Arcane Warfare: From the Ashes of a Disposable Soldier

 Crouching in the shadows, Cedar could feel the weight of despair sinking in.

 The battlefield was a graveyard, the line of defense obliterated, and soon the enemy would sweep through. He was in no state to fight, but he was alive. And where there was life, there was a chance.

 The shelter he had found might provide momentary safety, but the battlefield was alive with danger, and staying hidden for too long could mean certain death.

 His heart pounded, but he kept his focus, knowing that moving was his only option.

 He wasted no time.

 One by one, he searched through the small bags gathered from the fallen soldiers nearby. Each one contained rations of potions—small flasks barely touched: healing potions, mana potions, each soldier allotted only three of each for survival.

 With grim efficiency, he gathered all he could find, adding up to at least twenty precious flasks. It was more than enough to keep him alive a little longer, but the real treasure was his enchanted bag, woven with space magic, it expanded to hold far more than it should.

 He stuffed the potions inside, feeling the weight lift as they disappeared into the void within the bag. Every second counted. His hiding spell flickered, and he felt his mana slipping, the strain of maintaining it gnawing at the edges of his focus.

 He quickly uncorked two mana potions and downed them in swift succession.

 The cool rush of energy filled his body once more, bolstering his reserves. Still, he knew the truth—he'd always had a small mana pool, and without constant refueling, his magic would falter.

 He had at most five minutes of concealment left, barely enough time to make a move.

 The battlefield outside his crumbled shelter was a nightmare.

 Mages still dueling in the skies, arcs of lightning and fire scorching the earth. The ground was torn asunder by craters from spells, and the once-structured defenses of his regiment were now a scattered mess of debris and fallen bodies.

 Staying there was as good as a death sentence. He had to move.

 His breath was steady, the adrenaline of survival pushing aside the lingering pain of his burns.

 Cedar quickly reviewed his plan: stay low, use the chaos to his advantage, and avoid any direct engagements. With the mana potions keeping him going, he had a better chance of maintaining his invisibility as long as possible. But the clock was ticking.

 He glanced at the faint horizon beyond the battlefield, a distant ridge where the rear units of his army should have been stationed before the assault.

 Maybe there were survivors out there, or perhaps remnants of his regiment gathering for a retreat. If he could get to higher ground, he might be able to find help. But for now, his mission was simple: stay alive.

 Hunched low, Cedar took one last deep breath and slipped out of the ruins, his hiding spell shimmering faintly around him.

 The battlefield was a maze of rubble, fire, and death, but with his newly replenished mana and quick reflexes, he dodged through the debris, slipping from shadow to shadow.

 Each step felt heavier, the presence of enemy forces looming closer as he moved deeper into the heart of the conflict.

 Explosions rumbled in the distance, and the acrid smell of charred earth clogged his lungs. He had only minutes before his magic faded.

 The harsh lessons from training camp flooded back to him—mages don't travel in large groups. Any more than two and they became a walking target for enemy spells, easy to spot and eliminate. It was a rule drilled into him from the start. Cedar had seen what happened when formations got too large.

 The Imperium's elite mages could cast devastating spells that targeted groups with deadly precision. The sight of a dozen mages obliterated in an instant during his early days of training on the battlefield still haunted his mind.

 The defenses of Aelith were shattered.

 There was no hope in trying to hold the city any longer; it was lost.

 The front lines had been obliterated, and the few mages still alive were either retreating or lying dead among the rubble. He was running out of time, and the only logical choice was to escape, to reach the nearest fallback camp where any surviving soldiers would regroup.

 He felt the dull ache of his burns and injuries returning as the last healing potion began to wear off.

 Quickly, he reached into his bag and uncorked another one, drinking it in a single gulp. The familiar warmth spread through his body, knitting his wounds once more, but he felt the weight of the potions starting to take its toll.

