Nathan’s feet stepped onto soft ground. His eyes were still closed. His hands fumbled forward. He heard only muffled thuds nearby. He touched his ear, fingers coming away wet and sticky. He brought them to his nose. The metallic tang of blood.

  He winced; even that small movement sent pain through his entire face. He could still walk. The soft earth was damp beneath his thin trousers. He tried to push his spirit vision out, trying to see where he was.

  A burst of fire made him startle and retreat. He dodged it in his limited spirit vision. Something was oppressing his mind and soul, not allowing him to probe any further.

  He continued forward.

  A rough object stopped his foot. He instinctively looked down, though his eyes saw nothing. Even in the colorless world of his spirit vision, the object had no clear outline. It resembled a restless blob of water, its form fluttering in constant flux.

  He reached out. The surface was stone-hard, with edges as sharp as knives. He cautiously moved his two hands to either side. The stone layer extended, then tapered and curved. A person’s waist. His hands froze for a moment. He brought both hands to one side, feeling for the biceps, then the neck, the head. Nowhere could he touch the soft skin of a person, or the dampness of flesh. Had this person been burned?

  His hand hesitated a moment, then decided to move to the chin. His jaw tightened, his back momentarily convulsing. He moved his hand to the cheek, the eye, then the hair. With each movement, he moved faster, forgetting to breathe. His hand lingered on the person’s hair. Sharp and spiky, pointing upward.

  He spun around, placing his hand on the object’s chest, ignoring the small details that had made him hesitate before. His hand fumbled over a stone protrusion on its chest, tracing the surrounding marks that formed an armor plate.

  Crack!

  Nathan released his hand, falling backward at the sound. His whole body sank into the soft earth. He raised his fingers, took a sniff. Blood.

  “…You…came…at…last…” The creature’s mouth moved, the words forming from the wind, not from a physical body.

  A bright light exploded in his spirit vision. Nathan’s eyes burned hot. He snapped them open.

  Frank and Elen rushed to grip his shoulders as he took heavy breaths. Sweat poured down his back. His whole body was cold.

  “You’re finally awake, senior brother,” Frank said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Elen nodded once, his eyes questioning.

  Nathan just shook his head and waved his hand. The image from when he opened his eyes flashed through his mind. What he saw made his skin crawl, his lungs tremble uncontrollably.

  Thousands of Titans had been killed. Their bodies were scattered, incomplete.

  How?

  The question brought a train of thought crashing into his mind. He had to close his eyes, rubbing his temples. His mouth was dry, unable to breathe. Why would such a powerful bloodline meet such a fate? And for what reason was he still connected to it?

  He looked toward the system panel. [Titan’s Descendant] was still a grayed-out, inactive skill.

  The smell of blood seemed to travel from the dream to him. He bent over, dry heaving with nothing coming out. He was empty, tired, and in pain.

  “You’re alright, Nate?” Zeryn asked from beside him.

  Turning his head to look at the sword prodigy with bandages wrapped around his eyes, Nathan forced a smile and said, “Of course not!”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Yeah. Weird, also.”

  “It is said that when a person pushes themselves too far,” Zeryn said weakly, “beyond their limits. Like you, for example. They will see some strange things. A revelation.”

  “So do you see yours?” Nathan asked.

  “I do, my man. I do.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Nathan only saw the slashes around Zeryn’s eyes move. It seemed this war had exceeded what the sword prodigy had dared to imagine.

  The survivors around were tending to each other, bandaging wounds or using emergency kits to recover. Mana overload was a serious problem. The cultivators with slightly lower Tiers or Phases were all writhing with fatigue. Mana Stones placed beside them were only enough to pump in small streams rather than large amounts.

  Thirty people lay or sat next to each other in a small cave, with a floating fire in the middle providing warmth. Prince Daniel and his guards, though looking slightly better, all stared blankly toward the cave entrance, where the last light of day had just vanished.

  Aotian stood up, hobbling toward Nathan. The captain’s leg was exposed as his trousers had been burned up to the hip. The flesh beneath the bandages was blackened and charred.

  “Just a normal burn,” Aotian said with a smile. “A good treatment will fix it. Hell. Maybe in half an hour, I’ll be able to jump and dance.”

  “Good for you,” Nathan replied. “Where are we now?”

  Aotian tilted his head in thought for a moment and said, “Somewhere about twenty kilometers from the south gate of Maelivar. We really endured three minutes of bombardment from those damned bombs.”

  “We’re safe at this distance?”

  “We have to be.” Aotian shrugged, gesturing toward the others. “No one can continue anymore. Luckily there’s a mountain, so a cultivator with the Earth Aspect opened up this area for us. Once he’s recovered, the space will expand.”

