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

The scent of burning wood entered Tucker's nose. He slowly walked in a circle, with Igneel mimicking his movements. Their boots left faint streaks in the ash-covered ground and beneath the sound of collapsing wooden beams that had been burnt to a crisp. They didn't lose focus.

The once-proud stone structures of the fortress city were slowly crumbling. The dazzling arches had long been reduced to piles of rubble. Stone bricks littered the roads and countless craters left their marks through the lands. Heartbreak was the only word to describe the city that was once filled with life and hope. Yet in the darkest hour of the nation's grimmest moments. A light existed.

Hundreds of soldiers were fighting in every corner of the bastion. They were desperately trying to protect their homeland from the invaders. Tucker could tell from the surrounding currents that there was still a chance. A hope for them to turn the situation around.

He readied his blade and examined Igneel's movements. His aura armor was still in full effect, and the odds of Tucker breaking through his defenses were slim. But… there was one factor in his favor. The aura around Igneel's blade was wavering. After the countless slashes Igneel had released during their fight, the knight was also running low on his reserves.

Tucker felt the stars within his body hum in a low tone. He was running out of aura. The amount of spirit essence he had was dwindling, but just enough to maintain his weapon's form. His gaze remained focused on Igneel as a trickle of sweat dripped down his chin. Embers glowed from the smoldering trees. There wasn't a chance in hell that he could create an armor out of aura like Igneel. He only had the protection engravings provided on his chest plate.

The pain racing through Tucker's hands stung. Yet he didn't mind. It was a reminder that he was still alive.

If he were to die here, there would be others to take over his role. Luka could lead the men along with the other watchmen. He didn't need to worry about such things, and as he took a deep breath, the aura around his blade swirled.

Tucker charged forth with his blade in hand. His sword collided against Igneel's as the wind propelled his body forward. The momentum caused Igneel to grit his teeth, but the knight's stance remained firmly planted in place. Traces of aura danced in the air as Tucker's blade was pushed back.

A trail of white vapor emerged from Igneel's blade. In an instant, it ignited, releasing a slash of aura towards Tucker, but with a simple side step. He dodged it with ease. The long gash left behind by the aura slash created a cloud of dust that filled the area.

Igneel narrowed his eyes as the cloud of dust obscured his vision. He had overestimated himself, and after the last attack, his aura was nearly depleted. His aura armor at this point was only for appearance.

The watchman had fought admirably till now, but he knew they were an organization that focused on stealth. Igneel scanned the smoke for even the slightest change in movements. But such a thing was harder than expected. The only thing he could do was predict where Tucker would strike from.

There were certain elements you couldn't hide. The gleam of a blade, the pulse of an aura, or even the subtle shift in direction within a field of smoke. Igneel knew this far too well, and as the clouds that blocked his vision twisted. His blade snapped upwards, deflecting Tucker's slash to the side. Sparks emerged from each of their clashes.

An overhead slash.

A sweeping cut from the side.

A sudden lunge from behind.

Each one met a precise counter. Igneel's blade redirected every blow aside with minimal effort. His strikes were efficient, unshaken, and almost effortless. He wasn't simply reacting to Tucker's attacks, but reading them like an open book. Breaking his opponent's rhythm before it could even build.

And as he parried a silver gleam that pierced through the smoke. His eyes narrowed. Something was different about this attack compared to the other ones. It felt hollow. It was only until a second later did he see a thin dagger twirl in the air.

Igneel immediately spun on his heel, swinging his blade behind him to meet Tucker's strike. But as it cut through the air, he knew he had made a mistake. Tucker's figure burst forth from in front of Igneel. His sword sliced through Igneel's left shoulder.

Was it too shallow?

Tucker cursed under his breath. He had originally aimed to drive his blade right through Igneel's heart, but because the knight was turning, he could only see the rough outline of their figure. His attack had missed.

Blood spilled onto the ash-covered ground. But before Tucker could react, a crushing force slammed into his gut. Igneel drove his boot through Tucker's chest plate. The iron armor absorbed the brute force of the impact, shattering in response as Tucker staggered back.

Yet, he couldn't afford to back down. Igneel was wounded, and he needed to press his advantage. The blade in his hand howled once more. Tucker could see Igneel hurriedly raise his guard, but his form was already broken. With a swift kick to the knight's thigh. Their crumbling stance only fell further apart, and with Igneel on his knees, a ray of hope filled the watchman's eyes.

It was at this moment with Tucker's blade firmly in his hand. That he could end the life of the knight before him and with a single decisive swing. Tucker swung his sword towards Igneel's neck, but right as it was about to connect. Two flashes of silver crossed through the sky.

