By the time they reached the city’s outer gates, dusk had already swallowed the forest behind them. The walls loomed ahead—tall, scarred stone glowing in the torchlight, banners fluttering weakly in the night wind.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The survivors just stood there, too tired to care, too numb to feel relief.

Damien slowed his pace. His boots dragged faint streaks of soot across the dirt road as he surveyed the guards stationed above. Spears glinted in the light, crossbows pointed down. The sound of armor shifting filled the air.

“Stop where you are!” the lead guard called. “Identify yourselves!”

Apnoch stepped forward, his armor cracked and darkened from the battle. “Captain Apnoch of Delwig,” he rasped. “We’re survivors.”

The guards exchanged uncertain glances. “Delwig? You mean the fortress city?” One of them leaned over the wall, squinting into the gloom. “We haven’t heard from Delwig in days.”

“That’s because there’s no one left to report,” Apnoch replied flatly. “The city’s gone.”

“The whole of Delwig. There’s no survivors besides us. We’re the only ones to have survived the destruction that came upon the city.”

Silence. Then the faint murmur of disbelief rippled along the wall. A few guards lowered their weapons slightly—but tension still hung thick in the air.

“Hold!” barked the captain again. “If you’re truly from Delwig, prove it.”

Before Apnoch could answer, one of the sentries suddenly straightened, eyes widening. “Sir! Those men—” He pointed toward the group’s rear. “—I recognize their armor! They came through here a few days ago heading toward the Verge. They’re Delwig’s border squad!”

The mood shifted. The captain blinked, his voice softening as he turned toward the returning soldiers. “You were part of the city guard?”

One of them, barely able to stand, nodded. “Aye, Captain. We left before the attack… These people—” he gestured weakly toward Damien’s group, “—helped us survive. Delwig… it’s gone. The walls, the keep, the general—everything. The beasts overran it after… after a certain mad man decided to go insane and consume the life force and magic essence from everyone living in Delwig after destroying the fortress city.”

Murmurs spread along the parapet. The gate captain’s jaw tightened. He didn’t press further. With a heavy breath, he raised a hand. “Open the gates.”

Chains clanked. The iron doors groaned as they swung inward, revealing the dimly lit streets beyond.

“Bring them to the holding ground,” the captain ordered. “The city lord will decide how to handle this.”

Apnoch nodded in thanks, then gestured for the group to move.

Inside, the city was quiet but alive—a stark contrast to Delwig’s ruins. The streets were narrow, lined with worn cobblestones and flickering lanterns. Vendors were closing their stalls for the night, but curiosity had drawn them to their doors. Whispers followed the group’s passage.

“Look at them… they’re filthy.”

“Soldiers?”

“No—refugees.”

“Did something happen to Delwig?”

Damien ignored the murmurs. His cloak was torn, his gloves blackened, and yet his expression was unreadable. Beside him, Arielle and Lyone walked silently, the pale glow of lamplight softening their weary faces. They looked human again, not the broken remnants of warriors who had faced the abyss.

Lin had already been dismissed at the forest’s edge; her essence resting inside his core. For the first time in days, Damien walked without a summon beside him. The emptiness felt strange.

They passed through several checkpoints before being escorted to an old training yard at the edge of the city—a vast, open ground walled off from the rest of the districts.

“This’ll do,” one of the local officers muttered. “The lord’s orders are clear: keep them contained, fed, and under watch until further notice.”

Contained. The word stung, but Damien didn’t argue. He just nodded and began helping the survivors settle in.

The night passed quietly.

Tents were raised using scavenged fabric and broken poles. Fires flickered to life. The soldiers distributed food and bandages. No one complained. Even a bowl of cold stew felt like a feast after everything they’d endured.

Damien ate little. He spent most of the evening pacing the perimeter of the camp, eyes scanning the distant rooftops. Old habit.

Apnoch eventually joined him, carrying a small flask. “You’ll wear a groove in the ground if you keep walking like that.”

“Old habits die hard,” Damien said.

Apnoch chuckled, then took a long drink. “You’ve done enough for now. Let the others rest.”

“I am resting,” Damien replied without humor.

