The day and night blurred together in exhaustion. After the battle, Nerion, Silvestre, and the others were escorted back to the Ansaran Army Camp, where healers and Captains worked through the night to stabilize the wounded. Sagat’s lair was secured; survivors were rounded up for questioning. Their scattered testimonies allowed Saulo and Commander Sebastian to piece together fragments of truth — Sagat’s dealings with Rhodarians, Rolando’s participation, the chaos of the prisoners’ escape.

  No one spoke of Arbak. No one even imagined Sagat had kept a hidden stash, or that a Beast Lord had taken it. And even if they knew, none in the camp would dare pursue a Rank 8 Magical Beast, much less one about to become Rank 9.

  Major Serena returned in the early hours. When she learned Elisha had burst into the Army Camp like a force of nature, nearly tearing down the perimeter, she felt her stomach drop. She regretted telling him the camp’s direction — until she discovered the Commander himself had excused Elisha’s intrusion. Captain Apollos was facing demotion, jail time, and maybe…

  On the other hand, Elisha received no more than a reprimand.

  Serena said nothing after that. Some matters were above her station.

  Inside one of the medical tents, Mikael sat beside a small wooden bed. Nerion’s breathing was steady; his pulse calm. But he had not woken. The boy should have been broken beyond saving — yet his bones felt whole, his flesh restored. Even Mikael could not understand how.

  Shortly before dawn, Nerion’s eyes opened.

  He blinked slowly, groggy, unsure of where he was. As awareness sharpened, he touched his chest, arms, ribs — searching for the ruin he remembered. Instead he found strength. Firm muscle. Smooth bone. A body remade.

  But his Qi and Mana… nearly empty. He exhaled shakily. Better empty than crippled.

  Then he froze. The Genesis Stone was warm against his chest.

  For one heartbeat, he wondered if everything in that endless void had been a dream. But the clarity in his mind — the sudden expansion of understanding — the sharpened awareness of every thread of Natural Energy around him…

  No dream could have changed him like this.

  He felt wiser. Older. As if his thoughts had been washed clean. He understood he had been given two impossible gifts in one morning. Both a strong body and mind, like adding wings to a tiger.

  Footsteps approached. Nerion sat upright just as Mikael and Elisha entered.

  Mikael sealed the tent with his Will, a subtle pressure settling in the air. He looked exhausted — skin pale and dry, hair dishevelled, a faint limp in his step.

  Nerion managed a small smile, but it faded when he saw Mikael’s expression.

  Before he could speak, the weight of everything struck him — and tears came unbidden.

  “Pops… I’m so sorry. Lucca… Is Silvestre okay? Ailan? Eliana? Did—did you get hurt because of me?”

  Mikael’s jaw tightened.

  “So you know to ask about your brother first,” he said quietly. “A pity you weren’t thinking of him when you disobeyed my orders and stayed behind to save the prisoner. You endangered everyone. Roxy died because of it. We promised to keep her safe — and we failed, because you failed.”

  Nerion bowed his head low. He didn’t argue.

  “Father… you’re right. I was wrong. I only stayed because Sister Arbak saved us; I couldn’t leave her. But I should’ve handled it better. I should have given her the Stone Milk and left immediately. I hesitated. I was foolish. I’m… truly sorry.”

  A long silence hung in the tent.

  Elisha finally spoke, softer: “Silvestre lives. His left arm is gone… but he lives. Ailan is stable, one leg missing. Eliana is okay.”

  Nerion’s breath shuddered — relief and guilt twisting together.

  Elisha’s words hung heavily in the quiet. Nerion nodded, swallowing hard. He didn’t know how he would face Silvestre — or Ailan — but the relief that they lived brought a trembling warmth to his chest.

  Mikael remained silent a moment longer, watching Nerion with an expression Nerion couldn’t decipher: part anger, part relief, part raw exhaustion.

  “Tell us,” Mikael finally said. “Everything.”

  Nerion did.

  He described Arbak’s last stand. The prison collapsing. The moment he swallowed the Millennial Stone Milk. The surge of impossible strength. The ten seconds against Sagat. The destruction of his own body.

  As he spoke, Mikael’s frown deepened, tightening with every revelation.

  When Nerion admitted he had swallowed the Stone Milk and opened forty-seven Acupoints

  “Are you insane?” he shouted.

  Elisha flinched. Even Nerion recoiled.

