THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Eowyn's crimson eyes scanned the area intensely, each detail sharper than ever before, but something about the 5th section of the Deadlands felt off. It was different from what he'd studied, different from what he'd mapped himself. The natural energy around the land seemed too precise, too controlled. The flow was unnaturally perfect, an eerie sense of artificiality creeping into his gut.

"What the hell did you drink? Look at you—your eyes are fucking disgusting," Galadriel snapped, her face twisted in disgust as she observed Eowyn's transformation.

Eowyn's brow twitched at her words, annoyed but not entirely surprised. He had, after all, downed a vial of Mystic Mists—a concoction made from the essence of small poisonous creatures. The potion heightened one's senses and vision to extraordinary levels, but there was a catch. If he didn't buy the cure for the lingering afterpoison within a few hours, he'd go blind. It was a risk he was willing to take, but the side effects clearly unsettled Galadriel.

"Just fix this, woman!" Eowyn spat as he strode toward her, ignoring her grimace as she took a step back.

"Why the hell are you coming toward me like that?" she complained, her irritation seeping into every word. But despite her distaste for his attitude, Galadriel wasn't about to let her chance at bathing in a clean stream slip away. She sighed and reluctantly began the process of removing the poison from his system. Stretching out her hands, she combined two spells: [Probe] and [Metamorphic].

A delicate structure of mana formed around Eowyn, shimmering briefly as it worked to neutralize the toxins. He could feel the poison retreating, the pressure behind his eyes easing as Galadriel's spell took effect. Finally, the poison vanished completely, leaving him feeling lighter, more in control.

"Now, the end of our bargain," Galadriel demanded, her tone cool and firm. She wasn't about to let him off the hook without holding him to his word.

Eowyn sighed, rolling his eyes, about to respond when a voice interrupted.

"I thought you guys were in a rush," Filius said, his deep voice cutting through the tension. He lumbered over, wiping the blood from his axe after having just finished skinning the thunder bear. His bulging muscles and imposing figure made his presence impossible to ignore. "And what bargain are you two talking about?"

Eowyn glanced at Galadriel before turning back to Filius with a grin. "Oh, nothing much, just a little deal to make this cursed trip more bearable." Enjoy reading at m v-le-mp-yr

Filius grunted, unimpressed. "We don't have time for your games. We need to move."

Eowyn's sharp gaze lingered on the surrounding landscape, something still gnawing at him about the unnatural energy flow. He turned to Filius, who was cleaning his axe, the thick blood of the thunder bear staining the ground beneath him.

"We'll start moving after I confirm something," Eowyn said, his tone serious.

Galadriel, already irritated, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Confirm what, exactly? We've been here long enough, Eowyn. If you don't know the way—"

"Shut it, mage," Eowyn cut her off, completely ignoring her growing frustration. Instead, he focused on Filius, the brute of a swordsman who was eyeing him with mild curiosity. "Think you can destroy this dead forest? About 200 meters worth of it?"

Filius straightened, a gleam of interest flickering in his eyes. "You want me to clear that?" He pointed towards the dense, withered forest ahead, the skeletal remains of trees casting long shadows over the barren land.

Eowyn nodded. "Yeah. I need to see what's beyond it. Something's off here, and I don't like it."

Galadriel opened her mouth to protest again, but Filius raised a hand to silence her. "Fine. I'll handle it," he said with a grunt, gripping his massive axe, the muscles in his arms flexing as he prepared for the task.

Eowyn grinned, stepping back to let the force of Filius's power do the talking.

"Everyone, stand back!" Eowyn commanded, his voice sharp as he scanned the company of cavalry. The soldiers quickly obeyed, pulling the reins of their horses and retreating a safe distance. Their steeds trotted back, the tension in the air palpable. Eowyn's eyes flicked to Galadriel, who was visibly irritated, her lips pursed in frustration.

"If you don't want to get blown away, I suggest you shield yourself or something," Eowyn teased, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Galadriel, clearly fuming, glared at him but, not wanting to be caught off guard by Filius's display of power, quietly began casting a protective spell.

