Chapter 136. The First Mission - Part II

[Mana pool: 8967]

Adom descended through the blizzard, the wind coiling around him like a faithful serpent. His progress was slow and deliberate—a controlled fall rather than flight—as he mentally mapped the destruction below. With each foot he dropped, the numbers in his head ticked higher.

So close. The Second Circle hovered just beyond his reach. He could feel it—a membrane of resistance in the mana currents, thin as gossamer but unyielding to anything less than perfect technique. Another week, maybe two, and he'd break through.

But that wouldn't help the people who had died today.

He touched down in what had once been the village square, boots crunching on snow mixed with ash. The smell hit him immediately—burning timber, scorched cloth, and the unmistakable copper-iron tang of blood. The wind had momentarily died down, as if even the elements were pausing to survey the aftermath.

"Casualties?" he asked, not looking at anyone in particular.

Damus materialized at his side, sheathing his still-glowing sword. "Seventeen confirmed." The young man's voice was flat, but his eyes told a different story. "Most in the initial attack. They hit hard and fast before anyone could organize a defense."

"Seventeen..." Adom murmured. Seventeen people who would never see their families again. Seventeen lives cut short because he and his team hadn't been fast enough.

"That damn blizzard," he muttered, clenching his fists inside his gauntlets. The metal creaked in protest. "If we'd gotten here an hour earlier—"

"We'd have found more survivors and fewer bodies," Damus finished for him. "I know. But dwelling on it won't help the ones we did save."

Adom nodded, forcing his hands to relax. The gauntlets hummed softly as they powered down. Around them, villagers were emerging from hiding places, faces drawn with shock and exhaustion.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Karion said, approaching with his war mace resting on one shoulder. The weapon still hummed with residual mana. "You certainly took your sweet time with that spell."

"Mass gravity manipulation followed by targeted lightning strikes?" Adom raised an eyebrow. "It's not exactly lighting a candle. I had to make sure I didn't accidentally fry any of our people along with the Farmusians."

"Well, it was effective," Karion admitted. "If a bit showy."

"Says the man who literally launches people through walls with every swing."

Karion's mouth twitched. "Fair point."

"Thanks for stalling them," Adom said, serious now. "All of you. I needed the time to prepare, and you bought it."

"It's what we do." Naia approached, brushing ash from her horns. Her tail lashed behind her—a nervous habit she'd never quite managed to control. "Though next time, maybe we could set up somewhere without quite so much snow? My tail nearly froze solid."

"I'll be sure to ask the Farmusians to attack more temperate villages," Adom replied dryly.

Naia grinned, sharp teeth gleaming. "Much appreciated."

Adom turned, taking in the rest of his team spread throughout the village. Damus was guiding a cluster of elderly villagers toward where Mia and Gus had set up a makeshift medical station.

Nearby, Eren had coaxed a massive bonfire to life in the center of the square. The warmth was already drawing survivors like moths, their faces hollow with shock but bodies gratefully absorbing the heat.

"We've got company," Naia said suddenly, nodding toward the hill that overlooked the village.

Adom followed her gaze. Three figures were making their way down the slope—two he recognized immediately and one he didn't. Sam and Emma, with a teenage boy supported between them.

"Another survivor?" Karion asked, lowering his mace.

"Looks like it," Adom replied, already moving to meet them. "And from the blood on his clothes, one who needs medical attention."

Sam spotted Adom approaching and raised his free hand in greeting. "Good timing with the lightning," he called. "Very dramatic. The locals will be telling that story for generations."

"That was the idea," Adom replied, studying the young man between them. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, with a crossbow wound to the shoulder and a nasty gash on his forehead. His eyes were wide, staring at Adom.

"Adom, this is Mikael," Emma said. "We found him about a half-mile north of here, about to have his head caved in by a Ravensguard."

Adom's expression darkened. "Ravensguard? You're sure?"

"Three ravens with a crown of thorns," Sam confirmed. "Distinctive armor, very dramatic cape. Definitely one of the Northking's personal executioners."

"That's... concerning." The Northking's forces weren't supposed to be anywhere near this region. The Farmusians attacking border villages was one thing—expected, even, given the rising tensions. But Ravensguard this far south meant something else entirely.

Mikael was still staring at him, mouth slightly open.

"You're really him," the boy finally managed. "Adom Sylla."

"Last time I checked," Adom replied, his tone gentler than it had been a moment before. "How's the shoulder?"

"Hurts," Mikael admitted. "But Emma did something that made it better."

