chapter 18.2

By the time Alcard reached the central headquarter of The Wall, his body was running on sheer determination alone. The exhaustion that clung to his limbs was something he had learned to ignore long ago, but the weight of the knowledge he carried was something far heavier than fatigue. He barely felt his boots touch the frozen ground as he dismounted his horse, his breath coming in sharp gasps, the cold air biting at his lungs. No time to waste. Without a moment's hesitation, he strode through the main gate, ignoring the looks of passing outcasts who sensed the urgency in his pace. The corridors, dimly lit and lined with old wooden beams, felt narrower than usual as he rushed toward Oldman's chamber. He didn't knock politely—he pounded on the door, and the second he heard a response, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The air inside was heavy with the scent of old parchment, candle wax, and the faint musk of damp wood. Stacks of documents were scattered across the large wooden desk in the center of the room, some open, others sealed with wax, waiting to be addressed. Maps depicting Middle Earth, border territories, and strategic locations were pinned to the walls, some marked with scribbles and symbols only the most experienced of outcasts could decipher. A war room, in every sense of the word.

Behind the desk, Oldman sat with his usual air of authority, his sharp gaze snapping up the moment Alcard entered. But the second he saw the look on Alcard's face, the aged warrior knew this was not just another report. There was something different this time—something far more dire than their usual battles with monsters from the south or border disputes between greedy lords.

Alcard wasted no time. He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder, pulling out the stolen documents from Tanivar's archives and dropping them onto the desk with a heavy thud. The worn papers, filled with detailed records, secret correspondences, and financial ledgers, spilled across the surface like the unraveling of a conspiracy.

"I have something," Alcard said, still catching his breath, his voice edged with urgency. "Something bigger than Tanivar. Bigger than anything we've dealt with before."

Oldman didn't ask questions—he simply picked up the first document and began scanning its contents, his expression darkening with each passing second. Alcard used that moment to gather his thoughts, to recount everything he had witnessed inside Tanivar's fortress. He spoke swiftly but clearly, detailing his infiltration, the forbidden conversation he had overheard, the map marked with mysterious locations, and above all—the name that had resurfaced after years of whispers in the dark.

The Veil.

The moment those words left Alcard's lips, Oldman's hand froze mid-motion, the pen he had been holding hovering inches above the parchment. His gaze drifted away from the documents for a brief second, staring blankly at the desk as if he had been thrown back into memories he had long buried.

"The Veil…" Oldman muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always thought… No, I always hoped they were just a legend."

His grip on the parchment tightened, knuckles turning white.

Alcard wasn't finished. He pressed on, explaining how Tanivar had openly admitted to his failure in eliminating Arwen and how he had instead chosen to bargain with The Veil by offering something far more valuable—a fragment.

The second that word was spoken, Oldman visibly tensed. His entire demeanor shifted. He straightened in his chair, his jaw clenching slightly as though Alcard had just uttered the one word he had feared to hear.

"A fragment…" The word left Oldman's lips as though it carried an unbearable weight.

Alcard immediately caught the change in his tone, narrowing his eyes. "You know what that is," he accused, taking a step forward. "More than you're letting on."

Oldman exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as if trying to contain a storm inside his head. "I know… stories," he finally admitted, his voice quieter but no less heavy. "Old stories. Stories that should have stayed buried. But if Tanivar and The Veil are after it, then this is far worse than I ever imagined."

Alcard wasn't satisfied with vague answers, but he knew pushing Oldman too hard wouldn't get him anywhere. Instead, he focused on what mattered most at the moment. "Then we can't wait," he said firmly. "If The Veil wants this fragment, it means they're already moving. We have to stop them before they get to it."

Oldman stood up, moving away from his desk and pacing slowly across the room, his mind working through countless possibilities. "You need to go there," he finally said, stopping to face Alcard. "We cannot let them find it first."

Alcard nodded. "I'll leave immediately."

But Oldman shook his head. "Not alone. This is too dangerous, even for you. If this is truly what I fear, then The Veil won't be the only ones after it. Others will come, drawn by greed, by power, by desperation. You need a team."

Before Alcard could protest, Oldman called for a select group of ten senior outcasts—warriors hardened by years of battle, survivors of countless encounters with horrors beyond The Wall. These were not ordinary men; they were those who had seen the worst of the world and had lived to tell the tale. When they gathered in the room, Oldman wasted no time explaining the mission.

"You will accompany Alcard to the ruins beyond the elven border," he commanded, his voice firm, unwavering. "There is something there that cannot—must not—fall into the wrong hands."

The outcasts exchanged silent glances, but none hesitated. They had long since learned that when Oldman gave an order, it was never without reason.

But there was one thing Oldman left unsaid. He never once spoke of the fragment. He knew that too many ears hearing of such a thing could lead to disaster. Some knowledge was too dangerous to be freely shared.

Just before Alcard turned to leave, Oldman pulled him aside, lowering his voice so that only he could hear.

"If you find it," Oldman said, his tone grave, "ensure that no one else does. If it cannot be hidden, then you destroy it."

Alcard met his gaze, understanding the weight behind those words. He had spent his life fighting battles, but he had never fought against something he didn't fully understand. And that was what unsettled him most.

"You know more than you're telling me," Alcard stated quietly.

Oldman sighed but placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "There are some truths I can only reveal when the time is right," he said. "For now, focus on your mission."

Though he hated leaving without all the answers, Alcard knew this was not the time to press the matter. He gave a short nod and left the room without another word.

By the time he reached the main gates, the ten outcasts chosen for the mission were already waiting, fully equipped and ready. Within moments, they mounted their horses, and without further hesitation, they rode out into the cold night, heading south.

The wind howled through the towering stone walls as Oldman stood upon the battlements, watching their figures disappear into the darkness. His expression remained unreadable, but deep inside, something twisted in his chest—a deep, unshakable dread.

"Find it before they do," he whispered under his breath.

Because if The Veil got their hands on it first, the world as they knew it would never be the same again.

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