chapter 15: Weeping wounds

Lucien walked alongside Valeri as Hector addressed the gathered groups. The decision to redistribute members who had lost their teams was met with mixed reactions. Team leaders felt their authority undercut, while the newly assigned members simmered with unease. For Lucien's team, the atmosphere was particularly tense. Though they had witnessed his strength against the crescent beasts, admiration did little to quell their skepticism.

They didn't trust him. Worse, they didn't like him.

"Give them time," Valeri murmured, glancing at Lucien, who seemed unbothered by the lingering stares.

"Time they may not give us," Lucien replied evenly, his gaze fixed ahead.

Logan trailed behind them, his arms crossed as he half-listened to their exchange. Harigold had insisted he keep an eye on Lucien and Valeri, a task he clearly found beneath him. Yet, despite his reluctance, Logan stayed close enough to catch their conversation.

As the group reached a three-way path, Hector took charge. The leaders—himself, Lucien, and Harigold—were each assigned a route. Mana beacons were distributed to track their locations and progress through the maze-like expanse. The teams split, each setting off into the unknown.

Valeri kept pace with Lucien, his curiosity piqued. The sword strapped to Harigold's back had caught his attention earlier, its faint, almost ethereal glow hinting at its significance. He finally voiced the question gnawing at him.

"That sword Harigold carries—it's unlike anything I've seen. What makes it so special? Or, for that matter, how do weapons even work here? They seem far more intricate than what I'm used to."

Lucien's pace didn't falter as he glanced at Valeri, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You've noticed the difference, then. Alright, let's start with the foundation—elemental control. Weapons and their creation are deeply tied to it."

Logan rolled his eyes but said nothing, tuning in despite himself.

"There are eight tiers for elemental control," Lucien began, his tone calm but deliberate.

1. Makeshift: The basics, raw, unrefined, and barely usable. Think of it as fumbling in the dark with no real understanding.

2. Amateur: A step up, but still shaky. Control is slightly better, though results remain inconsistent.

3. Rookie: Practical and reliable enough for everyday use, but lacking finesse.

4. Adept: This is where control starts to solidify. Users become more confident and capable, shaping their element with precision.

5. Skilled: True mastery begins to show here. Techniques become refined, and creativity plays a significant role.

6. Meta: At this level, the user doesn't just manipulate the element—they dominate it. The surrounding environment bends to their will. For example, a Meta wind user can claim the air itself as theirs, making it impossible for others to influence.

7. Binding: The user creates the element rather than merely controlling it. Their connection with it is so profound that it becomes an extension of themselves. At this stage, no one else can manipulate the elements they produce.

8. One: The pinnacle. The user is the element. Their body evolves to adapt fully, gaining immunity to its natural drawbacks and harnessing its power effortlessly. At this level, the element isn't just a tool—it's part of their very being.

Valeri frowned, digesting the explanation. "And Hector? Where does he stand?"

"Meta," Lucien replied, his tone tinged with reluctant admiration. "It's rare, especially for someone his age. Elemental control takes years of discipline and patience to refine."

Logan snorted faintly. "Guess he's a prodigy, then."

Lucien ignored him, turning his focus back to Valeri.

"What about weapons?" Valeri pressed, his curiosity still unsatisfied. "Harigold's sword—what's the story there? Or are there tiers for weapons, too?"

Lucien nodded. "Weapons are ranked according to their craftsmanship, the materials used, and their abilities. It's a hierarchy as intricate as elemental control."

He began to list them:

1. Common Weapons: These are replicas of higher-tiered weapons—brittle, unreliable, and ultimately useless.

2. Assembly-Tiered: Mass-produced by manufacturing groups, these weapons are functional but not exceptional. They're distinguished by unique markings, shapes, or color tones derived from the materials used.

3. Tailored Weapons: Custom-made for specific users by blacksmith groups. Guilds often employ their own blacksmiths to craft these weapons, securing rare materials to ensure quality.

4. Rare/Isolated Weapons: Heirlooms, often enhanced with mana over generations. Their rarity stems from the unique materials used, like:

Scorned Wood: Resistant to fire, harvested from the Dark Forest.

