Chapter 318 - Western Front

“Mister Rathore, welcome back, and… thank you for your service to mankind,” the man said, bowing respectfully. “You can call me, James.”

Arjun remained silent.

“I’m sure you have many questions, and we’ll answer what we can. For now, please use this device,” James continued, producing a small object from his pocket—something resembling a storage disc, but thinner and with no visible USB input.

Arjun accepted it, careful not to break it.

The moment he touched it, a sharp pulse surged from it, catching him off guard.

He instinctively processed the signal.

“Hi, Arjun. I am an artificial intelligence assigned to be your personal assistant. You may call me MAI for short. It is a pleasure to meet you. Feel free to ask me anything by transmitting pulses at this frequency, and I will respond promptly.”

Arjun’s gaze returned to the man.

“We’re aware of the mutation affecting you,” James said, tone level. “Your temporal desynchrony is far more advanced than in any previous case. There’s no need to slow your thoughts or speech to converse with me. This AI will match your cognitive tempo and maintain a more efficient channel for communication.”

Arjun nodded, curiosity sharpening. The implementation of this technology—was it new? Or had it existed before The Tower?

But more than that… they knew about his mutation. His Awakening.

How?

Had another returned Climber told them?

He was about to focus on the device again when James spoke, and Arjun patiently prepared himself for the lagged sound to arrive.

“We’ve arranged for a chopper to take you to a nearby base,” the man said. “There’s someone you may want to meet there. Would you be willing to accompany us?”

That caught his attention.

Arjun had already detected the helicopter—bulky, low-hovering, and clearly military grade.

“I would prefer to stay in the vicinity of my family for the time being. If it’s not an emergency, can this person who wants to see me come here instead?”

“That… can be arranged, yes,” James replied after a brief pause. His composure wavered just slightly—barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth—before he gave a respectful bow. “We will notify you before the visit.”

“There is no need,” Arjun said. “I will sense you coming.”

James’s gaze flickered, his eyes searching Arjun’s for a second longer than necessary. Then he gave a slow nod. “As you wish.”

He turned and climbed into the chopper without another word.

The noise from the fans was deafening, but Arjun’s eyes narrowed as he tuned it out, watching the rotor blades slow in his perception—each turn deliberate, each arc of metal susceptible to even a whisper of his waves.

He exhaled softly, lowering his gaze back to the device in his hand.

“MAI,” he sent a pulse.

“I’m here,” the AI responded at once. “What would you like to know?”

He asked everything—status updates, the world’s state of affairs, The Tower, returnees, new laws, any wars or political shifts, how long he had been gone, and what had changed both on the surface and beneath it. But the more answers he received, the tighter the knot in his chest grew.

They had seen him. All of them.

The fights. The losses. The blood and gore. His breakdowns.

But worse—the early floors. The white rooms.

The Tower’s feed had broadcast every waking hour, hadn’t it?

Naked, bloodied, out of his mind—on display for strangers, nations, and analysts alike. He’d seen the summaries. The feed had since been removed, banned, and purged from the ASCENT site and every legal corner of the internet, but that didn’t change the fact that it had once been public—circulated across social media and countless other platforms.

The thought churned in his gut.

He kept searching, quickly realising the device could transmit complex visual pulses and was connected to the internet. He browsed through social media, scanned trending news, watched speeches from the United Nations—until he finally came across a new international policy regarding special returnees.

“What’s this WARD thing?”

“World-Affirmed Returnee Delegate,” came the answer. “Abbreviated as W.A.R.D., it’s a title granted to returnees who have mutated and completed the second stage of Tier 2 within The Tower. Those designated as W.A.R.D. are granted unrestricted international mobility—they may enter or exit any national territory without visas, checkpoints, or customs. Additionally, W.A.R.D. holders receive full diplomatic protection equivalent to, or greater than, that of a United Nations special envoy.”

Second stage, second tier… tier meant after the seven white rooms, so—

“Am I considered a WARD, then?”

“Yes. It will be made official soon, but you can already consider yourself a WARD and are free to do as you wish.”

Arjun nodded. He quickly understood the rationale behind the law. With people like him coming back, how could they possibly be restrained? Better to have them on their side—to use their presence to keep others in check.

He glanced around at the scenery around him. Such a fragile world.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes, then he walked back to Shanaya and his little Diya, offering her a refreshing smile.

Alonso stood still within a narrow crevice high in the snowy mountains, close to the summit but hidden from view.

Wind swept along the ridges above, sending dry flakes swirling through the air, but the rocky fold offered shelter—a quiet space carved into the wild.

He wore his hide armor beneath a fur coat, the layers stiff with frost. Eyes closed, head resting gently against the cold stone, he seemed almost asleep, though his breath came steady and rhythmic.

The mountain groaned softly around him, ice shifting in the cracks. Far below, the jagged ridgelines stretched into a pale, wind-swept emptiness—stone and shadow scattered with patches of snow and low, brittle brush.

“Alonso.”

A pulse.

Very distant, almost drowned out by the ambient static of the terrain, but clear enough to read it.

“I heard from Mei,” it continued.

A pause.

“It was the right call.”

Alonso opened his eyes.

He couldn’t send a response. Not from here. The distance was too great, and he lacked the right equipment. But he didn’t need to.

Everything that needed saying had already been said through Mei, back at the base.

He had made his choice.

The others could manage. When Chiara and Ayu reached the Third State, and with Lukas’ link boosting them, they’d be strong enough to kill Wardens.

As for him—there was only so much stillness could offer.

