For the next two days, the journey through the Devil's Forest was almost surreal. The death of Draegorn seemed to ripple through the ecosystem, silencing the forest's once-constant hostility. Creatures that had snarled and stalked us before now slunk away, their glowing eyes retreating into the shadows as we passed. It was as if the forest itself recognized the shift in power.
I couldn't shake the memory of Draegorn's final moments. That brilliant, blinding burst of yellow light as its life force ebbed away had been drawn into me. It wasn't merely light; it was raw energy, potent and ancient. The surge of mana had been overwhelming at first, sending tremors through my body under its weight. But after some time, I felt it settle, weaving itself into my being like a new thread in an old tapestry.
I could sense it now, humming beneath my skin, a reservoir far greater than I'd ever had. Casting even minor spells felt effortless, and larger ones seemed almost within reach, their once-daunting cost now trivial. The troops didn't know the full extent of what had happened—they just saw their young master defeat a legendary beast. But I felt the change.
We finally reached the ruin by mid-afternoon on the second day. It rose from the earth like a forgotten relic, carved into the face of a jagged cliff. Towering statues flanked the entrance, their features eroded by centuries of wind and rain but still exuding an aura of grim authority. The walls were inscribed with faded murals depicting battles between humans and serpentine beings.
Galen, ever the opportunist, stepped forward with a grin. "Well, this looks welcoming. Who votes we knock and ask for directions?"
I snorted, shaking my head. "I'm sure the ancient guardians left a guestbook for you to sign, Galen. You're first."
"Really? What if it's cursed?" He smirked, raising his hands dramatically. "The valiant Galen, taken down by a rude door spirit. Tragic."
"Focus," I said, my tone firm but amused. "This isn't a tavern. Stay alert."
The soldiers chuckled softly at Galen's antics, but they followed my lead as we entered the ruin.
The air inside was suffocating, thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. My torch sputtered, casting fleeting shadows against the chamber walls. Glowing runes pulsed faintly in the darkness, their light an ominous echo of the yellow energy I'd absorbed from Draegorn.
At the center of the vast room was a pedestal, its intricate carvings glowing with the same familiar hue. The sight should have filled me with hope. Instead, an uneasy weight pressed down on my chest.
I reached out hesitantly, my hand trembling as it neared the pedestal. A low hum resonated through the chamber, growing louder until a deafening boom sealed our fate—the entrance slammed shut behind us, trapping us within.
The torches dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of the runes to guide our eyes. And then they appeared—two slitted, golden eyes glowing in the shadows.
A low hiss echoed, deliberate and cold.
From the darkness, it emerged: a Naga.
Its upper body was humanoid, regal yet monstrous, with scaled, sinewy arms and an expression that radiated contempt. Its lower half coiled in emerald and gold, a massive serpent's body that gleamed like liquid metal. In its hands, a staff crackled with malevolent energy.
"Who dares disturb the sanctity of the Serpent's Keep?" it demanded, its voice a guttural rasp, like a blade scraping against stone.
I swallowed hard, gripping my sword tighter, its familiar weight doing little to steady my nerves. "We seek knowledge... nothing more. We mean no disrespect."
The Naga's lips curled into a sneer. "Knowledge is earned, not stolen. If you desire it, prove your worth—or die trying."
It moved with terrifying speed, its staff striking the ground with a resounding crack. A shockwave rippled outward, knocking soldiers off their feet.
"Shields up!" I shouted, rallying my troops.
The men scrambled into position, but I could see the fear in their eyes—the same fear twisting in my gut. This wasn't Draegorn, a beast we'd fought with brute force. The Naga was calculating, ruthless, and infinitely more powerful.
The first attack came swiftly. Its staff flared with green light, sending a bolt of energy that pierced a soldier's shield and struck him full in the chest. The man screamed, his body convulsing before crumpling lifelessly to the ground.
"No!" I roared, but there was no time to mourn.
The Naga lashed out with its tail, catching three more soldiers in one brutal sweep. Their armor crumpled like tin; their bodies flung against the chamber walls with sickening thuds.
"Hold the line!" Captain Redvers bellowed; his sword gleaming as he charged the creature.
The soldiers rallied, raising their weapons, but the Naga was relentless. Its movements were a blur of coiled power, its staff raining down destruction. One by one, my men fell, their cries of pain echoing in the chamber.
"Master Draven!" Galen shouted; his voice strained as he parried a strike from the Naga's staff. "We can't keep this up!"
I gritted my teeth, the weight of my failure crushing me. 'This was my fault.' I had led them here, convinced we could face anything. But the Naga was beyond us, a force of nature that seemed unstoppable.