The captain studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You don’t have to guard everyone. We’re inside city walls now.”

Damien’s gaze drifted to the distant skyline, where the faint shimmer of moonlight touched the towers. “Walls didn’t save Delwig.”

Apnoch didn’t answer. He knew better than to argue.

The following day began with sunlight creeping through thin clouds. The survivors were given clean clothes, water, and basic rations. For the first time since Delwig’s fall, the air didn’t reek of smoke and blood.

Arielle spent the morning helping distribute food to the children who’d made it out. Lyone, ever quiet, worked on repairing their damaged weapons with the local smith. Apnoch liaised with the city guard to report casualty numbers.

Damien, though, found himself… idle. It was a foreign feeling.

He sat near one of the campfires, eyes half-closed, listening to the muted rhythm of the city—the clang of hammers, the chatter of merchants, the laughter of children who hadn’t seen war.

It was too calm.

He should’ve felt grateful, but the stillness gnawed at him. His hands, used to the weight of battle, now felt empty. His instincts itched for something he couldn’t name.

Arielle noticed his quiet detachment. “You should sleep,” she said gently as she approached. “You’ve barely closed your eyes since the forest.”

Damien gave a faint smile. “I will. Eventually.”

“You keep saying that,” she murmured. “But I don’t think you know how to stop.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “Stopping gets people killed.” He had to admit, he’d slowed down his progress for a while now.

She frowned but didn’t argue. They both knew he wasn’t wrong.

By nightfall, the camp had grown almost peaceful. Torches lined the outer wall, casting long shadows across the tents. The soldiers of the city rotated guard duty, keeping their distance from the refugees but watching all the same.

Damien stood by the gate of the enclosure, arms crossed, gazing toward the northern horizon. Beyond those hills lay the Verdant Verge—and the ruins of Delwig. Even from here, he could almost feel its pull. A whisper that hadn’t gone silent.

Apnoch found him again, this time without the flask. “You’re still awake,” he noted. “Thinking about the past?”

“Thinking about what’s left of it,” Damien replied.

Apnoch followed his gaze. “You really believe something’s still out there?”

“I know it.”

The older man exhaled slowly, then shook his head. “You’re chasing ghosts, Damien. Whatever happened in Delwig—it’s over.”

Damien didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as a faint breeze stirred the torches. “That’s what bothers me,” he said finally. “It feels over. But nothing that violent just… ends.”

Apnoch frowned. “You think the Gate—”

“I think it cracked and hasn’t fully healed,” Damien interrupted. “And I don’t like what silence usually means.”

They stood there for a while, neither speaking. The city behind them hummed softly with life, oblivious to the darkness that had consumed Delwig.

Finally, Apnoch clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not the only one who’s uneasy. But for now… we rest. We’ve earned that much.”

Damien didn’t resist as the man walked off. He remained at the wall long after the fires had dimmed, staring north.

~~~~~

The next morning dawned bright and deceptively serene. The survivors blended into routine quickly—some helping the locals, others still grieving. The city lord hadn’t summoned them yet, though word had spread that he’d been informed about Delwig’s fall.

Damien watched the bustle from his corner of the camp, arms resting on his knees. Two days of peace. Two days without blood or fear. It should’ve been enough to calm him. But it didn’t.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unfinished. Something in the ruins, breathing beneath the ashes.

When Apnoch passed by, he said, “You look like a man waiting for bad news.”

Damien gave a quiet laugh. “You’ve known me for a while now. I don’t wait for it—I go looking.”

The captain smiled faintly but didn’t press. “If you’re planning something, just tell me first.”

“I will,” Damien said, though he already knew he wouldn’t.

He stood then, stretching his shoulders as the light poured over the camp. Arielle and Lyone waved at him from across the yard—alive, healing, laughing softly.

For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to feel relief. Then, just as quickly, it faded.

He turned his gaze once more to the north, where the distant hills met the horizon. The faint wind carried the scent of pine and something else—something old, faint, and wrong.

His voice dropped to a low murmur, barely audible over the morning clamor.

“We rest for now… but I don’t think this peace will last.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep