The Dreamer's Fall

Chapter 45 - The Missing Army

The fire pit within Arthur's tent crackled as tiny embers scattered into the chilly Bernish morning air. Arthur sat behind the drawing room desk, lazily drawing shapes in the air with his finger as if conducting some grand orchestra.

Before him, one of his hidden blades soared around the room, seemingly without direction, until he pointed his finger toward a shredded sack of hay beside the tent's entrance. A muffled tear resounded through the tent as if to notify him that his hidden blade had found the target of his daily practice.

Recalling his blade to its sheath, Arthur lazily rested his head upon his palm and gazed with half-shut eyes at the steamy plate of food before him. Then, he pointed toward the fork with his free hand, levitating it into the air above the plate and bringing it down upon one of the mouth-watering blue-hued sausages.

A clamorous crash echoed out as the fork pierced the sausage and the porcelain plate beneath it, causing Arthur's tired eyes to fly open in panic. It seemed as though applying a delicate touch with his telekinesis was still beyond his ability.

Looking over the shattered plate, Arthur rubbed his eyes and groaned. "Damn it..."

His march to the Bernish city of Rothwel was mind-numbingly uneventful. He spent most of his time atop his mount Aithon, leaving little to work on his spells.

Instead, his days consisted of practicing telekinesis during breakfast before breaking camp to march. Once the march began, it became like a tour of Ollerin's countryside, which was initially thrilling but quickly lost its splendor after a few days.

Perhaps Arthur's expectations were too high, but Ollerin was far less fantastical than he had imagined. Most cities they passed by looked no different than Munn, and most fantasy creatures were intelligent enough to avoid a lengthy column of men marching near their territory, so they remained unseen by Arthur's inquisitive violet eyes.

After the army ended its march each day, Arthur would sit in on the military command meetings, which he found even more tiresome than the endless marching. The military meetings were hardly the intriguing battle of strategy and tactics he had envisioned. More often than not, they comprised of reading lengthy, monotonous reports on supplies, attrition, and news about which Ollerin lord joined up with the army that day.

Once the meeting ended, Arthur would often sneak off with Fenric to train his swordsmanship before returning to camp to cultivate and work on his spells. While he hardly expected any positive changes in his combat ability, simply moving his body during training each day was having an effect.

Until now, Arthur sat around like a scholar in the study of Revan Manor, neglecting physical exercise for the most part. His body's transformation wasn't so noticeable just yet, but he could see the changes as it shed its baby fat and grew leaner with each passing day.

Unfortunately, when the army entered Bern a few days ago, Arthur's training had to be paused, but he planned to make up for it by adding more physical exercise to his daily routine going forward.

As Arthur was busy trying to salvage what little of his breakfast he could, Kyren phased through the tent. Arthur glanced up as if he had gained a ghost-proximity sixth sense over the years. "That was quick. I didn't think you'd be back until at least noon."

"Heh. The scouts were right." Kyren smirked. "Seems the little shits fled. The only troops in Rothwel now are Ollerin's imperial troops. I even followed a few of 'em to make sure they weren't Bernish soldiers in disguise."

Arthur rhythmically tapped his finger on the desk as he processed the information. "How far did you check around Rothwel?"

Kyren groaned in frustration. "I was hundreds of feet in the sky, kid. I would've seen 'em if they were hiding anywhere near the city. They probably fled a few days ago. I'm sure they'll say the same thing once the second round of scouts returns from the city."