  “You—! You little idiot! A child with two open Acupoints can barely stand without wobbling, and you—” Mikael dragged a hand across his face. “You opened forty-seven while bleeding out, with your body in shambles, and while fighting a Legate?”

  Nerion stayed silent. He knew Mikael was right. He been insane.

  Mikael’s voice cracked, just barely:

  “You should have exploded. Not died — exploded. Next time you want to die, why don’t you drink poison instead? It will be faster and not such a loss of precious materials!”.

  The tent vibrated faintly with Mikael’s suppressed Will. Elisha rested a hand on his father’s shoulder to steady him.

  Nerion continued recounting everything — except the Genesis Stone… and Ego Sum. He attributed all his survival to Arbak.

  And that, technically, was not a lie.

  Mikael and Elisha listened, glancing at each other only when Nerion described his rebuilt muscles, bones, and meridians.

  When Nerion finished, the tent fell quiet.

  Elisha exhaled first. “You’re lucky, little brother. Too lucky.” His voice was stern, but his eyes were gentle. “And you’re right — you made mistakes. But… you also saved us. You saved Arbak. And you fought a Legate with nothing but grit. That matters.”

  Nerion shook his head. “Lucca died because of me.”

  Elisha didn’t argue. He placed a hand on Nerion’s hair.

  “We’ll mourn him together. Day by day.”

  Mikael’s voice softened — barely.

  “You will not throw yourself into the jaws of death again,” he said. “Not for pride. Not for guilt. Not for stupidity. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” Nerion whispered.

  The storm of tension slowly thinned.

  Only then did Elisha recount his own side — his encounter with Ocelot and Malla, the great run through the Woods, the infiltration of the Army Camp. He shared his confusion about why the Commander had protected him.

  Mikael followed with a terse summary of his fight with Sylas.

  When he finished, he leaned back with a tired sigh.

  “When Lirian lived,” Mikael said quietly, “his subordinates would have followed him into the underworld itself. Commander Sebastian was one of them. Even now, after all these years, he still remembers the man Lirian was.”

  Nerion’s breath caught.

  Mikael’s eyes hardened. “But remember what I said. Lirian had admirers… and enemies. The kind of enemies who rewrite history with blood. Some who speak well of him now may have spat on his name then. And there are traitors — perhaps even among Lirian’s old council.”

  Nerion wanted to beg for more. For stories. For memories. But Mikael’s tone warned him to stay silent.

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  He needed strength, not nostalgia.

  Nerion nodded and lowered his gaze. After a moment, he reached into his clothes.

  “Pops,” Nerion said quietly, “I have something.”

  He placed the bottle into Mikael’s palm.

  At first, Mikael assumed it was the old bottle. But when he saw the ten gleaming drops

  Elisha inhaled sharply. “Arbak gave you… this?”

  Nerion nodded.

  Mikael closed the bottle slowly, reverently — as if it were a relic.

  Before he could protest, Nerion blurted: “Take them. Please. You said you needed one drop, then seven, then twelve to recover. You already used one… but I saw your limp. Your injuries are worse. You need these more than I do.”

  Elisha stepped beside Nerion. “Father, he’s right. You’re hurt. Badly.”

  Mikael stared at the two boys — stubborn, earnest, infuriatingly loyal — and sighed heavily.

  Without another word, he uncorked his own spare flask and poured seven drops

  He handed the remaining three

  “Father—”

  “Do not argue,” Mikael said, his tone absolute. “Three drops were yours. Three drops Arbak gave back to you. And your foundation, thank AEON, is intact. With proper training, you will recover faster than you think.”

  He pocketed his flask and stood with effort.

  “I’ll use these to step fully into the Emperor Stage. I won’t regain my former Saint level, but this is enough. For now.”

  He exhaled, heavy and tired. “We’re leaving later today. We need to return to the Orphanage and make sure everything is in order — especially after what you told me about that little shit Apollos. I trust Myra handled it, but still. Better to return early.”

  “You need to train as well,” Mikael told him. “Commander Sebastian asked to see you in the morning. This may be your chance to enter the Army. Accept it. Trust him — but do not lower your guard.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Elisha’s voice held restrained excitement. This was the path he had wanted for years — not for glory, but to uncover Lirian’s truth… and to help Mikael reclaim everything he had lost.

  His young eyes burned with the same quiet vow he had carried for years:

  He didn’t care about his biological father and mother. For him, only Mikael was a true father. In this regard, he was more like Lirian than even Nerion.

