Eternal Rest

Before dawn, the main camp mobilized an army and laid siege to the north side of the overtaken south camp. However, their attempt to drive the Aphitonians back proved futile, as the enemy had quickly fortified their position. Before the fires in the camp had even died out, mages had already raised thick earthen walls, reinforcing the shabby wooden fence that once encircled the camp.

From a distance, Bones watched as the night sky lit up with the flashing display of spells exchanged between the two armies. The battle raged for barely an hour before the momentum was abruptly halted when the auras of ascendants swept across the battlefield.

Both armies ceased their assault, recognizing the overwhelming power in their midst. Uncertain whether the ascendants would directly intervene, the main army had no choice but to retreat, conceding defeat. The loss of the south camp was a significant blow, as it opened up new avenues for the Aphitonians to launch attacks from the south.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the mountain range behind the fortress, ascendants Asim of the Forsaken Garde and Kidllams stood locked in a tense standoff, each eyeing the other, waiting for any sign of movement. Kidllams, though the weaker of the two, had two third-tier rankers at his side. However, even with their support, the power dynamic was clearly in Asim’s favor. Their roles in the war were clear: to prevent each other from directly intervening in the conflict. While Asim was more powerful, Kidllams was known for being heartless and conniving.

Occasionally, Kidllams would attempt to slip past Asim and strike at the Wezar Kingdom’s main army. When that failed, he directed the third-tier rankers to launch pincer attacks on the fortress. But Asim was not one to allow them free rein, and thus the two ascendants found themselves in a stalemate, neither side able to move without risking everything.

“I guess the show is over now. Still, I've seen enough," Bones muttered as he got up and began walking toward the forest. But before he could get far, he quickly ducked back into hiding, sensing multiple groups moving through the forest toward the south camp.

They were Aphitonian soldiers—reinforcements sent to strengthen the camp’s defenses. Bones waited patiently until the last of the soldiers had passed. By the time he resumed his journey toward his hiding place, the sun had already risen.

Things are about to get interesting in the coming days, he thought. While the enemy managed to capitalize on the situation, I doubt the Wezar army will remain passive. Quite the opposite. After the attack on the capital and now losing the south camp, their already low morale will take a further hit. Crushed even. But perhaps this defeat might just fuel a desperate resolve.

Over the next few days, Bones watched as both armies employed various tactics to gain the upper hand in the war. A portion of the main Wezar army was used to encircle the south camp from the northeast to the northwest, blocking any attempts by the enemy to advance deeper into the kingdom.

Meanwhile, more Aphitonian soldiers crossed the border to join the forces at the south camp, putting unprecedented pressure on Wezar’s army. And as for Bones? He lurked in the shadows, picking off solitary soldiers who strayed too close to the swamps, earning him another level in his Bonemancer Adept class. As the war’s intensity escalated within the kingdom, the capital, Hagos, was still grappling with the aftermath of the recent devastation.

Just a day after the festival, while the central area was still under repair, chaos erupted in the Underground City below. A grotesque figure, once a proud gold ranker, was wreaking havoc. The creature's body was a horrific sight—deformed bulging muscles tore through its skin, and its face was barely recognizable as that of Arndell, the gold ranker. Arndell had overloaded his mana core while channeling a barrier to shield against the explosion. He gave everything he had, depleting his mana reserves. Though he survived, he was left mortally injured and suffering from severe mana poisoning. After falling into the Underground City when the tunnels collapsed, he wasn’t discovered until he reemerged as an abomination.

This once-honorable warrior had become a mindless beast, driven by uncontrollable rage and unending bloodlust. His violent rampage left a trail of bodies in his wake, the screams and cries of the victims echoing through the city. It wasn't until a third-tier gold ranker, Velasquez, intervened that the abomination's spree of destruction was brought to an end. Velasquez quickly reported the incident to the Adventurer's Guild.

Meanwhile, Fluvis Frose, still grieving the death of Rayne, threw himself into his work. A thorough investigation within the guild uncovered discrepancies in its documents, revealing that three guild members had ties to the Defiant Hounds. Gustav from the bureau and two clerks from the administration office were promptly interrogated. While the clerks knew little of value, Gustav had much to confess. Following the investigation, Fluvis disbanded the bureau, taking sole control of its authority. The other bureau members were not pleased with this decision, warning Fluvis of potential consequences, but ultimately, they accepted their reassignment to new administrative roles within the guild.

Fluvis didn’t stop with the guild. He swept through numerous local gangs in search of information and connections to the Hounds. The local riff-raff, having never encountered an ascendant before, quickly spilled everything they knew, both relevant and irrelevant, before Fluvis even began questioning them. Even Roselyn, the branch guild leader of Westbrook, was not spared. She was interrogated regarding her involvement with Gustav and any potential ties to the Hounds. However, it turned out she was simply a difficult and abrasive personality with no real connection to the criminal group.

With all the information he had gathered over the past few days, Fluvis decided it was time to visit the royal palace and report everything to the prince.

Prince Tristan sat on the sofa, the warm rays of the sun streaming through the large windows of the guest room. In his hand, he held a thick folder filled with multiple reports, each one a hefty stack of papers. Normally, he would be in his office, but it was currently in disarray, dusty and chaotic after the recent events. The past few days had been a whirlwind, but Tristan had finally managed to bring some semblance of order to the chaos that had descended after the festival. Standing nearby, as straight as an arrow and silent as a mouse, was his butler, Robert.

Tristan turned to him, saying, "Robert, could you bring me two cups of tea, please? My guest should be arriving shortly."

"Certainly, sir," the butler replied, heading out of the guest room. Just as he reached for the doorknob, the door opened, and an old man stood at the entrance. The butler stepped aside, allowing the man to enter. "Mr. Frose," Robert greeted him. Fluvis nodded in acknowledgment and thanked the butler before stepping inside.

