Chapter 18: Birth of a Legend
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 15-20 Month VI: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 6th month, 15th to 20th Day
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The Lonelywood's Forest
While battles in the immediate vicinity of the village had become infrequent, the larger war continued across the vast expanse of the Great Forest of Lonelywood. The invading forces had paid a terrible price for their aggression. Low-ranking beast soldiers, commanders, and even some elite units had fallen in battle, their bodies feeding the forest floor.
Yet the Forest of Lonelywood had suffered its own major blow. Almost two percent of its total occupied territory, approximately two thousand square kilometers of land out of (100,000), had been conquered from both the southern and northern borders. To those unfamiliar with the forest's immense scale, this might not seem significant. But to the Beast Lords who governed these territories, it represented a fundamental redefinition of their borders and a loss of ancestral lands.
The forest had definite plans to reconquer these lost territories and push their borders back to their original positions, perhaps even further. But such campaigns would require careful planning and coordination. The two greater forests leading the invasion were formidable opponents: the Lonely Forest of Shadowfen to the north and the Forsaken Ashen Glade Forest to the south. Both possessed powerful Beast Lords and vast armies of corrupted or naturally aggressive creatures.
The Beast Lords of Lonelywood had learned that their allied human settlement had been specifically targeted separately during the recent attack. Most of the intelligent beasts in the forest already knew of the village's existence, though feelings about the human presence remained mixed. Some viewed any human settlement with instinctive distrust, generations of conflict making such wariness natural and some viewed them as natural prey. Others recognized the practical benefits of alliance.
What was undeniable was that the human village had proven itself a tremendous asset, especially on defense. The village had held territory that would have required significant beast forces to maintain, and they had done so with remarkable effectiveness. Hence, most beasts refrained from taking hostile actions against the humans. They were allies now, at least on this side of the forest.
But the situation was clearly different in the Lonely Forest of Shadowfen. Some intelligence there, some powerful beast or coalition of beasts, had recognized the village's potential and, more specifically, had identified August Finn as a significant threat. The targeted assassination attempt spoke to sophisticated strategic thinking.
Ozythalos, the Forest Arbiter and Guardian Beast of Lonelywood, had called for a council of Beast Lords. They needed to assess their remaining strength, plan their counteroffensive, and determine how best to integrate their human allies into the larger strategic picture.
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A Changed Village
Back at the village, physical recovery had progressed steadily. The defenses had been patched up, damaged sections of wall rebuilt, and burned structures replaced with new construction. From a purely practical standpoint, the settlement was operational again.
But the somber mood remained pervasive. No one wanted to celebrate their incredible victory. The cost had been too high, the losses too personal. The Imperial soldiers found this attitude somewhat odd. In their experience, victory was cause for celebration regardless of casualties. War meant death; that was simply the nature of their profession.
Yet as the days passed, many of the Imperial soldiers began to understand. Perhaps they had killed so many enemies over their careers that they had lost sight of how precious life truly was. Death had become routine, something to be tallied in casualty reports rather than truly mourned. They were bred and trained for war, and such emotional responses had been systematically dulled through years of service.
But here in the village, surrounded by people who treated war as an aberration rather than a way of life, some of those old emotions began to resurface. The Imperial soldiers found themselves remembering why death mattered, why each lost life represented not just a tactical setback but a genuine tragedy.
At least for a while, they rediscovered feelings they thought had been permanently buried beneath professional detachment. So they too declined to celebrate, though by all military standards this had been a victory of epic proportions. They mourned alongside the villagers, participating in funeral rites and memorial ceremonies.
There was something else the soldiers had begun to notice, something harder to quantify. The village felt comfortable in a way military camps never did. It felt homey, even though this was not their home. There was warmth here, community, a sense of belonging that transcended official duty.
So the soldiers accepted it. They mourned with the village, and soon they began to communicate more freely with the villagers. Stories and tales were exchanged around evening fires. Veterans shared accounts of distant campaigns, while villagers recounted local legends and personal histories. It created bonds that went beyond mere military alliance.
