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Chapter 28: Aftermath

As I lay on the cold, blood-soaked ground, darkness closed in around me. The world seemed distant and surreal, the pain in my body a dull throb compared to the searing rage that burned within me. The Knight of the Wind's mocking words echoed in my mind, fueling the fire of my determination.

I was carried through the chaos of the battlefield, the pain intensifying with each jolt and movement. My vision blurred, and the world around me seemed distant and unreal. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by the urgent voices of those trying to save me.

"He's still alive," someone said, their voice filled with surprise. "Get a healer, quickly!"

The cold seeped into my bones, and I shivered uncontrollably. My body was growing weaker with each passing moment, but my resolve remained unbroken. I clung to consciousness, refusing to let go.

Eventually, I was laid down on a stretcher and carried into a tent. The familiar scent of antiseptic and the sounds of hurried footsteps filled the air. I forced my eyes open, blinking away the blood and tears that blurred my vision.

The same woman healer who had treated me before was there; her expression was one of concern and determination. She quickly assessed my wounds, her hands glowing with the faint green light of her healing arts.

"These wounds are critical," she muttered, her voice tense. "My level of healing won't be enough to treat him fully."

She pressed her hands against my wounds, her mana flowing into my body to stem the bleeding. The pain was excruciating, but I could feel her efforts holding the worst of it at bay.

"Why didn't you take better care of yourself?" she scolded, her voice filled with frustration and worry. "You can't just throw your life away like this."

I could hardly hear her, my mind a swirling mess of pain and exhaustion. Her words were muffled and distant, but the urgency in her tone cut through the fog.

The healer's efforts were valiant, but the strain was evident on her face. She was expending a tremendous amount of mana to keep me stable, and I could see the toll it was taking on her.

More injured soldiers were brought into the tent, and the healer's attention was pulled away.

"I will come to you, okay? Don't die on me; stay awake. Don't close your eyes."

She cast a worried glance at me before moving to assist the others, her hands glowing with healing light as she tried to save as many lives as she could.

I lay there, teetering on the edge of consciousness, the world fading in and out. The pain was overwhelming, and I could feel my life slipping away. Desperation clawed at me, but I was powerless to move.

'No. Not now.'

After all those things, after all that time….

I was not allowed to die.

'At least until I do something, ride, don't die. Don't die, Lucavion.

'You useless prick.'

'Don't die.'

The voices in my head mixed with the chaos around me. I struggled to keep my eyes open, to hold onto the thin thread of consciousness. Faces swam in and out of my vision—soldiers, medics, and the healer who had done her best to save me.

My body was heavy, and every breath was a struggle. But somewhere deep within me, a spark of determination refused to be extinguished. I clung to that spark, letting it fuel my resolve.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume me, a new presence entered the tent. I could feel the shift in the air, the weight of powerful mana filling the space.

A senior healer, an older man with a calm and commanding presence, approached me. His eyes were filled with determination as he assessed my condition.

"Hold on, young one," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll get you through this."

He placed his hands over my wounds, and the glow of his mana was brighter and stronger. The pain began to recede as his healing arts took effect, knitting my torn flesh together and restoring my strength.

The senior healer's hands worked with precision and care, his powerful mana flowing into my body, knitting my torn flesh together. The pain began to dull, replaced by a sense of relief and calm. I could feel my strength slowly returning, and for the first time since the battle began, a glimmer of hope emerged.

As he focused on healing my lower body, the tent flaps burst open, and another batch of injured soldiers was brought in. The senior healer looked up, frustration and concern etched on his face.

"What is with this sheer amount of soldiers today?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

A medic rushed in, her face pale and eyes wide with worry. "The Arcanis sent a new unit of knights for the first time," she replied breathlessly. "And they were all Rank 4 knights."

The healer's expression darkened, and he glanced back at me with a mixture of sympathy and urgency. "This is bad. Very bad."

Despite the pain and exhaustion, I forced myself to stay awake, listening to the exchange. Rank 4 knights were incredibly powerful, their strength and skill far surpassing that of ordinary soldiers. The presence of such formidable opponents explained the heavy casualties and the overwhelming sense of doom that had settled over the battlefield.

The healer's hands moved with renewed urgency as he continued to work on my injuries. "We need to stabilize as many as we can," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Every soldier counts."

The tent was filled with the sounds of groans and cries of pain, the air thick with the scent of blood and antiseptic. The senior healer's mana surged, his face etched with concentration as he poured his energy into healing me. Despite the chaos around us, his presence was a beacon of hope and strength.

"Kid, I am sorry, but I won't be able to heal you completely. At least they will leave a scars."

I nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation. "It's fine. This much is enough. There are many others who need your help more."

The healer looked at me with concern, shaking his head. "You should stay here. Your injuries are still not fully healed."

I glanced around the tent, taking in the sheer number of wounded soldiers waiting for treatment. "It's better if newcomers take my place. I can manage."

"No, you-" He was about to retort more, but after looking at my face, he shook his head.

The healer sighed, seeing the determination in my eyes. "If that's what you want. But take it easy. Don't push yourself too hard."

When I reached our quarters, the emptiness hit me hard. The memories of my fallen comrades weighed heavily on me, their absence a gaping void that was impossible to fill.

I sat down on my cot, the events of the day replaying in my mind. The pain of my injuries was a constant reminder of the loss and the promises I had made.

I clenched my fists, feeling the resolve harden within me. The Knight of the Wind's face flashed before my eyes, and I knew that this was just the beginning.

The path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but I was determined to walk it, no matter the cost.

The quiet of the quarters was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a brief moment of respite before the next storm. I took a deep breath, letting the silence envelop me.

"Urghk-!"

With a groan, I stood up, rising. My injuries were mostly healed to the surface level, and only some cuts were there.

I walked over to Elias' wardrobe, the memories of my fallen comrade fresh in my mind. Elias had always been meticulous about his belongings, and I knew he kept a package of needles and threads for his sewing hobby. He had been good at stitching wounds as well, a skill that had come in handy more times than I could count.

Opening the wardrobe, I found the small package and held it in my hands for a moment, remembering the times Elias had shown me how to stitch wounds. His calm, precise movements, the way he had patiently explained each step. I had tried it a couple of times, but I wasn't nearly as skilled as he had been.

I took a deep breath, looking at the needle and then at my own wounds. Even now, I was benefiting from his teachings.

"Thank you, Elias," I murmured. "For still helping me."

Sitting down, I raised my hand and the needle, setting to work.

I threaded the needle with shaking hands, biting down on a piece of cotton to stifle the groans of pain. The first prick of the needle into my flesh was sharp, sending a wave of agony through me. I forced myself to keep going, each stitch a testament to my resolve.

"Just a bit more," I whispered to myself, focusing on the task. My breaths came in heavy gasps, the effort of stitching my own wounds almost overwhelming. Sweat dripped down my forehead, mixing with the blood.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished. The wounds were crudely stitched, but they would hold. I sat back, exhaustion washing over me. The pain was still there, but it was manageable now.

I cleaned up the area as best as I could, then lay back on my cot, closing my eyes.

As I drifted into a restless sleep, the face of the Knight of the Wind lingered in my mind.

-----------------------

You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description. 

I have added the illustrations of Lucavion and Elara to the character section and the discord. More characters will be added as the novel progresses. 

The novel is already contracted, but I will not lock down the chapters until the first volume ends, which is planned to be the 47th chapter. 

I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story. 

And if you liked my story, please give me a power stone. It helps me a lot. 


Chapter 29: Aftermath 2

The next day, I was jolted awake by a rough shake. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw Sergeant Vance standing over me. His face was haggard, and his eyes were weary. Despite being awakened, he was riddled with injuries, his usual strong presence diminished by the fatigue and strain of the battle.

"Wake up, Lucavion," he said, his voice rough. "It's noon. You've rested enough."

I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movement. The pain from my stitched wounds was still there, but it was bearable. I rubbed my eyes and tried to shake off the lingering grogginess.

Vance looked at me, his expression softening slightly. "Everything's a mess right now. You can rest for a while longer if you need to."

I shook my head, pushing myself to my feet. "No, I'm fine. What's the situation?"

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The Arcanis sent a new unit of knights. All Rank 4. We lost a lot of good men and women."

My heart clenched at the reminder of our fallen comrades. "What about the bodies?"

"We managed to retrieve them," Vance said quietly. "A mass funeral will be held later today. It's the least we can do to honor their sacrifice."

I nodded, the weight of the losses heavy on my shoulders. "I... I need to be there."

Vance placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "I know you do. We all need to be there. They were more than just soldiers; they were family."

I looked at Vance, seeing the pain and exhaustion etched into his features. Despite his awakened status, he was just as affected by the losses as the rest of us. The bond we shared as a squad ran deep, and the weight of our comrades' deaths was something we all bore together.

"Thank you, Sergeant," I said quietly, appreciating his understanding.

He gave me a nod, then turned to leave. "Get yourself cleaned up. We'll gather for the funeral soon."

As he walked away, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. The pain of my injuries was a constant reminder of the battle, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart for the friends I had lost.

I gathered my things and cleaned myself up as best as I could. The next few hours passed in a blur, the preparations for the funeral taking precedence over everything else. The camp was subdued, the usual bustle replaced by a somber silence.

When the time came, we gathered in a clearing, the bodies of our fallen comrades laid out before us. The atmosphere was heavy with grief, the weight of the losses palpable.

The commander of the unit, Commander Gandrel, stood at the front, his voice steady but filled with sorrow as he spoke words of remembrance.

"We honor the brave souls who fought and died alongside us," he said, his voice carrying over the gathered soldiers. "They were more than just comrades; they were our brothers and sisters. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten."

I looked at the faces of my fallen friends. Garret, Mateo, Felix, Elias, Clara—all of them had left an indelible mark on my life, and their loss was a wound that would never fully heal.

Around me, most of the soldiers were shading tears; everyone had lost a part of their squad.

And the same went for me.

But there were no tears.

'No.'

Because I knew crying would not help.

I had felt this a lot of times.

When I was sent to this place for the first time, no one in my family believed me.

I cried.

When I had slept on that cold dam, I cried.

When I was beaten because of the fact that I was a noble in the camp, I cried.

When I had killed someone for the first time, I cried.

But what did it bring?

Did that make me achieve anything? Did it push me towards my goal? I said that I would be proving myself, restoring my lost honor, and clearing my name.

Was I able to?

No, I wasn't.

I had faced countless hardships and endured unimaginable pain, and yet here I was, still at the mercy of a cruel fate. My tears had accomplished nothing.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The faces of my fallen comrades seemed to look back at me, their expressions frozen in time. They deserved more than my tears; they deserved my resolve. They deserved my promise that I would keep fighting, not just for myself but for them as well.

Commander Gandrel finished his speech, and we all stood in silence for a moment, honoring the memory of those who had been lost. The weight of their sacrifice hung heavy in the air, a solemn reminder of the cost of war.

As the ceremony concluded, I looked at the bright sky before me.

Yeah, Lucavion. Keep going. Just keep moving forward.'

And then I looked back one last time.

'But I swear on my name. I will not forget any of you.'

For them and for my sake, I would keep moving forward.

*********

The recent upheaval in the enemy's tactics had caused significant changes within our own divisions. The devastating attack by the Arcanis Rank 4 knights had left a void that needed to be filled. Orders were soon issued, and our unit was to be restructured.

Sergeant Vance's squad had been effectively decimated, leaving only me. As a result, Vance was moved to another unit, and his rank was stripped due to the perceived failure to protect his squad. The demotion was a harsh blow, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he accepted it with a stoic resolve.

I was reassigned to a new unit under a different sergeant. The transition was far from smooth.

Sergeant Lyra was in charge of the new unit. She was a stern, no-nonsense leader with a reputation for being both fair and harsh. Her eyes bore into me the first time we met, assessing my worth.

"You must be Lucavion," she said, her tone neutral. "The sole survivor of Vance's squad."

I nodded, standing at attention. "Yes, ma'am."

She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "You'll need to prove yourself here. We don't have room for dead weight. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, my voice steady. "I understand."

The transition into Sergeant Lyra's unit was as difficult as I had anticipated. From the moment I joined, the other soldiers made their disdain clear.

Whispers followed me wherever I went, and the glares were hard to ignore. My past identity as a noble and the circumstances that had led me here were well-known among them, and they did not hesitate to use it against me.

On the first day, during a break in training, a group of soldiers cornered me. One of them, a burly man named Roderick, took the lead. His eyes were filled with contempt as he looked me up and down.

"So, you're the cursed bastard," he sneered. "The noble who ended up here because he couldn't keep his hands to himself."

The others nodded in agreement, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. I clenched my fists, but I didn't retort. I had learned long ago that defending myself against these accusations was pointless. They had already made up their minds about me.

Another soldier, a wiry woman named Lila, stepped forward. "He's just getting his karma. He assaulted a woman, was disowned, and now his whole squad died because of him. A fitting end for someone like him."

The words stung, but I kept my expression neutral. I knew that arguing would only make things worse. I had faced similar treatment in my previous squad, and some of them had been like this too.

"You're nothing but dead weight," Roderick continued, his voice low and threatening. "If you think you can just waltz in here and be one of us, you've got another thing coming."

I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to fight and prove myself, just like everyone else."

Roderick scoffed, stepping closer. "Prove yourself? You couldn't even protect your own squad. What makes you think you'll do any better here?"

"..."

I was not able to reply to that.

"See, even you, yourself, know what kind of thing you are."

"….."

Since the atmosphere was becoming suffocating, and I was not welcomed there, I could only move outside.

It was night and the sky was dark.

–HOWL!

The cold night air bit into my skin as I stepped outside, the darkness swallowing me whole. I felt the weight of their words pressing down on me, their disdain like a physical force. But I couldn't afford to let it get to me. I had to keep moving forward, no matter how hard it got.

Grabbing my spear, I headed to a secluded spot away from the camp. The wind howled around me, a harsh reminder of the harsh world I was now a part of. But it was also a strange comfort, the familiar sting of the cold grounding me.

I began to train, swinging my spear in precise, practiced movements. Each thrust, parry, and slash was a way to channel my frustration, my anger, and my pain. The rhythmic motion of the weapon became a balm to my troubled mind, the exertion pushing out the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me.

I lost track of time, the world narrowing down to the feel of the spear in my hands and the rush of air as it cut through the night. When my arms finally grew too tired to lift the weapon, I sat down on the cold ground, trying to catch my breath.

The physical exertion had helped, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to prove to myself that I could still grow and improve. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began to meditate, trying to gather mana into my core.

The process was slow and frustrating, the mana resisting my attempts to control it. I could feel it slipping through my grasp, elusive and stubborn. But I couldn't give up. I had to keep trying, no matter how difficult it was.

As I struggled to focus, a voice cut through my training.

"You….."

-----------------------

You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description.

I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story. 

And if you liked my story, please give me a power stone.

It helps me a lot. 


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