PART 13: THE SECOND OVERTURN

  Chapter 043

  IV – Restless Fear

  Back near the land of the rich, Donnor had retreated a careful distance from the ongoing battle. From afar, he watched the royal tower belching smoke, its walls trembling as tremendous power brewed within. All the while, in his arms lay a lone, crying child.

  And just like that, as a silent pressure swept through the air, the tower fell. The royal throne and all its glory tumbled. Brick by brick, it collapsed. The ground shook with each passing second, smoke rising higher, and finally drawing the people of the rich toward the empty expanse where the tower once stood.

  Those near enough to witness the collapse grew frightened. Ladies clutching baskets and water flasks stood frozen, eyes fixed on the swelling cloud of debris. Servants dropped their brooms and covered their mouths. Men lounging on feathered couches grunted at first, but with a single turn of the head, their eyes gaped wide. There was no tower left.

  One woman started running the other way, and that was all it took—one person for the rest to follow, and one scream for another to echo. They ran as fast as they could manage. Heels spun and struck stone. Screams ricocheted through the streets. People rushed down staircases to flee their homes. A few gathered their money, stuffing it into thick coats before moving as if their lives truly depended on it.

  The inner ring of land was abandoned, leaving no trace of humanity behind. The only thing that remained was the Armiton and its HQ, standing alone without a tower to defend it.

  From a distance, one man burst from the HQ and dashed downhill, leaving the land for a place of relative tranquility. He was a man of spontaneity with consistency in wearing his armor. But this time, he was seen wearing nothing but a robe, much like Donnor. When he spotted him, he hurried forward and halted just short. The two commanders faced one another, though one wore a deeply unsettled expression.

  “Ernol,” Donnor said, noting the pale look on the Commander of the Nights. “Have a seat. No one is watching.”

  Ernol immediately dropped onto his bum and sat criss-crossed beside him. With a grunt and a scratch at his nape, he said, “What is going on? Was that Luminar we saw, our marshal? Donnor, tell me I’m not wrong about that.”

  “Not wrong. That was her.”

  Ernol slouched and nodded. Donnor had always known his mental state, but seeing him now, it was impossible to ignore. His face—his entire skin—was beyond pale. In a hollow voice, he said, “So she finally returned. Any idea why she is… uh, doing that?” He waved a hand toward the pocket of air where the tower should’ve been. “This level of freedom is beyond frivolous in the nation of Strength, you know?”

  Donnor remained standing, his body never quite facing Ernol. Something about the situation felt off and unsettling. Holding the child closer, he took a step away from the shaking man and replied calmly, “Well, what can you do with someone who is the strongest?”

  Ernol laughed, though his shoulders stayed tense. His tone grew more disturbing than before. “I’m too tired to process what’s happening. Day and night—day and night—I’ve been summoned by slaves and men of the rich, all claiming a child has come to bring liberation. Liberation. Liberation!” He scratched his head again, more aggressively than the last. “I’ve heard so much of their nonsense that it keeps me restless, awake through the nights. And now I wake up to this ruckus, and I’ll tell you—it feels strange seeing the sun so bright again. And to be real with you—”

  Ernol shut his mouth. Eyes gaped wide.

  He lunged and strangled the air in front of him.

  Donnor was taken aback, flinching at the instant change by the man. He took a step back.

  Ernol panted, clenching the air so tightly that his knuckles popped. His constricted eyes rattled, body tense. For a moment, he seemed like a different person. But right after, his hands uncurled, and he straightened with an oblivious face, almost lost.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “W–what?” he asked, puzzled. “I swore I saw a child in front of me. Maybe I was dreaming.”

  The words made Donnor’s heart sink. His face went pale, pulling Vynelor away from his sight.

  As Ernol calmed down, dozens of men poured out of the HQ, scattering like ants across a canvas stripped of order. Their gazes locked onto the lingering cloud of dust as it slowly settled. Soon, hundreds stood in place, trembling in silence.

  “Everyone woke up,” he finished, finally facing Donnor. His body faced away, hiding Vynelor from him. He asked, like a man drained of all rest, “Is this the Second Overturn? Will I be safe?”