He was too far from the Third State. His evolving style demanded balance—Pillar and Body together—and he was still nowhere near achieving it for the next stage.

Even sparring had its limits. His blades weren’t meant to clash. They were meant to kill.

No-Strike wasn’t for training. If he used it in earnest, it would be to end a life.

His new technique was no different, and demanded even more from himself.

And though he felt little for the Ajnal, he acknowledged their strategic value. When General Noh reached out—when the Ajnal asked him for a favor—he had accepted. Not out of pity, but necessity. Cold calculation.

They couldn’t keep defending forever.

Every secured battle came at a cost.

And while he thought he’d buried that reckless, feral version of himself, it still lurked somewhere inside.

Was it that old part influencing his decision? Was it Arjun’s death? Or was this simply the best move?

“If you need anything, let us know. We’ll regroup as soon as Chiara and Ayu finish up… good luck,” came the final pulse, followed by another, lighter one.

The familiar grin beneath it was almost audible in the signal.

“General of the Western Front.”

Alonso chuckled, still not quite used to the title.

He reached for his bag, where he kept some food and water, and drew out the carefully engraved token—its surface marked by an intricate signature depicting a flying serpent wreathed in thunderclouds.

The token had been given to him by the fort’s commander after he accepted General Noh’s petition to assume the position of the fallen K’in.

At first, he’d wanted to turn it down. The idea of anchoring himself, of staying in one place at this stage, seemed worthless to him. But the position came with benefits.

Command over a hundred of Ajnal Sun Bearers and thousands of Lords of Sparks. It came with access to a sophisticated Ajnal communication network, one that allowed real-time tracking of Xok’al movements across the region. It came with unrestricted travel to the capital and the ruins of Xayen buried within it. And those benefits... they were difficult to pass up.

Because now was not the time to keep being the reinforcements at every battle.

Now… now they had the means to start their own.

He rose to his feet, scanning the wide, snowy terrain ahead. Farther than the eye could see, stretching over 1,320 kilometers—across eight major fortresses, thirty-two outposts, thirty-eight villages, and two cities—all of it now fell under his command.

The Ajnal Western Front.

He rose to his feet as he connected with a group of Ajnal scouts.

“Any further movements?”

“No, General. The retreated Xok’al went down the crevice. None have come out since the last update.”

He then reached out to another group. “Any updates?”

Seconds passed, but no signal came back.

That group—killed?

He contacted three more scouting units, yet only one responded.

From that, he pieced together a rough coordinate—where the Xok’al had struck from, where they’d vanished, and what the surviving scouts had seen.

“All right. Remain on standby.”

He sent the command to all units, then took a deep breath and launched himself from the mountain wall, his form blurring through the snow as he let gravity and the terrain pull him down—fast and silent.

He focused on his internal microcapacitors, syncing waves with movement, countering the fall and smoothing each change in direction as he traveled along the mountain ranges. He kept low, careful to avoid exposure in open paths or continuous lines of sight.

Several minutes later, he reached the designated spot.

He passed by the scouting unit, and the Sun Bearer in charge quickly stepped forward upon noticing his presence. The soldier performed the standard Ajnal military salute with his hands.

Alonso simply nodded and scanned the terrain ahead for several seconds.

“Commence.”

He sent a pulse to the units stationed on the far ridges. Moments later, distant explosions echoed through the mountains. Massive, focused EM waves burst outward as a detachment of Ajnal troops charged into a secondary entrance they had previously detected.

Alonso remained still, watching. The first clash came fast—four tails against Sun Bearers.

“Proceed.”

He contacted another unit positioned on the eastern slope. More explosions followed as the EM cannons deployed by the platoon began firing directly into the enemy nests.

More Xok’al emerged—two-tailed, three-tailed, and even a few four-tailed variants—as they engaged the Ajnal in fierce melee. But the cannons inflicted heavy damage, and the entrenched Ajnal gunners provided precise cover fire for their frontline fighters.

The battle escalated, intensity surging.

Alonso didn’t move. He waited. Then—

“Now.”

He contacted the final group—hidden in a cave along the southern flank. Two more EM cannons roared to life, unleashing attacks from the rear while a squad of concealed Sun Bearers burst from the snow-covered ground, striking from both flanks in a textbook pincer maneuver.

The Xok’al fell quickly.

Their bodies piled up near the nest’s entrance—stacked high, thick with blood and broken limbs. The cost in Ajnal lives was not light, but the tide was clearly theirs.

Seconds passed, dozens of lives taken with every moment, until—

Alonso’s eyes narrowed.

In an instant, his body vanished, gliding low through the snow like a shadow.

He heard the roars, felt the vibration coursing through the ground, smelled the blood and the metallic scent of iron thick in the air.

His waves surged inward under Dual Overdrive. Magnetic loops formed, accelerating his neural transmissions, while his internal capacitors fired in sync, boosting his body faster and faster.

The strain hit him like a wall—threatening collapse—but after a heartbeat, it all clicked into place. Silence. Focus. Balance.

And just as the bladed limb of the Warden rose to sever a Sun Bearer from behind, Alonso stepped.

The ground cracked beneath his boots. Snow vaporized in bursts of kinetic heat. Magnetic echoes spiraled in his wake as his blade traced a clean arc toward the Warden’s neck.

It sensed him—too late.

Its reaction was sharp. But not fast enough.

Alonso blurred past, a streak of force and precision, his body aligned to the rhythm of his own path.

He didn’t stop as the head was severed.

He moved on—disappearing down into the dark nest below.