CHAPTER 128: CALM YOUNG MINDS

Inside the battered carriage, a brief silence hung as the dust of the explosion drifted through the cracks in the wood. The students, cheeks flushed with adrenaline, turned as one and gave Chief Varros a collective thumbs-up. Their eyes gleamed with a strange mixture of confidence and shared purpose.

Chief Varros, his chest still heaving from the effort of conjuring that mighty blast, lowered his sword slightly. The light that shimmered along its blade flickered like the last embers of a fire, but he held it steady. He offered them a wry, exhausted smile. "That wasn’t all I had," he said, his voice rough. "I’ve enough mana left for maybe... fifteen more of those blasts before this cursed magic circle drains me dry."

The students exchanged quick glances. Ruvin grinned and gave a short nod. "Fifteen’s more than enough, sir."

Varros blinked at them, surprised by their certainty. "Are you sure you need me to keep burning my strength like that? Are you certain?"

Selin’s eyes sparkled with a trace of mischief. "Absolutely, Chief. It feels just like one of Teacher Nolan’s insane training exercises." She elbowed Calien, who smirked in agreement.

Varros narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Hmmm... and after that? What happens once I’ve given you what you want?"

The students fell into a hushed huddle, their voices dropping low. The tension in the carriage grew thick as they outlined their next move. "Our goal," Erik whispered, "is to find towers. Any tall buildings. Climb to the top and hole up there until dawn. We stay quiet, hidden. Let them search in vain."

Varros frowned, puzzled. "Why wait until dawn? Why not strike now?"

Calien couldn’t resist a soft, sarcastic snort. "Because, sir, we’re just humans. And so are your men. Tired, hungry, drained. Unlike those monsters out there, we don’t have endless strength. They’d overwhelm us by sheer numbers eventually."

Varros exhaled through his nose, gaze hardening. "The forest might be safer than this town. The trees could hide us better."

But Selin shook her head firmly. "No. The forest’s too exposed. They’d chase us down, corner us. In town, with walls and doors and rooms, we can make them hunt us room by room if they want us so badly."

"And that’s where you come in again, sir," Erik added, his voice nearly inaudible. "Your sword’s blast. A distraction. Enough chaos to cover our split. They’ll focus on the noise while we vanish into the maze of streets."

Varros mulled this over, lips pressed tight. At last, he nodded, almost grudgingly. "Alright. That’s actually a good plan."

Without further hesitation, the students began their careful, whispered preparations. The carriage creaked softly as bodies shifted. They moved in tight groups: four by four—two students, one attendant each, moving like shadows, the soft rustle of their clothing the only sound in the tense night.

Calien leaned in close to his attendants, his voice a bare thread of sound. "No noise. Not a single word once we step out. Not even a breath too loud. Got it?"

The attendants, their faces pale in the dim light, nodded. One clutched a small blade so tightly his knuckles were white.

Ruvin’s group eased toward the opposite door, Selin’s following close behind. Every movement was deliberate, measured, as though the very air might betray them if disturbed too roughly.

"Slow. Stay low," Selin hissed to her attendant. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her throwing knife, the rope already coiled and ready.

Varros watched, heart pounding, as they slipped into the night one group at a time, merging with the dark like ghosts. The weight of responsibility pressed hard upon him. He gripped his sword tighter, the light along its blade flaring briefly.

Then—Calien’s voice, soft but insistent. "Chief Varros. Come with us."

Varros hesitated. His instinct screamed to stay, to protect the carriage, but he saw the determination in Calien’s eyes. There was no room for doubt. The students had stepped into the roles Nolan had trained them for, and he would not be the one to falter now.

"Fine," Varros murmured. He moved toward them, falling into step as Calien and Erik led the way into the shadows, attendants close behind.

Every footstep felt louder than it was. Every creak of wood, every scrape of leather, every soft exhale seemed to echo through the abandoned streets.

"Left here," Calien whispered, pointing to a narrow alley that wound between two crumbling shops.

Varros followed, sword held at the ready, the faint glow from its edge casting strange, twisting shadows against the walls. He could feel the magic circle’s drain biting deeper with each passing moment. Fifteen blasts? Maybe less now.

At the edge of the alley, they paused. Calien glanced up at a two-story structure with a tower rising just beyond it. "That one. We climb and hold."

Varros nodded grimly. "When I give the signal, run for it. I’ll cover you."

Erik smirked faintly, adrenaline lending him boldness. "We’re counting on you, sir."

Varros took a deep breath. Then, with a wordless cry, he raised his sword. The blade shone like a star, and with a mighty sweep, he unleashed a blast that tore through the night. The ground shook as the explosion ripped apart the cobbled street, flames licking the stone, sending a shockwave that echoed for miles.

"Now!" Varros barked, his voice raw.

