Now, Eric didn't know how to feel when he saw his comrade so severely injured, especially after entrusting him with The Timeless Dirk and its grim curse specifically to safeguard his life. Looking at KO's battered frame, Eric began to second-guess whether the decision he had made all those years ago was truly the right one.
A heavy, suffocating wave of guilt crashed over his heart, making him question if he had merely traded one lethal fate for another, burdening his most loyal commander with a dark magic that ultimately failed to shield him from the cruel reality of near-fatal defeat.
Trying desperately to prevent his facial expression from betraying the grief and doubt swirling inside him—and failing miserably—Eric forced himself to look away.
His gaze instead settled upon another comrade in the group: Young. Was that his name?
Young was an old veteran whom Eric had once held grand expectations for, initially believing that the man's vast experience and the divine, godlike healing powers he wielded would serve as their ultimate salvation from the grueling daily trials of survival. Alas, the elderly healer was hardly a warrior of such legendary proportions.
In reality, he was mostly adept at ogling the attractive women of their group—even daring, on occasion, to cast perverted glances toward Eric's own sister.
Eric had swiftly dealt with that behavior in the past, leveling a cold, lethal stare that thoroughly broke the old pervert's spirit. Ever since that silent warning, the elderly medic had made sure never to direct his lustful eyes toward Sheila again.
In fact, Young now made a conscious effort to keep Eric strictly in the extreme corner of his peripheral vision, never daring to look at the intimidating leader head-on.
Now that Eric was staring at the old man so intently, Young visibly shivered, his hands trembling so violently that he accidentally stalled his healing process on the female dark elf. Eric then momentarily darted his sharp gaze toward an unconscious male elf sprawled motionless on the hard ground.
A flurry of calculated thoughts raced through the leader's mind, and his eyes burned with an increasingly furious intensity by the time he snapped his focus back onto Young.
An oppressive, suffocating silence descended upon the clearing as Eric's towering figure cast a long, menacing shadow over the terrified medic, the sheer weight of his lethal intent threatening to crush the old man's fragile composure before a single word could even be spoken.
Young seemed to instantly recognize the silent, deadly question hanging in the air. With slick, sweaty palms and an icy shiver racing down his spine, he hurriedly began to narrate the chaotic tale of how they had been ambushed from all sides. He stammered out that Nect wasn't mortally wounded, but rather drained to an extreme degree, while reluctantly admitting that his own divine healing powers were virtually useless in accelerating Nect's recovery.
It was only after hearing Young's thorough explanation that Eric's deadly glare softened slightly. Turning his attention away from the trembling medic, he took a slow headcount of all the gathered dark elves in the camp—only to come to a sudden, chilling realization. Someone crucial was missing from their group: Sasha.
Eric was just about to dispatch a small scout party to track down their last missing companion—to determine whether Sasha was still alive, in grave danger, searching for them, or, in the absolute worst-case scenario, already dead—when an immediate new threat materialized.
Three powerful soul beings were rapidly approaching the Exiles' position. KO was likely the first to detect their advancing presences, but Willow was the one who voiced the warning, urgently sounding the alarm and stressing the immediate need for everyone to conceal themselves.
However, long before the soul beings even breached the tree line, Eric knew that attempting to hide was a completely futile endeavor; their scents and energy signatures were already far too distinct.
The surrounding air grew heavy with an icy, supernatural pressure, warning the seasoned warriors that these approaching entities were not mere mindless scouts, but elite hunters equipped with senses sharp enough to flush out any prey trying to cower in the shadows and those who believe they could bury their heads in stone.
Heeding her own hasty advice, Willow scrambled toward cover, accompanied by the significantly weakened Exiles, like Young and the unconscious Nect. Surprisingly, Bark bolted right along with them to hide. Eric was thoroughly astonished by Bark's retreat; however, what surprised him even more was the identity of those who chose to stand their ground.
Standing tall beside him, ready to confront the threat head-on, was his battered yet unyielding friend, KO.
Eric shot a surprised, searching glance at KO. However, after a brief moment of reflection, he quickly realized why his trusted aide stood there ready to engage in direct combat, despite being heavily injured, severely weakened, and far better suited for striking silently from the shadows. Eric had picked up on a sinister sensation as the soul beings drew near, and he was entirely certain KO had detected the exact same unsettling anomaly.
The entities closing in on their location were vastly more formidable than any soul beings they had ever crossed blades with before.
What Eric sensed wasn't the subtle rustle of movement in the brush, nor the thunderous roar of distant war horns and iron chariots. Rather, what he experienced was a visceral, suffocating sensation that resonated on an instinctual level.
A chilling wave of raw, malevolent aura washed over the clearing, instantly freezing the blood in his veins and overwhelming his hardened battle instincts with a crushing, paralyzing despair that made even the act of drawing a single breath feel like a desperate struggle for survival.
For the first time in a very long while, Eric felt true, unadulterated fear—a primal terror etching itself deep into the very marrow of his bones. For all his martial prowess, his terrifying reputation, and his unyielding ambition, the supreme leader of the Exiles was suddenly gripped by a single, terrifying truth: he genuinely feared for his life, paralyzed by the agonizing conviction that he was about to die.
***
A few excruciating moments after Eric came to the grim conclusion that he was about to die, three ominous figures materialized at the edge of the clearing. They appeared almost as though they had teleported into existence, or as if they were assuming physical, corporeal forms directly from the surrounding shadows.
The trio were none other than Diego's highest-ranking officials: three exceptionally formidable liches whose unnatural power eclipsed that of any ordinary soul being or standard spellcaster in Diego's massive armada.
These ancient warlords possessed a terrifying legacy—they had once successfully confronted, overwhelmed, and brutally executed a legendary Light of God, one of the most powerful elves in the entire world.
Their terrifying presence radiated an icy, suffocating dread that seemed to wither the surrounding grass and caused the ambient mana to curdle, signaling to every living creature present that these relentless harbinger commanders had slaughtered divine champions of light and would show zero mercy to lesser prey.
Now, these elite commanders stood fully prepared to execute the exact same ruthless fate upon the three dark elves standing before them—as well as any unfortunate allies who naively believed they could escape the slaughter by cowering in the shadows.