Arcane Warfare: From the Ashes of a Disposable Soldier

 Cedar rushed toward the small, crumbling library on the outskirts of the village.

 The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, and the faint scent of dust and old paper filled the air. Inside, the shelves were packed with worn-out books, many of them scattered haphazardly, abandoned in the rush to flee.

 The faint glow from the outside light barely pierced through the grime on the windows, casting long shadows over the room.

 In the center of the room, Ivan stood still, staring at something in his hands.

 Cedar's gaze snapped to it, and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized what Ivan was holding—a grimoire.

 Cedar's breath caught. "A grimoire," he whispered, the word trembling from his lips like it carried its weight. The air between them seemed heavier as if even speaking of such an object was forbidden.

 Grimoires were no ordinary books. They were legendary, semi-sentient artifacts of immense power, capable of amplifying a mage's abilities and holding forgotten knowledge that had been lost to time.

 Grimoires were no ordinary books. They were legends come to life, semi-sentient artifacts imbued with immeasurable power.

 A single one could amplify a mage's abilities beyond their natural limits, its pages filled with knowledge that had been lost to time. These weren't simple spellbooks. Grimoires held Old Magic, the primal, volatile force belonging only to the era of the Mage Wars.

 This was magic that had reshaped the world itself, magic that no one truly understood anymore.

 Ivan stepped forward and handed the grimoire to Cedar. The moment it touched his hands, he felt its weight. Not just the physical heft, but the dense energy radiating from it.

 The leather binding was dark and weathered, showing signs of age that no modern magic could replicate. Intricate runes were etched into the cover, glowing faintly and pulsating with a life of their own.

 Chains wrapped tightly around the book, secured by an ancient lock as if the book itself were a caged beast.

 In the center, a giant eye lay closed and sealed by the chain encircling it.

 Cedar's fingers trembled. Grimoires were meant for high-level mages, the ones who had reached the seventh circle of magic.

 Only those with immense control over mana, those capable of wielding magic beyond the grasp of normal mages, were allowed to possess such books.

 And Cedar? He was only a second-circle mage. He had barely begun to tap into his magical potential. The thought of ever reaching the seventh circle seemed impossible, a dream too far out of reach.

 Magic, in this world, was measured in circles.

 The more circles a mage had, the more mana they could control, and the more complex their spells could be.

 Nine circles were said to be the theoretical maximum, though those who reached such heights were practically myths. They were figures whispered about in stories, shapers, and destroyers of worlds.

 Most mages would be lucky to reach the fourth or fifth circle. Cedar knew that, deep down, his limit might be the fifth circle at the end of his life, if he was lucky.

 The thought of possessing a grimoire, an artifact meant for seventh-circle mages, was almost absurd. Even for someone like him, he couldn't remain calm about this as his hands continued to slightly tremble.

 Still, the grimoire lay heavy in his hands, and he could feel the faint hum of power coming from it.

 The grimoire in his hands hummed softly, its magic teasing the edges of his awareness. It felt alive, ancient, and powerful in a way that made his chest tighten.

 It was no coincidence that they had found it, not after the encounter with the Len. Cedar didn't believe in luck or accidents anymore. This book was connected to something bigger, something that went far beyond the magic of their time.

 Ivan, watching Cedar's reaction, spoke up quietly. "I didn't think something like this would be here. It looks... really old. Do you think it has something to do with Len?"

 Cedar didn't answer immediately. His fingers traced the runes on the book's cover, feeling the pulse of mana beneath his fingertips.

 Cedar didn't answer right away. His fingertips traced the glowing runes on the cover, feeling the faint thrum of mana that leaked from its sealed pages. The sensation sent a shiver up his spine.

This was not an illusion. The grimoire's power was real, and even touching it brought on a frenzy from just a small amount of mana leaking out.

 The grimoire was tied to something ancient, something that had been forgotten for centuries. Was this Len's doing? If this was Len's doing, then perhaps working for the enigmatic, ancient vampire wasn't as reckless and risky as it had seemed at first.

 Cedar couldn't say for sure, but there was something about this book that felt like a key to the mysteries that lay ahead.

"Maybe," Cedar murmured, his voice tinged with caution. "Grimoires like this don't just show up randomly. They're tied to powerful events, ancient beings, and forces older than we can comprehend." He paused, thinking. "I don't know if Len is directly connected to this, but it's possible."

 Ivan's eyes flicked to the book, then back to Cedar. "What do we do with it? It's too dangerous to use, right?"

 Cedar nodded, still focused on the book. "For now, yes. I don't have the strength to unlock it safely. Even touching this is dangerous at my level. The only reason we haven't been reduced to ash might be these chains. They're containing its power, keeping it in check." His fingers brushed over the cold, unyielding metal chains wrapped tightly around the grimoire.

"But we can't leave it here. If we find someone, someone strong enough, like a trusty seventh-circle mage, they might be able to help us unlock it without killing ourselves in the process." He paused, glancing at Ivan. "Until then, we keep it sealed and out of sight. If word gets out, every mage for miles will come for it."

 Ivan's face tightened at the thought, and he nodded. "It's as serious as Len, isn't it? If we're not careful—"

"It's a matter of life and death," Cedar finished, slipping the grimoire into his enchanted bag. He made sure it was secured tightly, though the faint pulse of magic still resonated through the fabric.

 Ivan hesitated, his curiosity obvious despite his better judgment. "What do you think is inside it?" he asked a mix of fear and wonder in his voice.

"Old magic," Cedar replied, his voice tinged with certainty. "Forgotten spells. Techniques that have been lost to time. It could be dangerous. Or it could be exactly what we need. If we want to have a chance at surviving in the upcoming clash of entities, we'll need every advantage we can get."

 With one last glance at the book, Cedar carefully slid it into his enchanted bag, ensuring it was secure. There was no dispute over the grimoire. Both he and Ivan understood they were on the same boat, Len's boat.

 The power it held was palpable like a coiled snake waiting to strike. Cedar could already feel the weight of its potential, and the longer he carried it, the more it gnawed at him.

 He didn't know what was inside, but he knew it was far more than they could handle right now.

 The war was still out there. The Imperium was still hunting for survivors. And now, with the grimoire in their possession, the stakes had been raised higher than ever.

 Cedar's mind shifted back to their immediate need. "We need to move," he said, glancing toward the horizon. The day was slipping away, and with it, their time to stay in the village. "The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that we'll run into trouble."

 Ivan nodded in agreement, and together, they quickly finished gathering their supplies.

 The village had given them a brief respite, but that was all it was.

 A brief moment of quiet before the storm that was coming for them. The war, and the greater battle ahead, still loomed.

 What lay ahead was unknown, but Cedar was certain of one thing: with the grimoire in their hands, their lives had just become infinitely more complicated. Nothing would ever be the same again.

 Deep inside the void bag, away from their sight, the grimoire's eye opened for a mere millisecond before closing quietly, attracting no attention.