Another soldier was caught by its tail, the sharp edges of its scales slicing through his armor. Blood sprayed across the frost-slick floor as the man fell, his weapon clattering from his hand.
"Fall back!" I shouted, but there was nowhere to retreat.
The remaining soldiers fought valiantly, their weapons clashing against the Naga's armored scales. But it was a losing battle. One by one, they fell—some crushed, others burned by the Naga's magic.
And then, it turned its attention to me.
I saw it coming—a blur of scaled muscle and coiled rage. I raised my sword to parry, but the sheer force of its tail whipped the weapon from my hands, sending it clattering across the chamber floor.
"Young master!" Galen screamed; his voice raw with panic.
Before I could react, the Naga's claws raked across my chest, tearing through armor and flesh. White-hot pain seared through me, and I stumbled back, blood pouring from the gashes.
The world tilted, my vision blurring as I fell to my knees. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle.
"You are weak," the Naga hissed, looming over me. Its golden eyes gleamed with triumph. "And unworthy."
A flash of light interrupted its taunt. Galen and Captain Redvers charged, their weapons glowing with desperation. They forced the Naga back, giving me precious seconds to crawl toward my sword.
"Young master, get up!" Captain Redvers shouted, parrying another strike.
My fingers closed around the hilt of my blade, and I pulled myself to my feet. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my body, but I couldn't stop. If I fell now, it was over—for all of us.
The Naga coiled itself, its movements predatory and deliberate. "Pathetic mortals," it sneered. "Your end is inevitable."
A memory surfaced through the haze of pain—an anime, a battle against a serpent-like creature. Ice. The hero had used ice to slow the creature, weaken its scales, disrupt its magic.
Could it work here?
"Galen," I rasped, my voice barely audible. "It's weak to cold."
His laugh was bitter, almost delirious. "Cold? In this hellhole? Unless you've got a winter mage hiding in your pocket, we're done for."
"I don't need a mage," I said, gripping my sword tighter. The yellow light flickering around the blade began to shift, taking on a faint blue hue as I concentrated. The mana Draegorn had left me wasn't limited to pure power—it was adaptable, a conduit for my will.
I closed my eyes, ignoring the chaos around me, and reached deep into that reservoir of energy. I visualized frost forming on the blade, imagined the biting chill spreading outward. I chanted the spell I had practiced before. I hadn't mastered it yet, but this was our only chance.
"Valthar dornis, leth'ryon as'ka, Ishar sol'vath, mor'kar weyr'ul. Khor'rah vorthar, glaesshyr vyn, Azar sjor'na, drakar'shal vin. Khral'dar'shyn, vosh'larin rith, Othar'kaar, azz'alnir luth. Ice blade!"
The air around me began to cool, the warmth leeching away as I focused.
The Naga noticed the change almost immediately. Its golden eyes narrowed, and it hissed, a mixture of rage and unease. "What are you doing, mortal?"
"Even gods fall when the air freezes their breath," I muttered, a line from that anime slipping out unbidden.
With a roar, I lunged forward, the frost-coated blade slicing through the air. When it connected with the Naga's scales, frost spread from the point of impact, glistening like shattered glass. The creature recoiled; its movements sluggish.
"Now!" I shouted. "Focus your attacks!"
Galen and Redvers attacked with renewed vigor, their weapons striking the Naga's vulnerable points. The frost continued to spread, sapping its strength and slowing its movements.
I channeled every ounce of mana into my sword, the blue light blazing brighter with each step. The frost crept along the chamber walls, dimming the runes and turning the ground slick with ice.
"This ends now!" I yelled, driving my blade into the Naga's chest.
The creature let out a piercing scream as frost encased its body, freezing it solid. Its golden eyes dimmed, and the chamber fell silent.
I collapsed to the ground, clutching my chest as blood seeped through my fingers. Galen knelt beside me, his face pale. "You're not dying here, young master," he said, his voice trembling.
The chamber fell into an uneasy silence. The frozen remains of the Naga loomed like a grim monument, the air around it still thick with an unnatural chill. I staggered, clutching my chest as blood seeped through my fingers. My breath was ragged, and each movement sent searing pain through my body.
"Young master, stay with me!" Galen's voice was urgent as he knelt beside me.
Captain Redvers stood nearby, his face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.
But before I could respond, a brilliant yellow light erupted from the Naga's frozen corpse. The chamber was bathed in its radiance, and my surroundings blurred as the light surged toward me.
