Chapter 149: The Aftermath of War 1

Ethan adjusted the collar of his shirt as he strode through the Valeris Mercenary Guild, the weight of exhaustion pressing against his every step. His body still ached, neural strain and deep-seated fatigue clung to him like an old, tattered cloak. But it wasn't just the physical toll of the battle that lingered. It was something deeper, something that sat heavy in his chest. The kind of weariness that no amount of rest could shake off.

The halls of the Guild Headquarters were unusually quiet, but the silence wasn't empty. It was filled with stares, whispers, and stolen glances. Ethan could feel them watching, could hear the murmurs carried on hushed voices.

"That's him. The one who ended the Black Sun."

"Harbinger of Death… That's what those who survived the war called him."

The words followed him, ghostly reminders of what had transpired. Ethan had never fought for recognition or titles, but they had been thrust upon him anyway. He wasn't built for legend. He had only done what was necessary. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, the way they looked at him…

Some of the mercenaries nodded in respect as he passed, their eyes filled with gratitude. Others watched him with a mix of awe and unease, as if unsure whether to admire him or fear him. He could see it in their expressions, the way some stepped aside when he walked through the corridor, the way whispers died down the moment he drew near.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was used to being an outsider, but this was something else. He wasn't just a soldier returning from war. He was a man who had changed the course of history though supernatural means, and that made him unpredictable in their eyes.

At the far end of the corridor, a familiar figure stood waiting for him.

Kael.

The old secretary stood near the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You sure you should be out of bed?" he asked.

Ethan let out a breath. "I'll live."

Kael studied him for a moment, his expression shifting into something more serious. "They haven't stopped talking about you. Half of them don't know whether to bow or run the other way."

Ethan rubbed his temple. "Great. Just what I wanted."

Kael chuckled, shaking his head. "The Guild Leader is waiting for you inside. He's been busy cleaning up the mess we left behind."

Ethan gave a small nod, his gaze shifting to the reinforced door before him.

Darrik Voss.

Guild Branch Leader of Valeris. A man of ironclad discipline and sharp instincts. Ethan had known him for months, long enough to see him not just as a superior, but as a comrade. They had fought side by side, bled together in the chaos of battle, argued over strategy, survival, and morality more times than Ethan could count.

This wasn't a formal meeting. It was personal.

Ethan took a steady breath and pressed his hand against the biometric scanner. The door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing the office beyond.

The room was dimly lit, the glow of holo-screens and floating data displays casting flickering blue and gold light across the walls. Tactical schematics, battle reports, and casualty logs scrolled across the translucent projections, their information constantly updating in real time. A sleek datapad rested on the polished metal desk, pulsing with unread messages. The faint hum of the guild's central AI system filled the air, processing battlefield recon reports in the background.

And behind that desk, Darrik Voss sat, scanning through a holo-display with a deep furrow in his brow. He looked tired, more tired than Ethan had ever seen him. His short-cropped dark hair was slightly disheveled, and the usual sharpness in his eyes was weighed down by exhaustion.

He didn't look up immediately, but the moment the door shut behind Ethan, he swiped a hand through the air, dismissing the holo-projections. The scrolling data collapsed into a single floating guild insignia, hovering idly beside him.

Then, a slow grin crossed the Guild Leader's face.

"Well," Darrik said, leaning back in his chair, his voice tinged with something between relief and amusement. "Look who's still breathing."

Ethan smirked, stepping closer. "Barely."

Darrik motioned for Ethan to sit, gesturing toward the reinforced grav-chair across from his desk. The chair adjusted automatically as Ethan sat, scanning his weight and posture before shifting into a more ergonomic position. He barely noticed.

"Figured you'd be too damn stubborn to stay in bed," Darrik said, shaking his head with a smirk.

