Screams.

Endless screams.

That was all he could hear for miles on end. He felt his body pressed down onto something hard as frantic steps echoed around him. Drowning in a cacophony of noise that he could not hope to understand. As for his vision? It was non-existent.

In this place of infinite darkness, enveloped in the howls of madness, Soren finally remembered himself.

"Where am I?"

He spoke but the words came out slurred. It felt as if he had the wind blown out of his lungs. A massive crushing force coming from above. The immense mass felt both fleshy and hard, soft in areas and tough in other places. There was also the cold sting of metal poking at him from above and below.

Panic settled in his chest. Get out… I must get out…

But it was beyond difficult. His very movements were restricted—like a doll strung up with ropes and stuck in a precise pose. And the smell… Gods. He wanted to puke but all he could do was swallow it back. He didn't know why, but a sense of urgency was welling up in his chest, telling him to move… To leave. To be free. He had no time to wallow in despair.

With whatever energy was left in his body, Soren pushed his way up, like a corpse trying to crawl out of its tomb. More and more weight piled from above as he grit his teeth harder than ever before. A warm liquid continued to seep through the cracks, sticking between his fingers and under his clothes with every jitter of movement.

But that was only the start of his problems. As he was about to grapple with whatever was placed above him, a sudden shockwave reverberated in his ears as a burst of heat clung to his skin.

The impact felt immediate. Soren's body was flung in the air—he felt himself turn weightless for a moment before finally slamming back into the ground. His head rang in pain as blood slipped down from his forehead.

However, his body was finally free. There was nothing holding him in place anymore. Whatever explosion that was, it had helped him escape his tomb… And yet, the screams around him continued. And more detonations were heard.

His eyes slowly adjusted. Through the blurriness, he saw fire raging around him. And armored footsteps rushing in many directions. He held his forehead tightly, trying to massage the pain, but nothing was working. Suddenly, Soren felt a violent tug from his shoulder, pulling him up from the ground.

"You fucking bastard! Get it together!" The man shook him like a rabid dog with a broken toy. "Where is your master, huh? Answer me!"

Can you give me a damn second?! Soren wanted to yell, but his confusion stopped him. As his vision finally recovered from the earlier blast, what met his eyes was the visage of an elf covered in grime and dirt. His frizzled hair burnt at the seams, as if he had dove into a volcano head on. A scar ran down from his eye to his bottom left cheek. A sword slash, no doubt.

Where the fuck am I…

"Why aren't you answering me yet! Where's your master!"

"My master is dead." Soren's lips moved on their own. Much to his own shock. "He died in the earlier blast."

The rough warrior elf grit his teeth and shoved him back to the floor. "Useless. Utterly useless."

But in that moment, all Soren could focus on were his surroundings. Bloodied corpses lined the cobblestone floor as arrows and fire rained from above. Elven soldiers went from one area to the next, trying to put out the endless flames. In the distance, he saw towers at each side, some half-blown apart but clinging to life. Inside, magi were slinging spells at somewhere down below.

A castle? He thought. A besieged castle? How? When did I get here?

But the time for thinking ended rather quickly. Another explosion cracked the air beside him, hurling bits of stone and fire like shrapnel. Screams were heard once again, but many more were stifled in the blast. A few broken chunks of flesh landed next to him. He stared at them in disgust.

"What the hell are you waiting for?!" He heard the colossal elf from before yell out to him. "Since your master is dead, you have to take his place! Did that bastard really waste all that time training you for nothing? By the Maiden's grace, if you don't get your shit together, I will kill you myself!"

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As he said this, a sudden slew of images flooded back to his mind. Images of a beautiful woman wearing a rose for a dress. Images of a frigid hellscape drowned in the howls of wind and snow. Images of a pulsing crimson jewel that seemed to think of him as prey.

"Ah… The Mirror Game…" Soren remembered.