  Nathan squinted. “What do you mean? Are we stuck here?”

  “No, just me and the remaining soldiers,” Aotian said seriously. “Our mission is still not complete. Escorting you is done. But we still have to station here, establish a reception point, or provide intelligence for subsequent operations.”

  “Are you insane?” Nathan’s eyes widened. “At this point, if you go back, who would dare blame you? That Daniel Caelen?”

  The prince stirred, about to stand up when Aotian spoke quickly, “It’s not like that, Mr. Nathan!”

  A turmoil of emotions warred in the captain’s eyes—helplessness clashed with hope, determination wrestled with regret. After a moment, Aotian said, “Others will come for the Major! We will find a way to save him.”

  Nathan’s lips moved, unable to believe what he was hearing. “He’s dead!” he shouted.

  “That’s a lie!” Aotian bristled. “They lied to demoralize us. We know the Major better than anyone. Lachlan Rourke would not die so pointlessly. He still has places to go, a position to establish, glory to claim.”

  Each of Aotian’s words carried a breaking tone, but at the same time, a belief that could not be broken.

  Nathan slumped down, his headache returning, pounding against his brain.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Nathan asked.

  “So that if you want to help us, you’ll lend a hand,” Aotian said sincerely. “We will compensate you with everything we can.”

  “What good is compensation if you’re dead?” Nathan asked irritably.

  The captain didn’t answer. Prince Daniel, in a corner, shook his head, returning to his position, whispering something to his guards.

  “My answer is no!” Nathan raised his head to look at the low cave ceiling that oppressed the spirit, speaking wearily.

  Aotian raised his hand, about to say something, then decided not to.

  “Thank you anyway.” The Captain respectfully placed his hand on his chest, performing the noble salute reserved for Commander Lachlan Rourke. “If not for you, I wouldn’t be here, and neither would my remaining comrades.”

  “If you want to thank me,” Nathan said indifferently, his head still looking at a sharp point of rock, his mind remembering the bodies of the Titans, “then try to stay alive. Don’t go on a useless suicide mission.”

  When he lowered his head, Aotian had already left, returning to the side of those in their tattered military uniforms.

  “You’re cold,” Zeryn nudged his shoulder and said.

  “I’m just telling the truth.”

  Zeryn tried to sit up, his back leaning against the earthen wall. Nathan took out a pillow to cushion his friend. His hand grasped Zeryn’s, establishing a connection through PsiLink.

  “What happened, Zer? Where was your protector?”

  “He couldn’t come,” Zeryn replied curtly.

  Nathan glanced over at his friend, trying to decipher the emotion underneath those bandages.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Heat of battle, the presence of high-level people. Many reasons.”

  “Your family’s gonna let that happen?”

  “Let what happen?”

  “Let you die?”

  Zeryn’s fingers contracted on the ground, then relaxed.

  “Yes, they’d do that.”

  “Why, Zer?”

  “You’ve heard them talk about me. I’m the reject of the Valtaris family.”

  “You? A reject? Then what are the people here, not even worth being called trash?”

  A long silence passed. Zeryn’s answer left Nathan speechless.

  “That’s right, Nate. To the Valtaris family, the people here are just ants to be stepped on.”

  A heavy sigh, like a burden Zeryn had carried, escaped. His whole body seemed to shrink. Zeryn turned his head toward Nathan and forced a smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, you’d better be,” Nathan said with a grimace. “If I’d known you had no one to protect you, I wouldn’t have let you take such risks.”

  “Do you know why we could become close friends in just a few years?”

  “I know for sure it’s not because of anything grand or noble.” Nathan scoffed.

  “Because we are stubborn fools who always use the word ‘reckless’ as our guiding principle,” Zeryn said.

  “Don’t act like it’s something to be proud of!”

  “But you’re smiling from ear to ear.”

  The soft laughter of the two was cut short by a tremor that spread through the entire cave they were hiding in.

  Nathan jumped up immediately. The action made his head spin, white and black spots dancing in his eyes. He braced a hand against the wall, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Help me!” Zeryn said.

  Nathan put his arm under Zeryn’s to pull him up. Together, they walked toward the cave entrance, followed by the other survivors.

  Prince Daniel was already outside, his eyes looking up at the sky.

  Nathan and Zeryn did the same. The sky was void of clouds or stars. Instead, it was a canvas of chaotic light—patches of iridescent color flashing into existence and vanishing in the same instant. Shockwaves descended in gusts, whipping their clothes and scattering pebbles across the shaking ground.

  The clash of the High-Tier Cultivators had begun.