Perilium: A versatile ore with no fixed weight. Its impurities determine its heaviness, and crafting with it requires mana inductors as limiters.

Void Crystals: Among the rarest materials, these crystals amplify their user's ki and aura continuously.

5. Legendary/Legacy Weapons: Weapons with a legacy, like Harigold's Eleph Blade. Crafted from Perilium, it adjusts its weight through mana, burdening everyone nearby except its wielder.

Lucien paused briefly, then continued. "Above that are Evolution Grade weapons—tools that grow alongside their wielders, adapting to their strength. Then there are Mythos Grade, Forbidden Grade, and Lost Grade weapons, but those are rare even among legends."

Valeri nodded, though a part of him still struggled to grasp the complexity. "And you? What grade is your weapon?"

Lucien's expression didn't change as he replied, "Insignificant."

Valeri blinked, certain he had misheard. "You're joking."

"I'm not." Lucien's tone was calm, almost indifferent. "It suits me just fine."

Logan glanced between them, frowning as if debating whether to challenge Lucien's words. But he held his tongue, falling back into silence as the group pressed forward

Here's the revised and expanded version, incorporating Matthew's swift yet poignant death, Lucien's deep frustration and power, and the reverberation of his attack felt across the battlefield:

The field stretched before them, quiet and serene, its beauty a lie they all saw through. Even in its stillness, it felt alive, as if breathing beneath the moonlight's cold glow.

Lucien took the lead, his steps measured, his gaze sharp. The others followed closely, tension palpable in the air.

"Stay alert," Lucien said, his voice cutting through the silence. "This place… it's wrong."

Francesco narrowed his eyes, his wiry frame taut as he scanned the field. "Wrong doesn't cover it. Something's watching us."

Georges snorted, attempting levity. "Then it should come out. I'm in a bad mood tonight."

Behind them, Vikter and Matthew exchanged glances, their vice leaders' instincts flaring. Vikter's calm demeanor remained intact, but Matthew's sharp gaze darted around, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade.

"Georges," Vikter said, his voice steady but low, "save the jokes. This isn't going to be a simple fight."

Lucien froze suddenly, his arm outstretched to stop the group. His eyes were locked ahead, where the shimmering flower rested, encircled by void crystals glowing faintly.

"What is that?" Georges asked, frowning.

"Trouble," Lucien replied, his voice heavy. "The crystals aren't just random. They're here because of it."

Francesco's jaw tightened. "A void beast?"

Lucien nodded grimly. "And it's close. Too close."

Before anyone could react further, the air shifted. The grass, once swaying lazily, began to ripple unnaturally. Lucien's instincts screamed at him.

"Scatter!" he barked.

The warning came a second too late. A branch, impossibly fast, whipped through the darkness, severing two members at the waist before anyone could react.

"Damn it!" Francesco growled, his blade flashing as he deflected a second strike aimed at him.

Matthew lunged forward as another branch shot toward a young recruit frozen in fear. His blade moved with precision, intercepting the branch before it could strike. The force of the impact shattered his weapon, the jagged hilt remaining in his grasp.

But the beast wasn't done. From behind him, another branch lashed out, faster and more vicious.

Matthew's sharp instincts flared, and in that split second, he turned his head, his eyes meeting the shadow of his death. A small, resigned smile touched his lips.

A sigh escaped him.

And then, his head was gone.

Francesco's roar of fury tore through the field as Matthew's body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath it. "You bastard!"

Georges cursed under his breath, grabbing Vikter by the arm and pulling him back. "We're getting picked off! Lucien, we need a plan!"

Lucien's mind raced, his heart pounding. They were losing too many, too quickly. He could feel the weight of every death pressing against his chest.

"It's not random," he muttered, his eyes darting around. "It's herding us… using the light and shadows to trap us!

The attacks came harder and faster, the beast growing more desperate. A branch aimed for another recruit, but Georges moved without hesitation.

"Get back!" he shouted, throwing himself in the way.

The branch tore through his arm, severing it cleanly. Georges staggered, clutching the stump, but his expression remained defiant. "I'm not done yet," he growled through gritted teeth.