"Basic pain suppression," Emma explained. "The wound itself still needs proper treatment."

Adom nodded. "Let's get him to the medical station. Then I think we need to have a conversation about why the Northking is sending his personal death squad into Imperial territory during a Farmusian border incursion."

"Coincidence?" Sam suggested, though his tone made it clear he didn't believe it.

"There are no coincidences in war," Karion said grimly. "Only opportunities and traps."

"Always the optimist," Emma muttered.

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Let's move," Adom said, cutting off the familiar banter. "Mikael needs treatment, and we need answers."

[Inventory]

Adom reached into empty air, his hand disappearing into nothing. A moment later, he pulled out a large canvas sack, followed by another, and another. The villagers watched with wide eyes as he produced supplies from what appeared to be thin air.

"Food," he announced, setting the sacks down near the bonfire Eren had built. "Preserved rations, dried meat, hardtack, some fruit. It's not fancy, but it'll keep everyone fed until we reach somewhere safer."

An elderly woman approached hesitantly. Her weathered hands shook as she reached for a loaf of dark bread Adom offered. "Bless you," she whispered, clutching it to her chest like it was made of gold. "We haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

Adom nodded, keeping his expression neutral despite the twist in his gut. More evidence of how badly they'd been delayed.

"There's enough for everyone," he said, raising his voice to be heard across the square. "Three days' worth, at least."

That got their attention.

The shell-shocked villagers began to gather around the supplies, their movements cautious at first, then more eager as they realized no one was going to take the food away.

Damus organized them into a line, his deep voice gentle but firm as he ensured the children and elderly were served first. Karion stood back, mace resting casually on his shoulder, keeping watch for any remaining threats.

"Is this real magic?" a small boy asked Adom, eyes round as he watched another sack materialize.

"Real enough," Adom replied with a small smile. "Just a simple storage trick. Nothing fancy."

"Can you teach me?" the boy asked immediately.

"Maybe when you're older."

As he distributed the supplies, Adom spotted Mikael sitting with two adults—a man with the same sandy hair and a woman whose eyes matched the boy's exactly. Emma knelt beside them, her hands glowing with soft green light as she worked on Mikael's wounded shoulder.

The family huddled together, the parents' arms wrapped protectively around their son. The father caught Adom's eye and nodded, a silent thank you that said more than words could. Mikael himself looked dazed, as if he couldn't quite believe he was alive and with his family again.

Relief. That's what it was—pure, unfiltered relief washing over these people. Their homes might be gone, their possessions burned, but they were alive. Together. It was something, at least.

Seventeen weren't.

For his first real mission since graduating, this felt grimmer than he'd expected.

"Adom."

Damus approached, his massive frame blocking out the firelight. The swordsman's expression was solemn, more serious than usual.

"We need to talk."

Adom straightened, brushing soot from his hands. "What is it?"

"The villagers can't stay here," Damus said, keeping his voice low. "It's not safe. The Farmusians were too organized, too focused on this specific location. They weren't just raiding—they were establishing a perimeter."

"Around their base," Adom concluded. "The one we came to find."

"Exactly. And I've been talking to some of the locals. Apparently, there have been strange movements in the northern forest for weeks. Military patrols where there shouldn't be any."

Damus ran a hand through his short hair. "We need to get these people out of here, fast. The nearest safe town is Rivermark, about two days south."

Adom frowned, glancing around at the exhausted villagers. "They're in no condition to travel that far, that quickly."

"We don't have much choice. If more Farmusians show up—"

"I know." Adom sighed, his mind already working through options. "Get everyone ready to move by morning. I'll handle the rest."

"The rest?" Damus raised an eyebrow.

"The military base. I'll find it. Confirm what they're planning."

"We need to escort these people to safety first."

"No," Adom said firmly. "You need to escort them. I'll handle the base."

Damus stared at him. "Alone?"

"I can more than manage it alone."

"That's not the point."

"It is exactly the point." Adom lowered his voice further. "Our mission was to locate and neutralize the Farmusian base. That hasn't changed. But now we have civilians to protect."

"The primary mission wasn't even to rescue villagers," Eren interrupted, stepping into their conversation with crossed arms. "It was to find the base. That's what Command sent us here for. Everything else is secondary."

Adom turned to face him. "And that's what's going to happen. But we can't leave these people like this either. Their homes have been burned to the ground, and this blizzard will kill the ones the Farmusians didn't if we abandon them."

"So we split up," Adom continued. "You get the civilians to safety, I'll handle the base."