"Master Frose! Thank you for coming. This way, please," Tristan said, rising from the sofa to greet him.

"Enough with the formalities, Tristan. Just call me by my name," Fluvis responded with a slight smile.

Tristan nodded and gestured for Fluvis to take a seat. They both waited until the butler returned with two teacups and a freshly brewed pot of tea. After serving them, Robert informed them to ring the bell if they needed anything further, then excused himself and left.

"I've heard the guild's been quite busy these past few days. Did you uncover anything new about the attack and those involved?" Tristan asked, breaking the silence.

"Mmm, I've heard the same about you," Fluvis replied, a small smile curving his lips.

Instead of answering directly, Fluvis asked, "Do you remember when I first came here and why?"

Tristan took a sip of his tea, thinking back to seventeen years ago, before replying, "I believe it was seventeen years ago, after the former guild leader retired. You asked for the position of guild leader... because of your injuries, if I recall correctly?"

"Quite so. The bureau was supposed to handle everything, and I was just meant to be the face of the guild," Fluvis paused, leaving Tristan to wonder why he brought up this topic. Then, with an unexpected shift, Fluvis revealed that he had disbanded the bureau and taken complete control over the guild. Tristan was taken aback, staring at Fluvis in surprise. He hadn’t expected the old man to be so… decisive.

"Can you… do that?" Tristan asked, still processing the news.

Fluvis scoffed, his face cold, the anger still simmering in his eyes. "Who's going to stop me?" he retorted. "I'm injured, not disabled, Tristan. That makes me a little bit dangerous in the eyes of others. They’d prefer I stay away from Prusha and quietly wither away."

"I thought you were getting treatments… that you were healing!" Tristan exclaimed, concern lacing his voice.

Fluvis didn’t reply. Instead, he gave Tristan a look that said more than words ever could. Tristan exhaled, realizing the gravity of Fluvis’s condition.

"Thank you. Truly, for saving so many lives. I flex my strength and boast about my accomplishments fighting an ascendant, but I couldn’t do what you did. My skills, my everything... it’s not suited to protect the many," Tristan admitted, his voice tinged with shame.

"There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Tristan. You’re the prince of this kingdom, not its king. If anyone should be ashamed, it’s your father for not being here when he was needed. That brat... I’ll have to have a word with him when he gets back," Fluvis chuckled.

"Speaking of my father, he never mentioned how you sustained your injuries. He always said to ask you. So… can I ask what happened back then?"

"Of course, you can. It’s not really a secret. When people speak of the undead, they often think of the Skeleton King. But I’d rather face the King any day of the week than Vyrus, the Plaguemaster. The King is known, but Vyrus... he was and still is an unknown entity of immeasurable power."

"Fifty-seven years ago, heralds of the Plaguemaster—reapers—descended upon our world. They were emotionless, heartless entities that reaped thousands of lives in their master’s name. Their goal was to send a message, and when they were stopped, they declared that the lives they took were just a prelude to the arrival of Vyrus, the Plaguemaster."

By now, Tristan was completely engrossed in the story, forgetting even the fragrant tea before him. Fluvis took a sip and watched as Tristan snapped back to the present, before continuing.

"Vyrus himself appeared shortly after. He was tall, very tall, slim, and shrouded in darkness. Chaos oozed from his body, decaying everything he touched. Forests and livestock died wherever he passed. He didn’t care about villages, towns, or cities. He moved with purpose and only stopped when a team of ascendants confronted him."

"I swear, he would have grinned from ear to ear—if he had a mouth behind that shroud of darkness. We expected a swarm of undead to follow him, but it was just him. He attacked us first. He wasn’t as powerful as the Skeleton King, but fighting him felt… wrong. He was both elusive and impossible to handle. Every action we took was ineffective. Even light magic barely affected him."

"I knew my Ice Magic could slow him down, maybe even hurt him. I prepared myself, and at the right moment, I struck! I froze him whole and, exhausted, I breathed a sigh of relief—until a shadowy hand reached out and grabbed me by the head."

clang

Tristan’s teacup slipped from his hand, clattering onto the tray. "Ah, my apologies. Please continue!" he said quickly.

Fluvis glanced at the spilled tea and raised an eyebrow. "You going to clean that up?" he asked, but Tristan motioned for him to continue.

"Alright… now where was I?" Fluvis stroked his beard.

"You were grabbed by the head!" Tristan replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Mhm. A shadowy hand grabbed me, and then Vyrus’s supposedly frozen body manifested in front of me, completely unscathed. I couldn’t break free of his grasp. He leaned in close, and through the shroud, I saw his disfigured skull and two haunting green eyes boring into my soul. I blacked out after that and woke up three days later in the hospital, receiving treatment."

Fluvis paused, setting his cup down. "Our encounter with Vyrus resulted in the death of an ascendant, and we still have no fucking clue what he wanted. It’s not a secret what happened back then. It’s the humiliation we suffered that kept us from speaking about it. Now then…" Fluvis trailed off, clearly wanting to change the subject.

Tristan nodded, thanking him for the history lesson, but something still gnawed at him. It didn’t escape the sharp eyes of the ascendant. "I suppose you want to ask about my injury," Fluvis said, his tone softening.

Tristan gave an apologetic smile. He couldn’t help but be curious; it had been on his mind for a long time.

"I don’t know exactly what Vyrus did, but he placed something inside me. I call it the Chaos Seed. Like a real seed, it sprouted and spread throughout my body, slowly corrupting my mana pathways and… killing me." Fluvis’s eyes locked with Tristan’s, his expression deadly serious as he continued.