THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The Solarian Empire, a vast and powerful realm made up of seven counties, was ruled by the 21st queen of the Valeria Helios bloodline. Her reign, known for both its strength and subtlety, commanded respect across all the lands. Recently, however, an unsettling mystery had arisen, and the queen had turned her gaze to the Valhalla Adventurer's Guild in Aethelwarin County.

Under a royal commission, Valhalla was tasked with investigating the Deadlands, a desolate and dangerous region, to explore beyond its 5th section—an area shrouded in peril and obscurity. The investigation was spurred by a speculation from the Aragorn Spire, the most esteemed institution of magic and knowledge in the empire, suggesting the presence of a new energy source, one that had never been seen before.

The very idea was revolutionary. In the world of Ternion, energy was classified into six known types:

Lumini Essence

, a radiant force tied to light and purity;

Vortex Aether

, a chaotic and untamed energy drawn from the elemental void;

Verdant Spirit

, the life-giving essence of nature;

Pristine Ether

, the rarest form of spiritual energy;

Arcane

, the volatile combustion of mana that specialist and warriors wielded; and of course,

Mana

, the most common, yet fundamental, energy that empowered both magical and physical feats used by mages. The possibility of a seventh type of energy intrigued scholars and warriors alike, but it also struck a chord of fear—what unknown force could exist in the forsaken wastelands of the Deadlands?

Valhalla, bound by its royal charter, had no choice but to heed the queen's command. While they were granted certain freedoms, such as tax exemptions and operational independence, they were still obligated to serve as an extension of the empire's military when summoned. Thus, the order was clear: they had to venture into the Deadlands, risking both life and sanity to uncover this elusive energy.

The Guild wasted no time. Their most elite forces were assembled for the mission. Two S-class adventurers, the highest rank known for their unmatched strength and skill, were at the helm. They were flanked by a 7th circle mage sent directly from Aragorn Spire, a mage whose power rivalled that of the highest mana construction practitioners in the land. Along with them was a cavalry unit of A-class adventurers, skilled fighters with years of experience, and B-class adventurers, dependable and strong, though less seasoned than their counterparts. Together, they formed a formidable company, ready to face whatever horrors lurked in the Deadlands.

Their journey led them past Isenthal County, the last bastion of human civilization before the Deadlands began. Beyond it lay a landscape twisted by centuries of decay, where nature had long since withered and the very air seemed thick with malice. As the group ventured deeper, tension ran high. The promise of a new energy was thrilling, but the Deadlands had a way of swallowing hope and replacing it with fear. The stakes were high, and the future of the empire could very well depend on what they found—or didn't find—beyond the 5th section.

****

Eowyn, an S-class adventurer renowned for his skills in thievery and exploration, sat hunched on his horse, staring intently at the personal map he had painstakingly cartographed. The intricate parchment was detailed up to the 7th section of the Deadlands, but their current location in the 5th section, ominously named

Dread Hollow

, gnawed at him. This place had earned its name after the ill-fated voyage during the reign of the 20th Queen, where many had ventured and few had returned. A flicker of impatience crossed Eowyn's sharp features as his fingers traced the landmarks, frustration brewing beneath his calm exterior.

"Hey, Filius, we don't have all day!" Eowyn's voice cut through the eerie silence of the Deadlands, his brown hair brushing his shoulders as he turned to face the source of his irritation. Filius, the second S-class adventurer, was preoccupied with skinning the hide of a massive

A-class thunder bear

he had taken down himself. A brute of a man, Filius was a king swordsman and axe wielder whose raw power matched his imposing stature. His muscles bulged under his sparse armour—only his broad shoulders were protected by metal, with a single leather strap crossing his chest to hold it all in place.

"I'm almost fuckin' done, give me a damn second!" Filius grunted, not looking up from his work. His hands were slick with the thunder bear's blood as he methodically peeled away the hide, hoping to fetch a good price in

Terran gold

for such a rare trophy. The bear's fur shimmered faintly, even in death, evidence of the beast's once-powerful electric aura. Filius' face, smudged with blood, was a mask of concentration as he carved through the thick pelt.

Eowyn stroked his beard thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back to the map. Something was off. "Strange," he muttered under his breath, "I'm sure we should have seen the mark I left." A knot of unease tightened in his chest. The terrain wasn't adding up as it should, and the further they went, the more the land seemed to twist and play tricks on their senses.

"How long until we find the route to the sixth section?" Galadriel Medusla's voice interrupted his thoughts. She sat lazily on her horse, resting her head against its neck as though it were a pillow, her tone laced with annoyance. The mage had little patience for delays, especially in a place as cursed as the Deadlands. Her blue cloak fluttered faintly in the dry, stagnant air, her dark hair tucked neatly beneath her hood. Her brown skin gleamed in the pale light, a stark contrast to the bleakness surrounding them.

"We've been stuck in this forsaken place for a month," she grumbled inwardly, her frustration growing with each passing day. Despite Eowyn's reputation, Galadriel was beginning to doubt his abilities. "Maybe the Guild exaggerated his skills," she mused, watching him closely. They were supposed to be the elite, yet progress felt slow and uncertain.

Eowyn, feeling the weight of their expectations, glanced at the horizon. Dread Hollow was living up to its name, and something told him they were far from safe.

Eowyn dismounted his horse, boots sinking slightly into the dry, cracked earth. His instincts had never failed him before, but something about this place felt twisted, off-kilter, as though the land itself was trying to mislead them from the path to the sixth section of the Deadlands. He glanced toward Galadriel, her dark hair tucked neatly under her hood, her expression cold and distant.

"Should I use that?" Eowyn thought to himself, weighing the option as his eyes lingered on the mage.

"What?" Galadriel's voice cut through the silence, her sharp gaze catching him in the act of staring.

"Say, mage," Eowyn began, choosing his words carefully, "you got any spells for poison?"

Galadriel's brows furrowed, irritation simmering in her tone. "Why?"

Sensing her rising frustration, Eowyn played it cool, letting a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. "I might have a way to get us to the sixth section faster," he said, scratching his head as if trying to recall a vague memory. "And, if I'm not mistaken, there's a stream of clear water somewhere along that route." He let the idea hang in the air for a moment, knowing full well the group hadn't bathed in over a month. It was a small temptation, but one that could sway even the most stoic of companions.

Galadriel's eyes sparked with interest at the mention of water. "I'm not particularly skilled with healing magic," she admitted, her tone softening just a fraction, "but I can alter the nature of poison—turn it into something else."

Eowyn's smirk grew into a full grin. "Damn, that's a neat trick," he thought to himself, impressed by her capability. Without wasting any time, he pulled a small vial from his utility belt. The liquid inside shimmered, dark and foreboding. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and downed the contents in one gulp.

Almost immediately, his body reacted. His eyes turned a deep crimson, veins bulging grotesquely around them in shades of purple. The transformation was swift and jarring, enough to catch Galadriel's attention. Her cold exterior faltered for a moment, eyes widening as she observed the shift in his appearance.

"What the hell did you just drink?" she demanded, suspicion thick in her voice.

Eowyn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the familiar rush of power surge through him. "Nothing to worry about, mage," he said, his voice low and rough. "Just a little something to sharpen my senses." He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension ease from his muscles as the world around him sharpened. Every rock, every gust of wind, every small shift in the shadows came into startling clarity.

He took a deep breath, his heightened senses scanning the surroundings, searching for the hidden path that had eluded them. "There's something out there," he muttered, more to himself than to Galadriel. "Something that doesn't want us to find the way."

Galadriel crossed her arms, watching him warily. "You sure this will work?"

Experience tales at m-vl-e-mpyr

Eowyn's crimson eyes flickered toward her, a dark grin playing on his lips. "If it doesn't, we're all dead anyway. Might as well take the risk."