"We were supposed to tackle the base together," Karion said, joining the circle. "As a team."

"Plans change when circumstances do," Adom replied. "I'm making a tactical decision. These people need protection, and I'm the most qualified to scout the base alone."

"You might be able to take out the base yourself," Karion admitted. "But 'might' is a dangerous word."

"Which is why I'm not promising to take it out," Adom said. "Just to locate it, assess the threat, and report back."

"Mikael knows where it is," Sam added, adjusting his glasses. He nodded toward the young man. "He saw it himself when he was hunting. That's why they were after the village."

Adom's gaze snapped to the boy. "Is that true?"

Mikael nodded, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. "About six miles north. Hidden in a ravine. I stumbled on it by accident three days ago. They've been searching for me ever since."

"Then my decision stands," Adom said. "Damus, you'll lead the civilians to Rivermark. Sam, you'll be his second. Get these people to safety while I check out the base with Mikael's help."

"Adom—" Damus began.

"This isn't a debate." Adom's tone left no room for argument. "As captain, I'm giving you an order. Protect these people. That's your priority now."

A tense silence fell over the group. Adom met each of their gazes in turn, unflinching. They might not like it, but they respected the chain of command. He was captain for a reason.

"Two days," Damus finally said. "Then we come looking for you."

"I'll meet you at the western ridge," Adom replied. "And Mikael comes with me. He knows the way."

"He's injured," Emma protested.

"I can manage," Mikael said quickly. "The shoulder's not that bad, and I know exactly where they're hidden."

"It's settled then." Adom turned to Damus. "Get everyone ready to move at first light. We'll bury the dead tonight."

"And if you find more than you can handle at this base?" Naia asked, her tail swishing anxiously behind her.

Adom's expression hardened. "Then I'll handle it anyway."

*****

Morning arrived with unusual brightness, sunlight streaming through broken windows and glinting off fresh snow. The blizzard had passed in the night, leaving behind a world so pristine it seemed almost cruel—beauty stacked atop tragedy.

Adom stood at the edge of the village square, watching as the survivors gathered their meager belongings. The graves had been dug and filled before dawn, seventeen mounds of disturbed earth now covered in a thin layer of snow. Several villagers lingered there, saying final goodbyes.

Mikael sat on a fallen log near what remained of his family's home, deep in conversation with his parents. His mother kept adjusting his coat, fussing over him despite his protests, while his father stood with crossed arms, face set in lines of worry.

"You've got that look again," Sam said, appearing at Adom's side.

"What look?"

"The one where you're calculating odds and not liking the numbers."

Adom snorted. "That obvious?"

"Only to someone who's known you since you were a skinny first-year too smart for your own good."

They stood in comfortable silence, watching as Damus organized the villagers into traveling formation. The big swordsman moved with surprising gentleness among the survivors, helping an elderly man to his feet, hoisting a child onto his shoulders.

"He's good with them," Adom observed.

"Look at him," Sam chuckled. "Remember when he used to just grunt and glare at people? Now he's practically cooing at that baby."

"The mighty Damus, brought low by a drooling infant." Adom grinned. "When did he get so soft?"

"After that thing in the Southern Isles, I think. Something about those refugee kids changed him." Sam straightened his shoulders and deepened his voice in a spot-on imitation: "'I don't have time for civilians. They're just liabilities in a combat zone.'"

Adom laughed, then adopted his own gruff Damus voice: "'Sentimentality gets you killed. That's why I never smile.'"

"God, he was insufferable those first few years." Sam's smile faded slightly. "Now look at him. Acting like some village elder leading his flock."

"People change."

"Some faster than others."

Something in Sam's tone made Adom turn to study his friend's face. "Worried?"

"Terrified," Sam replied with a casual shrug that didn't match his words. "But that's nothing new."

"I'll be fine."

"You always are. That's the problem. One day, luck runs out."

"It's not luck," Adom said. "It's careful planning."

"Be careful anyway." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver object—one of the new Wangara Guild communication crystals, its surface etched with complex arcane patterns. "Take this. If things go sideways, use it. Range is only about three miles, but it'll reach me directly."

Adom accepted the crystal, turning it over in his hand. "Fresh off the production line?"

"Perks of knowing the owner." Sam grinned.

"Thanks, Sammy," Adom said, pocketing the crystal.

"Keep it close. And when this is over, let's go get some meat pies at Old Mari's. And some frosties. Man, I'd kill for one of those."

"Frosties?" Adom raised an eyebrow. "In this weather?"

"More of a nostalgia thing," Sam replied, his expression softening.

"Adom, are you sure about this?" Eren interrupted, approaching with his pack already slung over his shoulder.

"Of course," Adom replied.

"You don't have to do this alone. I could stay—"

"You're needed with the others. If the Farmusians track them, they'll need your firepower."

Eren's jaw tightened. "Don't you trust me to watch your back?"

"I trust you to follow orders," Adom said, more sharply than he'd intended. He softened his tone. "And right now, I need you with them."

"Look. I know that if anyone could take down an entire military base, it'd be you," Eren conceded after a moment. "But still..."

"I'll be right behind you," Adom said. "Once I'm done, I'll meet you at the western ridge. Then we'll go home and have some meat pies and frosties."

"Frosties?" Eren asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Sam's idea," Adom said, nodding toward their friend.

"Of course it was." Eren rolled his eyes.

"I'm standing right here," Sam protested.

"I know." Eren clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come on. Damus is ready to move out."

Sam hesitated, then extended his fist. Adom met it with his own, then they both flicked their fingers outward, creating the elaborate hand gesture they'd perfected since their Academy days—a quick succession of intertwining movements that ended with a snap.

"This is sooo silly," Sam laughed.

"At our big ages."

"Right?"

Adom watched as his friends joined the rest of the team at the head of the column of villagers. Damus gave a hand signal, and the procession began to move south, a line of battered but determined survivors trudging through the snow.

"They'll be okay," Mikael said, coming to stand beside him. The teen had a makeshift pack on his uninjured shoulder and a walking stick in his hand.

"Your parents went with them?"

Mikael nodded. "They wanted to stay with me, but..."

"But you convinced them otherwise."

"They'll be safer with your friends." He fidgeted with the walking stick. "I'm sorry you have to drag me back there."

"You're not being dragged," Adom said. "I need your knowledge of the area."

"It's my fault they came to the village in the first place," Mikael said, his voice tight. "If I hadn't wandered so far that day, if I hadn't seen what I saw—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "I owe it to the dead, at least."

Adom studied the young man's face. He wanted to tell Mikael not to be so hard on himself, that the blame lay with the Farmusians, not with a curious teenager who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he recognized the look in Mikael's eyes—the need to make things right, to balance a scale that felt impossibly weighted against him.

Sometimes, people needed to cool off before being told what to do for their own well-being. Mikael needed this. Needed to feel like he was taking action, not just running away.

"Lead the way," Adom said instead, adjusting his own pack. "And stay close."

*****

The world flew by in a blur of white and gray as Adom maintained the levitation field around them. Mikael clung desperately to the worn broomstick Adom had salvaged from the village ruins, his knuckles white and eyes wide as they soared above the snowdrifts.

"You okay?" Adom asked, not breaking concentration.

"Fine," Mikael squeaked. "Just never traveled quite this... horizontally before."

They skimmed over the snow-covered landscape like stones across water, the friction nearly non-existent. Trees whipped past in a smear of dark green and brown.

"We're making good time," Adom noted, checking the position of the sun. "Should arrive well ahead of schedule."

"That's... good?" Mikael managed, his face slightly green.

"Well, it's certainly not bad. Hahaha!" Adom laughed as Mikael stared at him, wide-eyed and bewildered the same way he used to look at Mr. Biggins when they first met. It would appear that the old dragon's sense of humor rubbed off on him after all.

An hour later, Adom slowed their momentum as they approached a wide, seemingly unremarkable valley. Snow-covered hills rolled gently in all directions, scattered with evergreens and the occasional rocky outcropping. Nothing that screamed "secret military base."

Mikael scrambled off the broomstick the moment Adom released the spell, dropping to his knees and pressing his palms against solid ground.

"Land," he breathed. "Beautiful, stationary land."

Adom grinned. "You get used to it."

"I really don't think I would."

They crouched at the edge of a ridge overlooking the valley. Adom scanned the landscape methodically, his expression neutral.

"This is it," Mikael said, pointing. "Right down there. That's where I saw them."

Adom followed his gesture, seeing nothing but untouched snow and the occasional wind-bent tree.

"I swear," Mikael continued, voice rising with anxiety. "There was a whole camp. Tents, weapons, those wolves they ride. At least fifty soldiers."

"I believe you."

"You do?" Mikael blinked. "But there's nothing there."

"Oh, there's definitely something there." Adom's eyes narrowed slightly. "The mana concentration is off the charts. Feel that?"

