The journey back to Oakhaven Fortress was less fraught with immediate danger than their trip out, but Lysander found it no less tiring. Every ache in his muscles, every scrape on his skin, was a testament to the brutal reality of this world, a stark contrast to the comfortable life Alex Chen had once led. Yet, as he walked, a strange excitement hummed beneath his fatigue. He hadn't just survived; he had acted. He had bent this world's narrative to his will, even if only in a small, violent corner of it.
His small team followed close behind him. Joric, usually prone to nervous fidgeting, now moved with a new, almost awestruck respect. Gareth, the silent, powerful warrior, simply nodded when Lysander gave an order, his trust earned through shared danger. It was Elara who was the most telling. Her sharp, watchful eyes, which had initially dismissed him as a pampered noble, now studied him with an unsettling focus, a grudging acknowledgment of his strange, undeniable skill. Her former doubt had been replaced by a wary curiosity, the mark of a mind that recognized something truly unusual.
As they approached the main gate, Lysander could feel the shift in the guards' behavior. Word had clearly spread. Their salute was sharper, their gazes lingered longer, no longer filled with scorn but with a dawning curiosity, a vague, uncertain respect. He met their eyes steadily, his own gaze holding a newfound, unsettling authority that was completely alien to the original Lysander Thorne. His dark hair was tangled, dusted with grime, framing a face that, though still bearing the refined features of his noble birth, was now etched with lines of exhaustion and the grim resolve of someone who had faced death and wrestled it into submission. He looked like a man who had been through fire and emerged… sharpened.
They were immediately escorted to High Commander Valerius's waiting room. The aide, her usual crisp efficiency tinged with surprise, waved them in. Valerius stood by his war table, his attention fixed on a freshly unrolled map. Kaelen, the heroic figure, stood nearby, his arms crossed, his gaze distant, as if already thinking about grander battles.
Valerius looked up as they entered, his silver eyebrows arching slightly as his gaze swept over Lysander's disheveled but upright form. "Private Thorne. You returned. And not empty-handed, I presume." There was no warmth, but a clear lack of the usual suspicion.
"High Commander," Lysander began, his voice steady despite his weariness, "The eastern border patrols were not simply lost. They were systematically eliminated by a specialized Goblinoid force led by Warlord Vilefang." He laid out a crude sketch map of the cave system he'd memorized from the novel. "Their methods involved advanced ambush tactics within land that made normal scouting useless. They were probing our weaknesses, Commander, trying to open a new front or disrupt our supply lines."
He then described the ambush point, the sonic traps, and how they had bypassed them. He carefully left out the true source of his knowledge, saying it came from his "continued study of their historical tactics." He then, with a subtle change in tone, told of the fight with Vilefang. He didn't boast, didn't exaggerate his personal heroism. Instead, he presented it as a calculated removal of a strategic danger. "The warlord, Vilefang, was stopped. His specialized unit has been broken, and the eastern border is safe for the foreseeable future. We also captured one of their scouts alive, who gave us more information about the enemy's wider movements."
Valerius listened, his expression unreadable, his sharp eyes fixed on Lysander's face. He then turned to Elara. "Aide, your assessment of Private Thorne's report?"
Elara hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking between Lysander and the High Commander. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, she said, "Commander, his assessment of the ambush spots was exact. His understanding of their tactics… it was uncanny. And as for Vilefang… the sounds we heard from the cave suggest a fierce fight, and the outcome speaks for itself. He led us with a skill I've rarely seen." Her tone was grudging, but honest. Lysander noted the subtle shift in her address, no longer "Private Thorne" but simply "Lysander," a small but important sign of earned respect.
Valerius's gaze returned to Lysander, a new intensity in his sharp eyes. He slowly walked around the table, his fingers tapping on the map. "Unusual, indeed. You've proven yourself a valuable asset, Private Thorne. More valuable than I first thought. Your… strange research seems to be remarkably effective." There was a hint of something like admiration, though it was carefully hidden.
