CHAPTER 144: CHAPTER 143: FIRST BLOOD, FIRST LESSON

The group moved out at dawn. Among them were the captains, vice-captains, a handful of elite warriors, Shade, Uncle Drake, and even Jen. All were at least Knight Page level, except for Jen, though her eagerness burned brighter than most.

On the opposite flank, Vaenyra led her own group: thirty-one elven warriors and mages, graceful and disciplined. She left five behind to protect the village, just in case.

.....

Two days passed. The land shifted from dense forest to barren plain. And then, on the horizon, they saw it, an encampment sprawling across the foothills. Rows of enemy tents fluttered in the wind.

As the enemy camp came into view on the distant hillside, Vaenyra narrowed her eyes.

She could feel them.

"There’s a Knight Two Stage," she murmured. "And two mages... Fourth Circle."

Lumberling glanced at her. A Knight at the Second Stage? And two Fourth Circle mages? That was far beyond what they’d anticipated.

’Strange. A viscount shouldn’t have that kind of firepower.’

They had prepared for a standard force, a Knight One Stage at most, which was typical for a viscount’s retinue.

But he didn’t question her.

If Vaenyra said they were there, then they were.

She was strong, strong enough to sense threats others couldn’t even see.

Vaenyra turned, the wind tugging strands of blue hair across her cheek. Her voice was sharp and clear.

"Aurelya. You take the Knight."

Aurelya cracked a grin, excitement flashing in her golden eyes. "Gladly."

"Thessalia," Vaenyra said next, "you’ll handle one of the mages."

The green-haired elf gave a small nod, already calculating her approach.

Then Vaenyra’s gaze landed on Lumberling. "Would you like the other mage?"

Lumberling’s lips curved into a slow smirk. "Of course," he said. But then he held her gaze a moment longer. "Though... if you could hold them still for a few minutes, there’s something I need to take care of first."

Vaenyra tilted her head slightly, arching a brow. "What are you planning this time?"

"Secret," he said, flashing a grin before striding off without another word.

The air around her grew just a little colder as she stared after him.

"...Always with the secrets," she muttered.

Vaenyra turned back toward the enemy camp. "Let’s go."

.....

Meanwhile, in the enemy camp...

"Viscount Gantarel, sir!" A scout burst into the command tent, panting. "We’ve spotted movement, monsters clad in armors approaching, dozens of them. And cloaked figures... humanoid."

"Humans and monsters?" Gantarel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother looking up from the map spread across the table. "Kill them," he said flatly.

His tone carried no urgency, just irritation.

He hadn’t come here for trivial skirmishes.

Beside him stood his personal Knight, armored head to toe, along with two cloaked figures. The mages. Both were human, not elves, mercenaries from the outer provinces, hired for their talent, not their manners.

"We’re getting close," the Knight said. "We found traces nearby, discarded gear, shattered armor, and the remains of soldiers from Young Master George’s escort. They must have gone deeper into the forest."

Viscount Gantarel gave a slow nod.

His third son.

Not the brightest, not the strongest, and certainly not the most favored. But letting him die out here, unnoticed and unavenged, would stain the Gantarel name.

That, he couldn’t allow.

One of his wives, Madam Venice, had been relentless, letters, hysterics, threats to disgrace his name if he did nothing. Nobility was fragile, easily bruised, and she’d pressed every weak spot until he moved.

So here he was, stomping through the muddy backwoods after a boy he barely remembered disciplining.

"Viscount," one of the mages said suddenly, turning toward the east. "I sense something. Strong mana. A mage is nearby."

Gantarel’s eyes narrowed. "A mage? Out here?"

"There’s no mistaking it," the second mage added. "And they’re not hiding their presence."

"Could be from Sengolio...?" Gantarel muttered.

But then a shout rang from outside the tent, followed by the clash of steel and sudden panic.

"Mage attack! We’re under assault!"

The mages stiffened, both reacting instinctively to the surge of violent mana in the air.

Gantarel stood, face hardening. "Outside. Now."

The tent flaps flew open as he, his Knight, and the two mages stepped into chaos.

As Viscount Gantarel and his entourage stepped out of the command tent, a wave of heat and chaos slammed into them.

Screams tore through the camp.

Not one mage, but dozens.

Flames roared skyward. Crimson fireballs streaked through the air, each one landing with a thunderous crack that sent bodies flying like ragdolls. Soldiers were reduced to charred husks or vaporized entirely before they could even raise a shield.

"Hold the line!" someone shouted, only to be silenced by a spear of ice that skewered him mid-command.