It was nice to observe, this gradual integration. For a while, the soldiers could pretend they were truly home, surrounded by family rather than comrades-in-arms.
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A Legend in the Making
Meanwhile, news of August's condition had become the primary topic of conversation. He remained unconscious nearly three weeks after the battle, a consequence of whatever power he had manifested. The healers assured everyone he was stable, that his body was simply recovering from extraordinary strain, but the extended unconsciousness was concerning nonetheless.
August had become the talk of the soldiers, discussions extending from morning formations to evening watches. They recounted what they had witnessed, though most admitted they had only caught glimpses. The battle had occurred at speeds that exceeded human perception.
They had seen him take down massive demonic beasts as if they were nothing more than training dummies. The way he had defeated that terrifying dragon single-handedly had left them awestruck. Veterans who had fought in dozens of campaigns, who had faced legendary creatures and survived impossible odds, admitted they had never witnessed anything comparable.
"It was like watching a god fight," one soldier said during an evening meal. "The light, the speed, the absolute power. I've seen Master Rank warriors in action before, even glimpsed a Grandmaster once. This was different. This was something beyond our normal understanding of strength."
Another soldier nodded in agreement. "Do you think the Emperor himself fights like that? I've heard stories about His Majesty's power."
"I believe it to be so," the first soldier replied thoughtfully. "But the Emperor was born with divine blood. This boy August, he's supposed to be mortal like us. What he did shouldn't be possible for someone without divine heritage."
The conversations continued, speculation mixing with genuine respect. They recognized they were witnessing the birth of a legend, a tale that would spread through the corners of the three sub-continents of Arkanus. August's name would be spoken in the same breath as historical heroes, his deeds becoming the stuff of bardic songs and children's stories.
In due time, August would be sought after by many people: kings wanting to recruit him, nobles seeking marriage alliances, merchants hoping for business partnerships, and warriors challenging him to test their strength. Fame, whether wanted or not, was inevitable.
But for now, he lay unconscious and unaware of his surroundings, his body and soul recovering from trauma that would have killed anyone else.
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The Awakening
On the 20th day, the moment finally arrived. August's consciousness, which had been adrift in that strange space between life and death, began its slow return to the waking world.
He felt groggy, his body impossibly heavy, as if he had been weighted down with stones. His mind struggled to form coherent thoughts, fragments of memory and sensation swirling without clear organization. Slowly, gradually, awareness returned.
His eyes opened, though the action required tremendous effort. The world appeared blurry at first, shapes and colors bleeding together without definition. He blinked several times, and gradually his vision cleared.
He was inside an unfamiliar room. The ceiling above him was canvas stretched over wooden supports, indicating he was in a large tent rather than a permanent structure. As his eyes adjusted and focused, he could make out various tools and equipment arranged on nearby tables. Medical instruments, bandages, bottles of potions and tinctures, all the paraphernalia of a healing facility.
"Aghhhhh," he groaned involuntarily as he tried to raise himself. His muscles protested, stiff from weeks of disuse. Every movement felt like pushing through thick mud, his body responding sluggishly to commands from his brain.
Determined to get a better assessment of his situation, August forced himself upright despite the discomfort. His arms trembled with the effort of supporting his weight, but eventually, he managed to achieve a sitting position.
That was when he noticed someone sitting beside his bed. Angeline was there, her head resting on her folded arms on the edge of his bed, clearly asleep. She must have been keeping vigil, watching over him while he recovered.
The sight of her brought immediate comfort. She was alright. Whatever had happened, she had survived. The tightness in his chest eased slightly, though anxiety still churned in his gut.
He tried to recall the events that had led to his current situation. His memory felt hazy, like trying to peer through fog. There had been an attack, he was certain of that. Demonic beasts, corrupted creatures that radiated malevolence. And then...
It clicked. The memories came rushing back with painful clarity. He had seen people dying, heard their screams of pain and terror. Friends, neighbors, people he knew by name, consumed by black fire or torn apart by shadow demons. The images were vivid and horrible, seared into his memory.