Ethan shrugged, rubbing the lingering soreness in his left arm. "Didn't feel like sleeping all day while you were buried under work." He gestured to the flashing holo-screens and stacked datapads cluttering Darrik's desk. Lines of encrypted reports flickered in the air, some marked with classified clearance tags, others streaming casualty lists, strategic assessments, and post-battle economic damage reports.

The Guild Leader chuckled, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "Believe me, if I thought anyone other than Kael could write a halfway decent report, I'd have dumped some of this on them." He tapped a datapad, pulling up another scrolling list of deployment updates. "Half the staff here still thinks a debrief is just telling me how much ammo they burned through."

Ethan let out a low breath and leaned back, his chair adjusting slightly to accommodate the motion. There was a comfortable familiarity between them now. Darrik wasn't just his superior anymore. He was someone Ethan trusted.

But when Darrik leaned forward, his voice turned serious. "Listen, I won't drag this out. You saved a hell of a lot of people, Ethan. You ended the Black Sun Syndicate, wiped out Krenna's entire operation." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "That's not something I can put into words. But I'll say this, on behalf of every damn person who made it out alive or died for this cause… thank you."

Ethan shifted in his seat, fingers unconsciously drumming against his knee. He had heard those words before. Mercenaries, civilians but coming from Darrik, it felt different. More real.

Darrik reached into a small compartment built into his desk and retrieved a sealed Guild commendation drive. He placed it on the surface between them, the sleek metal casing catching the ambient glow of the holo-screens. "Official commendation from the Mercenary Guild. Recognition of your role in all this."

Ethan picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The Guild insignia was etched onto the casing, glowing faintly in deep crimson, a mark of high honor.

He hesitated before asking, "Does this affect my rank?"

Darrik's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah… about that." He let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You've more than earned C-Rank, but there's a catch. Promotions to C-Rank and above have to be approved in a major guild sector."

Ethan frowned. "Meaning I have to travel?"

"Yeah. If you want the promotion, you'll need to head to a central hub in the Orion Federation. One of the core sectors or at least closer to it." Darrik leaned back in his chair. "Rules are rules, no matter how damn stupid they are."

Ethan rolled the commendation drive between his fingers, considering the implications.

"Figures," he muttered.

Darrik studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Look, I get it. You're not the type to care about rank or titles. But trust my word as a retired C-Rank, it's worth getting the promotion. More opportunities, better pay, better access to higher-tier contracts and ressources. Not to mention, you'll have more control over your own damn life. Less red tape, fewer restrictions on where you operate and what missions you take."

Ethan wasn't sure if he cared about any of that. He just wanted to take it easy and enjoy more of this new world after all of the chaos on Kynara. But if nothing else, it would mean fewer bureaucratic headaches when choosing his contracts to make credits.

"Think about it," Darrik added. "No rush. For now, you should hear what happened after you blacked out."

Ethan nodded, setting the commendation drive down on the desk. "Go ahead."

Darrik leaned back slightly as he accessed mission logs.

"After you collapsed, we swept the battlefield. Anyone from the Black Sun Syndicate who somehow survived your psychic wave was eliminated."

Ethan sat motionless, listening intently.

"Their stronghold? Gone. Your psychic surge completely obliterated it, inside and out. No trace of the Resonance Amplification Device, no surviving enemies, and the entire server mainframe was reduced to molten slag. Every data node, security archive, and blueprint wiped clean, as if they never existed."

Ethan let out a slow breath. It was truly over.

Darrik continued, his voice steady but carrying an underlying weight. "The wounded were evacuated. Severely injured coalition fighters were taken to the advanced camp for emergency treatment, where the med-tech AI clusters could stabilize them. The rest were transferred to Valeris and Ettemakse for long-term care."

Ethan swallowed. "And the dead?"

Darrik's voice dropped lower, his usual steady tone laced with something heavier. Grief, maybe regret.

"The fallen who had their bodies mostly intact were retrieved, identified, and given proper burial rites," he said. His words were measured, deliberate, as if speaking too fast would somehow make it worse.