The cavern trembled under the weight of the monstrous entity. The Void Plant, a nightmare born of darkness, writhed in a nest of gnarled roots and twisting tendrils. It pulsed like a breathing organism, its massive core suspended within a ring of thorned vines that shimmered in the eerie glow of the Crescent Moon, a cursed light that rendered all movement within its reach visible to the beast. Lucien stood at the forefront, firelight dancing across his blade. Logan, clad in his knight's armor, adjusted his stance, his shield braced against the unrelenting tide of writhing limbs. Armand crouched at the back, eyes flickering with focus as his fingers danced over his bowstring. Georges stood slightly apart, his left arm bleeding freely where his missing limb once was, but his remaining dagger was gripped tightly, sharp eyes locked onto the creature. Next to him, Fransesco spun his lance effortlessly, his movements controlled, precise. And Valeri? He stood behind them, fists clenched. But against this monstrosity, one that fought with tendrils as unyielding as steel, his skills were useless. His hands were made for breaking bodies, not hacking through endless waves of unnatural roots.

A screech reverberated through the cavern as the Void Plant lashed forward.

A dozen tendrils, each the width of a grown man, shot toward them.

Lucien was the first to react. His sword blurred, carving a flaming arc through the incoming vines. The severed tendrils shriveled and curled, but the void-born flesh regrew instantly, the jagged edges fusing back together as if time itself had reversed. "Damn it," he cursed, shifting his stance. "It regenerates too fast!"

From behind, Armand's voice rang out, steady and sharp. "Then we don't aim to destroy, we aim to restrain." His hands flashed through the air.

A volley of arrows duplicated mid-flight, splitting into dozens of identical projectiles. They rained down, pinning the creature's writhing limbs against the cavern walls. For a moment, the battlefield fell silent. Then, A furious shudder. The Void Plant pulled against the bindings, its limbs stretching and convulsing. Armand's arrows held, but they wouldn't last long.

Fransesco took that moment to strike.

His lance spun, the tip slicing through a cluster of tendrils before he launched himself forward, spear plunging into the plant's main body. The force of his attack sent tremors rippling through the monster's core, but instead of recoiling in pain, the beast absorbed the strike, its flesh shifting unnaturally to consume the embedded weapon. Fransesco wrenched his lance free just in time to avoid being swallowed whole. Georges was already moving. The assassin was a blur of motion, his dagger gleaming under the cursed moonlight. With his dominant arm gone, his technique had changed, less about raw aggression, more about precision. He ducked under a swinging vine, his blade flashing as he severed a tendril mid-motion. Another attack came from behind. Georges twisted his body, using his momentum to hook his foot around Fransesco's ankle, yanking him backward just as a massive root impaled the spot where he had been standing.

Fransesco didn't question it. The moment his feet hit the ground, he threw his lance, sending it whistling through the air. It pierced the plant's eye, if it could be called that, and the Void Plant let out a deafening shriek, its movements faltering for the first time. A perfect opportunity.

"Lucien!" Logan roared, his shield slamming into a cluster of tendrils, pushing back the writhing mass. "NOW!"

Lucien didn't hesitate. He lunged, sword swinging in a burning arc. His flames carved into the wound left by Fransesco's lance, forcing the beast to recoil as charred, smoking tendrils peeled away from the main body. Armand moved instantly, his hands a blur as he fired another volley of duplicated arrows, pinning the creature down further.

For the first time, they had control of the battlefield. But it wouldn't last.

The Void Plant shuddered, its entire form twisting unnaturally. The roots and tendrils that had been severed reshaped themselves—not just regenerating but evolving. The next attack was faster. More precise. The first tendon slammed into Logan's shield with enough force to dent the metal, sending the knight skidding back several feet. A second one whipped across the battlefield, wrapping around Armand's waist and hurling him toward a jagged rock formation. Armand cloned himself in an instant.

His real body twisted mid-air, using his momentum to land safely, while his clone shattered upon impact, taking the brunt of the damage. Another lash came for Georges. This time, he was too slow.

The tendril whipped toward his blind side, the side where his missing arm should have been. He had no way to block it.