His heart began to palpitate, beating irregularly as emotional pain mixed with physical discomfort. He knew intellectually that those people were already dead, that his anguish would not bring them back. But the pain was there nonetheless, raw and immediate, refusing to be dismissed through logic alone.
For now, he needed to calm himself and find out what was currently happening. Panicking would accomplish nothing. He needed information and then he could determine his next steps.
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Taking Stock
August carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving slowly to avoid waking Angeline. She clearly needed the rest. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, muscles having atrophied during his extended unconsciousness. He stood carefully, using the bed frame for support until his balance stabilized.
He opened his magical item pouch, the dimensional storage space that Master Aetherwing had given him as a gift. Relief flooded through him as he confirmed that his equipment and other essential items were still present. Someone had clearly collected his belongings from wherever he had collapsed and secured them properly.
He withdrew a fresh set of comfortable clothing, practical garments suitable for moving around but not formal enough to suggest any official business. He also took a weapon, a reliable sword that he had used for training. Though the place seemed quiet, he could not afford to be careless or reckless. He did not even know for certain where he currently was, though he suspected he was still in the village.
As he dressed, he decided to check his Personal System for the current time and date. But when he attempted to access the interface, something was immediately wrong. The text that appeared was convoluted and difficult to parse, characters overlapping and colors bleeding together. He could only make out a few words clearly: [SYSTEM ERROR].
This was deeply concerning. His Personal System had been his constant companion ever since he was given a second chance at life, providing information and capabilities that had saved his life countless times. To have it malfunctioning now felt like losing one of his senses.
But he had more pressing matters requiring his attention. The System errors could be investigated later, once he understood his current situation. He needed to find out what had happened during his unconsciousness.
August made his way out of the medical tent, moving carefully on unsteady legs. His balance was compromised after weeks of immobility, making his gait awkward and uncoordinated. He walked like someone who had consumed too much alcohol, weaving slightly despite his best efforts to maintain a straight line.
Outside the tent, he could see he was indeed within the fort, the fortified keep at the rear of the village, (inside the mountain). Torches provided illumination in the pre-dawn darkness. Medical personnel moved between tents, attending to other patients. The fortress had clearly been converted into a large-scale medical facility.
Aunt Theressa must have been working herself to exhaustion, he thought. The organization and efficiency visible here bore her distinctive touch.
August headed toward the main entrance of the fort, intending to reach the Elder Council hall and find someone who could explain recent events. From what he could observe, the battle seemed to have ended. But everyone he passed wore somber expressions that made it impossible to determine whether they had won or lost.
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The Guards' Tale
When he reached the doorway leading to the main entrance, he found two Imperial soldiers standing guard. They looked surprised to see him, mouths literally falling open as if they had encountered a ghost. But they recovered quickly, snapping to attention and delivering a crisp Imperial salute.
The gesture felt awkward to August. He was not a nobleman of the Empire, nor did he hold rank in any kingdom's military hierarchy. He was simply a village leader, and even that title felt somewhat presumptuous given the council structure they had established.
One of the soldiers, a man in his thirties with the weathered look of a career military professional, spoke first. "It has been a while, Sir August. It is good to see you back on your feet."
August felt confusion mixing with concern. A while? How long had he been unconscious? His last clear memory was of the battle, and he had assumed perhaps one or two days had passed. But the soldier's phrasing suggested something longer.
"Wait," August said slowly, "this is not the day after the battle?"
The two guards exchanged glances, concern and confusion clearly written on their faces. It seemed the boy had not been informed of the timeline.
"No, Sir August," the second guard replied carefully. "You have been unconscious and in bed since the battle. Nearly three weeks have passed."
August felt the words hit him like a physical blow. Three weeks? He had been unconscious for almost a month? This was unprecedented in his experience. Even his previous bouts of unconsciousness had lasted days at most, not weeks.
The implications were staggering. What had happened in the village during that time? How had people managed after the battle? What decisions had been made, what challenges faced?
