The dust had settled, but the smell of blood was thick in the air.
Elrond lay on the shattered ground, his face pale as ash. His breath was shallow, rattling in his chest. The stump of his leg was cauterized, but the internal damage was catastrophic.
Markil stood over him, hands in his pockets, looking down with a strange expression.
"So..." Markil broke the silence. "Can anyone try to heal him? Or is he just going to... you know... expire?"
King Aelindor stepped forward, his face grim. "The Royal Healers are on their way. But the damage..."
Kalmen Solas knelt beside his Captain, gripping Elrond's shoulder. His hands were shaking.
"My Lord," Kalmen whispered. "At this rate... until they arrive... Captain will be..."
"Dead?" Markil finished the sentence. "Yeah. Definitely dead."
Kalmen snapped his head up, glaring at Markil with eyes full of hatred.
"You..." Kalmen hissed. "You did this! And now you mock him?!"
Alith Anar stepped forward, panic cracking her stoic mask. "Should we take him somewhere? If he loses more mana stability, his core will collapse. He won't survive the transport!"
Markil sighed. He scratched the back of his head.
"Man, you elves are dramatic."
He stepped closer.
"So," Markil said to the King. "You asked me for help, right?"
"Yes," the King replied, watching him closely.
"Then consider this a free sample."
Markil knelt beside Elrond.
Okay, Markil, he thought. Don't screw this up.
He remembered Thoos. He remembered the red dimension. He remembered how his own arm had grown back in seconds during the fight.
I know I can heal myself. My body does it automatically. It's like a passive skill.
But healing others?
Markil looked at his hand.
I don't know how to do that. I don't have a medical degree. I don't even have a first-aid certificate.
But... Thoos said I control Mana. I control the flow.
So if I just... visualize it?
"Please work," Markil whispered. "God, if you're listening, don't let me accidentally explode him."
Markil raised his hand and hovered it over Elrond's chest.
HUMMM.
A low vibration shook the air.
Kalmen recoiled. "What are you doing?! Get away from him!"
"Quiet!" the King ordered.
Amreth's eyes widened. "Wait... look at the light."
Markil closed his eyes.
Visualize. Not magic. Biology.
Bone connects to bone. Muscle weaves into muscle. Nerves snap together like wires.
Undo the damage.
FLASH.
A blinding purple and gold light erupted from Markil's palm. It wasn't gentle healing light. It was violent, commanding energy.
It poured into Elrond's body.
Elrond arched his back, gasping.
"Captain!" Kalmen shouted.
Then, the miracle happened.
From the charred stump of Elrond's leg, light solidified. It swirled, constructing a femur, then a tibia, then weaving red muscle fibers over the bone, and finally, wrapping it in flawless elven skin.
In ten seconds, the leg was back.
The bruises vanished. The internal bleeding stopped.
Amreth stepped back, his face pale.
"He..." Amreth whispered. "So that's how he healed himself? Is he immortal or what?"
The King stared. His mind raced with tactical possibilities.
He isn't just a weapon of mass destruction, the King realized. He is a fountain of life. If we have him on our side... my soldiers... my people... they will never die.
With him... we can actually win.
Markil pulled his hand back. He wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Phew," Markil muttered. "That was exhausting. 10/10 would not recommend."
Elrond's eyes fluttered open.
He gasped, sitting up instantly, reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
"I... I..."
Elrond looked around. He saw the King. He saw Kalmen crying. He saw his own leg.
He squeezed his thigh.
"It's... there?" Elrond whispered. "But... I lost it. I felt it burn."
He looked up at Markil.
"What is happening here?" Elrond asked, confused. "Why are you all looking at me like I'm a ghost?"
"You lost," Markil said, offering a hand to help him up. "And then you almost died. And then I fixed you. You're welcome."
Elrond stared at Markil's hand. He didn't take it.
"So... I really lost."
"Yeah," Markil smiled. "You can say that."
King Aelindor walked up to them. He placed a hand on Markil's shoulder.
"Thank you," the King said loud and clear. "Sir Markil."
Elrond froze.
"Sir...?" Elrond looked at the King, then at Markil. His brain couldn't process the title.
"My Lord," Elrond stammered, bowing his head. "I... I am sorry. I lost. I failed you."
