaited his fate.
As I entered, the atmosphere shifted, heavy with the scent of dampness and fear. The soldier was tied to a fallen-back chair, a wet cloth draped over his face. Muffled sounds of desperate breaths punctuated the silence as someone poured water over the cloth, the fabric clinging to his features.
He coughed violently, spluttering as he fought for air. I stepped closer nodding to the two. With knowing nods they took the cloth off his head and raised his chair. 'Fishing' is what we call it, there's little chance of him dying from it but no one likes the feeling of being drowned over and over again.
It's perfect for interrogation and if I met the man that created this, I would personally avoid him at all costs. The soldier had finally cought his breath and our eyes meet; mine a viper and his a rat trying not to squeal.
"Do you speak Vatish?"
He nods quickly before adding, "My... my mother was Vatusian..." he almost looks ashamed.
I work my jaw, "Half Vatu, Half Westeria. All Westerian soldier-"
He interrupted, "I was from Ata-" I high pitch slap rang in he room, bringing him to his senses.
I sigh and took his hair in my hand stringing him along to face me again, "What's your name boy?"
"P-Perth," he stammered, words escaping him like a frightened rabbit. "I... I swear I don't know anything."
I leaned closer, my voice a low whisper, "You've got one chance, Perth. Tell me what I want to know, or I'll make this very uncomfortable for you."
Volgrin's lips pursed crossing his arms as he leaned awkwardly against the doorframe. "You know, General, we have other methods."
I gestured for him to step back. "I prefer my own methods." Turning back to Perth, I said, "Where are the supply routes for the Westerian forces?"
The soldier shook his head, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "I don't know! I swear!"
I narrowed my eyes, considering my options. I tilt my head disappointed and steal his breathe when I kicked him back in his chair. I now looked over her dropping the wet cloth on his face, we both know what comes next.
"I'll ask again: where are the supply routes?"
He gasped, swallowing hard, the fight leaving him as deration set in. "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" He said already panicking under the suffocating wetness.
Finally.
---
I finished the last bite of my meal, the warmth of the stew settling in my stomach. Across the table, Valdyr wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the blood from our earlier raid still smeared across his fingers.
"The bodies are buried," he reported, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather.
"Good," I replied, leaning back in my chair and studying him. "You should clean yourself up before the next meal."
He shrugged, glancing down at his hands. "What's the point? They're just stains. Blood is either a curse or a badge of honor. Depends on how you look at it."
I arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "I'd prefer my badge to be cleaner. But if it doesn't bother you…"
"It doesn't," he interrupted, a grin spreading across his face. "Maybe it's a sign that we're doing something right. It's just blood, after all."
With a shake of my head, I stood up, pushing my chair back as I prepared to face the next task. "Let's hope the next batch of enemies sees it that way," I muttered, moving toward the back room where the captured soldier awaited his fate.
As I entered, the atmosphere shifted, heavy with the scent of dampness and fear. The soldier was tied to a fallen-back chair, a wet cloth draped over his face. Muffled sounds of desperate breaths punctuated the silence as someone poured water over the cloth, the fabric clinging to his features.
He coughed violently, spluttering as he fought for air. I stepped closer, nodding to the two men stationed beside him. With knowing nods, they removed the cloth from his face and raised the chair upright. This method was effective. 'Fishing' we called it—there was little chance of death, but the repeated sensation of drowning broke even the toughest men. Whoever had invented it was not someone I ever wanted to meet.
The soldier gasped, struggling to regain his composure. Our eyes locked: mine, cold and steady like a viper, and his, darting in panic, like a rat. The fear was seeping in.
"Do you speak Vatish?" I asked, my voice low and commanding.
He nodded frantically. "M-my mother was Vatusian…" There was shame in his voice, and he lowered his head slightly, as if embarrassed by the fact.
I worked my jaw, letting the silence stretch for a moment. "Half Vatu, half Westerian… all Westerian soldier."
"I was from Ata—" he began, but I cut him off with a sharp slap, the crack of it ringing through the room.
I grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back so he faced me again. "What's your name, boy?"
"P-Perth," he stammered. "I… I swear I don't know anything!"
I leaned closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "You've got one chance, Perth. Tell me what I want to know, or things will get very unpleasant for you."
From the corner, Volgrin, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe, smirked. "You know, General, we have other methods."
I didn't even look at him. "I prefer mine." Then, turning back to Perth, I asked, "Where are the supply routes for the Westerian forces?"
Perth shook his head, sweat beading on his brow. "I don't know! I swear!"
Disappointment flickered in my mind, but I didn't let it show. Without a word, I kicked the chair back, sending him crashing to the ground. The wet cloth dropped over his face again, and the process began anew. Water poured over the cloth, and I watched as his body bucked, gasping in panic.
"I'll ask again: where are the supply routes?"
After a few agonizing moments, the fight drained out of him. Desperation crept into his voice as he broke. "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" he cried, the words barely audible through the suffocating cloth.
Finally.
---
Later that night, I gathered a smaller squad and we rode in silence, the moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. We were heading for the supply route Perth had so helpfully shared, where a cart full of new mage recruits would soon be arriving at the institute.
We reached the edge of the forest, the road in sight, and waited. My horse stamped the ground impatiently beneath me, but I held her still, watching as the cart rolled into view. The faces of the recruits, wide-eyed and eager, flickered in the torchlight. They were young, too young, most of them. But they would learn soon enough that this world didn't care about youth.