But Fransesco was already moving. He threw himself in front of Georges, using his lance like a lever to redirect the attack. The tendril missed, but instead of thanking him, Georges clicked his tongue in irritation. "I don't need your help, lancer."

"You do if you don't want to die," Fransesco shot back. Another tendril lunged, this time toward the defenseless Valeri in the back.

Valeri had no way to fight it. No weapons. No counters. Georges moved without thinking. He threw his dagger, the blade slicing straight through the tendril's center just before it could reach Valeri. At the same time, Fransesco followed up, his lance driving into the severed limb, forcing it to spasm and retreat. The two warriors locked eyes for a brief moment.

Georges scoffed. "Don't get used to this."

Fransesco smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The battle raged on, but the Void Plant was growing more aggressive, its attacks more calculated. The Crescent Moon's glow pulsed, illuminating every movement the warriors made, making it impossible to hide from the beast's sight.

Lucien, his sword drenched in flame, took the center once more. "We need a way to blind it!" "The moon is its eye," Armand shouted from the back. "As long as it shines, we can't escape its sight."

Logan gritted his teeth. "Then we destroy the damn moon." A dangerous proposition.

But it might be the only way. Lucien turned to Armand, his tone sharp. "You're the only one with the range to hit it." Armand's expression hardened. He glanced at the sky, where the Crescent Moon bathed the battlefield in its cursed glow. It was far. Too far. But he had to try.

Taking a deep breath, he cloned himself, not one, not two, but a dozen times. The Armand clones lined up, each drawing their bows in perfect unison.

A single, powerful shot would never reach the target. But twelve simultaneous shots?

That was a different story.

As the warriors fought to hold the Void Plant back, Armand and his clones took aim at the sky.

The arrows shimmered in the dark.

They loosed in perfect harmony,

And the cavern trembled as the sky itself seemed to crack.

The battle was far from over.

But for the first time—

The Void Plant reeled back in pain.

In the time that followed a huge Vine emerged from the sky, crashing down on the spot, Armand and his clones stood. He could have easily avoided it But the crowd behind him, they were too shocked with fear to move or react. He needed to protect them, the sudden development caused the others to be disoriented, giving the plant an opening to attack them leaving them Vulnerable. But they didn't give themselves a chance to be as they abandoned their attack to help Armand resist the Massive vines descent.

As the others fought valiantly, Lucien's mind spiraled. Each death replayed in his head, Matthew's smile in death, Georges' severed arm, the lifeless bodies of those who trusted him to lead them.

This is my fault.

The beast wasn't even strong. It was cunning, yes, but not invincible. He could have ended this sooner. He could have saved them. But his arrogance, his hesitation to unleash his full power, had cost lives. He clenched his fists, his aura flaring violently. His breath came in ragged bursts as frustration twisted into something darker.

The survivors regrouped, battered and bloodied. Lucien's gaze fell to the broken blade lying in the dirt, Matthew's blade, shattered in his act of heroism.

Slowly, Lucien picked it up. The jagged edge glinted in the pale moonlight.

"Stay back," he said coldly, stepping forward.

Francesco reached out to stop him. "Lucien, wait—" But Lucien didn't wait. His aura erupted around him, a torrent of raw energy that made the air hum with tension. The beast sensed it, branches whipping toward him in desperation. Lucien didn't flinch.

With one swift motion, he slashed.

The broken blade cut through the flower, the moonlight, and the very fabric of the space around them. The light split in half, the moon's glow dimming as the void itself trembled under the force of his strike.

The reverberation rippled outward, shaking the ground and echoing into the distance.

The beast was gone, split in half and decimated, same with the moon, its death a quiet whimper compared to the fury it had unleashed. The survivors stood in stunned silence, the weight of the battle pressing down on them. Lucien dropped the broken blade, his shoulders heaving. He turned to the others, his face a mask of cold determination, but his eyes betrayed the pain beneath. "I won't let this happen again," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Far across the battlefield, Harigold and Hector paused mid-combat as the reverberation reached them. The ground shook, and even the beasts they fought recoiled, trembling with unease. Harigold frowned, his grip tightening on his weapon. "What the hell was that?" Hector's lips pressed into a thin line. "Lucien," he said simply