"No..." I muttered, my eyes widening. The same thing had happened with Draegorn, but this—this was different.
The light struck me, seeping into my body with an intensity that made my knees buckle. The energy coursed through me, raw and unrelenting, far beyond what I had absorbed from Draegorn.
"Young master!" Galen shouted, reaching for me, but he was pushed back by the force of the energy.
It was like a storm raging within, tearing through my body and mind, searching for a place to settle. My veins burned, my muscles spasmed, and my heart pounded like a war drum.
I collapsed to my hands and knees, screaming as the overwhelming power clawed at every fiber of my being. My vision blurred, and for a moment, I felt as though I would be torn apart.
Memories of battles and techniques I'd never known flashed through my mind—remnants of the Naga's essence. Its strength, its cunning, its unrelenting hunger—all of it flowed into me, threatening to consume what remained of my consciousness.
But I couldn't let it. I wouldn't.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to focus, pulling the raging energy into a single point deep within me. I visualized a core, a vessel to contain the power, just as I had done with Draegorn's mana. Slowly, painfully, the storm began to subside.
When the last traces of light disappeared, the chamber fell into an eerie silence.
I collapsed onto my side, gasping for air. My body trembled, my wounds still raw, but the immense energy now settled deep within me, pulsating like a second heartbeat.
"You're not dying here, young master," Galen muttered, his hands trembling as he applied pressure to my wounds. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line of determination.
Captain Redvers tore a strip from his cloak and handed it to Galen, his movements quick and precise. "Keep him conscious," he barked, his tone authoritative as always.
For a moment, it seemed like we'd made it—barely, but alive. Then it happened.
A sickening sound of metal tearing flesh echoed through the chamber.
I blinked, struggling to process what I was seeing. Galen's eyes widened in shock as Captain Redvers's sword pierced his stomach.
"R-Redvers...?" Galen choked, blood spilling from his mouth as he collapsed to his knees.
I struggled to push myself up, my vision swimming. "What... are you doing?"
Redvers yanked his blade free, letting Galen crumple to the frost-slick floor. He stood over him, wiping the blood from his sword with a calm precision that sent chills down my spine.
Then he turned to me, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Gone was the loyal captain I thought I knew; in his place was a man radiating cold malice.
"Well, Draven," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "I didn't think you'd survive Draegorn. That beast should've crushed you like an insect. But you just 'had' to keep going, didn't you? Always so stubborn, so damn lucky."
My chest heaved, a mix of pain and fury bubbling up. "You... you planned this?"
Redvers chuckled darkly, pacing around me like a predator circling its prey. "Planned it? Oh, you have no idea. I've been waiting for the chance to get rid of you ever since you showed up in this cursed world. You weren't supposed to make it out of this forest, you know."
His grin widened; eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "It was me. I orchestrated your kidnapping, had you dragged to this hellhole. The plan was simple—kill you, dump your corpse, and let the monsters feast on your remains. Neat, clean, and untraceable. But something went wrong. That blinding light... it struck us, robbed us of our sight, and when our vision returned, you were gone!"
I clenched my fists, rage overriding the pain coursing through me. "Why? Why go through all this trouble?"
Redvers tilted his head, as if pondering the question. "Why? Well, I can tell you why. You're going to die anyway. It's actually quite simple. It's because of your lineage, Draven. House Eisenhart. Your lineage needs to be wiped out. A loose end. Someone in my position can't afford to leave loose ends hanging around. Besides," he added with a smirk, "it was fun watching you squirm, trying to piece it all together like the clueless fool you are."
Galen groaned weakly, his blood pooling beneath him. "You... bastard..."
Redvers glanced down at him, sneering. "Oh, you'll be dead soon. Don't worry, Galen, you'll keep Draven company in the afterlife."
I forced myself to my feet, using my sword as a crutch. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through my body, but I refused to stay down. "You're a coward, Redvers. A snake hiding behind his rank."
He laughed, the sound echoing coldly in the chamber. "Call me what you want. It doesn't change the fact that you're out of time, Draven."
With a sudden lunge, Redvers attacked, his blade aimed straight for my heart.
Redvers lunged with deadly precision, his blade a blur aimed at my heart. Instinct and training from my past life kicked in. Despite the pain racking my body, I twisted to the side, narrowly evading the thrust. The blade grazed my ribs, leaving a sharp sting, but I didn't falter.
"You think you can stop me in this state?" Redvers sneered, pivoting swiftly to swing again.
I raised my sword, barely blocking the strike. The impact jarred my arms, and I gritted my teeth against the pain. Blood dripped from my wounds, pooling at my feet, but I held my ground.
