Chapter 7: The Unkillable Man

The rumours had been circulating for years, whispers passed along by merchants, commoners, and soldiers alike. Whispers carried from one mouth to the next like a disease, infecting all who heard them. The unkillable man—an individual who defied death, lived without injury, and struck fear into those who dared to speak his name. The tales were inconsistent and often exaggerated, but there were enough common threads to make even the most skeptical of men pause.

What had started as hushed conversations in taverns and back alleys had worked its way up through the ranks, eventually making its way to General Gervasius and, eventually, the royal court. No one had seen the man, but there were disturbing reports of entire squads sent out to investigate, each one vanishing without a trace. The stories were chilling: soldiers would disappear in the dead of night, leaving nothing behind—no blood, no body, no signs of struggle. Some claimed it was the work of a dark sorcerer, others suggested something even more sinister—perhaps a creature beyond mortal comprehension. But the one detail that never changed in the stories was the presence of dark magic, something powerful enough to defy the natural order.

Silva had heard the rumors for years, of course, but they never seemed like something worth investigating. His focus was always on his duties within the army, on climbing the ranks and proving himself worthy of his place. It wasn't until the rumors reached the ears of the generals that things began to feel real. The tales were no longer the stuff of drunken conversation but a matter of state security.

One evening, as Silva sat in the small office assigned to him at the barracks, reading through the latest reports and correspondence from the front lines, he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of boots clicking against stone. He looked up to find General Gervasius standing in the doorway, his face etched with concern.

"Corporal Fischburn," the general said, his voice grave, "I need to speak with you."

Silva rose from his desk and saluted, though he had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. The general's expression was not one of routine business. This was something important.

"Sir," Silva said.

"The rumors," Gervasius began, glancing around as though the walls might be listening, "they're true. We've been hearing reports about a man—a figure who cannot die. He's appeared in different places across the kingdom, leaving destruction in his wake, and soldiers sent to apprehend him... they never come back."

Silva stiffened. "Disappeared, you say? Without a trace?"

The general nodded, his jaw tight. "Not a single body. Not even a clue to their fate. And we've lost some of our best men. No one's even come close to identifying him. What we know is that he seems to have some kind of cult following. People who vanish with him, as if the earth itself swallows them."

"Is it possible..." Silva hesitated, thinking of the stories he had heard, of things that could never be explained by normal means. "Could it be magic?"

The general gave him a sharp look. "Not just any magic. Dark magic. Magic that shouldn't even be possible. Magic that comes from realms where only the celestials have influence."

Silva blinked. Magic. Few people knew of it, and even fewer possessed it. Magic was a gift, one given by the celestials long ago. Most believed it was an ancient secret, something so powerful and dangerous that it had been kept hidden from the world. Only a select few individuals were ever born with the ability to wield it. It was said that when the first people had learned to use magic, they had brought chaos upon the world, and so the celestials had sealed the knowledge away—only passing it on to those who proved worthy of its power.

The mere mention of dark magic made Silva uneasy. He had heard rumors in the lower districts of men and women who could bend the elements to their will, but these were only stories. His own experience had been limited to soldiers who practiced basic enchantments, small charms that could heal wounds or light a path in the darkness.

But this? This was something far beyond that.

"If this is as serious as you say," Silva said slowly, "what do you need from me, sir?"

Gervasius stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "On the recommendations of your peers, I'm tasking you to investigate. I'm sure you've heard the rumors. The man who cannot die. The cult. You're going to find out if they're real or if this is some form of mass hysteria. We can't afford to trust just anyone. You're one of the few we can trust."

Silva's eyes narrowed, this was it, the plot those men were scheming. "But if what you say is true—dark magic, an unkillable man... If we're talking about forces beyond us, what makes you think I can handle it?"

"We've had enough of our best men vanish," Gervasius said, his tone resolute. "We need someone who has the sense to investigate carefully, to avoid falling into traps. You've already proven your worth on the battlefield, and you have the calm mind we need for something like this."

Silva took a deep breath. The idea of going up against something so mysterious and dangerous sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, there was no turning back now. If this man—this unkillable figure—was a threat to the kingdom, Silva had no choice but to face it.

"I'll take the mission," Silva said, his voice steady.

Gervasius gave him a nod of approval. "You'll be stationed at the palace barracks. But before you head out, there's something you need to know. This mission is to catch this man, but also to avoid another war from breaking out."

A cold realization hit Silva. This was no longer just a mission—it was an opportunity to protect everything he had sworn to defend.

The next day, after receiving his orders and gathering the necessary provisions, Silva made his way back to the city. It had been a few months since he'd been back with in the city walls. He stopped to pick up some flowers and desserts for his mother, whom he hasn't seen for almost a year.

Silva arrived at his home to find his mother, Thalia, in the small garden behind their house, tending to the flowers she had so carefully cultivated over the years. Thalia was a woman of strength, having raised him alone after being cast out, but Silva knew that leaving her behind—uncertain of what lay ahead—would be difficult for her.

"Mother," Silva said, walking over to her side.

Thalia looked up, her face softening as she saw her son. She placed her gardening tools down and stood up, brushing dirt from her hands. "Silva," she said warmly, "what brings you home today?"

"I'm on my way to the palace," Silva replied. "It's part of a mission. There's something I have to investigate. Something... dangerous."

Thalia's expression darkened, though she tried to hide it. "Dangerous? Silva, I've warned you before—your place is here, not out on some wild goose chase."

"I know," Silva said quietly, "but this isn't just some rumor. People's lives are at stake."

Thalia stepped closer to him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I understand, but be careful. You've already done so much for me—your father would be proud of you."

Silva gave a small smile, though the weight of his responsibility hung heavily on him. "I'll be careful, Mother. I promise." Ignoring the last bit about his father. "I have to do this. For you, and for the kingdom."

She nodded slowly, her eyes filled with both pride and concern. "Just come back to me, Silva. You don't know what's out there."

"I will," he said, before leaning in to kiss her forehead. "I'll always come back."

With that, Silva made his final preparations, ensuring that his mother was taken care of while he was gone. As he left the house, his heart felt heavy, but his resolve was firm. The unkillable man, the dark magic—he would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.