Chapter 612: Flames of War
At the outskirts of the Greatwood Pass, Solderin and his Steel Rangers were closing in on a small town.
Their vanguard’s multi-purpose war vehicles came to a halt just outside the settlement. These sturdy ironclad machines served as mobile shield generators and power stations, establishing a temporary stronghold atop a nearby stone outcrop. One ranger climbed onto the roof of a vehicle, pressing a mechanism on the side of his sealed helmet.
The crystal lenses embedded in his visor glowed red as magical energy activated them. He scanned the town with his magic-detection sight, then switched the lenses to blue—the second-generation “Hawkeye” enhancement sharpening his vision. Instantly, countless details within the town became clear.
After a brief observation, a muffled voice came through the helmet comms: “Commander, there are wandering crystal cluster-infected here. Magic signatures are evident everywhere.”
“The entire town’s infected…” Solderin’s face darkened. “Looks like we’ve entered a contaminated zone. We can’t push forward.”
“No sign of the Eastern Legion or the Kingdom’s army along the way,” the ranger reported. “Could they have been wiped out?”
“Impossible to say for sure,” Solderin replied grimly. “The noble forces may be weak, but they still have a fair number of gifted individuals. Total annihilation isn’t likely. Maybe they’ve abandoned the wilderness and are holding out in the big cities, or perhaps they’re still locked in battle with the crystal cluster-infected further north…”
Though he spoke with authority, Solderin felt little confidence inside.
As a high-ranking ranger who had lived through the Great Expansion seven centuries ago, he found this situation far more complicated than anything he’d faced before.
The strange “Divine Blight” and the overwhelming number of crystal cluster-infected hindered intelligence gathering. Even with his elite Steel Rangers, he couldn’t be sure what lay deeper within the contamination zone.
Seven centuries ago, humanity fought across wastelands where the only concern was whether reinforcements or safe zones existed ahead. Battles were brutal and straightforward—charge through or perish. The relentless magical tide behind left no room for hesitation. But here… everything was more complex.
Solderin analyzed the intelligence gathered over recent days while other rangers continued to observe the town. This was their first time witnessing a large gathering of crystal cluster-infected outside of a skirmish—a rare chance to study their behavior.
Soon, the soldiers noticed something troubling.
“Commander, these ‘monsters’… they seem organized.”
Solderin paused, then activated his own Hawkeye vision, focusing on the town.
Just as the soldiers had seen, the infected were not aimlessly wandering. They moved with purpose. Towering individuals appeared to be directing them. Solderin observed groups of infected collaborating to carry objects, patrolling and standing guard throughout the town—behavior never seen during previous wild encounters.
Frowning, he recalled more details: even in chaotic battles before, the infected had shown signs of coordination and command.
They seemed to retain some level of cognition.
If that was true, the situation was far worse—they weren’t just mindless monsters driven mad by infection.
These crystal cluster-infected were an army.
As he pondered this, the scene in the town shifted suddenly.
The infected gathered on the western edge grew restless. Several massive crystal giants appeared, quickly assembling a sizable force that charged northwest, leaving the town behind.
Driven by curiosity, Solderin followed their path with his vision. At the horizon, he spotted rising smoke and flashes of magical energy—battle had erupted.
“Possible survivors—mount up!”
As dusk fell, the towering gates of the Southern Border Fortress finally came into view.
Belk halted on the open plain, the warming spring breeze brushing against his face as he gazed toward the distant mountains and the imposing fortress standing proudly among them.
A mottled horse stood nervously beside him, pawing at the ground and snorting.
Belk had “picked up” the horse along the way—its owner likely fled, leaving the poor beast to wander the wilderness. It was no match for his former steed, or even the army’s warhorses, but it had been a great help during the grueling latter half of his journey, significantly shortening his travel time.
Perhaps sensing the journey’s end, Belk felt a sudden lightness. Smiling, he patted the horse’s neck and joked, “You’ve earned yourself almost a knight’s title.”
The horse snorted again, shaking its head slightly.
Belk nodded in good spirits, swung himself into the saddle, and urged his silent companion onward toward the fortress.
He knew he was passing near the lands of Count Pomber but had no intention of meeting the plains noble or stopping in any nearby village. Partly to save time and avoid complications, but mostly because he didn’t feel tired.