Raising both hands, Galadriel summoned two towering pillars of energy that shot up from the ground, radiating yellow mana. The magic pulsed softly, enveloping the company in a shield as they watched Filius prepare his strike.

Filius, a brute of a man with muscles rippling under his light armor, gripped his massive axe with both hands. He adjusted his stance, his fingers twitching as his body began to glow with a vibrant orange aura. His intense focus gave off the impression of an unstoppable force waiting to be unleashed. Eowyn stepped back, keeping a close eye on the surrounding forest. Something was wrong here, and he had to confirm his suspicions.

"[Burst]!" Filius roared, his voice echoing through the dead forest as his aura condensed into the tip of his axe. With a violent swing, he unleashed a massive wave of energy that tore through the air like a feral beast, crashing into the forest ahead with raw, destructive power.

The ground trembled, and a blinding flash of light consumed the area, but the sound of trees breaking never came. As the light faded and the dust settled, the men looked on in stunned silence.

"What in the hell is going on?" one of the cavalrymen stammered, eyes wide with disbelief. They all stared at the forest, expecting devastation—trees toppled, ground sundered, chaos. But nothing. The forest remained completely untouched, as if Filius's attack had never happened.

Filius lowered his axe, his breath heavy, the confusion clear on his face. His attack should have obliterated at least 200 meters, yet nothing had been harmed.

"As I thought!" Eowyn's voice rang out, cutting through the bewilderment. His sharp eyes gleamed as he strode forward, the puzzle pieces falling into place. "There's something unnatural at play here. An illusion, or worse, a barrier. We're being toyed with."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, realizing that the Deadlands held far more dangerous secrets than they had ever anticipated.

"Wrong," Galadriel's voice cut through the confusion, firm and resolute as she dismounted her horse. Her gaze swept over the untouched forest, her brow furrowed in thought. "Someone's manipulating space—either a powerful spatial artifact or magic of an unparalleled scale," she confessed, her tone carrying a gravity that made even the bravest in the company feel uneasy. The air around her seemed to shift, as if her presence alone could bend the forces at play.

Eowyn, standing beside her, knew well to trust her judgment. "What do you think we should do?" he asked, deferring to her expertise. Galadriel Medusla, a 7th-class mage and vice master of the research institute at Aragorn Spire, was renowned for her mastery over magic. She had the ability to alter the very fabric of reality, molding it to her will in a controlled, precise manner. Her prowess was unparalleled.

"I'll see what I can do," Galadriel replied, her voice steady yet laced with determination. Without wasting another moment, she extended her hands, pulling at the intricate threads of mana that filled the air. The energy swirled around her, shimmering like ethereal strands of silk, growing into stacked hexagonal circles inscribed with ancient sigils. Each one glowed with a radiant light, forming a complex structure in front of her.

The rest of the company watched, mesmerized. Even Filius, ever the brute warrior, found himself entranced by the sheer skill and artistry of her magic. Galadriel moved her hands as though solving a delicate puzzle, manipulating the circles with precision and focus. The more she delved into the spell, the more she sensed the layers of spatial manipulation that concealed the true nature of their surroundings.

"There's an intricate web of spatial magic at work here," Galadriel murmured, her eyes narrowing as she traced the invisible threads. "If I can't alter its properties, I can at least reveal what's hidden."

With a deep breath, she prepared her next spell. "[Arda Menel]," she whispered, her voice carrying a command that resonated through the air. The space around them shimmered, as though the very fabric of reality had been twisted and distorted. Then, in an instant, a tear appeared in the world before them—a jagged rip in reality, exposing something far more sinister.

"This... can't be good," Filius muttered under his breath, his voice unusually soft for the brute he was. Even he could feel the weight of the revelation. The rest of the company shared his sentiment, staring in awe and dread at the exposed tear, realizing that whatever lay beyond was far more dangerous than they had ever anticipated.

The Deadlands were not what they seemed. And now, the real threat had begun to reveal itself.