The Founder's Return

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as I bolted upright in bed, my heart racing. The image of Celia was still vivid in my mind—her eyes devoid of emotion, her hand gripping a blade that had pierced my chest.
The phantom pain lingered as I touched the spot where the blade had struck in the dream.
I forced my breathing to slow, pressing my palms against my knees. "It was just a dream," I muttered, though the unease didn't fade.
Shoving the thoughts aside, I climbed out of bed. I don't have time for dreams—not now.
Quickly, I changed into my training clothes and grabbed my wooden sword.
The weight of the blade felt heavier today, a reflection of my troubled mind.
As I stepped into the hallway, the quiet hum of the estate greeted me. It was peaceful here, far removed from the chaos brewing beyond its walls. But for how long?
In the dining hall, the aroma of fresh bread and roasted meat mingled in the air. I ate in silence, my thoughts drifting to the state of the nation.
Bandits weren't new, but their coordination was alarming.
This wasn't the work of a ragtag group—someone was guiding them, pulling strings to destabilize the country.
Their focus on trade routes was methodical, meant to cripple the nation's economy.
I clenched my fist around my fork. The signs were clear, but the solutions were not. Would I rebuild this nation in time, or would it collapse under the weight of forces I couldn't yet see?
The training grounds were lively, the sound of wooden swords clashing filling the air.
The familiar routine helped ground me, pulling my focus back to the present. Today, I would push myself further, using the Veinforge Technique to sharpen my mana control. If questioned, I could easily credit the improvements to Master Kaine's guidance.
Each strike on the dummy was deliberate, my focus razor-sharp. The technique burned, my veins protesting as mana coursed through them, but I endured. Pain now for power later.
As I trained, an old memory surfaced—the artifacts of my disciplines. Each artifact was said to grant its wielder a temporary form of immense power.
The question gnawed at me: If I found one, would it recognize me as the nation's founder before the power faded?
This was another mystery to solve, another piece of the puzzle that could either save the nation—or doom it.
By noon, Master Kaine arrived with a group of young trainees. His commanding voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "Form teams of five. Each team will have a leader. Your mission is simple: capture the enemy's base or eliminate their leader."
I was chosen to lead one team; Marcus led the other. The moment our eyes met, I saw the fire in his gaze. This wasn't just training for him—it was a battle to prove himself.
The sun hung high as the game began. My team included:
Jared, a powerhouse with raw strength but little finesse.
Lina, quick and observant, perfect for scouting.
Edric, a tactician with a knack for thinking under pressure.
Sophie, an archer with precision that rivaled trained soldiers.
We huddled together, my voice low but firm. "Marcus is smart, but we'll outthink him. Jared, you'll draw their attention with a frontal assault. Sophie, take to the trees and provide cover fire. Lina, scout their positions and report back. Edric, stay with me—we'll adapt as the situation unfolds."
The plan was simple, but Marcus wasn't an opponent to underestimate.
Marcus's team moved like a well-oiled machine, setting traps and forcing us to react. Jared's bold charge drew their attention, but Marcus anticipated it, ambushing him with a feint that took him out of the game.
Sophie managed to eliminate one of their team members from her perch, but not without drawing return fire that forced her to relocate.
Lina returned with vital intel: Marcus had fortified his base, leaving only one weak point—a narrow opening guarded by two of his team members.
Using this information, I adjusted our approach. Lina and I flanked the opening while Edric created a diversion with smoke spells.
We managed to take out two more of Marcus's team, but his retaliation was swift. Sophie fell to a coordinated counterattack, leaving only Edric, Lina, and me.
As dusk settled, the field grew eerily quiet. The final clash was inevitable.
Marcus and I met in the center of the field, our teams reduced to nothing. The light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the dirt.
He moved first, his wooden blade a blur as it came toward me. I blocked, the impact jarring my arm. His movements were sharp and precise, forcing me onto the defensive.
He fought like a commander, each strike calculated, each feint designed to lure me into a trap.
But I had experience he couldn't match. Every swing of my blade carried the weight of battles fought centuries ago.
We exchanged blow after blow, the world narrowing to the clash of wood and the rhythm of our breaths.
Finally, we reached a stalemate—my blade at his throat, his at my head. A draw.
The game ended under the cover of night, the trainees dispersing to rest and recover. I grabbed a drink, my body aching from the effort, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
The grove on the outskirts of the estate was bathed in moonlight, the air cool and still. When I arrived, Celia was already there, her figure illuminated by the silvery glow.
She stood with her back to me, gazing up at the moon, her expression serene yet distant.
For a moment, I simply watched her, the stillness of the night wrapping around us like a blanket.
The weight of the day's events faded, replaced by a quiet anticipation.
The grove was peaceful, the moonlight casting a soft glow over Her face, She looked so peaceful, So, So beautiful I guess?