Kingdom of Verdwryn

The camp buzzed with a frenzied energy as the news of the outpost defense spread like wildfire. Soldiers, mages, and commanders alike couldn't stop talking about it. Michael, the name that had once been barely a whisper among them, was now the talk of the entire war effort. His tactics, his strategies, his ability to turn the tide of battle—his very existence had become a symbol of hope, even in the darkest corners of the camp.

But none of that mattered to Michael in the moment. His mind was elsewhere, focused entirely on his training. He had been pushing himself hard, trying to break through his limits, to reach Level 2 with his unique cultivation method. The breakthrough was within his grasp. His mana core, the elusive blue core, hummed with energy, and his body ached with the strain of continuous training. The idea of finally achieving the next level, of unlocking new depths of strength, consumed him—until Alric barged into the room.

"Michael!" Alric's voice was sharp, his tone agitated. "You need to hear this."

Michael barely looked up, his concentration deep in the rhythm of his training. "Not now, Alric. I'm close. Just give me a few—"

"Now, Michael!" Alric's command brooked no argument. "It's about you."

The words pierced through the focused haze that had clouded Michael's mind. He stopped, the words sinking in. "What about me?" His voice was hoarse, the tension from his efforts pressing against his chest.

Alric's expression was grim as he stepped forward, shutting the door behind him. "The Zeranthians—Veylor Iskan, specifically—they've marked you for death."

Michael's heart skipped a beat, but his outward expression remained stone-cold. "What?" The shock was fleeting, quickly replaced by the same calm that had carried him through countless trials. "Why?"

Alric clenched his fists. "Why? Because you're a threat. What you did at the outpost, Michael—what you showed them... they don't want you alive anymore. They're sending everything after you."

The words stung more than Michael expected. He had known the risks of being thrust into the spotlight, of playing a role in the defense of Verdwryn. He had never shied away from danger, but this—this was different. A death mark was more than just a threat. It was a challenge, a statement. And the Zeranthians didn't make statements without a reason.

He stood in silence for a moment, his mind whirring as he processed the information. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze toward Alric, his thoughts starting to take shape.

"That's not all, is it?" Michael asked, voice quiet but heavy with suspicion.

"No," Alric admitted, his face tense. "The details of your mission, of the defense, they were leaked—somehow, to the enemy. They knew exactly who was there, what was happening, and where to hit you."

Michael's eyes narrowed. The mission had been sealed, classified. Only a handful of high-ranking officers should have known the full details. But now, somehow, those details had found their way into enemy hands. How? Why? The realization struck Michael like a slap to the face.

"They want me alive, at least for now," Michael muttered, his mind racing. "They want to use me for something bigger."

Alric stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Michael paced, his fingers tapping against the side of his leg in thought. He had been used. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but the pieces were falling into place. Verdwryn's high command, the same people who had entrusted him with critical missions, had exposed him to the Zeranthian threat. Why? To put a face to the war, a symbol of their fight. He was expendable—a tool for propaganda. The realization stung more than he cared to admit.

"They want to use me as a symbol," Michael finally said, his voice steady. "They want me to be the face of Verdwryn's strength, something to rally the people behind. A hero—one they can martyr."

Alric's brow furrowed, his fists tightening. "They used you like that? They exposed you on purpose?"

Michael nodded, his gaze hardening. "I'm more than just a pawn, Alric. I can't believe it, but it's true. I've been set up, and now I'm the one they're throwing to the wolves. They need a hero, someone to lift morale."

Alric's frustration was palpable. "And they think they can just throw you away after?"

Michael paused, his thoughts swirling. He had always been a soldier—trained to endure, to survive. But this wasn't just about him anymore. He was part of a larger game, a game he hadn't asked to be a part of. But if the world wanted to play, he would make sure he was the one in control.

"No," Michael said, his voice sharp. "I'm not going down like that. If they want me as their symbol, fine. But I'll make sure they regret it."

Alric tilted his head, studying Michael. "You're not just playing along with this, are you?"

"No," Michael said again, this time with a slow, calculating smile. "I'm going to use this. I'll become the symbol they want, but I'll make sure they understand that if they target me, they're targeting Verdwryn as a whole. I'm not some token they can discard."

Alric's skepticism was still there, but there was an edge of admiration now, despite the situation. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Michael turned to face him, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. "So is everyone else. They just don't know it yet."

Alric watched him for a moment longer before giving a single, curt nod. "What's the plan?"

Michael exhaled deeply, his mind already working. "First, I'll need to stay alive. Second, we make sure the enemy knows they're making a mistake by targeting me. I'll use this. It's not just about surviving anymore. It's about making sure Verdwryn wins this war—no matter what it costs."