"You're not walking away from this, Redvers," I growled, my voice raw with fury.
He laughed, stepping back with a casual arrogance. "You can barely stand, Draven. Just lie down and die like the failure you are."
I ignored his taunts, drawing in a shaky breath. My mana reserves were nearly depleted, but I couldn't let that stop me. Summoning every ounce of strength I had left; I raised my hand and began to chant the spell for Accelerate.
But Redvers was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a small but precise mana bolt hurtling toward me. It struck my shoulder, disrupting my focus and forcing me to break the chant.
No incantation? But how?
"Not so fast," he hissed, advancing with a predator's grace. "I know your tricks, Draven. You're not casting your way out of this one."
My vision blurred from the pain, but I refused to give up. I gripped my sword tighter, forcing my body to move despite the agony. If I couldn't rely on spells, I'd have to fall back on the sword techniques ingrained in me from my previous life—a life where mana didn't exist, but skill and precision reigned supreme.
Redvers lunged again, aiming for my neck. This time, I sidestepped with calculated precision, angling my blade to deflect his attack. The clang of metal against metal echoed through the chamber as I countered with a swift upward slash.
He barely managed to parry, his expression twisting in surprise. "Where did that come from?"
"From a world where cowards like you don't survive," I spat, pressing the attack.
I shifted into a technique I hadn't used in years—a relentless flurry of strikes designed to overwhelm the opponent's defenses. My movements were fluid, almost instinctual, each swing flowing into the next with deadly efficiency.
Redvers struggled to keep up, his grin faltering as I pushed him back step by step. Despite my injuries, I moved with purpose, every strike fueled by a combination of rage and desperation.
"You're supposed to be dying!" he snarled, lashing out with a wild slash.
I ducked under his blade, using the momentum to drive the hilt of my sword into his gut. He staggered, coughing, but quickly recovered, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You're out of mana, out of time," he growled. "Just give up!"
"I'm not out of resolve," I countered, channeling the last remnants of my mana.
My sword began to glow faintly, the mana core formed from the Naga's yellow hue light still not completely stabilized. The remaining mana I had left flickered weakly along its edge. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.
Redvers noticed the shift and sneered. "Pathetic. That's all you have left?"
"More than enough to end this," I shot back, lunging forward with everything I had.
Redvers met my strike head-on, his blade clashing against mine in a shower of sparks. The force of the collision sent fresh pain shooting through my body, but I held firm.
"You're finished, Draven!" he roared, pushing against me with brute strength.
But I wasn't done. With a sudden twist, I redirected his momentum, causing him to stumble. In that split second, I seized the opening, driving my blade toward his chest.
Redvers dodged, but not fast enough. The blade bit into his side, drawing a pained gasp as blood spilled from the wound. He staggered back, clutching his injury, his expression twisting in rage and disbelief.
"This... this isn't possible," he muttered, his voice trembling.
"It's over, Redvers," I said, leveling my blade at him. "You've lost."
But Redvers wasn't finished. His eyes burned with defiance as he raised his sword for one final attack.
Summoning the remaining mana I had left, I cast a desperate spell.
"Valthar khor, drakar vyn, Eshar sol, mor'kar ryn. Azar sjor, khral'dar shyn, Vosh'larin, othar'kaar lyn. Amplify!"
A faint shimmer of energy enveloped my blade, amplifying its weight and power. As Redvers charged, I stepped forward to meet him, pouring every ounce of strength into a final, decisive strike.
Our blades clashed in midair, but this time, mine didn't stop. The enhanced weight of my sword shattered through his defenses, cutting through his weapon and driving into his chest.
Redvers's eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him.
He coughed, his breaths ragged, and managed a weak laugh. "You... really are something, Draven. Too bad... you'll never know... how deep this goes..."
His voice trailed off, his body going still.
I stood over him, my chest heaving, my vision swimming as exhaustion and pain finally caught up to me. My sword slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.
Galen groaned weakly behind me, drawing my attention.
He lay slumped against the cold stone floor, blood pooling beneath him from the wound Redvers had inflicted. His face was pale, his breaths shallow, but his eyes fluttered open at the sound of my voice.
"You... did it," he muttered, a faint smile on his bloodied lips.
"We did it," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You... actually beat him," Galen muttered weakly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess you've got more lives than a cat, young master."
I dropped to my knees beside him, my blood-slicked hands trembling as I pressed them against his wound. It was bad—Redvers's blade had gone deep, and the blood loss was alarming.
"Save your strength," I said, my voice breaking. "I'll fix this."
