Howser's rise within the Church had been nothing short of meteoric.
Despite being the same age as Cedar, his calm demeanor and exceptional talent for magic had earned him the favor of a high-ranking sage—a six-circle mage, one of the elite figures in the Church's hierarchy.
Achieving six circles wasn't just a sign of strength; it signified mastery and a level of trust that few could claim. Howser had been entrusted with some of the Church's most guarded secrets, a testament to his ability and discipline.
During one of their discussions, Howser delved into the intricate hierarchy of mages, his voice steady and measured as if recounting scripture.
"Circles 1 to 3," Howser began, "are where most soldiers fall. Ordinary mages with basic training—capable of some magic but otherwise unremarkable."
Cedar nodded. He'd seen them on the battlefield countless times. These mages formed the backbone of the Union's forces, their magic just enough to supplement swords and strategy but never enough to turn the tide of battle.
"Circles 4 and 5," Howser continued, "are the next level. Mages who've refined their abilities, gaining respect and authority within the military. They lead squads, handle advanced magic, and often take on frontline roles."
Cedar's thoughts drifted to the powerful figures he'd encountered recently. Commander Veran, with her commanding presence, and that Imperium officer whose sheer skill had been enough to leave a lasting impression.
While their magic was formidable, Cedar knew that combat wasn't solely about raw power. Strategy, experience, and even the terrain could tip the scales, making each fight unpredictable.
"Mages of six and seven circles," Howser went on, "are a different breed entirely. They're known as Sages—revered figures who guide entire battalions or hold critical positions in the Church or government. Their influence isn't just military; it's political, spiritual, and deeply rooted in the fabric of our society."
At this level, the gap in power became insurmountable, and mages were recognized as high-ranking mages—figures who stood above the rest.
Cedar understood this all too well. While he could push himself to defeat a four-circle mage as a three-circle, confronting a six-circle Sage even at his 5th circle was an entirely different challenge.
It wasn't merely their raw magic power that set them apart—it was their mastery, their experience, and their profound understanding of combat. Add to that their unique Domain magic, an ability that elevated their control over the battlefield, and they became nearly untouchable, standing as titans among mages.
And then came the final two tiers.
"Mages who reached 8th and 9th circle," Howser said, his tone dropping slightly, "are where legends are born. These are the Demigods—mages so powerful they've become myths. Their magic doesn't just affect the battlefield; it shapes the world itself. Most people dismiss them as stories, but..."
Howser hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before continuing. "There are whispers that every major faction in this war has at least one ninth-circle mage in their ranks. For instance, Grand Commander Isaac of the Union—he's rumored to be one of them."
The weight of those words settled heavily in the room. Cedar's mind raced. The war wasn't just a clash of armies and strategies. It was a game of shadows, with the deadliest players hidden until the moment their power was needed most.
The four major powers—the East Union, the Imperium Empire, the Shoryu Empire, and the Long Shan Empire—each supposedly harbored these hidden Demigods.
On the eastern continent, the Union and the Imperium battled for dominance, while the Shoryu and Long Shan Empires waged their war on the western front if the rumors were true, at least four ninth-circle mages were lying in wait, their existence a closely guarded secret.
The thought was staggering. A single Demigod could obliterate armies, turn cities to ash, and reshape the very fabric of a battlefield. Their magic wasn't just powerful; it was ancient, primal, the kind that had once carved mountains and parted seas.
But this immense power came with a price. The balance between the factions was delicate, and none dared reveal their Demigods unless their survival hinged on it.
Howser didn't confirm their existence outright, but the faint shift in his expression told Cedar all he needed to know. These forces weren't just rumors. They were real, and when the time came, they would decide the war's outcome.
As Cedar left that conversation, a heavy sense of unease settled over him. The war was already brutal, but now he understood just how high the stakes truly were. The battles they fought now were just the opening moves in a much larger, deadlier game.
And somewhere in the shadows, the Demigods waited, their power poised to tip the scales and shatter the world as he knew it.
"It's a strange thing," Howser mused during one visit. "This war that consumes generations, devours entire cities, yet still feels as though it never quite escalates to the level it could. Each side holds back, and we, the ones on the ground, are left fighting in the dark."