Alric didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He knew Michael wasn't a man who would be broken by threats or games. If anyone could turn this situation into an advantage, it was him.

Michael's mind whirred with plans, strategies, and the certainty that the Zeranthians had just made a fatal error. They had marked him for death, but he would make sure they paid the price for that mistake.

But the weight of the news hit Michael like a physical blow, though it wasn't the death mark or the enemy's target on his life that really shook him. It was the realization that Verdwryn, his own kingdom, had just sacrificed him. He wasn't a soldier or a strategist in their eyes. No. He was nothing more than a pawn in a game far bigger than himself.

His mind raced as Alric's words echoed through his thoughts. The Zeranthians had marked him for death. He was a target. And yet, the more he processed the information, the more it became clear: his life, his very existence, had become a tool for Verdwryn's survival. If he lived, he'd be a hero, a symbol of the kingdom's resilience, a shining beacon of hope to rally the citizens. But if he died, it wouldn't matter. His death would serve as fuel for the kingdom's fire, a martyr that would ignite the hearts of soldiers and civilians alike to fight harder, to avenge him. Either way, Verdwryn would use his sacrifice to win.

At first, the anger bubbled up inside him, hot and sharp. His fists clenched as his jaw tightened. He had always known that in war, soldiers were expendable, but this... this was different. He had never expected this. He had never expected his own kingdom to play him like this, as a piece to be moved around on the board, with no real care for whether he lived or died. He wasn't fighting for honor, for glory, or even for survival anymore. He was just a tool in a much larger game.

But as quickly as the anger flared, something else took its place—a cold, bitter acceptance. Michael had known, deep down, that he was never really in control of his destiny. From the moment he had been reborn, from the moment he had decided to serve Verdwryn, he had been just another piece in their grand war. A piece with potential, yes, but still just a piece. And now, they had made that clear.

The irony was not lost on him. His own kingdom, the people he had pledged to protect, had just used him in the most cynical way possible. They wanted him to be their symbol, to inspire the people, to keep their hope alive. They didn't care about his well-being. They didn't care if he died in the process. As long as they got what they wanted—victory—they would let the flames of his death burn brightly. He was expendable. A hero if he survived. A martyr if he didn't.

And yet, it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Michael had never been a man of grand ambitions. All he had ever wanted was to protect the people he loved: his mother, his father, and his little sister. His family. They were the only thing that mattered to him, the only thing that had ever truly mattered. They were the reason he had chosen to serve Verdwryn, to fight in this war, even when it meant risking everything. Because he knew that if Verdwryn lost this war, if the Zeranthians overran the kingdom, his family would be gone.

He thought of his mother, a woman who had worked tirelessly to keep the family together, always putting them before herself. He thought of his father, a quiet, steady man whose love for his family had never wavered, even in the face of hardship. And then there was his little sister, always so full of life, always so innocent. They didn't deserve to suffer because of a war. They didn't deserve to die because of some twisted game between nations.

And so, Michael made his peace. He couldn't afford to think of himself as a pawn in Verdwryn's game, because that would mean that he had no purpose. But he did have a purpose. He wasn't just fighting for his kingdom; he was fighting for his family. He would survive, no matter the cost. He would play their game, let them think they were using him, because the truth was far simpler: he was playing them.

If surviving meant becoming their poster boy, their symbol of hope, he would do it. But only because it meant keeping his family safe. If he could survive long enough to tip the scales of war in Verdwryn's favor, he would. And if it meant becoming a martyr, so be it. He would do whatever it took to ensure his family would survive this war.

His love for them burned inside him like a fire that refused to go out. They didn't know the depths of what he was willing to do for them, the sacrifices he was willing to make. And he would never let them know. Because if they knew, they would worry. And if they worried, it would make his task harder. No. He would let them think of him as just another soldier, just another pawn. He would endure it all, for them.

Alric watched him, his face unreadable, but Michael could sense the unease radiating from him. "What are you going to do?" Alric's voice was low, a hint of concern in his tone.

Michael didn't hesitate. He couldn't afford to. "I'll survive, Alric. That's all that matters now. I'll survive, and I'll make sure they regret underestimating me."

Alric narrowed his eyes, as if weighing Michael's words. "You've got the right attitude, but don't forget: this is bigger than you."

Michael gave him a hard, sharp look. "It's always been bigger than me. But that doesn't change the fact that I have a responsibility—to my family, to this kingdom. If I die, it won't be for them. It will be for me. I won't let them destroy everything I've fought for."

Alric nodded slowly, but Michael could see the skepticism in his eyes. The doubt. They would never understand. And Michael wasn't going to waste any more time trying to explain himself. His path was set. His mind was made up. Whatever games Verdwryn wanted to play, he would play them to his advantage. For his family. For his survival.

He wouldn't let them win. Not without a fight.