B3 - Chapter 25: Elite Soldiers

Jaxar noticed Seth and Marine approaching, and his head snapped toward them with a predatory sharpness. The King's grandson tried to force a smile, but the expression felt brittle and hollow against his haughty features.

"Jaxar," Marine said, her own grin broad and effortless. She wore the convivial mask perfectly, like a second skin, eyes sparkling with a warmth Seth knew was entirely fabricated.

Jaxar ignored her, his focus locked onto Seth. The unmistakable chill that accompanied Identify spread through his Well.

"So, this is the famous Seth," Jaxar drawled. His voice dripped with heavy sarcasm that would fool no one. "The Primalist who terrorized the Empire all on his own."

Seth held his composure, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction. He looked toward Henry and Eddin, noting the tension in their shoulders. "You guys good?"

"Yeah," Henry answered before bowing slightly in Jaxar's direction. "Sergeant Linster was simply asking some questions about you."

Sergeant Linster, Seth repeated inwardly. The King had clearly provided his grandson the military rank to ensure his bloodline could give as many orders as he wanted.

"It's a bit impolite to ignore me and speak to them instead," Jaxar said, his tone sharpening.

Seth turned back, forcing a sheepish smile. "My apologies, Sergeant. You know what they say about us Primalists. Sometimes the wild makes us forget our manners."

"So the folktales are true," Jaxar replied as he stepped closer until he was within arm's reach. "That just means you should be careful. The Empress may not be able to teach you about respect, but there are plenty of people within this nation who can."

'That bastard,' Nightmare snarled through the Link. 'I'll tear his throat out and paint the field with his blood.'

'Relax,' Seth replied inwardly, mildly surprised by how easily he himself found his calm.

"I'll be sure to remember that, Sergeant," Seth said aloud.

He began to walk past the royal heir, heading toward Henry and Eddin with the intention of ending the exchange there.

"I wasn't finished."

Jaxar's sharp voice cut through the field behind Seth.

He stopped mid-step and closed his eyes for a second, resisting the urge to fuel the confrontation, then turned back slowly.

"What else can I do for you, Sergeant?"

Jaxar folded his arms across his immaculate uniform. "I want you to fight your next battle without your beasts."

Seth's brows drew together, his composure finally cracking into a hard frown. "And why exactly would I do that?"

"Because using them makes our nation look weak." A sneer that hid absolutely no intention crept on Jaxar's face. "We can't be relying on beasts instead of fighting fair and square. And"—he paused as a cold light danced in his gaze—"because I ordered you to."

Seth shot Marine a sharp glance, a silent prompt for her to step in. If he actually agreed to this idiot's demand, her grandfather could end up losing a Legacy. And it was certainly the goal behind this theatrical performance.

Yet before she could say a word, Jaxar let out a mocking laugh. "What's this?" he said. "Looking to the damsel to save you, Primalist?"

"No," Nightmare's voice rippled out of Seth's necklace with a menacing growl. "He's looking for her to intervene before I rip your heart out."

A whirl of black smoke erupted from the teardrop, and aether coiled violently as Nightmare surged forth. Dark smoke curled from the direwolf's maws with a snarl, his crimson eyes locked onto Jaxar.

The King's heir took a stumbling step back, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "Control your damn beast, Primalist, or I'll kill it where it stands!"

"Are you confident he'll be the one who dies first, Sergeant?" Seth raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure he'd be executed afterward, but you wouldn't be around to see it."

Jaxar's face flushed with a deep, angry purple. "And you'd be executed alongside him!"

"But you said it yourself, didn't you?" Seth tilted his head and frowned. "I lost control of him. Would his actions really be my fault?"

Jaxar clenched his fist and stepped forward, aether starting to flare around him. "You—"

Before the king's grandson could finish the threat, a voice came from the left.

"What is going on here?"

Seth looked in that direction and saw Captain Michaelson approaching, Sergeant Tirus at his side.