A sharp metallic sound rang in Tucker's ears as their blades met. The muscles in his arms cried out in pain. He gritted his teeth, forcing the blood that rushed out of lips back. The impact sent him flying, and as Tucker plunged his sword into the ground, dragging it through the ash to grind himself to a stop. A sense of dread filled his heart.

Before him were two more knights wearing silver armor with red capes draped over their shoulders. Their swords glistened in the sunlight as their aura flared like pillars of light.

"Sir Igneel, can you stand?" the first knight asked.

"Indeed, Sir Philip." Igneel rose from the ground. "I'm sorry you had to see such a shameful display."

Philip stared through his visor with his violet eyes. His armor had numerous blade marks and a long gash down the side of his helm. Dirt and ash had filled out the outlines of his engravings and a sense of unease filled his mind.

Tucker cautiously observed them. He could see the strands of golden hair through the first knight's visor. The other knight remained quiet, but from their composure, he could tell that they were waiting for an opening. He needed to somehow deal with them. However, to face three knights at once was far beyond his capabilities.

Yet before he could even move a muscle. The sound of footsteps entered Tucker's ears. He didn't dare to turn his head, but seeing the Empire's knights go on guard caused him to slowly exhale.

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"Captain Welford, it seems like you have your hands full." Brian peered at the knights with his azure eyes. His black and gold accent helmet was nearly the same as when he first saw it, except one of the horns had been sliced off. His cape was in tatters, and half of his chest piece had been rendered useless.

Tucker kept his sword focused on Igneel. "It took you guys long enough. I thought you weren't going to show."

"We had some difficulties with one of the knights." Brian tossed the empty helm of the oval knight on the ground. It rolled several times against the cold stone floors before coming to a halt in front of Igneel and his men.

"That's… Sir Alexander's helm…" Philip's eyes trembled, yet Igneel remained calm.

"Sir Alexander put up an admirable fight," Brian said with the utmost respect. "Take his helm and your injured comrade. Leave this area and pray you don't cross paths with us again."

Tucker froze upon hearing his comrade's words and glared at him, but Brian ignored it. He simply waved his hand and gestured for them to take off.

Igneel kept his gaze locked on Brian and then at the helm in the man's hands. They wouldn't be able to defeat the knight who killed their commander, not in their current state. But to let them escape like this filled his heart with regret. They had a chance to avenge their friend, but at what cost?

The two knights at his side would surely die, and he knew Alexander's strength. His comrade wouldn't fall to a mere knight. Which meant that the person before him was no mere opponent. To face them, he would need to be at full strength.

"Fall back," Igneel bitterly said.

"But Sir—!"

Before Philip could finish his sentence, Igneel turned a hard glare at him. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"…Yes sir."

Brian watched through his bloody visor as the three retrieved the oval-shaped helm and slowly backed away. Once they were out of sight, he coughed out a mouthful of blood. Watching it trickle down the edge of his helm.

Tucker rushed to his side and reached into his pouch before pulling out a healing potion. But as Tucker was about to give it to Brian, the knight raised a hand to stop him.

"I've already taken one. It just takes a bit of time to take effect." Brian clutched his ribcage and gazed at the fallen soldiers around him. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive sooner. My opponent… was far stronger than I expected."

Tucker's eyes drifted over the soldiers of the Thirty-First. A trace of sadness flashed through his eyes. He didn't know what to really say—only that it wasn't Brian's fault. The ash-covered bodies were dead long before he even arrived, except for a single soldier.

With a voice just above a whisper, Tucker said, "Don't blame yourself. I should've protected them." He couldn't tell how many were lost, but it was enough to bury itself deep in his consciousness.

After a moment of silence, Tucker forced the words out of his mouth. "What now?"

"We've been ordered to retreat," Brian replied.

"After all this bloodshed?"

"Correct." Brian's heavy voice carried a sorrow unlike any other. Both of their platoons had suffered excessive casualties from the skirmish. The plan crafted by the distant advisors had failed, and now they were the ones paying the price.

The Captain of the Thirty-First gazed upon his fallen men one final time. If there had been anything he could have changed, he would. But upon seeing their dead bodies scattered across the battlefield, Tucker knew that wasn't the case. The only thing he could have done was oppose their tactic, but a single voice against many would only get drowned out. Tucker fought back the grief in his heart and with a glance, he could tell that Brian was also doing the same.

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Final Moments - Archers of the Thirty-First

The veteran archers of the Thirty-First stood on the roof with bitter expressions. They were the first to see the current state of the battlefield, and they were losing on all fronts. Each platoon was losing ground except for the Thirtieth and the Thirty-First, but soon they would be overrun as well.