Cedar nodded, understanding the weight of his words. The war could always be worse, and perhaps the most frightening thought was that it might one day reach that level.
In a quieter moment, he looked at Cedar, a faint but warm smile crossing his face. "It's strange seeing you as a soldier, Cedar. I used to think of you as… well, something different. You were always the clever one, even back then."
Cedar chuckled, shaking his head. "It's been a long journey. But sometimes, I wonder if we've ever really left Brighthelm behind, or if we're just different players in the same story."
Howser gave him a look of understanding, as if he, too, sometimes felt trapped in this endless cycle. "You're not alone in that, Cedar. But remember, even if we're on different paths, we can still help each other."
Cedar knew that he would likely part ways soon, your missions calling him in different directions. But these moments—these glimpses of the past, the reassurance that he wasn't entirely isolated in this war—gave a moment of peace.
As he left Howser's tent, he felt a strange mixture of relief and dread. The world around you was growing darker, the stakes higher. And yet, with each day, he was edging closer to the heart of the conflict, to the place where real decisions were made, where power was fought over in shadows and whispers.
The convoy trudged into Otreau's capital after two grueling weeks on the road.
Weariness clung to the soldiers like a second skin, but as the city's grandeur came into view, a spark of excitement flickered among them. For Cedar, the sight of the towering walls and elegant spires was a sharp contrast to the blood-soaked battlefields they had left behind.
Otreau, the Union's heart, stood as a beacon of power, culture, and magic—a reminder that not all was lost in the endless tide of war.
As the convoy approached the city, the scale of its fortifications became unmistakable. Massive stone walls loomed overhead, their surfaces etched with intricate runic inscriptions that shimmered faintly in the fading sunlight.
Magic pulsed through the air, reinforcing the walls with enchantments strong enough to deter even the most determined attackers.
Within the gates, the capital was alive, bustling with activity despite the tension that hung over the streets.
Merchants called out from vibrant market stalls, hawking goods ranging from fresh produce to enchanted trinkets. Soldiers, their uniforms bearing the colors of various Union divisions, patrolled the avenues, keeping a watchful eye on refugees and military personnel alike.
The clash of cultures and classes was evident—battle-hardened soldiers brushed shoulders with bright-eyed students from the mage academies, while merchants bartered with foreign traders under the watchful eyes of armored guards.
Cedar's gaze was drawn to the central citadel at the city's core. Its spiraling towers reached skyward, their ornate designs imbued with an undeniable air of authority. It wasn't just the Union's seat of government; it was a nexus of magical power.
Rumors whispered that the citadel housed sages of the sixth and seventh circles, and perhaps even an elusive eighth-circle demigod. The thought sent a chill through him—such individuals wielded power capable of reshaping entire nations, their mere presence enough to tip the scales of war.
The streets exuded a strange energy, a mix of hope and fear. Refugees huddled in makeshift camps near the outskirts, their weary faces a stark contrast to the determined expressions of the soldiers passing by.
High-ranking officers, draped in robes adorned with medals and insignias of rank, marched purposefully toward the citadel, while younger mages hurried to their posts, their robes fluttering in the breeze.
Beside Cedar, Lance let out a low whistle, his awe plain to see. "Hard to believe a place like this still exists," he muttered, eyes scanning the bustling streets. "After weeks of nothing but battles and ruins, this feels… unreal."
Cedar nodded silently, his gaze lingering on the city's defenses. The capital wasn't just a place of refuge—it was a fortress, a symbol of the Union's resilience. Yet beneath its vibrant surface, he could sense the weight of the war pressing in from all sides. This city, grand as it was, stood as a reminder of how much was at stake.
The convoy was soon directed to a military sector designated for regrouping and resupply. As they made their way through the crowded streets, Cedar felt a growing sense of anticipation.
This wasn't like the border towns or besieged outposts he'd fought to protect. Otreau was different—a place where decisions that shaped the course of the war were made, where power was fought over in shadows and whispers.
The weight of the conflict pressed heavily on Cedar's shoulders, but a steely resolve settled within him. The war might have brought him to Otreau, but he wouldn't let it consume him. With Ivan by his side and the promise of Len's training ahead, he was determined.