Chapter 122 - 121: Echoes of Stage Six

Chapter 122: Chapter 121: Echoes of Stage Six Night Camp - Forest Clearing Near the Earl’s Estate The stars had barely settled into the sky when Lumberling and the elves arrived at the camp. His subordinates and the captains had already retreated earlier as ordered, and now sat gathered around several makeshift fires. The scent of roasted meat, metal, and fresh spoils clung thick in the air. The forest clearing buzzed with low chatter and excitement, five wagons parked in a half-circle were brimming with loot: glinting weapons, polished armors, bolts of fine cloth, ornate furniture torn from the estate walls, and sacks of clinking gold. Warhorses, easily a hundred strong, were tethered nearby, stamping the earth with restless hooves. Skitz approach, his dagger still strapped loosely across his chest. His eyes widened at the haul, a sharp grin spreading across his face as he nodded in approval. "You lot sure move fast," he said with a chuckle, eyeing the overflowing wagons. "Earl Cedric’s ghost must be crying blood." "This guy was loaded," Gobo 1 added, wiping soot from his brow. "Fifteen hundred gold coins, just from the damn mansion vaults alone. And that’s not counting the shiny furniture." "I’m starting to think looting might be my true calling," Gobo 2 muttered, holding up a gilded goblet. "Imagine doing this twice a month, I’d retire a rich goblin." Skitz allowed a small smile as he watched them. The morale boost was welcome, no casualties, clean escape, and the elves hadn’t needed babysitting. Aren stepped forward, face more serious. He held out three thick tomes, each wrapped in velvet and marked with noble insignias. "These," he said, "are the real treasures." Skitz took one and opened it gently. Old ink. Sharp diagrams. Annotated instructions. "Knight Skill Manuals?" Skitz asked, eyes narrowing. Aren nodded. "Two of them are low-tier, enough to push someone to Knight One stage if trained to its limit. One for spearmanship, the other for archery." He hesitated before holding up the third, wrapped in an extra layer of cloth. Its binding was heavier, and golden lettering gleamed faintly in the firelight. "This one’s different. Intermediate-tier. Swordsmanship skill. Probably the one that brought Henry up to Knight Two Stage. It was locked in a reinforced drawer. Took me longer to get this than the rest of the gold combined." Skitz whistled low. "Now that’s worth more than the entire estate. You don’t find manuals like these in markets, not even black ones. Nobles hoard them like hungry pigs." "These will be our foundation," Skitz continued, almost reverent. "We train with these, we start building true warriors." They spent the next hour tallying every coin, every weapon, every useful item. Skitz kept the log, Aren organized the manuals, and the goblins argued gleefully over who found the shiniest piece of loot. For a moment, under that quiet night sky, the war seemed far away. All that mattered was the fire, the stolen riches, and the strange new hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they could build something more than survival. ... Elven Camp – Nightfall The moonlight spilled like silver mist across the forest clearing where the elves had made their camp. Graceful silk tents rustled softly in the wind, surrounded by faintly glowing crystal lanterns that floated lazily in the air, their light casting dappled patterns across the grass. Compared to the goblins’ rugged campfires and loud banter, this place felt like a dream drawn from poetry. Lumberling stood near a polished log bench, arms crossed, gaze lingering, not on the trees or the lanterns, but on the three women seated near a softly burning brazier. Vaenyra reclined with relaxed elegance, her blue hair braided over one shoulder like moonlight woven into silk. Aurelya leaned against a mossy stump, sharpening her rapier with lazy precision. Thessalia, the youngest-looking of the three, absentmindedly flipped through a worn book with glowing elvish letters. Aurelya raised a brow without looking up. "What is it?" she said with a teasing lilt. "I know we’re beautiful, but you’ve been staring like a starving man at a fruit stand." Thessalia giggled. Vaenyra simply smiled, her gaze cool and amused. Lumberling remained still, his voice calm. "You three... You’re Knights too, aren’t you?" "Oh? You just noticed?" Aurelya smirked and sat up straighter, puffing out her chest slightly. "Took you long enough. That’s why you should always treat us with proper respect." She gave a mockingly regal wave. "I thought the Aetherborn Empire was a land of mages," he said, brows furrowing. "It is," Vaenyra replied softly, her voice like calm rain over marble. "An empire built upon arcane knowledge." He frowned, watching her closely. "But that doesn’t mean you’re limited to magic..." "Exactly." She nodded. "Our ancestors saw no reason to walk only one path when both could be mastered." "You," he said slowly, "you’re a Knight Three Stage, aren’t you." "I am," Vaenyra said without a shred of modesty. Lumberling exhaled. He could feel the strength in her. No wonder her presence carried such weight. "Aurelya and I are both First Stage Knights," Thessalia chimed in, her green eyes sparkling. "Not as impressive as her highness, but enough