Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 171 Mental Exhaustion

Alicarde collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily as the toll of his last attack set in. His mind buzzed, struggling to process the strain he had just endured. He'd cast not one, but three separate spells simultaneously—an achievement most mages or witches spent years, if not decades, trying to master.

Yet, he'd done it instinctively, and the only witness to this monumental feat was the shattered remnants of the treant he'd felled.

In his heart, there was a faint thrill at having conquered such a powerful foe, but the mental exhaustion weighed heavily on him.

Though his undying nature kept him from true injury, fatigue was still an inescapable reality.

His eyelids felt like lead, but he chuckled to himself, each breath ragged.

"Hehehe... that... was a good fight..."

He tried rolling over, pressing his arms to the ground in an attempt to rise, only to collapse again, limbs too heavy to respond.

"Ahh... guess I still can't move, huh?"

Resigned, he decided to simply rest, letting his mind find some clarity.

His gaze wandered across the battlefield. What had once been a dense stretch of forest was now a scene of devastation. Trees lay broken, their trunks splintered like matchsticks.

The ground bore the marks of their clash—deep craters and torn earth where spells had collided, and fires still smoldered in patches of charred wood. Shards of ice glinted among the debris, remnants of the treant now scattered across the wasteland. Alicarde took it all in, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He looked around, scanning for his sword.

"Where'd it go...?" he murmured. His sword had fallen from the sky when he'd been obliterated to ash, yet now it was nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, he muttered,

"It will be back... it always comes back."

His gaze traveled down his body.

"I'm only still here because I'm immortal... otherwise, I'd have been dead a long time ago."

It was the undeniable truth. If not for his undying nature, he doubted he would have survived his first encounter with the skinwalker, let alone Zagarath or Warth.

The minion paused, momentarily stunned by his resilience. But Alicarde's expression only grew more smug, reveling in the creature's frustration as he braced himself for whatever might come next.

Alicarde kept his violet eyes fixed on the enraged minion, watching it raise its massive wooden axe for another attack. But before the blow could land, a dark figure materialized from the shadows—a bicorn with a menacing aura. Its three obsidian horns gleamed like deadly daggers against the dim forest light. The creature's deep violet eyes flickered dangerously as it lowered its head, charging forward.

With a thunderous impact, the bicorn crashed into the treant's minion, its horns slicing through the wood like it was paper. The force splintered the treant into countless tiny fragments, each piece scattering through the air. As it struck, violet flames danced around the bicorn's hooves, leaving trails of eerie light that illuminated the battlefield briefly before fading.

Alicarde sighed, looking at the bicorn with a mixture of annoyance and relief. "Wrath... you sure took your time. I had to solo that giant treant..."

Wrath turned its gaze towards him, its violet eyes glimmering with an unreadable intensity. Slowly, it approached its fallen master, each step exuding a quiet menace that reminded Alicarde of their first confrontation. A faint chill crept over him, an echo of the fear and pain he'd felt back then, stirring like a memory he had buried deep.

"I am Aeternus," Alicarde muttered, invoking his true name to steady himself, suppressing any lingering hesitation. He had conquered Wrath; it was obedient now. That past fear no longer had power over him.

"Did you deliver the witches to safety?" he asked, watching Wrath closely.

In response, Wrath stomped its hooves, scattering a few violet sparks across the ground. Alicarde nodded, understanding the silent message. "I see... so they reached Malefica, and now she's... facing off against Cassandra?"

A wry grin crept onto his face. "Well, I can't miss that now, can I?"

He raised a hand, signaling Wrath to take him there. Wrath, with no arms to carry him, opened its maw instead, revealing long, razor-sharp fangs as it moved to lift him by his cloak.

"Wait, wait—on second thought, I think I've got just enough juice to get up myself." Alicarde raised a hand defensively, his voice rushed.

Wrath paused, giving him an unreadable look with its dark, glinting eyes but respected his decision. Alicarde tried to rise, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up. But the dizziness overwhelmed him, and he stumbled forward, faceplanting onto the ground. He tried again, only to find himself meeting the hard surface of a rock with a resounding thud.

"Ahh... this is harder than I thought," he muttered, each attempt only making his head spin more. His body felt like lead, exhaustion pulling him down like an anchor.

Finally, he gave up on trying to stand, looking up at Wrath with a faint, sheepish smile that was hidden beneath his hood.

"Let's... erm... just wait for my sword to come back, yeah?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he felt a familiar weight in his hand. His sword had returned, appearing as if summoned by his will. Alicarde exhaled deeply, half in relief, half in exasperation.

"You really couldn't wait a few more minutes for me to recover a little?" he muttered to the weapon, rolling his eyes. With a resigned look, he turned back to Wrath.

"Alright... fine," he said with a sigh. "You can carry me."