[Accepted. Teleporting subjects "Elyria", "Noah", and host "Iron" to safe coordinates. Initiating system.]
Iron only managed to force out a short, stunned sound from his dry throat:
"Wh..."
Iron, Noah, and Elyria vanished.
A few minutes later. The squad commander, in bloodied armor, pulled a humming crystallograph from his belt and raised it to his lips.
"Attention! The sector is completely cleared and secured," he reported hoarsely. "But there is a problem. The primary targets—Iron, Noah, and Elyria—are missing."
Olgerd's furious roar erupted from the other end of the line:
"Find them! Scour the entire area! They couldn't have just evaporated!"
"Comb through everything!" Valdes's harsh voice cut in. "Turn these ruins inside out, but find them!"
"Understood!" the commander barked, turning to his soldiers and ordering them to fan out and search.
Silence stretched around them. Marek lay dead on the ground, his eyes frozen open. The bodies of the rest of the militia rested in the mud. Absolutely nothing remained of the pine forest around Dornheim—only charred, blackened wasteland, incinerated earth, and shattered stone.
Amidst it all, only a solitary 28-meter tower stood tall.
Meanwhile, far from Dornheim, a young man was walking along a narrow path. He held a smooth, transparent sphere in his hands, peering at the image inside as he walked.
Slowing his pace, he muttered under his breath with a smile:
"Iron... Everfall..."
Eight hours passed.
Inside a fortified carriage, Olgerd stared at the communication transmitter, with Valdes and Edriac on the line.
"The reports keep coming in," Olgerd said grimly after a heavy pause. "Those three are gone. We've combed the perimeter for miles around."
"My mages confirm the same," Valdes replied tersely.
Olgerd sighed heavily:
"Most likely, they escaped..."
After a few seconds, he added:
"Alright. Valdes, how many soldiers do you have left, counting the forces we allocated to keep Lucius in check?"
"About two hundred thousand," Valdes answered without hesitation.
"Good. I have roughly the same."
"In that case, I suggest we establish full perimeter defense around the Mine and begin extracting the ore without delay," Valdes spoke up.
"Good idea," Olgerd approved. "I'm redeploying thirty thousand of my soldiers there right now to reinforce the line."
"I will send an identical contingent," Valdes replied.
At that moment, Iron struggled to open his heavy eyelids.
The first thing he saw was a low wooden ceiling. The room was tiny, filled with the scent of dry wood and prairie herbs. For a few seconds, he just stared upward, trying to grasp where he was. Iron tried to lift his left arm toward the ceiling, but it merely twitched—he had no strength. The arm fell lifelessly back onto the mattress.
Overcoming a savage weakness, Iron tried to sit up. As soon as his torso lifted off the bed, a throbbing pain flared in his head. With a stifled groan, he slightly covered his face with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut against a sharp wave of nausea.
Fighting through the pain, he still managed to sit on the edge of the bed.
Lowering his hand, Iron stared blankly at a single point straight ahead. The same thought kept spinning in his head, over and over:
"Everyone is dead... Everything I did... is gone."
A pained, broken smile appeared on his lips. He tilted his head back slightly, staring at the wooden ceiling beams, and breathed out quietly:
"I don't even have the strength to cry."
At that moment, the air in the center of the small room rippled slightly. A silhouette silently wove itself out of thin air.
It was a person in ordinary, light black pants and a simple white shirt. Short dark hair topped their head, but when Iron raised a heavy gaze to look at them, he froze: the figure had no face at all. The entire surface of their head was completely smooth.
Iron frowned and said with sullen annoyance:
"What do you want? Can't you see I'm actually grieving here?"
The being began to approach him softly.
And with every step this entity took, the room filled with an astonishing feeling. An incredible, profound warmth radiated from the stranger. For a brief moment, Iron felt as though he had returned to his childhood. It was such a warm, comforting presence that it took his breath away.
The person stepped right up to Iron, who was sitting on the bed, and silently leaned down, gently wrapping their arms around his shoulders.
Iron froze. For the first few seconds, he sat motionless, shocked by the gesture. But a moment later, something in his chest finally broke.
Iron sobbed, raised his weak, exhausted arms, and tightly hugged the faceless entity back. Tears burst from his eyes—tears he could no longer, and no longer wanted to, hold back.
A few seconds later, the figure silently melted away, dissolving into the air. But Iron remained sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging empty air and crying bitterly, uncontrollably in the silence.
Footsteps sounded outside the door of the small room.