The gates of the institute groaned open, and the moment they were wide enough, I signaled with a raised hand. Without hesitation, we charged.
Hooves thundered beneath us as we burst from the tree line. There was a fleeting moment of shock in the eyes of the recruits before we descended upon them.
I leaned from my horse, blade already drawn, and the first guard went down without so much as a scream. The students panicked, trying to scatter, but we were faster. Valdyr and the others spread out, setting fire to the buildings around us.
The institute grounds erupted in chaos, flames licking at the sides of the buildings as thick smoke filled the air. The crackle of fire behind me was the only warning the mages had as their wagon went up in flames, the horses screaming in their panic. I leapt from horseback, feet hitting the ground just as the institute mages scattered like ants.
One arrow from Cadran's bow thudded into the chest of a boy trying to chant a spell. Another mage raised a hand to summon something, but I was already there, slicing upward through her throat. The flash of shock froze on her face as blood sprayed across the grass. I spun around her before her body hit the dirt.
The next in range was a tattooed boy, as I swung my sword like a pendulum. He lept back at an inhuman distance putting 3 meters between us.
The air around him turned to frost, ice creeping out from his feet, as he waved his stick with a incisor tooth at the tip around in a flourish. The tooth cuts the air into a symbol as I heard him mutter, "Cocytus."
Three orbs of a malicious blizzards formed out of the swirling cold. His runes flared bright beneath his cloak, and with a flick of his wrist, the guardians rushed forward, their icy forms roaring toward me.
I didn't hesitate. My sword lashed out, cutting through the nearest guardians' core. Its body exploded into freezing shards, the cold biting at my muscles daring to freeze even bone. The other two hurled forward. I sidestepped the first and sliced clean up through the second, their dying bursts of cold crawled through me.
The second I broke his spell, he was already low in front of me, face to face, dagger to sword. He lunged up, aiming for my head.
Predictable.
His blade stabbed through a ghost of me. I dropped low, sliding my heel across the dirt and sweeping his legs out from under him.
He caught himself in the descend.
He tried to chant something- too late. I speared his chest with my sword, I brought him to the ground and drove my blade through his back. His body went limp, the runes on his skin fading out like dying embers.
If he hadn't been a mage, it would've taken me four seconds.
This took ten.
We didn't need a full battle here. We will lose if they become organised and put up a proper fight. We burned, we killed, and when the chaos reached its peak, I gave the signal to retreat.
"Out! Now!" I shouted, and we pulled back, disappearing into the forest as quickly as we'd arrived.
The fires would rage for hours, and by the time the institute regained control, it would already be too late. The wounds had left scars.
And a parasite.
---
Volgrin's POV
Spinning around in a fight is a terrible idea. It's slow, obvious. Every textbook and teacher would scream the same thing.
But no one spins like Tobu. No one makes the battlefield their stage like the Army-Eater.
She became a cyclone, her sword carving through the air, meeting the frost-laden spells of that boy—what did he call it? Cocytus?
The first guardian shattered, a roar of frozen wind clawing at her cloak. She didn't even flinch. By the time the second was close enough to strike, she was already on the move, her blade an extension of herself. The mage had no idea what hit him. He thought he was special, a boy whose runes hummed with power.
Tobu had seen a hundred like him before breakfast.
The last guardian barely slowed her down. With a single slice, it splintered into shards, the cold cutting through the night, but her focus never wavered. He came at her, fast, dagger in hand—typical. Tobu didn't even bother to dodge the first strike. It passed through a ghost of her, like it wasn't even real. Before he realized his mistake, she was on him. A flick of her wrist, and he was down, her sword pressing him into the earth, life draining from his eyes.
I'd seen the best of our army, the best of our enemies, too. Not many moved like Tobu. Not many survived as long as her too. You could tell she wasn't just fighting- she was hunting. And the hunt was good.
In the chaos she'd created, it wasn't hard to find my moment. While the flames turned the institute into a furnace and her squad wreaked havoc on the panicked students, I slipped into the shadows. No one notices a dead body when there's fire everywhere.
I found the mage Tobu had killed. His eyes were still wide open, frozen in that last moment of terror. His blood stained the dirt beneath him, black in the firelight.
I crouched over the corpse, tugging at the cloak still warm from his skin. He didn't need it anymore, and I needed a disguise. I stripped him, then dragged him to the nearest blaze. The flames swallowed his body whole, leaving no trace. By the time his bones were ash, I'd already slipped into his clothes, pulling the hood low over my eyes.
The group was regrouping by then, Tobu's command echoing across the field, her voice as unbreakable as her blade. "Out! Now!"
I stumbled forward, joining the other recruits with a fake limp, huffing like I'd just run for my life. It wasn't hard to pull off-half the group didn't even know who was supposed to be here. I waved at Valdyr, who gave me a nod, too busy to care. When a teacher came she glanced my way, I hunched over, pointing to the wrecked wagon. "I'm sorry I snuck in, I was hiding under there!" I shouted, voice shaking just enough to sound believable. "Barely made it out."
She didn't look twice.
That's the thing about chaos, it covers all your sins.
I kept my head down, blending in with the them as we run with te teacher into the buildings. My pulse thrummed in my ears, but I wasn't scared. Not anymore. Tobu had opened the door, burned down the walls, and now it was my turn to finish what she'd started.
They can't come back for me. With institute defences probably bolstered, they will ride back to the border to usher a force to take back our land ich my inch.
The only problem would be this school.
The institute wouldn't recover from this, not for weeks. And when I was done, they wouldn't recover at all.