Mikael shook his head. "I don't feel anything."

"Right. Non-mage." Adom reached into his coat and pulled out his glasses, sliding them onto his face. "This place is wrapped in enough concealment magic to hide a small army."

"So I'm not crazy."

"Not about this, at least." Adom flashed a brief smile. "Though voluntarily returning to a place where people tried to kill you does raise some questions about your judgment."

Before Mikael could respond, the air in the center of the valley seemed to ripple. A seam appeared in reality itself, peeling back to reveal a large opening in what had looked like solid ground. From this dark mouth, riders emerged on massive, slate-gray dire wolves.

"Talk about the wolf..." Adom murmured, adjusting the settings on his glasses with a slight twist of the frame. The lenses hummed softly as they enhanced his vision.

Six riders in total, each mounted on a dire wolf large enough to make a horse look like a house pet. Five wore the distinctive black and red armor of Farmusian elite guards. The sixth...

"Shit," Adom breathed.

"What? Who is it?" Mikael whispered.

"Northking."

Mikael's face went pale. "The Northking? Here?"

Adom nodded, studying the man through his enhanced lenses. Tall and lean, with a face that might have been handsome if not for the permanent sneer that twisted his features. His armor was similar to his guards but inlaid with gold and adorned with three ravens crafted of dark metal. A red cape billowed behind him, seeming to catch wind that wasn't there.

"Mervyn Ravencroft," Adom said quietly. "Farmusian Emperor Uther's nephew and favorite attack dog."

"He doesn't look that scary," Mikael whispered, squinting at the distant figures.

"That's because you can't see his eyes." Adom adjusted his glasses again. "Cold as a winter night and twice as empty."

Adom studied the man, feeling the familiar knot of hatred tightening in his chest.

Northking. A man so unnecessarily cruel you'd think he came straight out of a folk tale meant to spook children. The kind of villain people assumed was exaggerated in the telling. But Adom knew better. The stories didn't capture half of what this man was capable of.

The nickname had nothing to do with royal blood. He'd earned it ten years ago when he led the invasion of the Northern Territories. After defeating King Eidard in battle, he'd personally flayed the man alive, preserved his skull as a drinking vessel, and forced the king's daughter to drink from it at their forced wedding ceremony.

In his past life, Adom had witnessed the aftermath of Northking's handiwork. Entire villages reduced to ash and bone. Prisoners mutilated beyond recognition. The man took pleasure in suffering, cultivated it like a gardener tending rare flowers.

He would also be the one to give the command for the first Dragon's Breath launch.

Would be, but not if Adom had anything to say about it.

The riders had formed a line now, Northking in the center. He was gesturing sharply, clearly giving orders.

"Why would someone like him be here?" Mikael asked. "In the middle of nowhere?"

"That," Adom said, "is the question of the hour." He watched as more soldiers emerged from the hidden entrance, these on foot, carrying heavy crates. "Whatever they're planning, it must be important. The Northking doesn't personally oversee minor operations."

"We should go," Mikael said. "Tell your friends."

"Not yet." Adom remained fixed on the scene below. "I need to know what's in those crates."

As they watched, one of the crates slipped from a soldier's grasp, crashing to the ground. The lid splintered, revealing metal cylinders inside, each about the size of a man's forearm. Even from this distance, Adom could see the distinctive runes etched into their surfaces.

The Northking dismounted in a fluid motion and stalked toward the unfortunate soldier. No words were exchanged. The Northking simply drew a slender blade from his belt and drove it through the man's throat. The soldier dropped without a sound, blood staining the pristine snow. Northking didn't even watch him fall, already turning to bark orders at the others.

"Gods," Mikael whispered, "he killed him just like that."

"That's who we're dealing with," Adom said grimly.

"But why?" Mikael's face twisted in confusion. "That was one of his own men. A resource. Someone who could fight for him. Why throw that away over a dropped crate?"

Adom's eyes never left the scene below. "Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like more soldiers or better odds in battle."

"Then what do they want?"

"Some men," Adom said softly, "just want to watch the world burn. They can't be bought, reasoned with, or negotiated with. Northking doesn't kill to achieve goals. The killing is the goal."

He finally looked at Mikael. "That's what makes him so dangerous. There's no line he won't cross, no atrocity too extreme. In his mind, mercy is weakness, and weakness deserves only death."

Adom clapped Mikael lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "You did good, today. Really good."

"I did?"

"You have potentially saved millions of people" Adom's smile widened he rose to his feet.

"Now," he said, "watch this."