"He did not speak of war—his very existence was a declaration of it."
"We need a healer—immediately! Prince Finnian is gravely injured!" a soldier cried out, kneeling beside Finnian's limp body.
Inside the command tent, Tavon, Thalgar, and several nobles who had been deep in discussion turned swiftly toward the commotion. Zura rushed over without hesitation. Finnian's breath was ragged, and blood seeped from deep wounds along his side. With practiced hands, Zura pulled out several healing potions she always carried, pouring the thick green liquid onto his wounds while retrieving her Arcana Codex. As she murmured a low-tier healing incantation, a soft blue light began to envelop Finnian's body—but it wasn't enough to mend such severe injuries.
Seeing Finnian's condition worsen, Tavon bolted out of the tent. "I'll find a healer and supplies!" he shouted before vanishing into the night.
I stared at Finnian, heart pounding in confusion and dread, before turning sharply to the soldier who had brought him in. "W-what happened? How did he end up like this? Wasn't he only supposed to be scouting?"
The soldier swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "We were observing enemy movements, making sure they weren't preparing a surprise attack. But one of them—an Abyssian—found us. He wasn't like the others, Your Highness…" His eyes met mine, wide with fear. "He was preparing some kind of ritual. And before we could escape… he caught us. He called himself… Polophar."
The room fell into stunned silence. I held my breath, and behind me, Wildfang clenched his fists tightly. That name—Polophar—was all too familiar. One of the Thirteen Oaths of Ruin. If he was truly nearby, then things were far worse than we had anticipated.
Polophar. The name pierced my mind like a shard of ice.
I didn't look at anyone. I just let the word echo in my thoughts.
Something within me trembled—not from their threats, but because I... knew.
But I didn't want to know.
Didn't want to remember.
Not here.
Not now.
I looked to Zura, still struggling to stem Finnian's bleeding. Our eyes met—both filled with the same rising fear. Whispers of panic rippled through the room. It made no sense. The last report had stated that the Oaths of Ruin were attempting to seize Fanghollow—a region far from here.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!" Thalgar's voice thundered. "That cursed creature is supposed to be in Fanghollow!"
Several noble knights sent by the King of Savaranth, including one of the Beastra named Gral'Vash, rounded on the soldiers with disbelief etched across their faces.
"Watch your tongue, soldier!" Gral'Vash growled, his voice a beastly roar. "Polophar cannot be here and in Fanghollow at the same time!"
"You must've misheard!" another noble snapped. "We have reliable reports from our spies—Polophar is still in Fanghollow! He couldn't possibly be in two places at once!"
The soldier shook his head, visibly frustrated. "I know what I heard! I saw him with my own eyes! Do you think I'm lying?!" His voice cracked with urgency, and his eyes burned with conviction.
"Whether it's a lie or not, it's an impossible claim!" another knight scoffed. "Maybe you saw another Abyssian that resembled him and panicked!"
"I am no coward!" the soldier shot back, his voice sharp. "I heard that thing speak his name clearly—Polophar! And if you refuse to believe it, then we're all in danger because you're too stubborn to face reality!"
On the other side of the room, several imperial informants exchanged nervous glances. I noticed their shifting expressions—something about them felt off. One of them, Lord Everett, rubbed his face with a trembling hand.
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion blooming in my chest. They knew something. Something terrible.
Just as the arguments reached their peak and panic began to grip the room, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the tent. The flap opened, and Tavon stepped inside, followed by Aarav, a long-eared Elven healer and a large figure walking with a limp yet radiating unwavering strength.
The village chief of Greenreach.
A Beastkin of the bear lineage, his massive frame was covered in half-healed wounds. Several old bandages still clung to his thick arms and broad chest. Though it was obvious he had only recently recovered from serious injuries, his sharp eyes and steady breath betrayed a will unbroken. His grayish fur was dull and patchy from burn scars, but his presence was no less commanding.