to crush a few brigands." "Hey," Aurelya muttered. "I got there first, remember?" "Barely," Thessalia smirked, flicking her finger and sending a harmless spark of green light into Aurelya’s boot. The blonde elf yelped and kicked it off. "Children," Vaenyra said with a sigh, though her smile betrayed her amusement. Lumberling watched the interplay with a bemused look. "Knighthood takes years to master, decades, even. If your people also walk that path, it means... Sengolio must’ve shared their manuals with your empire." Aurelya’s gold eyes flicked toward him. "Not bad," she said. "You figured that out quickly." "It means the two empires didn’t just ally recently," Lumberling continued. "This alliance runs deeper, older." "Correct," Thessalia said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Over a hundred years now. The Pact of Twin Crowns. We shared arcane knowledge with them, and they shared their Knight techniques with us." "It wasn’t always peaceful," Vaenyra added, her tone turning more serious. "But it has worked. So far." Lumberling spoke again, frowning. "Then the Sengolio Empire holds a massive advantage. If they’ve had mage allies and knowledge of the arcane from the start... Why didn’t they strike all those years ago? Why now?" Vaenyra didn’t answer at first. She knelt by the fire, adding a few thin twigs. Sparks drifted upward like glowing moths. She looked up at him. "Tell me, Lumberling. What do you think caused the Sengolio Empire to suddenly move now, after so long?" He folded his arms, gaze flicking between the three elves. "The history I’ve heard says the two empires have hated each other for a hundred years. Countless battles... border skirmishes... But this? This is different. It’s an all-out war. They’re throwing everything at us this time." He paused, his eyes narrowing as a realization dawned. "Wait... There’s a bigger reason, isn’t there?" Vaenyra gave a slight nod. "It’s true that hatred between empires runs deep," she said, voice calm but serious. "But hate alone cannot justify the cost of war on this scale, not unless there’s something they want. Something worth risking everything." Lumberling’s mind spun. "Then... your empire, the Aetherborn, you joined in because of that same reason?" Thessalia, lounging with one leg crossed, brushed her green hair behind an ear and answered smoothly, "Correct. If the cause were petty vengeance or land, we’d stay out of it. But this... this war is about something greater." Vaenyra stood now, facing him. Her emerald eyes reflected the flickering flame. "The Emperor of the Pentaline Empire, Aurex Draventh the Ninth," she said, voice low, "discovered an artifact. One that might lead beyond Knight Stage Five." Lumberling’s chest tightened. His heart kicked. "Beyond... Stage Five?" he echoed. That was supposed to be the peak of Knighthood. The ultimate limit. "Knight Stage Five," Thessalia said, "is a wall only gods could break. That thing... might be the key." Aurelya leaned in, resting her chin on her gloved hand. "Even our emperor, an Archmage said to rival a Stage Five Knight, has taken interest. Whatever it is, arcane or not, it tempts even the greatest." She lowered her voice. "No one truly knows what it does, only that both empires sealed it beneath the Obsidian Vaults long before this war. Some say it was never meant for mortal hands." Lumberling’s thoughts raced, not just for the war, but for himself. What would he become, standing beside gods? Would he be counted... or crushed? "And now," Thessalia added, her tone turning cold, "Sengolio fears what lies beyond. They couldn’t let Pentaline reach it first. And our empire... well, our scholars couldn’t ignore a discovery that might upend everything we know about power." Silence fell. Lumberling looked to the horizon where the shadows of trees danced. He imagined the empire aflame. A battlefield not just for armies, but for something greater, something that called to every warrior, every mage, every seeker of strength. He understood the temptation. That same hunger burned in him, too. Then his gaze shifted. He looked directly into Vaenyra’s eyes. Her beauty, regal and deadly, was undeniable, but it was the force behind those eyes that stirred him now. "What about you?" he asked with a quiet smile. "Aren’t you tempted by it too? The artifact. That kind of power?" Vaenyra stared back. She didn’t flinch. "I don’t believe in shortcuts," she said. "Artifacts, relics, borrowed strength, they can be stolen, broken, lost." Her voice hardened as her aura began to rise. "I will not rely on the bones of forgotten gods or trinkets dug from ruins. I will surpass even the Archmage. I will rise higher than any emperor. Not with borrowed power..." She lifted a hand. Sparks of silver-blue mana gathered around her fingers, swirling like stardust. The ground vibrated subtly. "but with my own." Her mana flared. For a moment, it was like standing before a rising sun. Thessalia and Aurelya smiled quietly, pride gleaming in their eyes. Lumberling watched, transfixed. Not just by her strength. But by the unshakable conviction she radiated. ’That gaze...’ It stirred something in him. ’Those eyes... are truly beautiful.’ He exhaled softly, as if grounding himself back to reality. This war, this world, was far larger than he imagined.