Chương 72: Martyrdom

Eren silently carried Ann on his back. He pulled along a sled with a bandaged elven body on it. Behind him, a large group of people dejectedly waded through the marshes.

'It's gone.' Eren did his best to keep a steady pace. He faltered; he almost tripped; he continued. He did his best to make sure Ann was comfortable by stopping occasionally to adjust her with his remaining arm.

'Guess no bows for the time being.' Leonard had lost his legs. He stayed behind to detonate the castle and, fortunately, survived. Leo, on the other hand, was struck by a stray arrow in the middle of the fight. He died instantly. Eren watched it happen.

'God dammit.' He bit the side of his cheek, and blood gushed. The battle of Brighthaven didn't last several months. Instead, the second the Royal faction sent their Dreamer force, that was when the battle ended. Two days. Two nights. The Royal faction's mundane force was destroyed at the cost of two Dreamers and several guards. That battle alone lasted the day. The Royal faction's main force attacked at night. Their force was 24, 000 less than Brighthavens. But they also had over 200 Dreamers.

Eren powered through the slippery mud and tainted water. He wanted to forget. Brighthaven had 16 Dreamers. When June disappeared, it became 15. When Sidri and Atish died, it became 13. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Now, only 4 remained. Each one was no longer fit for combat. Eren stumbled in the mud, picked himself up, and kept trekking. He needed to move. He needed to run. It didn't matter how reinforced the walls were.

It didn't matter how many layers they had. It didn't matter what materials it was made of. It only took one Dreamer. It only took one well-placed spell for the portcullis to be destroyed. Every plan. Every idea. Every notion went out the window the second they got in. The second the slaughter began. The Royal Faction went for the infirmary first. They took or killed Brighthaven's medics. The ones that escaped were the first that were targeted. On the first day of the war, it was 54000 against 35000.

Brighthaven had a castle. Brighthaven had supplies. Brighthaven had numbers. But numbers mean nothing when it comes to absolute power. Now, of the 54000 people of Brighthaven, less than 6000 remained, and most were mundane. Eren slowed down, heaving for air. The marshlands were humid, and the mud made it hard to travel. He looked behind him. He had walked too far in front of the group. People were falling behind, and the herd was scared. Eren looked at the dark sky and inhaled the murky air.

Beads of sweat dripped off his face and made tapping noises as they fell into the mud. Rhythmically. Consistently. The sound of his heaving breaths, the sound of his raining sweat hitting the mud, the humidity, and the uncomfortable warmth of his legs buried in the gloppy mud drove him crazy. It was hard to focus. Everything was hazy. His body ached all over. It felt weird trying to wipe sweat off your brow without an arm.

'…' Eren dropped the leash made from Leonard's robes and walked over to the softly heaving mummified man. His legs were gone; his body was covered in burns. There were no healers to fix him.

"Leonard…"

"Leonard, make a platform." The corpse slowly sat up and began whispering something, and with an outstretched hand, a small stone platform was made atop the mud. Leonard turned slowly to Eren; only his dead eyes were exposed by bandages. He spoke, his voice was no longer elegant or smooth. It was abrupt, breathy, and vile.

"I need…" He lifted a limp finger, and Eren seemed to understand as he lifted the sled's leash once more.

It took some time, but a sufficiently large platform was created. There were no cots, wagons, or sounds of idle chatter. Just a heaving mass and a quiet collection of weeping. Eren sat down with his legs crossed; he was constantly observing Ann's and Leonard's conditions. Leonard looked like a corpse. After exerting himself with magic, it almost seemed like the man stopped breathing; the only thing that truly verified the elf's heartbeat was simply that he hadn't begun to dissipate into blue mist.

Ann, on the other hand, was the least injured of the three. Surprisingly, to Eren, the fall of Brighthaven seemed to affect her the most. Even then, she was the one to facilitate the evacuation when everything went to hell. She wasn't dying. She simply overworked herself during the first few days of their final pilgrimage. Eren softly patted her arm and gently placed his hand near Leonard so as not to agitate his burns. He wanted to make a joke, a poor one even; he just wanted to hear something other than weeping.

He held in his own tears; he clutched his calf with his remaining arm and held it dearly. He wanted revenge.

A month since the fall of Brighthaven had passed. The remaining groups of people split into the new groups. The Survivors and the Avengers. Both groups still belonged to the Brighthaven faction. Eren led the Avenger group, the new fighting force of what remained of Brighthaven. And Ann took all the craftspeople and began fixing or replacing damaged tools. Leonard was given simple prosthetic legs, and Eren was given a hook for a replacement. Other than a handful of people who went their own way.

A new rudimentary base was set up, and the new Brighthaven faction was given one task. To break the Royal faction by whatever means necessary.