Despite days of travel with little rest, he felt no exhaustion.
He vaguely remembered once feeling weary—but that seemed like a long time ago.
The horse trotted steadily over the flat plains, the refreshing wind invigorating Belk’s spirit. A strange sense of anticipation and joy welled up inside him, easing his mind. As the fortress walls loomed closer, the young marquis began planning his next steps—
First, he would pass through the fortress and enter Rockhold City. He needed to inform Sir Walder of the events at Greatwood Pass, to warn the Southern Border’s rulers. Greatwood Pass, Sorinfort, Sorinfort…
Suddenly, a flicker of confusion crossed Belk’s eyes.
What exactly had happened at Greatwood Pass? And Sorinfort?
He faltered briefly, but quickly brushed it off. He no longer cared about the details—only that his mission was to reach the Southern Border, to warn them, to deliver an urgent message. Given his status and the importance of the news, he would undoubtedly be received personally by Duke Gawain Cecil…
This thought surged through him, overwhelming his mind. Then, in a sudden flash, an image appeared in his increasingly hazy consciousness.
A pair of eyes—bright, familiar eyes—flashed through his mind.
In that instant, Belk snapped fully awake.
His heart pounded wildly, breath coming fast. Sweat dripped down his neck as fragmented memories scrambled to reassemble, causing a splitting headache. Amid the chaos, he felt a burning heat in his chest.
Instinctively, he reached inside his cloak and grasped a small, warming object—a talisman of the War God.
This powerful charm, blessed at the highest level and imbued with fixed divine magic to awaken its wearer’s spirit, was radiating increasing heat. Along with the warmth came surges of energy, washing over Belk’s mind, reshaping it. Slowly, the shattered memories began to piece together.
He recalled the thick fog over Sorinfort, the strange events at Greatwood Pass, and the owner of those eyes.
At the end of all the memories, he heard the last word spoken by the prince he had sworn loyalty to:
“Run.”
A thunderous roar echoed in his mind as Belk fully regained clarity—and realized the truth behind his strange days—
He had been driven here by a compulsion—not his own.
He had actively or passively avoided all signs of civilization, as if trying to evade interference or capture.
He had escaped the most contaminated areas with ease—almost no pursuit.
He was being controlled.
Belk yanked the reins hard, bringing the mottled horse to a stop.
He looked up at the fortress walls, feeling the phantom pull of false hopes and urges rising in his mind. But this time, he forced those alien thoughts down.
He dismounted, clutching the War God’s talisman tightly. Its sharp edges cut into his palm, drawing blood. In the sunlight, the droplets shimmered with tiny crystalline sparkles.
At that moment, Belk understood—he had become an infection source. A high-level warrior’s body serving as a vessel, perfectly disguised as human, but the most dangerous kind of carrier.
The talisman’s heat began to fade as its stored power drained. His clear consciousness wavered again, and the suppressed, alien thoughts struggled to reclaim control.
He lifted his gaze toward the fortress, struggling to think clearly. Only one thought was crystal clear: he must warn them.
Time was running out.
Scanning his surroundings, Belk drew his ancestral longsword.
He approached a nearby boulder, raised the blade, and scraped it across the stone, sending chips flying—
“Greatwood Pass is shrouded in plague. Prince Edmond has been cursed and controlled. The Eastern Legion may be wiped out…
“Main contamination zones concentrated at…
“Beware plague carriers disguised as humans—their blood contains crystals.”
Lowering the sword, Belk looked at the message he had left, a faint pride swelling within him.
Though he had stumbled through Greatwood Pass in a daze, he still remembered the areas where the crystal giants gathered. This intelligence… might prove useful.
Having done all he could, he turned to glance once more at the fortress’s towering walls, then looked down at the mottled horse that had carried him through the final stretch, offering a faint smile—
“Run.”
Confronted by the sudden surge of overwhelming pressure, the dappled horse let out a sharp, piercing neigh before turning sharply and galloping off into the distance.
Belk exhaled deeply, planting his longsword firmly into the ground to steady himself. He stood tall, eyes fixed on the eastern horizon.
“So far away…”
Two seconds later, a towering pillar of magical flame erupted into the sky—so immense and bright that it was clearly visible even from the Rockhold Fortress, illuminating half the heavens.
(End of chapter)