Spiritbound [Spirit Magic, Military, Progression] (Book 1 Complete)

The knights of the Twelfth Order gazed at the broken mana canister that the defenders had torn open. Their quivering eyes lingered on the lifeless body resting within the device. None of them would have imagined that the Empire's greatest weapon, their nation's pride, was using children as mana batteries. There were rumors of the Emerald Tower's inhuman ways of achieving results, but none of them believed it to be true.

Philip took off his helm, revealing his blonde hair. He gazed at the green cloak covering the young boy's body. "W-what have they done…?"

"What we all feared," Igneel replied. He held the silver helm under his arm, staring through his brown strands of hair. "Emperor Nero Cladius Avalon asked for a weapon, and the Emerald Tower delivered."

"But to use children?" Philip shook his head. "This goes against everything we stand for."

"Everything we used to stand for," Igneel corrected. "The moment results mattered more than morality was the turning point of our nation, and now we simply live in its shadow."

"This… this! Was the goddamn reason General Falcone sallied out!"

"It was."

"And we're just supposed to sit here and believe that—"

Igneel immediately covered Philip's mouth with his hand. The metal gauntlet scraped against the steel plates on his arm as the other knights formed a defensive position around the two. Their hands rested on the hilts of their weapons, ready to be drawn in an instant.

"Don't utter another word, Sir Philip," Igneel said. "You should know better than to speak with such a loose tongue."

"Indeed, your knight should be more cautious. You never know who is listening…"

Igneel gazed in the direction of the voice. His eyes narrowed at the sight of an emerald robe with gold accents lining the edges of the fabric. The air strangled their necks as if the world had fallen on top of them. All the knights glared at the man who took light strides towards them, bathing the surroundings in a thick killing intent that seeped into the very heart of the mage.

The man grinned, running his fingers through his long, grey beard. His bushy eyebrows framed a face marked by age and cruelty that was hidden behind his warm smile. He held his hands behind him and crooned in a pleasant tone while drawing closer.

Igneel knew the mage all too well, yet never expected to encounter him here. "Elder Pyron… I never thought I would see you here..."

Pyron smirked before shrugging his shoulders. "Well, let's just say that I didn't have much of a choice given the circumstances."

"And what would those circumstances be?"

"Your general's incompetence," he answered. "The battle at this bastion has taken far too long, and the casualties sustained by our forces were far too great under General Falcone's leadership. It was only because of our involvement that the bastion fell."

"Bullshit—!"

Pyron's eyes shot towards the knight, who opened his mouth. A nauseating sense of dread cradled his body, and the other men beside him drew their blades. Yet before they could step forward, Igneel raised his arm and signalled for them to stand down.

Pyron narrowed his eyes before shaking his head. "Children shouldn't take part in a conversation between adults."

"Retract your sickening mana," Igneel said.

"Oh? And why should I?"

The air crackled with aura, surging forth like a tide that had broken free from a dam. It sent ripples across the puddles of water that littered the ruined plaza. The gothic structure that was barely standing collapsed beneath its weight, and the ashes of timber soared in the gale seeking refuge from the onslaught that was about to unfold.

From the side, hundreds of cloaked figures rose on top of the ruined buildings, encircling the Twelfth Order of Knights. They gazed at the six knights that were at the base of the war machine, eyes fixed on the torn limbs of the metallic golem. Yet in the destruction, the only object that remained intact was the mana canister. One after another, their auras rose from their ranks and drenched the clear sky in a disgusting shade of violet. None of the knights expected such a massive show of force to emerge from the Emerald Tower, but at a glance, they could tell that the men accompanying Pyron were all three to four-star aura users.

If they had no other choice but to fight, then they could kill most of the foes surrounding them. But the only problem was that none of them would live to tell the tale. Elder Pyron was a man who required their full attention. A single mistake would cost them their lives, and facing the elder from the Emerald Tower would only lead to heavy repercussions.