The tent fell into absolute silence.
With a hoarse, broken voice, the chief rasped, "Silence... enough of this bickering."
All eyes turned to him. Even Gral'Vash held his tongue.
"You argue over truth while reality has been staring you in the face."
His gaze locked with mine.
"Polophar has been here… for over half a moon."
The air was sucked out of the room.
"He's no ordinary Abyssian," the chief continued, his voice gaining force with each word, emotion fueling his tone. "He is the King of Death. His bones were cloaked in a robe of human ash. His skull glows with an eerie green fire, and his eyes... his eyes are like pits of the underworld."
I stood frozen.
"He erected an altar in our village. Some of our people…" his voice caught, fists clenched so tightly his bandages were stained with fresh blood, "...they were taken. Used for some ritual... a ritual we don't even understand."
Thalgar erupted, furious. "Why didn't you report this sooner?!"
"We did," the chief replied, turning briefly to glance at the noble representatives now hanging their heads in shame. "We sent word to your scouting divisions—more than three times. But none of you came."
Silence fell again. Not a soul dared to speak. Even Gral'Vash held his tongue.
I clenched my fists, my head bowed. This… this wasn't what I had planned. Greenreach was never supposed to be this dangerous. That was why I chose this place—to learn, not to wage war. To give Aarav the space he needed—to breathe, to discover his strength, without the looming threat of someone like Polophar. And more importantly… to secure the herbal trade routes desperately needed by the elven potion crafters—our last hope to supply the dwindling frontline with medicine.
But now…
Aarav stood beside me, silent. I knew he was listening to every word. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes… were filled with questions.
I looked at the village chief. "Why didn't anyone say this place was already under Polophar's shadow?"
The chief inhaled deeply and replied in a low voice, "Because not everyone cares about small places like ours."
The words struck me harder than I expected.
"Th-the Second Death Gate ritual…" Finnian's strained voice broke through the stillness.
He gritted his teeth, struggling against the pain that radiated from his wounds. Blood still oozed from his side, yet his expression burned with a determination that could not be denied. His eyes gleamed with a fear and urgency I had never seen in him before.
"That ritual… the Second Gate of Death…" he murmured again, his voice quiet but piercing the tension in the air like a blade. Every gaze snapped toward him.
"Prince Finnian, please, you mustn't move. Your wounds are still severe!" the Elven healer exclaimed, quickly casting healing spells to stabilize the turbulent Mana surging from his body.
But Finnian shook his head firmly, even as Zura rushed to support him so he wouldn't fall.
"You all have to know this... before it's too late."
My heart pounded as I stepped closer.
"The Second Gate of Death… what do you mean?"
Finnian lifted his face, his gaze piercing straight into mine. His voice was hoarse, but each word fell like the weight of the world.
"That ritual is not just some mass slaughter… Polophar wants to open the Second Gate of Death—a place where souls are not simply returned or revived… but erased. Removed entirely from the cycle of existence."
The room fell silent once more, but this time, the silence was far colder.
"If he succeeds," Finnian continued, "Polophar will gain unimaginable power. He will wield absolute dominion over death. No more reincarnation, no lingering spirits. He'll be able to erase someone's very existence. Even the gods won't be able to trace them."
My breath caught in my throat. That… wasn't just magic. That was the unmaking of the oldest law of the world—the cycle of life and death.
"And that's not all." Finnian gritted his teeth again. "He'll be able to create Bonebound—undead like nothing we've seen before. They're not just bones and ash. They're corpses bound by the essence of cursed souls… and they cannot be destroyed by regular weapons or magic. Unless—" He coughed up blood but forced himself on, "—unless one uses soul-releasing magic, which almost no one possesses anymore."
I instinctively looked at Aarav. But the boy just stood there, eyes cast down to the ground as if trying to process it all.
"And finally…" Finnian drew a heavy breath. "Polophar will draw power from the void of erased souls. That's what grants him magic beyond the logic of this world."
