When Orion opened his eyes, half a month had passed.
A leaden weight still pressed down on his mind, the memory of that timeless battle in his consciousness still vivid and raw. He closed his eyes again, letting the recent past wash over him.
"You’re awake."
A familiar voice pulled him back. He turned his head. Isabella, dressed in a practical leather tunic, was leaning against the headboard of a large, velvet-draped bed, watching him with an intense curiosity.
"Why are you here?" Orion asked, his own voice raspy. He ignored the question in her eyes. "Is the battle over?"
"Like you, I was wounded. I’m recovering," she said with a shrug. "And no, not quite over, but it’s in its final throes. The enemy is broken, and our forces are sweeping the field."
As she spoke, a brilliant, unrestrained excitement lit up her face. This victory meant they would finally have a firm foothold on the Dawn Continent. As a key member of the allied force, she stood to gain a share of spoils and resources beyond her wildest dreams. That was the true source of her smile.
At this moment, if someone had told her that every last one of the cavalry she brought had been annihilated, she wouldn’t have shed a single tear. In her world, a realm of perpetual war, knights and their mounts were a plentiful resource; an army lost was simply an army waiting to be re-mustered with a summons and a coffer of gold.
"Where is Alexander?" Orion asked.
It was good news. The war was won. He felt a wave of relief; he had come here to help, and he had. The debt he owed Alexander for the information about the Spring of Life had been repaid, and the thought eased his mind.
"He’s leading a party south, scouting a location for our main base of operations," Isabella answered. "He should be back soon."
Orion nodded, saying no more. He closed his eyes again, turning his senses inward to assess the changes within him.
After the repeated baptism of divine power, his body felt stronger, more resilient, as if it had been reforged in a celestial crucible. He felt a deep, tectonic shift in his very essence, a subtle but undeniable evolution in his bloodline. The cells in every corner of his body felt like they were humming with new potential, new growth.
But most crucially, he could feel a vast, placid ocean of power pooled within him. It was faith energy, pure and untethered to any foreign will.
He focused his own will, and the ocean answered, flowing into him without resistance, a willing tribute absorbed into the abyss of his soul.
Hours passed. When the last drop of energy had been integrated, Orion felt a sudden, staggering comprehension of his own state. He was stunned into silence, his mind reeling.
The reservoir of power within him... it was immense. More than enough.
It was enough to begin forging a body of faith. Enough to take the next step. Enough to ascend.
"What is it?" Isabella’s voice cut through his shock. She had seen him emerge from his meditation but had respected his silence. Now, sensing the tremor in his aura, her curiosity finally won out.
"Nothing," Orion said, snapping back to the present. His reply was swift, perhaps too swift. "I was just... checking my condition. The speed of my recovery... it’s startling."
A light, musical laugh escaped Isabella’s lips. "You’re a strange one," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’ve never met a man who was shocked by his own strength."
Orion just shrugged, offering no further explanation.
"Alexander told us," she began, her tone shifting, the curiosity returning tenfold, "that you killed a middle-tier Archlord. Is it true?"
She had to know. Hearing it from Alexander, it had felt like a legend, a distant tale of heroes. But to hear it from Orion, a fellow Lord, a peer—that would make it real. Her gaze was so intense, so full of desperate wanting, that Orion could not mistake it.
He met her eyes. "Yes," he said simply. "I killed an Archlord. An Abyssal Devil Ray."
Isabella’s mouth fell open. Her eyes went wide, silently asking him to say it again, to confirm the impossible.
But Orion simply ignored her, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling his cloak over his shoulders. He walked out of the tent.
He rose into the sky. The war was indeed in its death throes, but small, desperate pockets of fighting still raged across the blighted landscape.
Below, the vast legions of the dead swarmed over the plains, hunting down the last of the beasts and dark races.
The conflict had moved past strategy and into pure annihilation. A miasma of dust and smoke churned over the battlefield, a canvas of the berserk fury of beast-armies and the cold, implacable resolve of the undead. This was a war for territory, for the right to exist, fought with a final, desperate brutality that made the very earth tremble.
And amidst it all, the Blind Spiders of Queen Lolth were in their element. They were the true masters of the hunt, their pursuit of the dark creatures more skillful, more predatory than any other force on the field.
Aoooo!
The cry of a dragon echoed behind him. Isabella had followed, urging her colossal mount upward, gesturing for him to join her. With a flicker of movement, Orion appeared at her side on the creature’s broad back.
"Come on," she said, her earlier shock replaced with a warrior’s zeal. "Let’s help them finish this. We can speed things up."
Orion nodded. That had been his intention as well.
The dragon surged forward, its scales glittering like gold in the sunlight. Its healing was no less remarkable than Orion’s; with the aid of recovery potions from Isabella, the grievous wounds on its belly had already sealed, leaving not even a scar.
"Are dragons common in your world?" Orion asked, his mind already turning to the future, to trade and alliance. "Do you ever have eggs for sale?"
Isabella shook her head. "No. This one was a gift from my father when I became a Lord. He is exceptionally rare."
"As for other eggs... I can look for you. But I cannot guarantee a noble bloodline, and even the eggs of lesser dragon-beasts are precious and costly in my realm."
Orion knew this to be true. Dragons, no matter the world, were always treasures.
"I would be grateful for the trouble," he said.