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Taragon had been sent on countless missions over the past ten years of war, surviving hundreds of battles. He had suffered serious injuries, many of them fatal wounds that left him on the brink of death.
However, he could say with certainty that none of them had hurt as much as the pain he felt in his forehead right now. It was beyond sharp and almost dizzying. The pain was so intense it felt like his senses were about to short-circuit the moment it struck. And yet, it was a familiar pain.
“Keter?!”
There was only one person in the world who could inflict this kind of pain. It couldn’t be an illusion. Taragon shot to his feet and grabbed Keter in a tight embrace.
“Keter, it’s really… it’s really you!”
Like a child afraid something precious might vanish if he let go, Taragon held on tightly.
Keter grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away, clicking his tongue.
“Damn, look how old you’ve gotten. How much time has passed?”
“Keter… you really don’t know?”
To Keter, it had felt like no more than a week. In the outside world, though, ten years had passed.
It’s been at least five years. Damn you, Heavenly Venerable. I’m going to get back at you no matter what.
Taragon opened his mouth to explain, but Keter stopped him.
“Wait. The ones who can survive should get out.”
And then, Keter vanished like a mirage.
Startled, Taragon looked around frantically, but there was no trace of him.
“Keter? Keter?!”
The Crusaders’ crossbowmen specialized in urban...
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