But there were other memories too… Ones that didn't seem to belong to him. Memories of a young man, arms full of scrolls, climbing up to the attic. Dusty shelves being swept, and books arranged according to unseen logic. There was also a chalkboard, full of mysterious symbols. An elven man with long blond hair tied into a pony tail pointed at the board, trying to teach him something.

"Master…" he uttered the words without knowing.

Sorrow and guilt mixed in his gut. In that moment, his throat felt too tight to breath—though, he was unsure if it was the chains around his neck or if grief itself had coiled there, sharp and suffocating.

Holding the chains tightly, Soren's feet shook but rose anyway. He forced himself to stand. The scorching ground felt visceral on his bare feet, but he ignored the pain and glanced at the colossal elf warrior. The man seemed rather busy, throwing orders at men too lost in despair to answer.

Bastion Thirel, he remembered his location. The western border of Feylith…

My name is Soren Andersen. The—

"Slave tactician! Didn't your master tell you what to do in this situation?!" The elf warrior yelled as he slashed through a soldier like butter. "Think of something, you bastard!"

Ah, yes. The Slave Tactician. That was who he was. A human slave serving under a master of war—an elven strategist by the name of Duke Alinar. He was an orphan child that the man one day picked up. Though he was a slave, the master treated him like his own student.

Duke Alinar is dead… He quickly recalled what had happened. A magecraft spell shot from beyond the castle wall sent them all flying… His master was ripped to shreds before his very eyes from the blast. As for him… He landed on top of a pile of corpses—one that grew by the minute until he was buried beneath a mountain of flesh.

His neck quickly turned to where the battle was raging. Soren stood a top a colossal wall, overlooking the mangled battlefield below. A sea of flowing bodies was moving toward them rapidly.

"The Spirit Wolf legions…" Soren muttered to himself quietly as the remaining Magitech cannons fired round after round. Several wolf-headed soldiers climbed onto the wall from ladders, rage filling their eyes. The elven soldiers met them head on.

In the air, glowing swords rained down upon the Spirit Wolf army like falling stars of judgement. Colossal banners floated above them—spectral and translucent, like ghostly symbols of war unfurling across the greyish skies. Claiming dominion over the heavens above.

Everything about the scene terrified him. It felt as if he was witnessing the end of the world. And yet… it was all too familiar.

"So this is the War of Swords…" he whispered. This was exactly like the images he had seen after using [Eyes of the Fairy] on the scroll Guntharion left behind. Only now, the horrors had weight, smell, sound… It was all real.

Did the Blossom Sword Flower send us to this historic battle through Her powers? A jolt of fear ran down his spine. How is that even possible? He recalled the strange space She had sent them to before the start of the challenge. Whatever this place was, it felt far too real…

A part of him even feared they had somehow been sent back in time—returned to the Third Age of Fantasia. His companions. Myrin. Cassia. Could they too be in this castle somewhere?

With these thoughts racing in his mind, Soren knew that he couldn't stumble about in confusion for any longer. The castle wall was slowly being overrun by the enemy… He needed to think of something fast. Death was gripping him and the rest of the elven army by the neck.

Without hesitation, Soren's thoughts rushed to form a command. To see the unseen. He needed to observe what was happening around him with [Eyes of the Fairy].

But much to his horror, nothing happened.

"My Soul Weapon… Its missing?" He frowned deeply as another explosion sent bits of stone flying in his direction. Soren covered his head with his arms.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light startled him. He looked between his hands to see a strange window panel floating before his eyes. One that looked somewhat similar to the ones The Records creates…

"This… Did the Blossom Sword Flower make these after reading my thoughts?"

But there was no time to ponder over such things. Squinting his eyes, Soren read as quickly as he could.

The Siege of Thirel (Phase 1)

Bastion Thirel is being invaded by the Spirit Wolf legions! They wish to capture the castle and obtain the Hollowed Star fragment. Reinforcements arrive in five days—you and the remaining troops must hold back their armies until their arrival!

Quest: Defend the castle for 5 days, 23 hours, and 42 minutes.

Castle Health: 50/100

Available Magi: 79

Available Sentinels: 132

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