"Don't make me repeat myself." Igneel's voice was devoid of warmth. He glared at Pyron, watching the twisted old man snarl in amusement.

"I'll let this matter slide." Elder Pyron twirled his index finger in the air as the cloaked figures immediately vanished from their sight. "After all, I have more pressing matters to tend to."

A sigh of relief escaped one of the knights. The sickening slime-like mana that clenched onto his body crawled back towards Pyron. The mage calmly approached the fallen war machine in wonder, examining the blade marks that carved into the metal. The soft chime of a bell echoed through the area as he drew closer.

Igneel focused on Pyron, glancing at a pair of silver bells attached to the Elder's waist. Even for a wicked man such as Pyron, where the air turned sour just by being in his presence. It made sense for him to have some lingering attachment to the child that served his cause. The knights parted, allowing Pyron to draw closer to the canister.

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"Interesting… they lured the golem here and immobilized its movements by destroying the columns." Elder Pyron scanned the splintering crevices in the plaza. "The ground caved in from the machine's own weight, so that would have rendered its leaping abilities useless."

Igneel's fingers twitched at his words. He watched as Pyron approached the mana canister with a soft gaze, only for him to rip off the cloak that covered the young boy's body, revealing the true horrors that the child had been subject to. The wires and tubes buried beneath his skin were like chains, binding flesh to metal. A prison with no escape and the bloody fingerprints that clawed at the surface where his limbs once moved painted a canvas of desperation.

The knights gasped, but as Pyron drew closer—his hand shot forth, piercing into the young boy's heart as if he were rummaging for treasure. He dug into the flesh, tearing through the muscle and then—he found it. Old blood stuck to his fingertips as he ripped out a small crystal from the child's ribcage.

"These things are always such a hassle to find once we embed them into a host." Pyron calmly sighed while rubbing the dark green fragment against the seams of his robe. "But alas… what's done is done. This child might have been a defective product, but at least he provided a decent hue to this crystal—"

"You!" Igneel grabbed Pyron by the collar of his white shirt. "What the hell do you think you're doing! Don't you have any shame!"

"Shame?" Pyron laughed. "Why would I feel shame? Isn't it natural to seize what's rightfully yours?"

"That child fought for you!"

Pyron glanced at the corpse before scoffing. "So? He's nothing more than a means to an end. One that he served… adequately."

Igneel shoved him back, barely controlling his temper. "Get the fuck out of my sight."

"Tsk tsk, you should know better than to be so emotional. We're fighting a war, and our goal is to win by any means necessary. Not care about the lesser details." Pyron fixed the collar of his shirt. "Don't forget that."

The knights watched as the Elder placed the crystal into a small obsidian container with golden plates encasing the edges. Their hostile gazes were enough to make anyone tremble from the sheer intensity alone, but Pyron wasn't just anyone. The sharp light in their eyes made the corners of his lips curl into a mocking smile. It was a sight he was accustomed to and one he grew fond of.

"I've already handled my matters in the castle. I suggest you take a look at the Kingdom's… tenacity." Pyron waved his hand to the side while strolling down the ruined road. "They left quite an entertaining sight."

The soft footsteps that echoed across the deserted streets caused Igneel to clench his fists. He cursed beneath his breath and struck the metallic arm that had been torn apart. "That fucking bastard!"

Philip silently stood beside Igneel. "It's… hard to believe that man is the same one who does all that charity work. What a disgusting truth this is."

Igneel's gaze lingered on Elder Pyron's figure. A storm of emotions raged in his eyes. If he killed Pyron here, it would tarnish his honor, brand him a traitor, and lead to the execution of his family. The consequences were far too great, no matter how much he justified it.

"General Falcone used to say that the kindest smiles hide the cruelest intentions." Igneel turned to the crumbling castle and took a step forward. "I just never wanted to believe it until now."

