Arcane Warfare: From the Ashes of a Disposable Soldier

 Three days later, Cedar and Ivan finally reached the military camp.

 Nestled on the outskirts of Ioruk City, the camp stood like a defiant flame in the encroaching shadow of war. Yet, even to an outsider, its transience was palpable.

 The tents were pitched with precision, their edges taut against the cold wind, but their impermanence was unmistakable.

 Everything about the camp, from the layout of its pathways to the restless movements of its occupants, spoke of a place that could be dismantled and gone within hours.

 Soldiers moved purposefully, their boots crunching over the frost-covered ground as the sharp chill of evening descended.

 Mages worked in clusters, their hands glowing faintly as they reinforced the fragile barriers surrounding the camp. Supplies were being counted, redistributed, and packed as though bracing for an inevitable retreat.

 Every action carried a quiet urgency, an unspoken acknowledgment that the Union's forces were losing ground faster than they could regroup.

 Cedar and Ivan arrived at the outer checkpoint just as the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks in the distance. The golden hues of sunset gave way to the harsh silver of twilight, and a biting wind clawed through their cloaks.

 Cedar tugged his hood tighter around his face as they approached the guards stationed at the entrance.

"State your purpose," barked one of the guards, his eyes scanning them with practiced suspicion.

"Cedar and Ivan," Cedar replied, handing over their badges. "Union-affiliated mages, reporting in."

 The guard scrutinized the badges for a moment before gesturing to an officer standing nearby. The officer, a middle-aged man with sharp, weathered features, stepped forward, taking the badges with a brisk nod.

 His expression was grim but composed, the face of someone who had long since grown used to the ebb and flow of war.

"Cedar and Ivan," the officer muttered as he checked a roster clipped to his belt.

"You're clear. Follow me."

 He turned without another word, his boots crunching on the frozen ground as he led them deeper into the camp. The two of them followed in silence, weaving through a labyrinth of tents and makeshift shelters.

 Around them, soldiers were engrossed in their tasks while some tending to injuries, their hands glowing faintly with healing magic, others sharpening blades or repairing armor. The air was thick with tension, the kind that only came when time was running out.

"Stay close," the officer said, glancing over his shoulder. "You're lucky to have made it here without crossing paths with an Imperium patrol. The front lines are barely holding, and the roads are more dangerous than ever."

 Cedar glanced at Ivan, who met his gaze with a flicker of unease. They both knew how close they had come to disaster on the journey here.

 The total five days of constant vigilance, evading patrols and navigating treacherous terrain, had left them both physically and mentally drained to the point that their time at the abandoned town was the least stressful.

 The weight of the grimoire tucked safely in Cedar's enchanted bag hadn't made things any easier.

 Finally, the officer stopped in front of a small tent near the edge of the camp. It was modest, just large enough for two cots and a makeshift table. He gestured for them to enter.

"You've got two nights here, at most," he said, crossing his arms as he spoke. "We're pulling out soon—likely before sunrise on the third day. The Union's regrouping to reinforce stronger positions. The Imperium's advance is too fast, and Ioruk won't hold. The higher-ups are planning something big, probably at one of the critical defensive lines near the capital. Word is, they're sending the high-ranking mages into the front lines for a counterstrike on Aelith."

 Cedar stiffened at the mention of Aelith. The city had been one of the first to fall to the Imperium, its defenses shattered in mere days by an overwhelming onslaught of both conventional and magical power.

 The idea of retaking it sounded less like a strategy and more like a desperate gamble.

 Aelith was nothing more than ruins now, its once-thriving streets reduced to ash and rubble. Even if the Union succeeded in reclaiming it, there were no plans to rebuild the city.

 Instead, it would serve as a large-scale military base, an outpost to slow the Imperium's advance and potentially turn the tide of war.

 That was why only the high-ranking mages were being deployed as their power was essential for such a risky operation. Sending in large numbers of low rank soldiers like them would be pointless—just a waste of lives for a place that could never be restored.

"What happens if they fail?" Ivan asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper.

The officer's jaw tightened. He hesitated, as if weighing how much to say. "If they fail…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Let's just say the Union can't afford another loss like that. If Aelith can't be retaken, it'll only be a matter of time before the rest of the cities fall. But that's not your concern for now. Rest while you can."

 With that, the officer turned and disappeared back into the maze of tents, leaving Cedar and Ivan to their thoughts.

 Inside the tent, Cedar dropped his gear onto the floor and sank onto the nearest cot, the fabric creaking under his weight. The cold night seeped through the thin canvas walls, and he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

 Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, but his mind refused to quiet.

 Ivan sat on the opposite cot, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor.

"Two days," he muttered, his voice heavy. "That's barely enough time to catch our breath."

 Cedar nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "We'll use the time we have," he said. "There's too much we don't know. The grimoire, your ancestor, the… 'bloody vessel.'" He hesitated before uttering the last phrase, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. The memory of Len's voice still lingered, sharp and intrusive, refusing to fade.

 Ivan looked up, his brow furrowed. "Do you think the high-ranking mages here might know something? About the grimoire or… whatever's happening to us?"

"It's possible," Cedar admitted, though his tone carried little conviction. "But they're preparing for something big. They won't have time for us—not unless we can prove this is important enough to matter to them."

 He paused and glanced at his bag, where the grimoire rested. "We need someone who understands Old Magic—someone we can trust. But trust is hard to come by. If we're not careful, they might see us as a threat and try to kill us for what we carry."

"Even worse, if they discover our connection to Old Magic, we could be executed. You heard what Len said; you might be the descendant of an ambitious creature seeking to rule the world, while I am just a programmed weapon with a nature of bloodthirst." Cedar warned cautiously.

"Yeah, Len might be lying, but I'm not willing to take the chance to find out just yet," Ivan replied try to be humorous but bitterness is clear in his voice.

 Ivan leaned back on his cot, letting out a frustrated sigh. "You know, I just hate this feeling. Like we're just pawns in someone else's game. But you're right. We don't have a choice. We'll have to keep moving forward—even if it means working for that ominous vampire." His voice dropped to a bitter murmur. "Len might be using us, but if we're smart, we can use him too."

 Cedar didn't respond. The weight of Ivan's words settled over him like a lead blanket. The road ahead was treacherous, and the stakes were growing higher by the day. He muttered a quiet "thanks" as Ivan offered to take the first watch, then lay back on his cot, closing his eyes.

 Outside, the camp hummed with activity, a fragile bubble of life holding against the encroaching darkness. For now, the war felt like a distant storm.

 Ivan stood guard, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. The camp bustled behind him, but his focus was elsewhere. Two days wasn't much time, but it was all they had. After that, the war would swallow them whole once again.

 The Union was faltering. The Imperium was closing in. And with the grimoire in their possession, Cedar and Ivan found themselves carrying a burden far heavier than they could comprehend.

 The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing was clear—whatever awaited them next, it would be unlike anything they had faced before.

 For now, though, the camp offered a fleeting moment of peace, fragile as it was.

 It wouldn't last, but perhaps that was the nature of war: to take what little solace he could, knowing that tomorrow would demand everything once again.