chapter 6.1

The dimming twilight painted the sky with streaks of amber and violet, casting a familiar, somber hue over The Wall. A cold breeze drifted through the fading light, carrying the scent of damp earth and leaves glistening with the first traces of evening dew. Near the old gate leading into the southern forest, Alcard leaned against the trunk of a massive tree, his gaze fixed on the horizon that was slowly being swallowed by darkness.

This place was far from the commotion of the Central Headquarter, secluded and quiet, offering a rare moment of solitude for his ever-wandering thoughts. Ten years had passed since he first set foot on The Wall—not as a soldier, not as an adventurer, but as a man who had lost everything. Anger and grief had once threatened to consume him, nearly dragging him into despair. But time and the brutal life of an Outcast had shaped him into someone different—hardened, colder, yet still clinging to something faint, something undefined: a purpose.

The memories of Jovalian remained with him, like an unshakable shadow that followed no matter how far he strayed. Something had always felt off about the kingdom since its downfall. No coronation of a new king, no official declarations—only Prime Minister Drennal Faerwyn, seizing complete control under the guise of "waiting until the third prince came of age".

Alcard knew better than to believe such feeble excuses. Drennal Faerwyn hungered for absolute power, and he would never relinquish it.

Whispers had reached him—rumors of Edenvila and Wastadian, two kingdoms suspected of covertly backing the Prime Minister. Their financial aid, shadow operatives, and silent approval of his atrocities only further cemented Drennal's grip over Jovalian. The people—the ones who suffered most—were nothing more than pawns in a cruel game of power.

A bitter wave of emotion surged within him as the past clawed its way back into his thoughts. The betrayal, the false accusations, the merciless execution of his family. Every detail of that fateful day remained etched into his soul—the blade that took his wife's life, the noose around his daughter's fragile neck, the echoes of their cries drowned in the laughter of the crowd.

The noblemen had jeered, Drennal had smirked, and his daughter…

Her desperate pleas for justice still haunted him.

Alcard clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. A slow, seething anger burned beneath his skin.

"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

But anger alone meant nothing. Jovalian was gone, swallowed by a fate he could no longer change. He was no longer a general, a soldier, or a noble. He was an Outcast. A discarded relic of a past that no longer mattered.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his fingers to relax and let the cold night air wash over him, grounding him back in the present. His gaze drifted toward the old gate before him—worn, fragile, like an unhealed wound. But there was no time for grief. He had a mission to complete.

From the distance, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. A group of Outcast recruits emerged, their gear strapped tightly to their bodies—rusted swords, weathered bows, and makeshift armor barely holding together. They were new, barely months into the harsh life of The Wall.

Alcard knew why they were here. The seasoned Outcasts had all been deployed across Middle Earth, leaving only recruits for this expedition. This meant that he alone would have to lead them south—into a land feared even by veterans.

He straightened, adjusting the weight of the blade at his waist, and surveyed the recruits one by one. Their postures were stiff, their fear unmistakable in their eyes. He could see it—the silent doubts gnawing at them, the question of whether they would survive this journey.

"Let's see if you last." The thought lingered in his mind, though he didn't say it aloud.

Instead, he pulled on his worn leather gloves, ensuring everything was secured. This mission wasn't just about securing the ingredients for Bloody Potion. It was a test—for them, and for himself.

The southern forest showed no mercy, and if they weren't strong enough, they wouldn't return.

As he waited for the rest of the team to finish preparing, Alcard inhaled deeply, letting the tension settle. Jovalian may have become his past, but the world's deceit and treachery never truly disappeared. One way or another, it would pull him back into the chaos he had tried so hard to avoid.

But for now, his path was clear—lead these men south, survive the horrors lurking beyond The Wall, and return with something that could keep The Wall standing just a little longer.