A group of infantry rushed forward with spears, but a lightning storm burst from above, crackling white and blue, frying them on the spot. Their armor glowed white-hot before their knees gave out, twitching as smoke curled from their helmets.

All around them, chaos reigned.

Earthen spikes jutted from the ground, impaling panicked men. Winds howled, hurling tents and soldiers alike into the air.

"They’re Fourth Circle mages, all of them?" one of the human mages muttered in disbelief, eyes wide as a firestorm swallowed another platoon in a swirl of molten death.

Gantarel’s lips tightened, the glow of magic reflected in his narrowed eyes. "Who the hell are they?"

.....

Elsewhere on the battlefield...

Lumberling crouched behind a charred log, Jen and Uncle Drake flanking him. The sky above was lit with streaks of blue and crimson, spells arcing through the air like falling stars. Explosions echoed in the distance, and screams carried on the wind.

It was their first time seeing mages in action, Fourth Circle wielders.

Jen’s eyes were wide, her fingers trembling slightly around her sword. Uncle Drake’s jaw was tight, his brow furrowed with unease.

Lumberling gave them a smile. "Scared?" he asked lightly, breaking the silence. "Don’t be. They’re on our side."

Neither of them answered, but their shoulders eased slightly.

He pointed across the field toward the enemy line, toward a Knight clad in polished steel, barking orders at scattered soldiers. The man’s aura radiated faintly. Knight Apprentice Stage.

"That one," Lumberling said. "He’s our first target."

Jen and Uncle Drake exchanged a glance, then nodded.

The Knight, unaware, was still shouting to his troops, until his instincts prickled. He froze mid-command, a cold dread sliding down his spine like ice.

A heartbeat later, Lumberling struck.

Clang!

The Knight barely brought his shield up in time. Sparks burst from the clash as the spear slammed into it. He staggered back a step, eyes widening.

Lumberling grinned. "Nice block. You’re good with that shield."

He stepped back just long enough to call out over his shoulder.

"Take care of the grunts."

Uncle Drake and Jen lunged past him, blades flashing as they descended on the stunned soldiers.

Jen’s shield slammed into the soldier’s chest, knocking him off balance. She followed through with her blade, slashing across his abdomen.

Blood sprayed and the man crumpled.

Jen froze. Her blade was red. Her arms trembled, her grip loose around the hilt of her sword. She stared down at the lifeless body, the red stain spreading beneath him. The chaos of battle faded into a muffled hum.

It wasn’t like she imagined. There was no glory. No thrill. Was this really strength? She’d imagine victory would feel like triumph. Instead, it felt like a hole had opened in her chest.

Another soldier charged toward her.

But she didn’t react.

Shhhk...

A blade pierced through the soldier’s neck from the side. Uncle Drake stepped in front of her, his face stern and steady as he kicked the corpse away.

"Jen," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She didn’t answer at first. Her lips parted, but no words came. Then, slowly, she clenched her jaw and gave a stiff nod.

"Get a hold of yourself," Uncle Drake said, gently but firmly. "We’re in the middle of a battle. If you hesitate again, you won’t get a second chance."

Jen drew a shaky breath, eyes narrowing. "I... I understand."

She lifted her shield and rejoined the fray, this time with more steel in her gaze.

.....

Moments later...

"Jen, come here!" Lumberling’s voice cut through the din of battle.

She turned toward him. He stood over a fallen Knight, his opponent, whose arms were severed at the elbows. The man writhed on the ground, blood pooling beneath him as his breaths grew shallow.

Jen jogged over, her expression pale despite her effort to stay composed.

"You alright?" Lumberling asked quietly.

She nodded, but her voice caught in her throat.

He could tell. Then he gave her a soft pat on the head. "It’s never easy, the first time."

Without another word, he drove his spear into the dying Knight’s heart. The man gasped once, and went still.

"Stay focused," Lumberling said. "The essence will flow now."

He closed his eyes briefly, activating his Essence Weave, drawing the essence through his body and redirecting it to Jen.

A pulse of invisible energy surged toward her.

Jen gasped.

It felt like warmth, then pressure, then clarity. Her limbs felt lighter, her heart steadier. Images flashed behind her eyes, fragments of the Knight’s training, his stance, his muscle memory.

"I..." Jen blinked, then looked at her hands. "It’s just like you said, brother. I feel... stronger. And I think, my skill... improved?"

Lumberling gave a faint smirk. "Good. That means it’s working."

He shifted his stance and glanced around. "We’ll test your new edge later. For now..." He placed a hand on her back. "I’ll channel a few more essences your way."

Jen nodded, steadier this time.

She was beginning to understand. Strength came with price.