The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 102: Closing the Gate

Chapter 102: Closing the Gate

The retreat from the dungeon remained a hazy blur, and my consciousness flickered in and out. My passive mana recovery gradually restored my body and mind, and by the time we emerged from the Gate, I could at least keep my eyes open. The fetid swamp lay before us, seemingly untouched by our absence, and a handful of guards eagerly welcomed our return.

Countless flashes of light illuminated the marshlands as soldiers reappeared through the gate. Some bore faint burns or were laced with claw marks, while others simply carried the exhausting weight of battle. The commanders wasted no time in dismissing their troops, granting them a few precious hours of rest before discussions about leaving the swamp began.

"I can stand now," I whispered, meeting Fyren’s gaze.

"Rest a little longer. That last spell must have hit your soul, so take it easy," he urged with a reassuring smile.

"Then I’ll trouble you a little longer," I murmured, resting my head against his arm.

I had come to the realization I must rely on myself, but that didn’t mean I intended to reject other’s kindness. Especially from Fyren, who I now recognize as the man from the first vision. Although his face had been hidden, the memory of his stoic kindness was etched in my mind. While I couldn’t fully trust him yet, in the near future, he would be our companion. At the very least, he wouldn’t betray us until after the events of the vision.

Soltair sighed, his gaze shifting to Trithe’s sleeping face. Although unconscious, Trithe was actually in the best condition among the four of us, having managed to escape Soltair’s Solar Flare almost unscathed. As a human, it was expected she wouldn’t have been affected to the same degree as I was, but even Fyren had suffered burns. Soltair had a nasty cut across his waist, where the Flame Commander’s claws broke through his defenses, but the only sign he acknowledged it was a slight pained tightness in his face. I reached across the distance and cast a low-level healing spell, mending the worst of it.

"Sun Hero," Fyren said after I withdrew. "Care to explain yourself?"

Soltair’s head rose slowly, and he averted his gaze before making eye contact with the adventurer. "We killed the demons and won. What else matters?"

Fyren shook his head, irritation flickering in his eyes. "That’s not good enough. Your overconfidence and lack of awareness almost got everyone killed. If you had properly trained to fight with Trithe, she wouldn’t have been forced into that situation. Your clumsy use of aura during the fight hindered her as much as the demon, forcing her to split her attention between resisting you and fighting. Then, after she was wounded, you were more than reckless. And what the hell was that finishing move? The demon shouldn’t have been able to survive a fourth-circle spell, let alone a seventh. We only survived because of whatever spell Xiviyah cast. Even if you were distressed at potentially losing her, there is no excuse for your lack of control."

Soltair’s head jerked up as the adventurer began to chastise him, but his indignant defiance waned as he continued, staring at the ground by the time he finished. By the time Fyren finished, Soltair stared at the ground, shrouded in shame. The oppressive silence enveloped even the nearby camp noises.

Finally, Soltair looked up, a shadow across his face, his voice a whisper. "Why do you care? What’s so important you just had to join us?"

While his question deflected the issue, Soltair’s conveyed his guilt. Fyren sighed and met my curious gaze, his face taking on a softer edge. "Due to certain circumstances, I’m afraid my purposes must remain hidden for the time being. However, it is my purpose to prepare the heroes to fight against demon hordes descend. More specifically, for the time the Demon Emperor himself arrives. As the leader of the heroes, it is your duty to face him, but I am disappointed to say you are far from enough."

"Ouch," Soltair muttered, "but if what you say is true, then what can you offer me?"

"Information, training, and another sword in your fight. I’m familiar with demons, and have mastered many techniques you will find essential in this war," Fyren promised solemnly. "Despite the lower strength of my soul, I offer this last fight as proof of my abilities. While you and Trithe, both seventh-level combatants, struggled to kill one demon, Xiviyah and I dispatched two."

The comparison seemed to grate on Soltair. His grip on Trithe tightened, and he furrowed his brow in the beginnings of a glare. But a moment later, his expression relaxed and he sighed. "Fine. But only as long as you keep your word."

I released a pent-up breath, feeling the tensions dissipate. I had momentarily forgotten that Fyren wasn’t an official member of our party yet, only remembering when the possibility of Soltair’s refusal was brought up. The thought of traveling with only Soltair and Trithe, who often seemed immersed in their own romantic world, was daunting.

A violent hum coursed through the air as the crimson gate released a blinding shockwave. The crystal at its center trembled, and hairline cracks appeared on its facets. A moment later, it exploded into a kaleidoscope of magic, its fragments disintegrating into light before they hit the ground. The entire gate vibrated, spinning faster and faster until it collapsed, vanishing with a sharp pop. Any sign that the titanic circle had once been there was gone.

"That takes care of that," Fyren muttered.

"Yeah. I guess I’ll meet with Lord Griffon and Commander Andres and draft a report to send to the Divine Throne. Would you hold onto Trithe for now?"

Fyren looked down at me already in his arms and shrugged awkwardly.

"I’m fine. I can walk," I said quickly, squirming in his grip until he released me.

After taking Trithe from Soltair, we found a space in the camp to wait. Fyren squatted in the ankle-deep water, resting on his heels.

"Did you learn anything?" he asked, peering over at me. Despite his hunched posture, our heads were still around the same space. Gazing at Trithe’s fragile body in his arms, my cheeks turned red as I imagined her slender figure as my own. Did I look so delicate compared to the massive man?

He cleared his throat, and I shook my head, quickly recalling his question. "Oh, uh, yeah. I think I can replicate their casting. Although they were only third-level, their spells were nearly on par with Soltair’s. It had nothing to do with the actual amount of mana but the way they utilized it. It was concentrated, dense, even."

He smiled as my enthusiasm for magic broke through my usually reserved shell. "Good. I hope you continue to experiment with it. While I have no particular talent for magic, I’ll help you with whatever I can."

"Thank you. If I can create a technique to achieve a similar effect, the magical forces of the world will have a huge advantage when the demons inva-"

"No!" he interrupted. I flinched away, my tail twitching nervously at his outburst, and his face softened. ’I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to share anything. What would they think if you came up with a new way to use magic based on demons? Doesn’t your bloodline get you in enough trouble already?"

I recalled the rejection I had faced in Whiteriver Village, where the mayor had claimed they would rather die than be saved by demon magic. Wouldn’t this be the same thing, only worse? My shoulders dropped as I came to the realization. "I understand. Thank you for the warning."

He exhaled heavily, and I noticed he had been holding his breath. I didn’t quite understand why this point was so important to him, but my response seemed to put him at ease. After a few seconds of awkward silence, I ventured a few questions, trying to learn more about his past, but Fyren deflected them all, determined to remain an enigma.

Riven found his way to us a few minutes later and invited us to join him as the troops rested. The Crimson Guard had served as the vanguard of the army, yet had suffered relatively light casualties. Because of that, the atmosphere in the camp was lighthearted and triumphant, and we were quickly ushered into their midst. They had even found some chairs somewhere.

I took great care to keep my arm motionless as I sat, but the pain only seemed to be getting worse. Still, the cheerful visages of the surrounding soldiers brought a flicker of warmth to my soul, and I did my best to push the searing sensation to the back of my mind.

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