  The questions lingered. They demanded answers. Donnor remembered the First Overturn well. The previous king had stood no chance—thanks entirely to Luminar’s Augurbind. What a power it was. As far as Donnor knew, Augurbind had never existed in RathNah. She had acquired it through knowledge alone. No one understood how. Not even him, which made him even more disturbed.

  She possessed many of the world’s strengths, each unique, bound together in a volatile system that belonged solely to her. Without Augurbind, Donnor, or any high-ranking soldier, could defeat her.

  “Our minds are too predictable for our own good,” Donnor said at last. “We just have to wait until she appoints herself queen.”

  “Wait, hold on. You’re saying… She’s choosing to take the crown?” Ernol asked, tilting his head in confusion. “Why didn’t she do that earlier? What puzzling behavior—if you ask me. Tell me.”

  He eyed him from the side. “Ernol, you have seen her intentions with King Lorrel. She sought only his removal, not the people. You’re growing uneasy.”

  The man’s expression turned colder as he let out a dry laugh. “That’s right, Donnor. This radical shift of hers would shake anyone. Who is it that changed her?” He slowly turned his face, stricken eyes settling on Donnor. His voice tightened. “You know, don’t you?”

  Donnor narrowed his eyes. “Commander of the Nights, go to your bed. You haven’t rested enough.”

  “I have rested enough to know that my comrade is hiding something from me,” he said while analyzing Donnor’s position. His pupils rattled. “Such as now.”

  Shatter!

  Donnor heard a sharp sound from behind. He turned and noticed a pot had fallen from one of the balconies. Just for a moment, his heart leaped, feeling unusually tense. He tried calming himself, knowing he was next to a commander who was unpredictable. Taking a deep breath, he turned back around—

  Ernol was in front of him.

  “A child.”

  —ERNOL—

  Wretched Summoning ? Lv. 15

  A sword was summoned into his hands. The grip pointed upward. The transparent blade passed through the child, waiting for the magical process to be finished and the weapon to be materialized.

  —DONNOR—

  Quick Speed ? Lv. 48

  He retreated instantly, landing at the far end of the residential walls. Vynelor’s body jolted in his arms, forcing a grunt as his eyes squeezed shut, the spell loosening its grip.

  In a cold sweat, Ernol rose eerily slow. He scratched at his neck again, mumbling to himself before speaking in his pallid state. “Commander of the Legions, why are you protecting that child? That’s a child, right? Surely that is the prophesied child of liberations. The thing the people have proclaimed. Surely.”

  Donnor replied, “What is that ability? That isn’t the custom of RrodKa. That sword. Where did you learn to summon it?” He spoke while gently nudging the child awake.

  “We learn from the ones we pass along,” Ernol said, releasing the sword. It evaporated instantly into a shroud of black. “Now, could you hand me the child? I don’t wish to do this the hard way. You see, my vision is quite unreliable at the moment. Best not raise your hands against a weakened comrade.”

  With more urgency, Donnor shook the child awake. “Hey. Wake up.”

  Vynelor opened his eyes with a groan, tears still drying along his cheeks.

  Ernol lowered his gaze to the boy. “Tell me his name. Maybe that will convince you to hand him over.”

  “It is not a child you need to concern yourself with.”

  “He looks like he’s from the land of the poor—no… that clothing. No man of RrodKa wears that. Such a thing intrigues me.”

  “You’re tired, Ernol. Go home.”

  “Say, why won’t you hand him to me? What an odd boy to be in a place like this. Let me see his face.”

  “Commander of the Nights, this is your last warning.”

  “Is he the child they’ve been talking about? Surely he is—”

  “If you do not leave now, I will—”

  —DONNOR—

  Rippling Magic ? Lv. 25

  The floor flashed with veins of magic just before disappearing. The earth beneath Ernol opened up like a mouth gaping open. His feet lost ground, and the man fell into the dark chasm. Then the ground closed in on itself, the lips crushing shut with Ernol buried in dirt and stone.

  Donnor could already see the sealed earth shake and find resistance. Time was running out. Carrying the waking child, he fled.