In the distance, they could see a lone knight approaching, and the sheer aura that was released from the knight's body was like a beacon shining through the clouds of dust. They could run, but if they did, what would be the point? Their brothers would lose their support and would be massacred by the Empire's forces. He turned to his fellow archers, and they had all reached the same conclusion as him.

"Oi Luther, gather the other rookies and go get us some arrows," the nameless soldier said.

"Are you sure? We still have a few more volleys," Luther replied.

"Just do as you're told and go, we don't have time to argue," the soldier rebuked.

Luther furrowed his brow but soon resigned. "Alright."

Once Luther and the other rookies were off the rooftops, he and the remaining archers took position and aimed at the knights attacking the thirtieth platoon.

The soldier didn't understand why people would give their lives so easily for a cause that didn't resonate with their ideals. He wanted to live a life where he could relax and retire. Start a family by the coast and enjoy the simplicity of the world. But on his journey, he came to Stafford Bastion, the fortress city of the Everheart Kingdom and in his mundane days, he fell in love with its beauty.

The kindness he experienced from those who lived there and the bonds he built with the men of the Thirty-First made him realize that there was more to life than accomplishing one's dream. As the buildings came crashing down and the cannons tore into their stone walls, he felt his heart break. Stafford was their home, and seeing it torn apart left an aching wound in his chest.

What was the point of it all?

That question lingered in his mind, but he couldn't find the answer. He watched the men he built a bond with give their lives on the wall. Against the golems that ripped apart their flesh, and the Empire's soldiers pouring from the siege towers. They were safe because his captain had ordered them to retire to the rooftops before, but as they rained down arrows on their foes, their brothers were falling one after another.

He didn't believe in dying for a greater cause, but seeing the comrades he spent months with perish left him bitter. Their role in the war was to provide support. That was all they had to do, and they had done their job. But as the knight approached, the archers knew they couldn't retreat. Not because it wasn't within their capabilities, but because they still had something to give.

"Archers!" the soldier of the Thirty-First shouted at the top of his lungs as all of their bowstrings were drawn back with arrows in hand. "Aim true and pick your targets! Focus on the knights attacking the Thirtieth!"

"Yes, sir!" they replied.

If they left now, ranged support for their comrades would vanish, and the Empire's forces would gain momentum. The knight approaching them was a foe they couldn't handle, and they were fully aware of this. But they needed to make a difference.

"We have only one shot at this before that monster targets us, so put everything you have in this attack!" the soldier's stern voice echoed through the area. They all nodded in agreement as their auras flared up one after another.

He didn't have a cause great enough to brag about. All he wanted to do was to protect his friends and cherish the moments they created. If their attack could lessen the burden on their shoulders just a little, then it would all be worth it.

Their bowstrings sang, a volley of arrows soared across the horizon, and flew in the direction the knights were fighting. Each one struck true and landed on the Empire's knights, disrupting their movements for a fraction of a second, and that was all the knights of the Thirtieth needed. After the shimmering aura embedded into the arrows faded, the knights bearing the sigil of a hearth resting in a wreath pushed their advantage. Some killed their opponents in one strike, while others launched joint attacks with their comrades.

It all ended in less than a minute and the standstill that was broken by the archers of the Thirty-First drew the attention of the knights of Hearthfire. They enhanced their vision with aura and stared at the rooftop where the arrows came from. One of the knights waved their hand in the air as a gesture of thanks, but as they focused on the archers, their bright expressions vanished, and a feeling of guilt pulled on their hearts.

The archers on the rooftops were gazing in their direction, but had lowered their bows. Some were sitting on the tiles while watching the battlefield, while others were hugging each other with tears in their eyes. Yet a single soldier stood still while facing them, raising a hand in salute.

The knights of Hearthfire didn't understand what was happening, but in an instant, an aura slash unlike anything they had ever seen before crashed into their building, tearing it apart with ease as smoke and dust blacked out the sun. The devastating slash shook the ground all the way to their location, and bits of stone rained down on their armor.

Even as the knight's aura drew near, the salute from the rooftop held firm.

They had launched one final volley so that the knights of the Thirtieth could win their battle and paid for it with their lives. The men of the Thirtieth fell silent, but before they could move, another group of knights emerged from the Empire's ranks. From the corner of their eyes, they could see a unit from the Thirty-First move along with their Captain. The knights of Hearthfire couldn't support them, and it pained their hearts, but the sacrifice the archers made for them would be a debt they would never forget.