  The next morning, Elisha was escorted to Commander Sebastian’s tent. He entered prepared to accept whatever punishment awaited him for storming the camp the previous night. By all rights, he should have been killed for violating military protocol. Only Mikael’s assurance regarding the Commander’s character had given him any measure of calm.

  Yet even so, Elisha understood that regardless of his motives, he had to make amends

  Inside, the Commander stood before a large map table, studying troop positions across the border. His attention lingered on the possible Rhodarian forces that might attempt a retaliation, especially after the confirmed death of Rolando Du Sakar. Two armies demanded particular attention:

  — The Second Regiment of the Black Turtle Army — The Third Regiment of the Red Phoenix Army

  The tent was silent. Elisha remained at attention, waiting.

  The flap suddenly parted.

  The red-haired beauty who had arrested him the night before walked in without saluting. Elisha stiffened. Her overwhelming presence — her boldness — her casual dominance — all came flooding back.

  She smiled teasingly and closed the distance in three strides.

  “Well, well,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Let me take a good look at you.”

  Before he could react, she cupped his chin with one hand, tilting his face to examine him like a merchant appraising new merchandise. Her fingers traced his cheek, jaw, and shoulders, completely ignoring the boundaries Elisha had always taken for granted.

  “Ma’am… could you please not touch me like that?” Elisha asked quietly, face burning. He was a mature young man, but certainly not accustomed to this

  She smirked.

  “Oh? Little boy, are you a virgin? Don’t tell me you dislike being touched by a beautiful woman.”

  Elisha opened his mouth — then closed it. He had been bold before, but she was an entirely different species of boldness.

  Commander Sebastian did not even look up from his map. “Leave the boy alone. When will you start acting like a proper officer? Consider your rank when you pull stunts like that.”

  He didn’t sound angry — more tired. As if this was a familiar routine. As if he had long since accepted that controlling her was… difficult.

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re so boring, Uncle Sebastian. You should loosen up.”

  She sauntered to the desk and sat directly on it, uncaring of documents or maps beneath her. The Commander’s eye twitched, but he said nothing.

  Finally, he addressed Elisha.

  “Young Elisha. We detained several of Sagat’s men. Sagat was dead when we arrived — apparently killed by a prisoner he captured days ago. That prisoner escaped with some of Sagat’s treasures. We haven’t identified them.”

  He continued, voice clipped and formal.

  “We recovered two beastmen corpses. Rolando Du Sakar and Sylas Du Sakar were seen in the lair. It seems the Rhodarians betrayed Sagat and there was a fallout.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “Sylas Du Sakar, Sixth Elder of the Great Tribe of Sakar, was found fighting a previously unidentified Emperor from our country.”

  Elisha’s heart lurched. The Commander’s eyes felt like they were stripping him bare. The pressure that fell on him wasn’t physical. It pressed directly against his soul. Sebastian’s .

  Elisha nearly collapsed when the pressure finally withdrew. Sweat dripped down his back.

  Sebastian continued.

  “Serena tells me you wish to join the army. Under normal circumstances, we welcome young talents gladly. But your reckless behaviour — your disregard for orders and military authority — cannot be ignored.”

  Elisha’s throat tightened.

  “This Army,” Sebastian said, “is Ansara’s pride. The right arm of the Royal Family. We face enemies on all sides. Even our allies are little more than back-stabbing snakes. We cannot tolerate disorder. I know there are corrupt elements within our ranks — but under my command, any rotten seed will be cut out.”

  His gaze hardened.

  “Your actions yesterday were punishable by death. However, the circumstances were… unusual. Captain Apollos has been dealt with accordingly. I expect that your insubordination will never repeat itself.”

  Elisha bowed deeply, exhaling in relief.

  “Understood, Commander. I will obey all rules from now on. It would be an honour to serve under you.”

  Sebastian gave a rare, faint smirk — the kind that made Elisha uneasy.

  “I appreciate your talent and boldness, young Elisha. And I would have taken you as one of mine. But I’m afraid… other arrangements have been made. I’m not sure whether you should consider yourself lucky or unlucky.”

  A melodic, dangerous voice cut in.

  “You’ll be under my personal command.”

  Elisha froze.

  The red-haired woman leaned toward him with predatory delight.

  “How fortunate for you, little lion. Don’t worry — I’ll train you properly.”

  Elisha opened his mouth to protest, but Sebastian raised a hand.

  “The decision is final. Let me formally introduce her.”

