The first bullet tore through the black thunder with ruthless efficiency, scattering the spell into nothingness midair. The second followed, a perfect shot aimed straight at the officer's forehead.
Shock and terror twisted his face, but no human reflex could match the velocity of the bullet. In an instant, the cold messenger of death pierced his skull, ending his life before he could even flinch.
The officer crumpled to the ground, his body still warm.
"Hurry, collect his core," Len's voice echoed in Cedar's mind, sharp and insistent. "You can't absorb his blood right now, but leaving it behind would be wasteful. Even if the effect is weaker, consuming the core could still benefit you."
Without hesitation, Cedar moved swiftly toward the fallen officer, his movements precise. He retrieved his blade and severed the chest with practiced ease.
Blood pooled beneath his hands as he worked quickly, extracting the glowing core nestled within the body.
The bloody mana core glowed faintly in his hand, its pulsing light casting an eerie reflection on Cedar's tired face. The smell of hot blood still lingered, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke that filled the air.
His instincts, sharp and merciless, urged him to consume it—to take the power and grow stronger—but he fought it back with all his will.
Not yet.
He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, to ignore the gnawing hunger deep within. The core was warm, its energy powerful. He could almost feel it whispering to him, calling out, tempting him to taste the power that lay within. It wasn't just the mana; it was the blood, the essence of the life that resides inside.
Yet as he stared into the faintly glowing mana core, a flash of something dark and ominous caught his eye. Within the heart of the core, a faint wisp of black cloud lingered—swirling and shifting like an ominous shadow.
Cedar frowned, squinting to get a better look. It was unlike any core he had seen before. The blackness seemed to shift in and out of view, as though it were a part of the core's energy—something foreign and unsettling.
"So, this is what a fourth-circle mage's mana core looks like," Cedar whispered to himself as he set it aside.
Alongside it, he claimed the officer's magic ring—a silver band intricately etched with ancient runes.
Slipping the ring onto his finger, a rush of power surged through him. His casting speed, once sluggish, was now noticeably faster. The change wasn't dramatic, but in the heat of battle, it made all the difference.
No longer needing to concentrate as intensely, Cedar waved his hand, summoning his lightning spells with effortless precision. They flowed seamlessly, as though the magic had always been second nature.
However, there was one disappointment— the officer didn't carry any anti-magic bullets.
The battle was starting to tip in Cedar's favor. The Imperium forces, losing their edge, began to pull back. Their primary targets—the refugees—had already slipped beyond their grasp.
As the dust began to settle, Cedar stood amidst the fallen, his pulse still racing, the remnants of battle clinging to his skin. The blood magic within him thrummed faintly, a gnawing hunger that would have been easy to indulge. But Cedar fought it back, pushing the desire for more power deep into the recesses of his mind.
Exhausted, yet victorious.
Lance approached, his breath labored, his face a mix of astonishment and relief. "Impressive," he said, wiping blood from his brow. "I didn't think you'd hold them off this well. With this kind of effort, we'll be seeing promotions for sure."
Cedar nodded but didn't respond. He could feel the weight of his actions pressing down on him—the power he wielded, the dangerous potential that lingered just beneath the surface. What he had done felt far more significant than any promotion or reward.
With the battle won, Cedar fell back into the routine that had become second nature—looting the battlefield.
His eyes scanned the fallen bodies, searching for anything of value. Most items were inconsequential—trinkets or personal effects that held little worth in this brutal world. But occasionally, his sharp eyes found something valuable, something that would serve him well.
He moved with purpose, methodical in his search. The Imperium soldiers wore distinctive robes, protective against spells. Though many had been torn or singed, a few remained intact, their enchantments still potent. Cedar claimed three, slipping one on beneath his own vest. The added protection against magic was a welcome relief.
He ignored the officer's white uniform, knowing it would attract unwanted attention. There was no advantage to it anyway.
As he scavenged, his gaze caught a glint—something faintly glowing. A ring, pulsing with magical energy. It was a rare magic amplifier, designed to boost a mage's potency by a significant margin—a 10% increase in magical output. For someone like Cedar, this could make all the difference in a critical moment.
Cedar couldn't help but smirk at the find. This ring alone could sell for nearly 300 pounds, a fortune in its own right. It was enough to support a family for a decade, and while Cedar had no family to think of, he recognized the value it held.
Unlike the other ring he had obtained from the Imperium officer, this one was familiar to him. He had seen such rings before and knew their worth instantly. While the value of the officer's ring was still uncertain, Cedar was certain it would be no less than this one.
The boost wasn't immediate, but Cedar could feel the magic syncing with his own. A small advantage, but enough to tip the scales in his favor.
Weapons, armor, enchanted trinkets—these were the true rewards of battle. More than just tools, they were symbols of survival, of strength, of progress.
His search continued, yielding more magical artifacts, pouches of rations, and a handful of anti-magic bullets. Cedar hadn't had the chance to replenish his supply after Aelith's loss, and he had already used two of the remaining rounds. These new bullets would prove invaluable against more dangerous mages.
The Imperium's focus on magic suppression was evident in their weapons—specialized rounds meant to disrupt and destroy spells. Cedar slipped them into his pocket, mentally cataloging the growing inventory of tools that would help him in the war ahead. Each item was more than an object; it was an advantage, a potential life-saving asset.
Len's voice murmured softly in the back of his mind, a quiet murmur of approval. "Resourceful," he said, the satisfaction in his tone clear. "Blood and iron have always gone hand in hand."
Cedar didn't respond. His eyes scanned the battlefield one last time, making sure nothing of value was left behind. The weight of victory, combined with the rewards, settled over him like a cloak. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
Every item, every advantage, brought him one step closer to his goals. And as always, he knew that to survive, to thrive, it would take more than just skill. It would take preparation.
Finally, Cedar turned back toward his squad. The smoke from the battlefield hung thick in the air, casting an ominous hue over the horizon. The enemy had been repelled, but this was just one battle in an endless war. There would be more—countless more.
But Cedar didn't fear the future. He embraced it, ready to wield the power he had claimed, ready to rise higher and face whatever came next.
For now, though, it was time to regroup.