Reed knelt beside one of the fallen soldiers, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, each beat echoing the chaos that had just unfolded. The man's body was limp, blood pooling around him in dark patches that contrasted starkly with the dirt and torn fabric. Carefully, Reed pushed aside the soldier's arm, which hung limply at his side, and reached for the weapon clutched in the fallen's grasp. His fingers hesitated for a moment, then grasped the weapon firmly, pulling it free from the dying soldier's grip.
The weapon was unlike any Reed had seen before. Its wood was scratched and splintered, bearing scars from countless battles. The end was blackened, as if scorched by fire or perhaps some arcane force. A small, metallic lever was embedded near the side, and the whole thing felt heavier than it looked—more substantial, more dangerous. It was about the length of Reed's arm from elbow to fingertips, a compact yet formidable weapon.
He turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. There was no sign of mana channels or corestones—no glowing runes or shimmering crystals that marked the weapons of the mages. Just screws, springs, and dull steel, assembled in a crude but effective manner. It reminded Reed of a primitive machine, something cobbled together from parts rather than crafted with finesse. Yet, despite its simplicity, it had slaughtered his classmates as easily as their spells had. It was a stark reminder that in this war, violence was evolving faster than their understanding.
Behind him, Cath's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. "Gold mages, rotate recovery duty! No caster works longer than three minutes—drink water, stay standing!" Her tone was firm, her movements precise as she helped another young mage to his feet. A luminous golden plate of light hovered in front of her, providing a protective barrier and a source of warmth amidst the chaos. Her voice carried authority, but Reed sensed her own weariness beneath the surface.
Lannis, moving swiftly and purposefully, led a small group toward the fallen, their faces grim and focused. They didn't speak much—words seemed superfluous now. Everyone was working, each person doing what they could to salvage what was left, to help those who could still be saved, and to gather the fallen for proper rites later. The wounded—many battered, some unconscious—limped and staggered as they pushed themselves to help carry stretchers, supplies, and the injured. Every movement was a testament to resilience, even as exhaustion threatened to overtake them.
Reed laid the strange weapon carefully beside the soldier's body and then stood up, wincing slightly as a burning pain flared at his side. It was a graze wound, superficial and not life-threatening, but instinct and habit compelled him to press his hand there, feeling the sticky, drying blood. The pain was a dull throb now, a reminder of how close he had come to death—yet he pushed it aside, his mind already racing.
Marek was nearby, inspecting another body with a calm, analytical expression. His shortsword rested against the trunk of a fallen tree, half-buried in dirt. "They don't have any mana," Marek announced plainly, wiping blood off his hand with a cloth. "No cores, no spell marks. Nothing. I thought maybe they were suppressing their magic somehow, but these people just don't have any."
Reed frowned, processing the information. "Then how were they standing up to us?" he asked, voice low.
Marek shrugged, his face impassive. "Formation. Tactics. These," he gestured toward the wooden weapons scattered nearby, "change everything. They don't need to chant or cast. They just raise and fire. It's straightforward, brutal, and effective."
Reed was silent for a moment, understanding dawning. He had already seen the brutal effectiveness of these primitive weapons and tactics. Some of their best fighters had fallen before they could even summon a spell. The enemy was not just physically resilient but tactically cunning—using simple yet deadly tools that bypassed their reliance on magic altogether. It was a sobering realization: magic, often seen as the ultimate weapon, was not always necessary for destruction.
A sharp whistle pierced the air, sharp and commanding, drawing Reed's attention. Juni, always alert and resourceful, waved both arms vigorously, signaling. "Officer meeting!" she called out, her voice cutting through the din of the battlefield. She was heading back toward a makeshift tent they had hurriedly erected—a small, ragged shelter made out of blankets and a large staff planted in the center, serving as a rally point for the team leaders.
"On my way!" Reed called back, a little more enthusiastically than he truly felt. The meeting was crucial, especially now that they had uncovered some unsettling truths about their enemies' weapons and tactics. He knew that the situation was more complex than it appeared—and that understanding their foes might be the key to turning the tide.
He hurried toward the tent, the ashen dirt shifting beneath his boots with each step. The looks on the faces of the young mages gathered there were heavy with concern and exhaustion. Many bore fresh wounds, and their eyes held a mixture of fear and determination. Up ahead, the tent itself looked makeshift but functional—a patchwork of blankets and a sturdy staff serving as a central pole, supporting the fragile structure.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense, almost unnervingly so, even after a fierce battle. The air was thick with unspoken worries, and every glance was laced with suspicion and fatigue. Reed noted the way some of the officers' hands trembled slightly as they prepared to speak, the weight of recent events pressing down on them.
As he stepped inside, a hush fell over the gathered leaders. The unspoken question was evident in their eyes—what now? How had the enemy managed to operate without magic? What was the nature of these primitive, yet deadly, weapons they carried? And most troubling of all, what did it mean for their understanding of warfare and power?
Cath, standing near the center, broke the silence. Her face was serious, her voice calm but firm. "We just made a discovery," she announced, drawing everyone's attention. "The uniforms on the soldiers—we recognized the patch. It was the insignia of Yono, a nation across the sea from Asteria."
A murmur spread through the group as the significance sank in. Yono? The name was unfamiliar to many, but the implications were staggering. A foreign nation—an enemy they knew little about.
"So, what does this mean?" Hare asked, voice tentative.
Cath nodded slowly, her expression grim. "Yes. Somehow, some way, we are dealing with a twisted version of Yono." Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. They had uncovered a new layer of mystery, one that threatened to reshape everything they thought they knew.
Reed's mind raced. The realization was profound, even unsettling. The kingdom of Yono was a distant land, shrouded in mystery and legend. Its people were known for their martial discipline and mastery of ancient techniques, but now, their insignia was displayed on soldiers fighting against them in the trials. The implications stretched far beyond the battlefield—something deeper was at work.
He looked around at the faces of his comrades, many of whom were already processing this new knowledge. The battlefield had tested their strength, their unity, and their understanding of the world. Now, they faced the challenge of uncovering what this revelation meant for their future. Could they trust what they knew? Were their enemies more insidious than they had imagined? And what role, if any, did magic—or the lack of it—play.
Outside, the wind picked up, carrying a faint, ominous tone as if whispering secrets from distant lands. The war had changed in ways they could not yet comprehend, and the lines between magic and technology had blurred into a fog of uncertainty. Their enemies wielded primitive yet deadly weapons, and the very fabric of their understanding of power was being challenged.
Reed's gaze fell upon the makeshift tent, knowing that they would need to gather all their strength and ingenuity to face what lay ahead. The battle was far from over, but this new revelation had opened a door to a world far more complex and dangerous than they had anticipated. They would need to adapt—and fast—if they hoped to survive the coming storm.
And somewhere beneath it all, Reed felt a cold resolve settle within him, for he now had one more thing to try and find out. Why did he recognize the Name Yono when he had never heard of them before.