Zura turned pale. The healer beside her said nothing, simply bowing his head.
I looked at the village chief, who now stood trembling, and suddenly, everything felt like it was crumbling around us.
If Polophar was truly nearing the completion of that ritual—
Then, we weren't just facing a single enemy.
We were facing the end of existence itself.
Just as the heavy silence threatened to collapse the room, a noble knight from the left side, Sir Rolve, finally broke the silence. His voice was sharp and laced with doubt.
"But… why this village?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Greenreach is just a small border town, a travel route between Tirnaval and Savaranth. There's nothing special about it, except—"
He stopped as if holding back the last part to avoid sounding condescending.
Suddenly, from among the villagers standing behind the chief, an old man with a blood-stained cloth wrapped around his arm stepped forward, his body still trembling but his eyes sharp.
"That's the problem, my lord!" he shouted, pointing directly at the seats of the royal representatives. "This village may be small, but our land… belongs to Viscount Velmarth! And for the past year, that land has been forced into becoming a ritual site!"
"Kidnappings, disappearances, and sudden deaths became daily occurrences here long before that Abyssian arrived!"
A low murmur rippled through the room. Several nobles turned toward one another, tension plain on their faces.
"What did you just accuse me of?" a deep, frigid voice rang out, heavy with pressure. A half-wolf man in regal garb stood, his eyes blazing with fury—Viscount Velmarth himself, a man who had remained mostly silent until now. His cloak, gilded in gold and violet, contrasted sharply with the storm of rage now boiling from his form.
"You accuse me? Of all of this?!"
His voice thundered, and several palace guards near the door instinctively reached for their weapons.
"That land used to be filled with herbs… our source of life!" the old villager cried again, now braver. "But ever since your men came, they razed it all! They dug up the soil and carved strange symbols! We tried to resist—then… our people started vanishing, one by one!"
The village chief could only lower his head as if he no longer had the strength to deny or confirm anything. But his expression said it all: every word was true.
Viscount Velmarth stepped forward, his face flushed with fury. "Lies! You poor villagers are always looking for a scapegoat! I haven't even set foot on that land in the past six months!"
I finally spoke, my voice cold and sharp. "Then you must know the condition of your own territory, don't you?"
He froze. No reply.
I took a step closer, locking eyes with him. "Do you know what's happening in Greenreach, Velmarth?"
One second. Two.
Still no answer.
And in that stifling silence, Aarav suddenly chimed in, his tone flat but cutting, like oil poured over a growing fire.
"In medieval stories I've read, nobles like you usually collect taxes. Is it the same here?" I sighed and nodded in response to his question. "Funny. You're all so good at managing taxes and levies but blind to the undead walking around in your own fields. Reminds me of the tax system I always hated."
Everyone turned to him. Even I nearly choked on my breath. Aarav stood there, arms folded, staring at the Viscount with a lazy, piercing gaze.
"Either you're all incredibly stupid... or you've been too busy turning a blind eye until the devil himself is already sitting at your dinner table."
Silence.
Viscount Velmarth stood tense, rage simmering on his face, but he said nothing. Because perhaps... there was nothing left to deny.
I scanned their expressions, one by one. Velmarth was clearly fuming at Aarav's words—but someone else looked more anxious than angry.
Lord Everett.
Since the beginning of the meeting, he'd been quietly seated, his hands folded neatly on his lap, but his eyes were constantly shifting—too quickly. When Aarav mentioned "undead," his gaze sharpened briefly before returning to calm. But I noticed. A subtle reaction is only visible if you've spent your life reading people's eyes.
This time, I turned and walked toward Lord Everett's chair. "And you, Lord Everett… You've said nothing this whole time. Not a single comment. But Greenreach falls directly under your supervision, doesn't it?"
He flinched slightly, forcing a faint smile. "Prince Elenio, I simply wanted to hear the people's version first before making any judgment. Of course, I care about Greenreach."