The towering man moved with stiff military precision; his broad frame was wrapped in a deep-blue formal coat lined with intricate gold and silver braiding at the cuffs and collar. Heavy medallions swayed against his chest with each step, catching the fading light like his bald head.

"Nothing serious, Captain," Seth said flatly, stepping back to stand beside the still-bristling direwolf. "Sergeant Linster was just asking me not to use my beasts in our next few battles. It seems he offended Nightmare. You know how that silly direwolf is—he gets angry easily."

Captain Michaelson let a deep frown crack his stern face and looked at Jaxar. "Why would we deprive ourselves of one of our greatest assets in those battles, Sergeant? That is a laughable order."

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Jaxar didn't flinch, though his jaw tightened. He jabbed a finger toward Nightmare, whose shadow was still coiling aggressively around his paws. "A wild beast like that brings us no honor on the battlefield."

"Honor doesn't save any lives in there, Sergeant," Michaelson retorted, obvious anger rising in his voice. "Seth's beasts do. We are here to win a war, not perform."

Jaxar's face contorted. He looked at the stern man, then back at Seth, his hands shaking with an anger he couldn't quite vent in front of a superior officer. With a huff, he spun on his heel. "We're leaving," he snapped to his two companions. The duo followed close behind, their own pretentious demeanor dampened by the Captain's arrival.

As the King's grandson strode away, Seth's eyes moved to Marine.

He said nothing, only held her gaze, letting the silence settle between them. Yet the silent message was clear: 'Tell the marshal.' He didn't want to have to fight the royalty along with the Empire.

Marine's usual smirk thinned at the edges, then disappeared entirely. She avoided his eyes, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her leather bracer before she offered a shallow, barely perceptible nod.

Seth took a deep breath and threw his consciousness inside the teardrop necklace.

Colossus was pacing in the desert-like environment, his stone shell grinding with the tension he'd felt through the Link. Lumi, however, was completely at ease. Since she wasn't yet bound to Seth, the little otter remained oblivious to the hostility outside, floating happily in the Pocket-Realm.

Captain Michaelson looked back at Seth and shook his head. "Why does trouble always seem to find you, boy?"

Before Seth could open his mouth, Marine stepped forward, her angelic mask slipping back into place. "It's because he's so special, Captain. People just can't help but notice him."

Seth shot her a sharp glare. "Or it's because people can't seem to leave me alone, regardless of how much I try to avoid them."

Captain Michaelson raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. "How was the hunt, Seth?" Sergeant Tirus asked, stepping up beside the Captain. "Not too tired?"

"It was great," Seth answered before stretching and recalling Nightmare into his necklace. "And no need to worry about fatigue. These last few days were like a vacation for me."

"Great. Let's get you to the commanding tent, then. We need to brief you on everything we've prepared for your next battle. The strategies have changed."

Seth nodded, then cast one last glance at Marine, who was giving him an awkward smile.

"See you around, Seth," she said, in an unusually soft voice. "And... sorry again."

Seth grimaced at those last words, the apology feeling out of place. He didn't answer and turned instead to follow Sergeant Tirus and Captain Michaelson toward the nearby tent.

The morning sun gave no warmth as Seth marched toward the Warfare Rifts, his boots striking the ground in near-perfect rhythm with the rest of the squad.

Henry moved on his left side, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade, while Eddin walked on the other. Behind them came Selena, nine new recruits, and the thirty-seven survivors from their last battle.

There should have been one more.

A third-year academy student named Uras had made it out alive—but two nights ago, under the cover of darkness, he had deserted, choosing the chance of public execution over the certainty of what waited beyond the portal.

No one in the squad spoke his name, but the understanding was loud enough.

The man didn't believe Seth could pull off another miracle and save them a second time.

Nearby, three other squads were converging on the same destination. Unlike Seth's unit, these were veteran Adventurers, their average Rank sitting just above forty—a small blessing that meant Henry and Eddin wouldn't have to shoulder the entire front line alone.

Over the past week, Henry and the other squad leaders had worked out a joint strategy alongside Captain Michaelson and Sergeant Tirus.

Using the spoils from their last victory, Toren had spent every spare hour forging four new arcane cannons. The heavy artillery now rested inside the Endless Pouch at each squad leader's belt, packed alongside crates of shells, warding artifacts, and bombs.

During the final briefing, Captain Michaelson and Sergeant Tirus had been unusually restrained. The two men outlined contingencies for different terrains and likely enemy responses, but their final words to Seth had caught him off guard: they trusted his instincts.

Once the battle began, it would be he who decided how he would fight in there and where Nightmare and Colossus could make the greatest impact. Henry had agreed without hesitation.

After all, Seth had nearly won the first battle on his own.

Henry glanced sideways, brow furrowing. "Are you ever going to tell us the truth about the green eyes, Seth?"

Seth didn't turn his head, his focus remaining on the neutral zone behind the hill ahead. Eddin leaned in from the other side, as if his ear pricked for the answer.

"My natural eyes could cause trouble when I'm around certain officers from the Empire," Seth finally responded. "So I'm taking extra precaution."

"Trouble, huh?" Henry went quiet for a moment, then gave a grunt. "If those eyes bother them that much, maybe we should make sure those Empire's scum get a real close look before they die."

A few of the nearby soldiers let out chuckles before the mood settled again.

The group continued their march, the neutral zone of the plain opening up before them. Ten hovering portals stood like lopsided wounds in the center of the clearing, pulsing with a rhythmic light.

Seth's eyes swept across the familiar staging grounds.

To the left, the royal elevated observation post stood empty, its polished platform abandoned beneath fluttering banners—a fitting monument to a greedy king who held neither pride nor respect for his own people.

Across the field, the opposite side told a different story. The Empress was present as always. She stood like a cold, immovable statue amidst the disciplined motion of her assembled legions, waves of aether rolling around her ranks like a living tide.

Near the middle of the plain hovered the Spirit with his formless shape, accompanied by only one NEVAK officer: the woman who had tried to kill Seth two weeks ago.

Seth's gaze landed on the floating war summary beside them.

BRIDAN EMPIRE: 312 DEATHS | 36 CAPTURED

KINGDOM OF KASTAL: 1236 DEATHS | 0 CAPTURED

Seth's jaw clenched. Nearly four times their losses.

One thousand two hundred thirty-six Iron Wielders dead. Men and women with families and friends. Lives gone in less than three weeks.

All for nothing.

His eyes shifted to the contribution rankings displayed beside the casualty count.

KINGDOM OF KASTAL:

1. Seth – 2700 points

2. Damon Ryehill – 650 points

3. Minella Chester – 600 points

4. Saede - 500 points

5. Fernand - 500 points [Deceased]

Only two nobles stand in the top five, Seth thought. Seems like most of them still haven't entered the battles.

The higher-ups were waiting before sending the nobility in—gauging enemy squads, searching for favorable matchups before risking those precious people.

Even so, the whole idea was absurd.

Squad compositions could be altered by twenty percent each battle. The strongest soldiers could be rotated in again and again, taking part in repeated fights. Under normal circumstances, Seth would have expected the officers to pressure him into doing exactly that.

But not now.

Not with the wager between the King and Marine's grandfather, the Marshal.

Legacies would go to the highest contributors, which meant the more battles Seth fought, the stronger his claim became—something the King would never allow if he could help it.

Instead, the greedy man was likely searching for the weakest enemy squads and sending Jaxar against them. He would then repeat the process until the prince and the others climbed the rankings and secured the top spots.

Just as Seth was about to sigh in frustration, his gaze shifted to the Empire's rankings, and his eyes widened.

1. Morsh – 7050 points

2. Jaz of Ryswell – 5850 points

3. Celess of Solaria - 5675 points

4. Elysha of Spyre - 1700 points

5. Kaelen - 1300 points