Calien, Erik, and their attendants darted forward, feet pounding the broken ground, shadows swallowed by the dark as they raced toward the tower.

Behind them, Varros readied himself for another blast, the light flaring along his blade once more. He could feel the drain now, deep and cold, but he held firm. He would buy them every second they needed.

And in the distance, the creatures stirred, drawn to the noise, the chaos, unaware of the trap being laid before them.

The night stretched on, heavy with the promise of more bloodshed, but for now, hope flickered in the hearts of those who ran beneath the shattered stars.

"Let’s go!" Calien urged, his voice low but firm, filled with a calm confidence that didn’t match the chaos that surrounded them.

Erik gave a quick nod. "No time to waste."

Chief Varros hesitated for only a heartbeat before falling in behind them. His boots crunched softly on the cracked stone beneath their feet, the night air thick with tension. But as they moved, weaving through alleys and ruined streets, Varros couldn’t help but feel something stir in him—a mix of confusion, awe, and a strange sense of relief.

These students... they were composed. Too composed.

As they slipped through the dark, Varros kept watching them out of the corner of his eye. Here they were, young and barely seasoned in battle, yet they moved with a discipline that would shame many of his own knights. And those knights—they were scattered now.

The proud cavalry of the Black Vale Territory, men who had ridden under his command, trained beneath his banners, veterans of campaigns against bandits, beasts, and rival lords—they had been shattered, scattered like dry leaves in a storm.

And yet these students... these students were steady.

Varros felt a knot form in his chest, tight and heavy. How could it be? How could these boys—no, these young warriors—remain so focused, so calm, when trained soldiers had fallen into disarray?

His heart ached at the thought. He wanted to ask them. Wanted to demand, How do you do it? What makes you so sure? But something stopped him.

He clenched his jaw and said nothing. He’d watch. He’d see for himself what steel was hidden beneath their youthful faces. And perhaps... perhaps, if they impressed him enough, he wouldn’t let them slip away to some lesser academy in some two-star or three-star territory.

No. He’d see to it that they came to his academy—the pride of the Fifth Star Black Vale Territory. They would belong among the best.

They moved like shadows through the night, the quiet only broken by the distant cries of the creatures and the soft hum of Varros’s sword as it gathered its power again.

But as they went, something began to nag at him. A feeling. A prickling along the back of his neck.

This wasn’t right.

The other groups—the other pairs and small bands of students—they had all slipped toward the heart of the town.

Seeking shelter in tall buildings, taking advantage of the monsters’ confusion to slip inside, to hide, to hold. But not these two.

No.

Calien and Erik weren’t leading him into the town. They weren’t searching for shelter.

Varros’s brow furrowed as the realization settled over him.

They were circling the town. Moving deliberately, skirting the edges, always keeping the creatures close but not too close.

It hit him then.

They were luring them.

They were using his sword blasts—the explosions, the noise, the light—as bait.

Drawing the monsters away from their friends.

Drawing them out, pulling them to the edges, away from where the others had hidden themselves.

Varros opened his mouth to speak, to question them, but he caught himself.

Why am I so slow to see it? he thought bitterly. Of course that’s what they were doing. He gritted his teeth and kept his silence. He would not interrupt. Not now.

And so, they continued their grim dance through the night.

Every so often, when the creatures grew too near, when their guttural cries echoed a little too close, Varros would lift his sword again.

With a roar, he’d unleash another blast. The night would shake with fire and sound.

The cobbles would crack.

The walls of nearby buildings would tremble. And the creatures, drawn like moths to the flame, would turn, chasing the sound, leaving their prey behind.

Again. And again.

Each explosion drained him a little more. Each blast left his arms heavier, his breath shorter, his heart pounding harder in his chest. But he did not falter.

Beside him, Calien and Erik moved like they’d done this a thousand times before. Eyes sharp. Steps light.

They never rushed.

Never stumbled.

They moved with purpose, guiding him, guiding the horde, shaping the battlefield with every turn they made.

Varros felt a strange admiration building within him. And a shame, too. These are just boys. And here I am, following them like a green recruit.

The night wore on. The town, lit by the flickering fires of his blasts, seemed a ruin of shadows and ash. The creatures came and came, endless, relentless. But they were being led by the nose, drawn wherever the students willed.

And then, at last, after what felt like hours—after his arms ached from wielding the sword, after his mana felt stretched thin as spider silk—Calien slowed.

He turned to Erik, his expression calm, but his eyes gleamed with determination.

"Alright," Calien said quietly, but with finality. "Let’s go back."

Varros let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He glanced over his shoulder at the town they had circled, at the monsters they’d drawn away. The path was clear. The plan had worked.

And for the first time that night, Varros allowed himself a flicker of hope.

He followed them back toward the town’s heart, the students leading the way, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he felt not like their protector—but their equal.