 Cedar knew the risk: consuming too many potions in such a short time could lead to a mana outbreak. His hands trembled slightly as the thought crossed his mind.

 Mana outbreak, a fatal condition every mage feared.

 When a mage absorbed too much mana too quickly, their core, the very source of their magical power, could overload! It collapsed into itself like a dying star, forming a miniature black hole before exploding internally.

 The result was catastrophic not just for the mage, but for those nearby. Their mana circuits burned out in an instant, destroying their organs from within, and leaving nothing but a lifeless shell.

 He had seen it happen once before to a fellow trainee.

 Although they were warned against abusing the potions, the officer in charge of the training camp did not explain the direct consequences of doing so. Not only did the coach manage to rid himself of a disobedient soldier, but he also used that incident as a stern reminder to others about the dangers of overusing the potions.

 An accident during an exercise, a warning to all of them about the dangers of greedily consuming potions that would be carved into the soldier's mind until the day they die.

 He had to be careful. Any more potions too quickly, and he risked pushing himself to the brink.

 Despite the growing pressure in his chest, he focused on the task at hand.

 The flickering of his invisibility spell reminded him that time was slipping away. He glanced toward the outskirts of the city, where the rolling hills and dense forests in the distance offered a path to safety.

 That was where the nearest camp should be. It was several miles away, but it was his best shot at surviving the night. Cedar moved swiftly, slipping through the crumbled streets of Aelith, his invisibility shielding him from view.

 The sounds of battle continued to rage behind him, but they were slowly fading as he distanced himself from the heart of the city.

 His breathing was shallow, his mind laser-focused on avoiding any more confrontations. The wreckage of the city became more desolate, fewer enemies patrolled this area, and the buildings became nothing more than skeletons of their former glory.

 As he approached the city's outskirts, he paused to catch his breath, ducking behind a collapsed wall.

 From here, he could see the forest in the distance, his gateway to safety. But he also knew that leaving the battlefield didn't mean leaving the war. The Imperium would be on the hunt for survivors, and traveling alone could be just as dangerous as staying.

 The pounding in his chest grew stronger as the hiding spell wavered, threatening to fade completely.

 Cedar glanced around, assessing his options as each second ticked away, pushing him closer to his limit.

 The battlefield ahead was littered with debris and bodies, but one thing caught his eye: a fallen enemy mage, their hover surfboard partially buried in the rubble. It was a risky idea, but one that could get him out of the city faster than running on foot.

 The Imperium used these magical surfboards to travel swiftly across the battlefield, hovering inches above the ground with lightning speed. They were powered by mana, but using one would disable his camouflage spell, exposing him to any enemy scouts.

 Worse, he had never trained with them.

 In camp, they were considered a luxury, too expensive for mass deployment like his standard-issue metal staff. Cedar had seen them used in battle but never had the chance to lay hands on one. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures.

 If he could find at least one survivor, another mage, there might be a chance. Together, they could take turns, one flying the board while the other cast protective barriers. It would require coordination, but with the state he was in, it was a gamble worth taking.

 His mana was running dangerously low, and he could feel the strain of the potions building in his core. One more mana potion was all he had left before the specter of mana outbreak loomed too close.

 He was at his limit, and he knew it!

 Cedar's mind raced as he weighed the risks.

 Without a doubt, using the surfboard would be faster. Cedar could cover more ground and put distance between himself and the city, but without training, there was no telling what could go wrong. Flying at those speeds without experience could send him crashing into the ground, or worse, straight into enemy fire.

 But time was running out, and standing still was not an option.

 Cedar made his decision. Moving cautiously, he approached the enemy's corpse, his invisibility flickering with every step.

 The mage who had attempted the suicide bombing lay still, their body broken by the explosion. The surfboard was intact, its runes glowing faintly with stored mana, ready to be used.

 He could feel the pull of its magic as he gripped the edge of the board. It was heavier than it looked, pulsing with an unfamiliar energy that made his fingers tingle.