Ethan felt a deep sadness settle in his chest with each name, a heaviness that seemed to weigh down every breath. The loss wasn't just the names, it was the people behind them. Ogmungals Foons, Captain Alrik Thorne, Joran Kren. Each had been a pillar of the coalition in their own way, and now they were gone.

He remembered the quiet moments before the storm had truly broken, the discussions that had shaped the war's early days.

Foons had always been the first to crack a joke, even in the darkest moments. His heart was as large as his frame. Ethan recalled one evening, the two of them sitting around a campfire after a long mission. The air was cold, and Foons had leaned back against a jagged rock, staring up at the stars with a wry grin. "I swear, if I see another damn Syndicate soldier, I'm going to start charging them rent." The chuckle had gone around the campfire, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world had lightened.

Then there was Captain Thorne, his discipline unwavering, his commitment to the Federation's redemption etched in every action. Just before they'd set out for the final strike, Ethan had caught him alone, reviewing a battle plan. Thorne had looked up, his expression hard but tired. "You know," he'd said, voice low but resolute, "this war isn't just about defeating the Syndicate. It's about showing the people of Kynara that the Federation Guard hasn't forgotten them. That we haven't betrayed them, and that we still care." His eyes had held a quiet fire, as though he was fighting for something far greater than the mission at hand. That was the kind of leader Thorne had been, always thinking of the bigger picture.

And Kren, who had held the rebellion together when it seemed all hope was lost. Ethan could still hear Kren's voice, filled with passion and purpose, as he'd gathered the resistance forces for their final push. "We fight for Kynara, not just for ourselves, but for the generations to come," Kren had said, standing tall in front of his gathered fighters, his face painted by the fires of countless battles. "We owe it to every soul who has ever dared to dream of a better world." That had been the last time Ethan had truly seen Kren, standing tall, every inch the leader he'd been from the start.

Now, those voices, those moments, were all gone. And the silence they left behind was deafening.

Ethan clenched his fists, a surge of frustration rising in him. They had all fought for the same cause, and yet they had been taken before they could see the fruits of their labor.

"They deserved better," Ethan muttered.

Darrik nodded grimly. "Yeah. They did."

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice. "But there's one more thing. Something we can't explain."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

Darrik exhaled before continuing. "Drakor Krenna's body vanished."

Ethan stiffened. "What?"

"After you blacked out, his corpse dissolved into particles of light, pure psychic energy. Then it just… merged with the world and disappeared."

Ethan's hands clenched into fists. He had felt Krenna's life force collapse when he struck him down. The psychic aftershock had made it undeniable, Krenna had died. He was certain of it. But this?

"Did anyone else see it?" Ethan asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

Darrik nodded. "You're not crazy. We have multiple witnesses. Security drones even recorded the event. No one knows what it means, but it's something we'll have to keep an eye on."

Ethan exhaled sharply. Too many questions. No answers.

Darrik tapped on his holo-interface, shifting the display to show post-battle movements. "After the fight, the mercenaries and Federation Guard regrouped and returned to Valeris. We carried your unconscious body, and your molecular dagger, back ourselves. Damn thing was still humming when we picked it up."

Ethan absently reached for his hip, feeling the empty sheath where his weapon should have been. The dagger had been linked to him psychically, amplifying his abilities, but he hadn't expected it to still be active after he collapsed.

"And the Resistance?" Ethan asked.

"They fell back to their hidden headquarters. With both Joran Kren and Vice-Leader Tara dead, command has shifted to Marik Vos."

Ethan frowned slightly. "Can he handle it?"

Darrik smirked. "Marik's a stubborn but reliable bastard, just like Kren. He'll keep the Resistance alive and in order until we see this mess out."

Ethan let the words settle. The war was truly over. The Black Sun Syndicate had been erased. Drakor Krenna and his monstrous experiments were destroyed. Kynara was finally free.