The Runic Alchemist

Chapter 129: Pawns of Fate

Was that all? A petty prince had caused all this? A war of thousands—for what? So he could parade around, showing off like a peacock? Was this the war they had been training for? Was this ridiculous excuse the reason the kind maid had died for?

Was it for this that Damian had lost the very few people who treated him like a human instead of a monster?

"Stand up, brat, show some respect!" Aramis barked, but Damian paid him no mind, remaining seated as he weighed the significance of everything he'd just heard.

"Leave him be," the elf commander said quietly, regaining her composure. Her expression returned to its cold, unreadable state. "He has no obligation to me. The rest of you, sit down. We need a plan."

"Isn't it simple?" Aramis suggested. "We attack their camp just like they did ours."

The pugilist Transcendent Seed nodded in agreement. Aramis sometimes came across as crafty, but moments like these showed he was every bit the apprentice of the Bone Crusher, a third-rank pugilist known for his brutal efficiency.

"The only way we stand a chance is if we make it an even fight—just us against their two third-rankers," Tristan began, laying out his plan. "If Lady Vidalia pins down one, and we ensure they can't escape—with the boy's help—we can cripple them enough to make them rethink any further attacks.

Then, we'll set up another camp near the entrance of the Dreaded Lands, smaller this time, so we can protect it with three defense mechanism pillars. From there, we can hold out until Bone Crusher arrives, and we'll call for reinforcements from inland."

Damian could not understand how to feel.. the war made no sense and yet he was forced to fight, if he didn't he was just a vegetable in a fight among the monsters. After his confrontation with Moondancer, they would undoubtedly be on high alert, perhaps even targeting him directly. It was like he was just a pawn in some game of fate, fighting battle after battle without truly understanding why.

And what about the others? They fought to defend their homeland, a noble cause on the surface. But what about the countless lives lost, the people who didn't even know why they were dying? It all seemed so wrong.

Without power, no one had the luxury of making real choices or even understanding the full scope of the conflict. There was nothing noble in that. The people were just pawns, too—pawns playing a deadly game where the Ashenvale third-rankers were protected by an absurd treaty while they, the soldiers of Eldoris and Ashenvale, were mere prey, struggling to survive.

They pinned their hopes on Vidalia somehow overpowering the enemy, but how realistic was that? She was a mage, excellent warrior but still a support class, and though she had survived so far, how could she truly defeat two seasoned third-rankers?

Damian finally understood why the third-rankers of Ashenvale weren't taking the war seriously. They didn't need to. They had yet to launch an all-out assault or gang up on Vidalia, and they could probably take her down if they tried. It was all just a game to them.

"That seems like our only option," the old second ranker veteran agreed with Tristan's plan, and the others nodded as well.

"How do we separate them from their army and the waygate, though?" Esme asked, highlighting the most critical part of the strategy.

"The waygate tool should be down right now," the pugilist added.

"But they'll be protected by their army. We don't even have eyes inside their camp," Esme countered.

Damian listened, only half-engaged. He had accepted the situation for what it was. The reasons for the battle had changed, but his goal remained the same: survive. Initially, he had considered helping Eldoris. Despite their treatment of him, they were fighting a defensive war, just trying to protect their homeland. But now?

Now, he had lost even the faintest shred of reason to fight for them. It wasn't their fault, of course, but neither was it the fault of the thousands who had died last night. Yet, they had paid the price.

The blame lay with everyone. How could they have allowed such a situation to unfold? Why had they signed such an absurd treaty? Why was the Empire making everyone's life a living hell? And how could the nobles of Ashenvale be so shameless as to entertain the whims of a deranged prince? None of it made sense, but then again, this world had never made sense.

Peace was an illusion here. The strong oppressed the weak, and innocents suffered for nothing more than a whim or a show of arrogance. Was living selfishly the only way to survive in this world? It sure seemed that way. Was his hope to solve major problems of this world with science and runes, just naïve thoughts of a young boy..? They will always find some reasons to fight, no matter what...

"Maximus... Maximus..."

"Huh?" Damian snapped out of his thoughts. He had tuned out the conversation around him, only realizing it when someone called his name.

"Can you do it?" Tristan asked.

"Do what?" Damian had no idea what he was talking about.

"If we give you all the parchments and mana ink we have in this camp, can you create something to make us reach the heart of their camp faster? I have an ancient runic relic that acts as a mini defense mechanism for about 100 meters radius. It can't take much damage, though." Tristan, seeing Damian's confusion, repeated the key points.

Enough was enough. All his thoughts about reasons and peace were pointless. At the end of the day, what mattered was who hit harder and who survived one more day. Damian wasn't going to become part of this miserable system, but he also wasn't about to bow down and take it. If he had no choice but to fight, then he would show these bastards what real fighting looked like.