"It's okay, Elrond," the King said gently. "It is not your fault."
The King looked at Markil with a mixture of fear and respect.
"The thing is... you fought the wrong person. No one could have won that fight."
Markil dusted off his pants.
"My Lord," Markil said, his tone shifting. The goofiness vanished. His eyes became sharp.
"Before we make this official... I have a condition."
Kalmen gritted his teeth. "You human... what is it now? You want gold? Jewels?"
"Yeah," the King nodded. "You can put your condition. Name it."
Markil looked at the Elite Knights. Then he looked at the crowd in the stands.
"I am a human," Markil said.
"I will not kill innocent humans."
Silence fell over the group.
"I know your history," Markil continued. "I know what they did to you. And I will fight soldiers. I will fight Kings. I will fight anyone who holds a weapon against you."
Markil's gaze hardened.
"But I am not going to kill farmers. Or children. Or people who didn't do anything to you. If you ask me to slaughter a village... I walk away. Or worse."
"Do we have a deal?"
The King didn't hesitate.
"I know you would have said this," the King said. "And I agree on it. We are not butchers, Sir Markil. We seek freedom, not genocide."
Elrond looked at the King, shocked. "My Lord... what are you talking about?"
The King turned to his subjects.
"Elrond. Kalmen. Everyone."
"I am taking Markil on our side. From this day forth, he will be a citizen of the Silver Spires."
Markil raised a finger. "Also... I don't want any ranks. No 'General' or 'Commander'. Too much paperwork."
"I just want a room. A bed. And food. Lots of food."
The King chuckled. "Okay. I will provide you that."
"But," the King added, his eyes gleaming. "You have to earn your keep. You have to go on missions with our Special Grade Knights."
Amreth stepped forward. "But My Lord! He is... he is a human! How can he work with us?"
"I know," the King said coldly. "Don't question. Just listen."
Markil looked at the King.
I guess this person has a brain far bigger than these elves, Markil thought. He knows exactly how to use me. A weapon needs a sheath, but it also needs a target.
But I don't know what kind of missions they will give me...
The King turned to the arena, his voice amplified by magic so the thousands of elves could hear.
"FROM TOMORROW!" the King roared.
"WE WILL BE ASSIGNED FOR THE ELVES RESCUE MISSION!"
The crowd gasped.
"WE WILL GO TO THE OTHER KINGDOMS! WE WILL BREAK THE CHAINS!"
"LET THE WORLD HEAR THIS DAY!"
The King raised his staff.
"ELVES WILL NO LONGER BE SLAVES!"
ROAAAAAR!
The cheers were deafening. For the first time in centuries, the Elves felt something other than fear. They felt hope.
And in the center of it all stood Markil, the human who had started the fire.
Kingdom of Velmora – The Royal Gym
The room was dark, lit only by flickering torches. The smell of sweat and iron filled the air.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
A man was punching a heavy bag.
He was shirtless, his body a masterpiece of muscle and scars. Blonde hair stuck to his forehead. Black eyes focused with terrifying intensity.
Roric Alfred.
The SSS+ General of Velmora.
Each punch shook the entire building. The heavy bag, made of reinforced dragon leather, groaned under the impact.
He wasn't using Aura. He was just using raw physical strength.
BAM.
A door creaked open.
A person with purple hair and a sleek black uniform stepped in. He held a scroll.
"My Lord," the messenger said, bowing low.
Roric didn't stop punching. "Speak."
"We have received intelligence from the borders."
Roric threw a jab. THUD.
"They are here."
Roric froze.
His fist hovered an inch from the bag.
He slowly turned his head. His black eyes pierced the darkness.
"They?"
Roric gave a sharp look. A cruel smile spread across his face.
"Fine then."
He turned back to the punching bag.
"Let them come."
He pulled his fist back.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
He didn't just punch the bag. He punched through it.
The dragon leather disintegrated. The force traveled through the bag, through the chains, and hit the stone wall behind it.
CRASH!
The entire wall of the gym exploded outward, collapsing into rubble. Sunlight poured into the dark room.
Roric stood amidst the dust, wiping his knuckles.
"I've been waiting for something that can't be broken."
(Chapter 24 Finished)