  He exhaled with the resignation of a man who had lost this battle long ago.

  “The lady sitting on my desk like an unruly child is Elisabetta Mariana De Varona

  A pause.

  “The Iron Maiden.”

  Elisha’s world tilted.

  This woman — this teasing, shameless hurricane — was the Third Dragon General

  He dropped to one knee at once.

  “Reporting to the Dragon General. Please forgive my earlier misconduct, my Lord.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t act so stiff, boy. I’d hate to think I wasted the strings I pulled to keep you here.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I’ve always been curious about Big Brother Lirian’s origins. I’d love to meet the old man hiding in your tent…”

  “Cough, cough.” Sebastian glared at her sharply.

  She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Uncle Sebastian. I know what matters. I won’t ask questions I shouldn’t.”

  Her gaze returned to Elisha, and something gentler — deeper — passed through her expression. “Just know this. Lirian still has allies in the Army. And in the Kingdom. But do not mention his name to anyone except Uncle Sebastian or myself. Saulo is loyal, but even then — be careful. We do not know yet who can be trusted.”

  Elisha swallowed. The words filled him with a warmth he hadn’t expected. But he remained still, respectful.

  “Good,” she said, nodding. “You’ll start as a vice-captain — without subordinates. You may have talent, but compared to me, you’re nothing yet. I’ll make sure to enjoy breaking you in, little boy.”

  A strange glimmer lit her eyes.

  Elisha trembled again — this time with dread.

  That afternoon, at the camp’s outer gate, Nerion, Silvestre, and Mikael reunited with Elisha.

  Ailan and his sister had already been sent back to the city of Coronas. Since Eliana now worked directly for the Commander, she was granted a stipend to leave the slums behind. Ailan had been given two choices: stay in the Army as an officer or return to Radom to train under Mikael.

  He hesitated. Losing a leg weighed on him, but keeping his sister safe outweighed everything. In the end, he chose to remain in Coronas. With the Commander’s recommendation, he would be apprenticed under one of the Army’s Master Blacksmiths, determined to restore his father’s legacy.

  Nerion felt strangely hollow. They were saying goodbye to Elisha, truly goodbye. Elisha would remain at the Frontier Camp, and chances to meet again would be rare. The realisation tightened his chest.

  Silvestre, of course, noticed first.

  “I hear you’re under a Dragon General now. And she’s super hot. You must be thrilled,” he said, wearing a grin begging to be punched. Even missing an arm, he was already cracking jokes. He never blamed Nerion. He would have never forgiven himself if he had left his little brother behind.

  Elisha’s eyes twitched. He smacked Silvestre with the flat of his hand. “Respect the General if you don’t want to get flogged to death. I’m a soldier now. Rules matter.”

  Nerion and Mikael exchanged a knowing look. Elisha sounded less proud and more… traumatised.

  And indeed, Elisha could barely stand straight. His shoulders were stiff, his ribs flinched with each breath. Elisabetta’s “training session” that morning had left him bruised from neck to ankle.

  After Silvestre finished yelping and Elisha finished pretending he hadn’t been humiliated by a female-shaped dragon, Mikael stepped forward.

  He offered final instructions—quiet but firm—and then took Silvestre away, giving the two boys space.

  The moment they left, Nerion lunged forward and wrapped Elisha in a tight hug.

  “I’ll miss you, big brother,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t forget us. We’ll wait for you—always.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. If he did, he might cry. So he shoved something into Elisha’s pocket and ran after Mikael and Silvestre.

  Elisha blinked and slipped a hand into his pocket.

  A bottle. One solitary drop of Millennial Stone Milk glimmered within.

  His breath caught.

  He looked up. Nerion was already far away—too far to return it, too far to argue. That was the boy’s intention.

  Elisha tightened his grip around the bottle.

  he swore silently.

  He raised his head and shouted, voice cracking with tears:

  “Wait for me! I’ll return to Radom with glory and show you the top of this world!”

  Nerion and the others turned back, waving with bright smiles.

  Elisha waved back, chest aching with pride and fear—and then a soft, melodic voice breathed behind him:

  “Well, going back with glory, showing the top of the world. What lofty ambitions you have there, little Elisha.”

  Elisha shuddered and turned slowly. Dragon General Elisabetta stood there, looking at him with eager, teasing eyes.

  “Come to big sister then. I’ll make sure to make a worthy man out of you.”

  His bright future looked oh so glorious and bleak at the same time.