Noah was approaching the door. He wore clean, simple clothes—a pair of lightweight dark pants, soft socks, and a loose dark T-shirt.
He raised his hand, intending to open the door and check how Iron was feeling. But in that very second, his fingers froze a millimeter from the handle.
Quiet, muffled sobs were coming from behind the thin wooden partition.
Realizing that right now Iron needed to be alone, Noah slowly lowered his hand, turned around, and walked back down the hallway toward the stairs.
Coming down to the first floor, he entered a cozy living room filled with the aroma of dried herbs and hot pastries.
An elderly woman was bustling about near a small kitchen table. Hearing his footsteps, she turned and asked warmly:
"Well, has your friend woken up, Noah?"
He walked over to the wooden table in silence, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily. His half-finished mug of cold tea was already sitting on the table.
"Yeah... he's awake," he exhaled quietly, staring at the tabletop. "But maybe we shouldn't bother him just yet."
The grandmother looked at the boy attentively. Catching the hidden pain in his eyes, she didn't press him with questions. Instead, she silently took a plump clay teapot from the stove, walked over to the table, and poured fresh, steaming brew into Noah's mug. Setting the teapot down, she carefully sat in the adjacent chair across from him.
"You know..." she began softly, folding her hands in her lap. "You aren't the first people to just appear out of nowhere near our village like this."
Noah looked up at her in surprise:
"Not the first?.."
"Yes," the grandmother nodded thoughtfully, gazing out the bright window. "Before you, they appeared out of nowhere just like that... Um, what were their names... Kyle? No... Ah, right! Rauan, Cron, Oswin, and Lorand. They showed up nearby just like you."
Noah looked at the grandmother, and a strange feeling flared up in his soul. In her kind eyes, the radiant wrinkles around her eyelids, and her warm, enveloping voice, he distinctly recalled his own grandmother. This moment of warmth slightly dulled the aching pain in his chest.
A faint smile appeared on Noah's lips.
"I see..." he whispered, and looking into the woman's eyes, added quietly, "And... thank you so much. For helping us in this difficult time."
"Oh, what's there to thank me for, dear," she threw her hands up.
Noah smiled slightly again—though a hint of pain could still be read in his eyes—and asked:
"And what happened to those people next?"
"Ah, yes... Soon they all went their separate ways, to their own business and cities. Rauan was actually the first to leave, headed straight for the capital. Said he absolutely had to pass on something important to the king... I can't even remember what exactly."
Noah nodded obediently:
"Seems like Rauan is a very important person in the capital."
"Most likely," the grandmother confirmed warmly. "A very pleasant, bright young man. He protected our grandfather from trouble, and even gave him knights for his journey back to guard him."
"That's cool... He really is a very kind person."
The conversation was abruptly cut short by a dull thud from the upper floor.
The grandmother let out a startled gasp and took a step toward the stairs, but Noah quickly rose from his chair and stopped her:
"Stay here. I'll check on him myself."
Without waiting for an answer, the boy dashed up the steps, turned the corner, and yanked the door open. On the floor by the bed, breathing heavily, Iron was clutching at the rug with his fingers.
"What are you doing?" Noah exclaimed, rushing over to him.
"Trying... to stand up..." Iron forced out through clenched teeth.
Noah grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him up. Iron's head was spinning so hard that dark spots swam before his eyes. Noah sat him back down on the bed. Iron leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, squeezed his temples with his fingers, and exhaled quietly:
"Damn it... How did everything... turn out like this?"
"Darwin, Clara, Marek, Albert, Gaston..." he whispered, and with every name, his voice grew more hoarse and broken.
And then the faces of the kings surfaced in his memory. Fury flared up inside Iron. He clenched his fists tightly:
"Fucking bastards!"
Overcoming the pain in his muscles and the burning in his chest, Iron tried to lunge to his feet again, but Noah firmly planted his hands on his shoulders, forcing him back down.
"What are you doing?!" Iron yelled at the top of his voice, glaring up at Noah. "We have to fucking finish them right now! Go pack your things! Why the hell do you think I teleported us here in the first place?! So we could heal up and strike from where they don't expect us!"
At that moment, Iron froze. He gritted his teeth and mentally addressed Lumon:
"Why did you do that? Left alone, I would have killed them all right there!"
[Executing that task was impossible,] Lumon's voice responded. [The probability of your death was ninety-nine point nine percent.]
Lumon instantly calculated that to stabilize the host's emotional state, a clear, logical justification had to be provided. Otherwise, the host would not calm down.
[Logical analysis of the situation: teleportation was executed so that you could gather your strength and deliver a crushing blow as a unified group, in accordance with your original plan,] Lumon continued. [Additionally: in the event of split teleportation, the allies would not have been able to decipher your subsequent actions.]
Iron exhaled heavily. The anger inside him slowly began to subside.
At that moment, Noah, still keeping his hands on his shoulders, spoke in a soft and calm voice:
"Iron... We aren't going anywhere right now. Understand, we need to rest. Let's make a deal: as soon as we rest and gather our strength, we will destroy those kings immediately."
Iron, not expecting such softness from Noah, nodded slowly.
"I'm glad you understand," Noah smiled quietly and added: "Grandma Martha is making food right now. You need to eat. Will you eat here, or can you make it to the table?"
"To the table..." Iron said, still in a state of mild shock.
"Let me help."
Noah offered his shoulder, helping him stand. They walked slowly down the hallway. Iron simultaneously took in the house: the wooden walls, the second floor, the stairs leading down.
When they came down, Grandma Martha, seeing Iron enter, immediately started fussing:
"Oh, you're awake! Come on, sit down, quickly!"
She hastily ladled hot, steaming soup into a deep bowl, poured a cup of tea, and set everything in front of Iron:
"Here, eat something hot! You'll get your strength back right away!"
"Thank you..." Iron replied quietly, sitting on the chair.
He picked up a spoon and began to eat, blowing on the hot broth.
"And where is Elyria?" he asked through the dull, throbbing ache in his head.
"She's meditating on the second floor," Noah answered, sitting down next to him.
"And where are we anyway?"
"In the village of Elmvik."
At that moment, the front door creaked, and an elderly man walked into the house. Seeing the guest, the old man beamed:
"Oh, so we have another one awake!"
He walked up to the table and offered a friendly hand:
"The name's Alfred."
Iron extended his right hand in return. They exchanged a firm handshake. Alfred lowered his gaze and froze in surprise, examining the complex steel construction of the prosthetic.
"Well, now... You don't see that often," the old man uttered, fascinated. "Hell, what do I mean 'not often'... I've never seen anything like it at all!"
Martha immediately stepped up from behind and gave her husband a light smack on the back of the head:
"Don't listen to him, Iron! He's obsessed with all sorts of weird gizmos. Go wash your hands, Alfred, and then sit at the table!"
"Alright, alright, I'm going," the old man grumbled and headed for the washbasin.
"It's fine..." Iron muttered, and mentally added: "Probably."
While they talked, the engineer retreated into his own thoughts. His mind began to habitually sort the facts: "I didn't blow up the Mine... And that's for the best. I'll go back there later and take the ore. It's a guaranteed advantage."
But then his thoughts drifted back to Marek, Darwin, and the others. Anger boiled in his chest once again: "Why... why does regeneration magic always require so much more energy than regular spells?! Why is it never enough?!"
Immersed in these dark thoughts, Iron didn't even notice how he automatically finished the entire bowl of soup. Completely oblivious, he continued to dip his spoon into the empty bowl and bring it to his mouth, acting as if he were still eating.
Martha, watching this scene, smiled warmly:
"Iron... Should I get you some more?"
"What?.." Iron blinked, snapping back to reality and staring at the empty dish.
But Martha had already taken the bowl, generously ladled out another large portion of thick soup, and set it back down:
"Eat up, eat up, it's good for you."
Iron nodded silently and picked up his spoon again.
Meanwhile, on the second floor of the house, in the center of the small room, Elyria levitated in the air, floating thirty centimeters above the wooden floor. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her fists were clenched.
A single thought repeated non-stop in her mind, like a spell:
"I have to get back in shape... I must get back in shape. So that no one else... ever..."
The remnants of her crippled mana were slowly gathering into nodes, restoring their damaged structure.
Several hours later.
Iron was walking slowly down the street of Elmvik village.
The day was fading into evening, and the soft golden rays of the sun illuminated the wooden fences, the low dry-straw roofs, and the sparse villagers returning from the fields. The engineer looked around, and in his gaze, there was coldness and detachment.
He noted to himself that Elmvik looked too... ordinary. This quiet village vaguely resembled Dornheim only in the general outlines of its buildings, but even they were very different. It didn't smell of gunpowder, sweat, and dried blood here.
Passing peasants looked back at Iron, in his clean clothes and with his prosthetic, with surprise and a touch of apprehension.
He clasped his hands behind his back, walked at a measured pace along the packed earth, and mentally addressed Lumon.
"How long until my full recovery?"
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