CHAPTER 542: GUARDING THE DELTA OUTPOST

Mia Frostine’s POV (Continued)

Three days after the outpost was secured, the sky refused to brighten.

Every morning, I waited for the sun to rise like it used to before the devils came—clear, warm light breaking over the jagged ridges. Instead, we woke to the same dim gray light filtered through a perpetual haze. Even time felt uncertain here, as if the hours stretched too long and the shadows fell too early.

The corrupted fog hadn’t lifted. Not even the combined efforts of the Church’s purification teams and the specialized cleansing relics we brought from the capital had been enough to purge it. There was no visible enemy anymore, no howls from the woods or war cries echoing through the stone—but the unease remained. It seeped into the very bones of the outpost.

We had won a battle—not the war. That truth hung heavy in every breath I took.

Delta Outpost was breathing again, yes, but like a soldier on the edge of death. Shallow, rasping, uncertain. You could walk through the streets and see survivors returning to their duties, setting up temporary barracks and field hospitals, but there was little joy. Even the laughter of the younger recruits had a strained, hollow echo.

My boots had grown too familiar with the terrain. I could walk the perimeter with my eyes closed and still know when I passed the splintered barracks or the collapsed artillery platform. I learned to read the cracks in the stone, where mana had been overcharged and exploded. I knew which buildings smelled faintly of sulfur, where devils had been hiding before we reclaimed them.

Every hallway I walked echoed with silence. And in those silences, my thoughts drifted—always back to Zero.

It felt like a cruel joke. I had finally climbed high enough to stand beside him in battle, but now he was nowhere to be found. Every evening, I’d glance at the horizon, half-expecting to see a familiar figure approaching with that calm, unreadable expression he always wore.

But the horizon never changed.

He never came.

Of course, Seraphine noticed first. Nothing escaped her.

"You’re waiting for someone," she said bluntly during a strategy briefing on the third night. We were reviewing new scouting reports in the war tent, but her eyes were on me—not the map.

I didn’t deny it. There was no point. "I was hoping he’d come."

She didn’t mock me. She wasn’t that type. Instead, she just stretched her arms overhead and let out a sigh. "Reinforcements will come. There’s still a chance."

"That’s what scares me," I replied quietly. "Chance."

She tilted her head. "You care about him. I get it. But don’t lose focus. War doesn’t wait."

I nodded. Her voice wasn’t scolding. It was steady. She understood. We were all haunted by someone—some memory, some face we hoped to see again.

But beneath that was something more pressing.

Even after the battle, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The devils had left too easily. Yes, the fight was brutal, and we’d suffered casualties, but they had momentum. Numbers. Strategy. And yet, they abandoned the altar they were constructing—left it half-formed with traces of dark energy still glowing faintly in the cracked stone. That didn’t align with their usual tenacity. It wasn’t just retreat. It was disruption.

Whatever they had been planning had been interrupted.

And I didn’t think we were the ones who had interrupted it.

I remembered inspecting the altar myself on the morning after we secured the zone. The corrupted energy were hastily etched, layered on top of older symbols. My fingers traced the magic channels, sensing the conflicting mana. It wasn’t just devilish energy—it was warped, something stolen, something desecrated.

I had seen that kind of residue before, back during the early reports of forbidden experiments conducted by the dark guilds. Experiments involving divine artifacts corrupted through devil’s blood and mana infusion. If the devils had been planning something similar... then Delta Outpost might’ve just been a staging ground.

A gate, perhaps. But to what end?

We still didn’t know. And the scouts we had sent into the deeper jungle—toward the wastelands—had yet to report back.

Each day without their return just made the knot in my stomach twist tighter.

Nock shared the same concern. He didn’t say much, but every time I passed him in the command halls, he was rechecking the purification barriers or praying longer than necessary. I saw it in his eyes—the knowledge that something had been left unfinished.

We were in a holding pattern. Everyone sensed it.

Reconstruction efforts continued. Seraphine took the lead training the mercenary units—half of them freelancers from border towns and small guilds who were still shaken by the devils’ initial siege. Her voice barked across the training fields, fierce and sharp, her movements graceful even in practice duels. She was the kind of leader who didn’t need to raise her voice often to command respect.

Nock, on the other hand, handled the priests. He led quiet rituals at dawn and dusk, maintaining what few sanctified zones we could secure. I often caught glimpses of them—rows of silent figures, kneeling in cracked courtyards, chanting low prayers that barely stirred the corrupted air.

As for me—I oversaw the military-trained personnel. The ones still tied to the Authority’s structure. These soldiers were organized and disciplined—but many were too young. Too fresh. Many had not fought devils before. Some hadn’t even seen a bloodbath combat before this.

I pushed them hard, but fairly. We set up watch rotations, drilled daily, checked gear for mana compatibility, practiced evacuation protocols. I taught them how to respond to devil illusions, how to cleanse minor corruption, how to stay calm when surrounded by screams.

They responded well. But I could still see it in their eyes—the fear. The uncertainty. The realization that Delta Outpost was far from safe.

Despite the silence from the jungle, we remained on high alert.

And still... every night, as I stood at the edge of the southern watchtower, I reached out with my mana sense, trying to detect that familiar presence.

Zero.

I had memorized the feel of his mana years ago, when we used to train together. A subtle pressure—never overwhelming, never boastful, but dense. Focused. Like gravity in motion.

And tonight, for the first time, I felt something.

It was faint. Barely noticeable beneath the swirling corruption. But it was there. That same weight. That same unique rhythm.

My heart skipped a beat.

I didn’t know how far away it may be; it was my senses just getting dull from this unusual feeling, longing for someone deeply.