Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 47: Beyond

Arthur Leywin

I pivoted on my foot, bringing my sword up in a precise cut. The attack sheared through the golem's ribcage, spewing red liquid that mimicked blood. Turning, I dodged an axe blow from a rampaging 'general,' clothed in the same red and gray ensemble as the rest of its conjured army, only differentiated by the little crown on its head. Seeing an opening, I channeled a bolt of lightning in my offhand, letting it fly toward the general.

The general took the electric spell in the chest, convulsing as if it were made of flesh and not an incomprehensible construct of earth mana. Not willing to let the advantage go, I darted in, using the barest application of wind mana at my feet to aid me along. A thin coating of fire erupted over my practice blade, adding a searing edge to the weapon. When I decapitated the general, no red liquid flew.

Over the course of the last five months of training in Epheotus, Wren had forced me into dozens of different battlefield scenarios. I'd worked alongside 'commando operations,' trying to achieve certain objectives to maintain ground. I'd been a military tactician, holding and reinvigorating the morale of make-believe troops. Sometimes, I simply needed to cut down as many enemy golems as possible.

But the constant in this wartime training was the need to always be aware of everything around me.

I stomped my foot as the stone golem fell, sending earth mana into the ground. A few yards away, a small bump of rock protruded at my command just as one of the enemy golems was making to finish off those from my team.

The enemy golem stumbled over the sudden obstacle, losing its chance to kill my ally.

That cost it its 'life.' My ally golem, garbed in clothing that had the symbols of Elenoir, Sapin, and Darv in a triangular formation on the breast, managed to run its opponent through with a dagger to the armpit. Red liquid spewed from the wound before the enemy golem went down.

I absorbed all of this in barely a second. My eccentric asuran trainer was prickly and openly condescending toward humankind, but there was a true method to his madness. I was forced to fight for days on end, learning to conserve my mana and maximize my spell usage. Mana rotation could only take me so far when a battle of thousands raged.

I dove back into the battle, ignoring the mental fatigue that had accumulated over the past few hours. Constantly keeping track of an entire battlefield, trying to keep casualties at a minimum, and reinforcing weakening fronts was an exhausting task. But this had become routine to me.

Especially after the training ramped up.

My blade carved through the enemy forces like a scythe through wheat. Some of them ran from me, the earthen summons seemingly cowed by my presence. I let those turn tail: rarely did my own ally summons leave those be.

But I was caught off guard when, all of a sudden, every single golem halted as if caught in a bubble of frozen time. The deep crater Wren Kain called a training ground suddenly became a field of macabre statues, an entire battlefield petrified back to the stone they were at heart.

I hesitantly lowered my sword, a furrow creasing my brow. I absently thought this would have been the kind of art display the politicians of my life as King Grey would have adored. Severed limbs were suspended in midair, a static stream of red liquid mimicking blood. Looks of terror and rage were sketched across every sedimentary face, bloodlust and bloodletting sinking into every golem. The stench of iron and copper suffused the entire battlefield, attacking my nostrils and trying to burrow into my head.

A perfect depiction of the horrors of war. The Council of Etharia would adore such a brilliant still image. They would show this to the masses as an example of their dogma. After all, war caused casualties.