He let out a weak laugh. "You're in worse shape than I am, young master. Don't—"
"Don't you dare give up on me," I snapped, summoning the last reserves of my mana. My hands began to glow faintly with a soft, golden light. The warmth spread through my fingertips as I focused on the healing spell.
The words of the incantation came unbidden, a mix of instinct and memory.
"Vorthar luminis, el'varya somnith, heal and restore."
The glow intensified, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. I channeled everything I had left into the spell, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest and the haze clouding my mind.
The golden light seeped into Galen's wound, knitting the torn flesh together bit by bit. His ragged breathing began to steady, and the pallor of his skin faded as the spell took effect.
"You're... actually doing it," he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief.
I gave him a shaky smile, the edges of my vision darkening. "Don't sound so surprised. I told you—I'm not letting you die."
The spell drained the last remnants of my mana, and when the light finally faded, I slumped forward, catching myself with one hand to avoid collapsing completely.
Galen sat up slowly, his hand brushing against his stomach where the wound had been. "By the gods... You really did it."
I managed a weak laugh, leaning back against the wall to catch my breath. "Of course I did. You think I'd let you off that easy?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Maybe," I admitted, the ghost of a smile on my lips. "But you're alive, so I must be doing something right."
The weight of everything—the battle, the betrayal, the lives lost—pressed down on me, but for this moment, all that mattered was that Galen was safe.
As I sat there, exhaustion washing over me, I couldn't help but glance back at Redvers's lifeless form. His betrayal had left scars deeper than the physical wounds I'd sustained. I'm still far too weak, I need to get stronger!
***
Aumale Domain.
In the dimly lit study of Count Aumale's estate, shadows danced across the walls as flickering candlelight cast a sinister glow on the maps and parchments strewn across the desk. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and ink, thick with the weight of schemes that had taken years to weave. Count Aumale, a man whose ambition was matched only by his envy, leaned forward in his chair, his cold eyes scanning the plans laid out before him.
Standing beside him, Lorcan, his trusted advisor and the architect of many of his machinations, exuded an air of calculating malice. The flickering light sharpened the angles of his face, his expression one of predatory cunning.
For years, Count Aumale had watched his rival, Count Velrois, from the shadows. He loathed Velrois' prosperity, the loyalty of his vassals, and the legacy he had built. Where Velrois was admired, Aumale was tolerated; where Velrois commanded respect, Aumale seethed with jealousy. It was not enough to envy Velrois' success—Aumale had resolved to destroy it.
The first strike in his plan had already landed. Months earlier, Aumale had arranged for the assassination of Velrois' only heir, a deed cloaked in subterfuge and betrayal. The evidence he left behind, meticulously fabricated, had sown seeds of discord among Velrois' court, implicating trusted allies and turning suspicion inward. Now, Velrois grieved and faltered, his once-iron grip on his domain beginning to slip.
"Lorcan," Aumale's voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate, "is everything in place? Are our allies ready to move?"
Lorcan inclined his head, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, my lord. The troops stand ready, and the false accusations have taken root. Velrois is isolated, his allies wavering. The evidence you so carefully planted has left even his closest supporters questioning his judgment."
Aumale leaned back, his fingers steepled, a smirk spreading across his face. "The fool. He was too blind to see the danger. Now he's bereft of his heir, his court is fractured, and his power teeters on the edge of collapse."
Lorcan stepped closer, his voice dripping with malice. "And once we strike, his remaining vassals will abandon him. They'll see you as the strong leader they need, not the grieving relic he's become."
Aumale chuckled darkly, his satisfaction evident. "Velrois has always believed himself untouchable, protected by his legacy. But he'll soon learn that even the mightiest can be brought to ruin when their foundation is rotten."
The count rose from his chair, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His hand hovered over the map spread out before him, tracing the edges of Velrois' territory with deliberate precision. "We must choose our first move carefully. The opening strike must be devastating. It must break his spirit and send a message to everyone who still dares to stand by his side."
Lorcan's eyes narrowed, his tone turning conspiratorial. "I have considered every possibility, my lord. There is one target—one place that will deliver the blow you seek. It is both strategic and symbolic, a place whose fall will shatter Velrois' power and strike fear into his allies."
Aumale's gaze sharpened, the fire of ambition burning in his eyes. "Tell me, Lorcan. Where do we strike first?"
The room seemed to darken, the flickering candlelight dimming as if the shadows themselves leaned in to listen. Lorcan's voice dropped to a whisper, his finger landing on a specific spot on the map.
"The Eisenhart Barony, my lord."