Chapter 420: The Shadowed Flame
The Shadowed Flame
The valley was strewn with the shattered remains of the dead emerald eagles. Their enormous bodies lay strewn on charred ground, wings spread wide like splintered sails, eyes glazed and cold. Moonstone’s army, enormous and foreboding, remained standing, battered and cautious, about the shattered battleground. Smoke hung into the pale light, bearing the bitter smell of burned feathers and smoldering earth.
Aurelian stayed in the saddle at the head, his blue armor glinting even through the mist. His chest surged, each inhalation a gasp, a torn, savage tug. The Tidal Reckoning had taken its cost—puissant beyond imagination, sapping him of more than simple endurance. Yet his gaze never left the cliff above, where the hooded individual had stood since the first eagle had plummeted. Composed. Deadly. A force that exuded purpose.
He swept the cliffs with wary attention, each ridge, shadow, and outcropping examined. The valley was quiet now, but intuition howled that this quiet was no blessing. Nothing stirred, nothing changed—no more of those ghoulish birds. The quiet was a predator, not tranquility.
A general emerged, wary, the creak of his armor beneath him bearing the weight of tension. "Your Majesty... the birds have departed... for the time being."
Aurelian slowly shook his head. "Gone? Waiting? Lack of movement does not equal safety. Keep watchful." His eyes flashed again toward the cliff, focusing on the figure still on the cliff, still observing. The hooded figure slowly held up both hands, then clapped in one sweeping motion.
The motion was careful, nearly ritualistic. Aurelian’s lips compress into a pale line, his fingers constraining the reins. A slow clap, deliberate. A nod came after it. The action was a signal, one that was meant and calculated. His chest compressed—something was approaching.
The general shifted uncomfortably. "Your Majesty... what is it?"
Aurelian’s jaw clenched, eyes constraining. "It is not for us to understand yet. But observe... and prepare.
Then the figure in the hood clapped twice more, with a slow, deliberate nod. Soldiers nearby started exchanging hesitant glances. A focus was being directed at a specific section of the valley. They could see nothing except a blur, a suggestion of movement out in the far distance, nothing concrete. Yet Aurelian’s eyes pierced it.
With years of cultivation, training, and an uncanny awareness developed beyond common boundaries, he saw Jim—greatly skilled, firmly entrenched, playing each lethal detail. Every move, every inclination, every snap of his fingers was aimed to plant confusion and terror, but Aurelian saw through. The trap was being laid before their very eyes.
Suddenly, a whistle of air ripped through the valley behind the grass carts. A fireball landed, setting the straw ablaze at once. The fire crackled with hunger, greenish sparks casting back the shadowy magic in the eagle eggs. Soldiers screamed in terror.
"Fire! Fire!" one yelled.
Aurelian’s face went hard. He urged his horse forward, his instincts propelling him toward the flames. "Hold the line! Stay focused!"
The flames danced perilously near, ready to engulf the carts whole. But Aurelian was quick, drawing a pre-prepared rune in the air. The magic burst forth, an intangible barrier springing into being just as the first jet of flame would have hit it. Steam hissed as arcane force met fire, shrouding the valley in mist.
But the peril had just started. The carts were set alight one after another. Green flames of fire serpents slithered across the dry grass. Aurelian’s teeth were clenched.
"Velloe’s scheme," he muttered, his tone low and biting. "Gary. that cursed man. They’ve set up the eagle eggs amidst the dry grass. Each blast designed to destroy our line if we get spooked."
A general’s eyes widened. "My lord. the eggs. how—
Not a word," Aurelian cut in, gritting teeth. "Keep moving! Shields up! Wards activated! We fall back in formation—controlled, precise. Don’t scatter!"
BOOM.
The initial explosion burst with a deafening roar that rocked the valley. Wooden shrapnel and blocks of smoldering straw flew into the air, the emerald light of the egg’s magic burning in the center. Soldiers were pushed back, some rolling across blackened earth, ringing ears.
Aurelian’s heart pounded. He knew the signature—this was no regular egg. The power within was contained, amplified by the dry grass around it, made as a living bomb. The son of a whore Gary had considered annihilating half of the Moonstone army before they ever had a chance to respond.
But Aurelian had prepared for some of it. He sprang from his horse in one swift motion, weaving runes in the air with his sword. Defensive magic spilled outward, deflecting the explosions, damping the worst of the blast. Sparkles of green flame hissed harmlessly around the troops, but the heat was smothering.
"Back to the line! Move!" he yelled, voice slicing above the din. "Don’t wait!"
The soldiers followed, advancing as one unit, disciplined. Wards illuminated the area around their bodies, defensive shields rippling like molten glass. Fire blazed behind them in a staccato beat, each green burst huffing with mystical power. Aurelian’s heart pounded with both anger and deliberate intent. The valley was a furnace, and he alone could lead them through.
From the smoke, his gaze picked up the figure again, hooded once more. Jim stood, watching steadily from the cliff edge. Every clap, every tiny movement of the head, was a sign—a hidden hand shifting pawns across the field. The king could feel the anger coming, but he pushed it back. Anger was a tool, not a failure.
He barked orders: "Left flank, hold down fire! Archers, prepare! Mages, shields up!" Soldiers were carried forward with practiced efficiency, wards and arrows cutting through the small eruptions and constraining the spread of the green flame.
And then the second wave of detonations. The green eggs burned in turn. The dry grass that surrounded them was a fuse, burning like a string of doom running in a chain. Aurelian’s eyes went wide at the size of it. This was not just a trap—it was an engineering of massacres, intended to annihilate Moonstone’s armies before the actual battle was even engaged.
Fall back, slowly, in formation! No hesitation!" he bellowed, the voice of a king demanding not only obedience but faith. Each step back was deliberate, wards flaring with each step to take shockwaves and debris.
The valley was a cacophony of anarchy: fire, explosions, smoke, green light, and the cries of soldiers grunting to hold their formation. Aurelian pushed through among them, his own spells bolstering shields, neutralizing flame, directing troops.
Out of the fog, he could see Jim’s figure now clearly. The man in the hood was serene, deliberate, waiting for every slip. But Aurelian saw the pattern—the king of Moonstone never wavered. He had seen the trap coming, laid counter-snaps, and even as fire screamed and green magic burst, he maintained the line with unyielding mastery.
"Hold firm! Every man and woman standing here is my strength! We will not be broken!" Aurelian bellowed. Soldiers bellowed back, a united wall of resistance against the chaos.
The figure in the hood clapped once more, but Aurelian’s mind was quick, his plan working. He would neutralize every attack, counter every threat, and live. He would not allow the valley to be a grave.
With another backhand sweep of his blade, weaving defense runes and triggering measured counter-blasts, he anchored the line. Fire crackled and green bursts went off, but Moonstone’s soldiers flowed like a single creature, steered by their king’s steel will.
Aurelian’s eyes came back to Jim, unblinking. The trap was clever, enormous, made to kill and frighten—but the king was prepared. And in this valley, the fist that had the temerity to strike first would be met by a strength they could never have imagined.