"However," Valerius continued, his voice dropping slightly, "this success at the eastern border has created an opening. A void in the enemy's plans, yes, but also a chance. A chance that Kaelen Alden will be leading the main pursuit to use." He glanced at Kaelen, who now stood straighter, his own intense gaze fixed on Lysander.
Kaelen stepped forward, his voice deep, resonating with heroic conviction. "High Commander, I am ready to lead the counter-strike. We cannot allow this momentary advantage to be wasted." His eyes met Lysander's, holding a direct, assessing stare. Lysander, in turn, met it evenly. Kaelen was the hero, powerful and determined. But Lysander now knew his weaknesses, his predictable reactions, and how his own actions were forcing Kaelen down altered paths. This was the true game.
Valerius nodded, then turned back to Lysander. "Private Thorne, you have proven capable in the field. Your unique insights are… compelling. For now, you will stay within the keep. I want you to work directly with my intelligence officers. Analyze all incoming reports. Identify enemy patterns. Predict their next moves. You are to be my eyes in the shadows, my architect of strategy." He paused, his gaze sharp. "And your acquired scout, Private Joric, will be assigned as your personal aide. He seems to possess a knack for following your… unusual directions."
This was it. Not frontline combat, not yet. But a position of power, right at the heart of the fortress's command structure. He was not just surviving; he was thriving, his sharp mind being recognized and used. This was Lysander the plotter, establishing his power base, gathering influence and vital information before making his grand, decisive move. He felt a wave of triumph so potent it threatened to overwhelm him, a bitter contrast to the insignificant desk he used to occupy in his old life.
Dismissed, Lysander returned to his chamber, Joric trailing respectfully. He sent the younger soldier away, his mind already racing. In the privacy of his room, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out the Resonance Crystal. It pulsed faintly in his palm, a cool, almost alive hum against his skin. He closed his eyes, focusing on the lingering effects of the Earth's Whisper still thrumming within him, and then, slowly, he brought the crystal close to his chest.
A faint warmth spread from the crystal, intertwining with the subtle earth-bound energy within him. He concentrated, trying to recall every detail from The Crimson Blade about how Kaelen had used such a crystal. It wasn't just about absorbing energy; it was about channeling it, about focusing one's innate potential. He had no innate magic, no Battle Aura. Yet. He focused, pushing his mind to understand the abstract concept of Arcane Resonance—the natural vibration of magic, the invisible currents that flowed through all things. This isn't instinct for me, he thought, this is a system. A puzzle.
He imagined a spark, a tiny flicker of the raw elemental magic that permeated this world, drawing it into the crystal, then into himself. It was incredibly difficult, like trying to grasp smoke. He remembered the mundane grind of his spreadsheets, the endless lines of code that refused to compile. This felt similar, a stubborn resistance. But then, a faint, almost imperceptible zing echoed in his mind. He opened his eyes. The crystal glowed a fraction brighter. A warmth, distinct from the Earth's Whisper, settled in his palm. It was raw, unrefined magical energy.
He raised his hand, focusing, recalling a simple fire-starting spell from the novel's early chapters—a basic, almost trivial bit of magic that Kaelen learned with ease. He willed it into existence, feeling the energy flow from the crystal, through his hand. Nothing. Then, a tiny spark, like a firefly, flickered at his fingertips before dying.
A wave of frustration washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, determined resolve. He had felt it. A true, tangible spark. It wasn't the roaring fireball he craved, not yet, but it was a promise. He was Lysander Thorne, the Ash-Forged Sovereign, and he had just taken his first, faltering step into wielding the world's raw power. The intellectual plotting was crucial, but the ability to unleash a torrent of flame or a surge of pure might would be the ultimate reclamation of his destiny. He looked at the crystal, then at his still-unsteady hand. He would master this. He would become more than a mastermind; he would become a force. His true training began now.