"Care, huh?" I murmured. "You care, yet not a single investigator was dispatched when villagers reported strange symbols and sudden disappearances?" I narrowed my gaze. "You have your own special patrol unit, don't you?"
He swallowed. "Those reports... never reached my desk. I assumed they were just local rumors blown out of proportion—"
"You assumed?" I cut him off, my tone now openly hostile. "Or... did you let it happen?"
The room grew even heavier with tension.
I took a deep breath.
For a moment, everything felt too massive. Too chaotic.
Velmarth stood with his chest puffed out, Everett deflected with polished lies, and the rest of the nobles... remained silent, like porcelain statues unmoved by the world crumbling outside their glass walls.
And me?
Just a crippled prince, born without an Arcana Codex like the rest of them. He was hated by his own people. Forced to rely on an Astral Voyager who couldn't even control his powers yet.
Aarav…
He was strong, yes—but unstable. That Arcana Codex burned inside him like wildfire, devouring faster than he could ever hope to control it. And now, with Finnian gravely wounded and more than half of our soldiers still lying in the healing tents...
How were we supposed to face Polophar?
How could we save anyone?
My hands curled into fists at the sides of my robes, trembling.
For a moment, despair sank its teeth into me. I wanted to give up. To say, "I tried." To let it all sink and stop fighting. Wouldn't that be easier?
But then…
I saw the village chief again. His face weary, scarred, and worn—but still, he stood. Still, he spoke. Still, he protected his people, even in the presence of nobles who could sentence him to death on a whim.
And then my eyes met Aarav's—those sharp black eyes looking at me as if to ask, "Do you have a plan?"
I lifted my chin, turning my gaze toward Everett and Velmarth. "Dragging this out won't make Polophar disappear."
All eyes turned to me.
"The Temple will handle the further investigations into these two. For now, our focus is Polophar… and Greenreach."
Velmarth ground his teeth but said nothing.
I looked to the guards. "Send word to the Temple. Request two trained healers. Also, send birds to nearby lords—ask for soldiers who can reach us before dawn."
Aarav was still leaning against a pillar, looking at me with something between surprise and amusement. Then, slowly, a crooked grin formed on his lips. "We're fighting again? My wounds haven't even closed yet."
I shot him a quick glance, my lips forming a thin, nearly mocking smile. "If you still have the strength to talk like that, you can fight."
"If he causes any more trouble, throw him straight into the enemy lines as a suicide bomb," Finnian muttered, wincing as the healer wrapped his wounds.
"I don't want to hear that from someone half-dead on a stretcher," Aarav raised an eyebrow. "But seriously—if I die, I hope you all have the decency to write a decent death poem for me."
Finnian let out a faint snort. "If you die, I'll curse your name at your grave."
I turned back to the nobles. They no longer looked composed or confident. Some had begun to whisper among themselves—perhaps about my strategy or perhaps about their own fear. I didn't care.
"I have a plan," I said firmly. "The lords involved with Everett and Velmarth—if you want lighter sentences during trial, redeem yourselves now. If not…"
I let the threat hang in the air.
Some of them nodded slowly. Others hesitated. But I was no longer waiting for approval.
I turned to Tavon, who stood at my side, his expression unreadable but always ready. "Gather the core units. We move in two hours."
Tavon gave a short bow. "At once, Your Highness."
Then I walked out of that suffocating room, followed by Tavon and Aarav. My steps were swift and steady—though inside me, it still felt like a storm was dancing through my chest.
Once we reached the castle corridor, Aarav looked sideways at me. "So, what's the plan?"
"We can't win in a frontal assault," I said quietly. "But Polophar isn't invincible. He can be split. Weakened. I don't want to destroy him outright—I want to save the village and the hostages."
I might not be able to rely on luck; fate had never been generous to me since birth. Right now, my priority was to lie—because maybe I couldn't save everyone, but I would take back whatever I could.