But there was one question that took priority over all others. "Did we manage to defeat the beasts? And how many did we lose?"
The soldiers looked at each other again, this time with expressions of genuine confusion. The first guard spoke hesitantly. "Sir, you are the one who defeated all of them. Do you not remember?"
August shook his head slowly. His memories of the battle were fragmented, emotional flashes rather than coherent narrative. He remembered feeling overwhelming rage, remembered light and fire, but the details were lost in a haze.
The soldier continued, clearly trying to be helpful despite his confusion. "If you wish to hear the story of your battle and apparent victory, we can only tell you what we witnessed, though much of it was beyond our ability to properly observe. Your speed exceeded even our trained eyes."
He took a breath and launched into the account. "One moment you screamed so loudly it gave the entire battle pause. Every combatant on both sides stopped, startled by the sound. Then the next moment, you began to glow with what we could only describe as divine light. It was bright but not unpleasant, illuminating the battlefield like midday sun."
"After that transformation, all the enemies converged on you, abandoning their other targets to focus their attack on you alone. But with a single sweep of your sword, which burned with white flames, the enemies perished. Not merely died, but ceased to exist entirely. And the dragon, that massive corrupted creature that had nearly destroyed us all, you defeated it as well. Alone."
The soldier's voice carried genuine awe. "It was such a spectacle, sir. I never imagined I would witness something like that in my lifetime. It will be a story I tell my children and grandchildren."
The second guard picked up the narrative, providing the information August desperately needed. "As for the losses, the casualties reached approximately two hundred total. Eight human villagers died, five beastfolk, and ten from our Imperial ranks perished the day after the battle from their wounds."
He continued with the medical report. "There were fifty who sustained injuries that were classified as life-threatening, but most are stable now. I suppose that would be forty-nine since you are awake. The rest were sent home after treatment for minor injuries that did not require extended care."
The soldier paused, allowing August to process this information. The casualty numbers were far lower than August had feared, but each death still felt like a personal failure. If only he had been stronger from the beginning, if only he had found some way to prevent the attack entirely.
They talked for a considerable time, August sitting on a nearby barrel while the soldiers filled him in on developments during his unconsciousness. They described how the Imperial forces had integrated more fully with the village community, how reconstruction efforts had proceeded, and what the current defensive posture looked like.
The conversation continued until the morning sky began to lighten, darkness giving way to the soft gray of pre-dawn. August absorbed all the information, asking clarifying questions and trying to piece together everything he had missed.
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Reunion
As the day began to brighten, a frantic presence burst from the fortress entrance. Angeline was running, her eyes scanning the area desperately until she spotted August sitting with the soldiers.
She must have overslept, exhaustion finally catching up with her after weeks of dividing her time between helping with healing work and keeping vigil by August's side. When she had awakened to find his bed empty, panic had set in immediately.
But now, seeing him alive and well, even if wearing a somber expression, all that exhaustion and anxiety melted away. She ran to him and embraced him tightly, her arms wrapping around him as if she feared he might disappear if she let go.
"Welcome back, Gus," she said simply, her voice thick with emotion.
The soldiers tactfully withdrew, recognizing the need for privacy. August mouthed his thanks to them for the conversation, and they smiled and departed, leaving the couple alone.
August hugged her back, saying nothing, mostly still processing all the information he had received. The battle, the casualties, the three-week gap in his memory, the System errors, all of it swirled in his mind without clear resolution.
But beneath all that confusion and concern, one thing was clear and simple. Angeline was safe. He was alive. They were together. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever consequences would emerge from his transformation during the battle, at least they had survived.
For now, that would have to be enough. The comfort of his lover's embrace, the warmth of the rising sun, the knowledge that despite everything, life continued. These simple truths anchored him, providing a foundation from which he could begin to rebuild his understanding of where he stood and what came next.
The village stirred to life around them as morning truly arrived, but August and Angeline remained in their embrace, taking a moment of peace before stepping back into the complicated reality awaiting them.