All the knights followed Igneel through the broken landscape. The stench of burnt flesh stung Igneel's nostrils. He stood at the ruins of the castle courtyard, staring at the dead bodies that littered the ground. Tears from the survivors fell onto the scorched earth, leaving behind the hopes they once had.

The land reeked of death, and the heaviness of the war pressed down on their shoulders. As they approached the castle's entrance, Igneel covered his mouth, trying to stomach the rustic stench that filled the air. Bodies blanketed the ground in a sea of scarlet. Limbs and broken steel armor lined the hall from beginning to end.

Step by step, Igneel walked across the blood-slick floor as soldiers dragged out the dead. The loud thud of bodies getting thrown to the side rang in his ears like a melody that refused to disappear. From this battle alone, their casualties were devastating. So many had given their lives to claim the castle, and yet Igneel couldn't give them praise.

"Sir Igneel, you should take a look at this," Philip said, gazing at the heavily armored knight lying on the floor.

Igneel stood beside Philip, staring at the fallen knight who had eight swords piercing through his body. The five-pointed star set against the dull silver shield on their shoulder plates told a story they didn't need to explain. He was a knight of renown.

"Are there more of them around here?" Igneel asked.

"No, it seems like he's the only one. There's dead Everheart soldiers scattered around the chamber, but mostly foot soldiers," Philip replied. "A few knights as well, but when we compare it to the losses of the Eleventh Order, they pale in comparison."

"Then where are the rest of the bodies? Where are the rest of the Everheart soldiers?"

"From what the other men have said, they're in the depths of the castle, but…"

"But what?"

"They said some unsettling things… It's best if you see for yourself." Philip gestured at Igneel to follow.

Together they made their way through the corridors, passing by the trail of bodies that led to the teleportation chamber. In their sights were lifeless corpses scattered throughout the barren halls. Like rose petals thrown on a velvet carpet, yet this wasn't a joyful celebration. Instead, what the knights found was a thick stench of death where hundreds of bodies lay on broken stone floors.

Swords and spears embedded themselves in the ground like tombstones marking a grave. The stone arches that supported the chamber were crumbling, and the sound of soft sobbing entered their ears. In the center of it all was the teleportation platform that the bodies failed to reach. The final stand of the defenders.

"Would you believe me if I said this was done by two watchmen?" Philip said.

A flash of disbelief flickered in Igneel's eyes. "What?"

"That's right." Philip stepped onto the platform and gazed at the surroundings. "Hundreds of soldiers were put to rest in this very chamber. Those who survived the battle said the watchmen fought for hours by themselves and died while standing."

Igneel couldn't believe it. He stepped onto the broken metallic plate. Around him were bodies that had been torn apart by a blunt weapon. The earth had ruptured in several locations and formed a protective dome surrounding the device.

"Where's the rest of the enemy forces? Are they further in?" Igneel asked.

Philip shook his head. "This is the last of their forces. The rest ran."

Igneel stood in silence, holding back the anguish that gripped his heart. All this loss, and for what? Below him lay the faces of men he had once laughed with, trained beside, and fought with. Their tabards were now in tatters and drowned in scarlet.

He had joined the war believing in the Emperor's words. The tales of glory and prosperity that would come to their nation. A brighter dawn and a world where their people wouldn't starve. Yet all he saw now was ruin.

Was this what they died for?

Empty promises wrapped in gilded words?

Igneel didn't know. The silence that followed engulfed the knights as they looked around them. There were no cries of help. No clash of steel. Only a stillness that gripped onto their souls. Igneel's chest ached under the weight of every fallen soldier that pressed down on him, demanding an answer he didn't have.

And for the first time, a question lingered in his mind. One, he asked himself, not as a knight, but as a man.

Was this war really worth it?

Yet as the sun glistened through the broken glass planes. He feared he already knew the answer. General Falcone had spoken the words no one dared to say, and that was what tore apart Igneel's heart. This war wasn't worth the lives it took.