Dark Magus Returns

Chapter 1543: No Survivors (Part 2)

Regardless of Londo’s doubts, regardless of the questions that gnawed at him, he was still a member of the Dark Guild. That was the undeniable truth. Whatever he might feel about Harvey’s orders, whatever unease he carried, the reality remained the same, if he spoke out, if he faltered even for a second, then he would be the next one to die.

The thought chilled him. Perhaps this was how the others had felt once. Perhaps, long ago, some of them had questioned things too. And perhaps, like him now, they had quickly learned that hesitation was a luxury they could not afford. If you allowed yourself to think too much, you would be swept away by the tide, consumed by the momentum of the Guild.

Londo wondered if there were others among them who felt the same as he did in this moment. Harvey always stood at the top, issuing commands with certainty, with ruthlessness. But the true idolization, the one they were told to live and die for, was directed toward the Dark Magus himself. Perhaps some still carried doubts, but how could they ever reveal them? In the Dark Guild, silence was survival. To speak against Harvey, even to whisper suspicion, was to sign your own death sentence.

He pushed the thoughts aside and focused on his task. His role was to move through the factory floor, to check the fallen soldiers of the military one by one. Many had been blasted across the battlefield by waves of magic, thrown hard into the walls of the factory. The carnage was scattered along the edges, bodies sprawled across shattered stone and bent metal.

As Londo worked, his hands moved mechanically, but his mind never stilled. Then, at the far end of the factory, he came across something that made him freeze.

A young soldier lay half-buried against a section of broken wall. His eyes were moving.

Londo crouched down, pressing a hand against the man’s chest. Beneath the blood and grime, there was still a heartbeat. Faint, but steady. The soldier’s eyelids fluttered, and his trembling hands lifted just enough to grasp at Londo’s forearm.

"Please... don’t do this," the soldier mouthed, his lips forming the words though no sound escaped. His eyes were wide with fear, shining with the desperation of someone who knew his life hung by the thinnest of threads.

Londo’s chest tightened.

Why am I taking this man’s life? he thought, his mind reeling.

His fingers trembled over the man’s chest, then he quickly cast a silence spell around them, the faint shimmer of magic cloaking their small space. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The other Dark Guild members were scattered, too far to notice him, too focused on their own grim work.

Leaning close, Londo whispered, his voice low but sharp. "Behind you. There’s a hole in the wall from the fighting earlier. Crawl through it. Quietly. Once you’re outside, you run. Run as far as you can. Don’t get caught. Don’t let anyone find you. If you do... it won’t just be your life that ends. It’ll be mine too. Do you understand?"

The soldier’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He nodded with all the strength he could muster.

Londo looked around once more, checking the others, then lifted his hand. With a subtle flick, he used wind magic to slide the soldier toward the jagged gap in the wall. The opening was narrow, framed with sharp edges of twisted metal. He pushed too quickly in his rush, and the soldier’s arm scraped hard against the steel. A deep gash split open, blood spilling freely.

The silence spell could not cover the entire area. If the soldier cried out, if he made a sound, it would all be over.

But the man clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he swallowed the pain. He pressed his wounded arm against the ground, smearing blood into the dirt to muffle it further, and forced his body through the hole.

On the other side, the night sky waited.

The soldier lifted his head, saw the world open before him, and without hesitation he turned, pressing his injury down to stem the flow of blood. Then he ran. He ran with everything he had, away from the factory, away from death, away from the nightmare he had somehow survived.

Londo let out a shaky breath, only then realizing there was a faint smile on his face.

Who would have thought I’d ever feel this way? That I’d feel... glad to save someone.

He rose to his feet and continued his work. His hands checked bodies with the same practiced motions as before, but now his thoughts burned. He was thankful, in a twisted way, that no other survivors appeared before him. If he had been forced to make the choice again, to gamble with fate again, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to keep his secret.

Later, when the reports were gathered, Harvey’s voice rang out across the ruined factory floor.

"Seventy-one bodies have been found?" Harvey’s tone was clipped, suspicious. His sharp gaze swept across the gathered members. "That’s strange. Including Mordain, there should have been seventy-two."

The words hit Londo like a knife to the gut. His heart thundered in his chest, but he forced his face to remain calm.

"That was me," Londo said evenly, stepping forward just enough to be heard. "In the fight earlier, I... used too much Dark Magic. I was worried I’d been injured, and the magic completely erased the body."

For a moment, Harvey’s gaze lingered on him, heavy and searching. Londo felt the weight of it pressing down, as though Harvey might see straight through his lie.

But then Harvey nodded. "You’re a Nightcaller. An elite among us, skilled in the depths of Dark Magic. If it was you, that makes sense." His eyes flicked away, dismissing the matter. "Very well. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll explain it to Alen and his companions when I see them. Everyone, get ready to move out."

The order was accepted without question, the Dark Guild moving swiftly to finish their tasks.

But beyond the factory, far across the open fields, a single figure was already making his way back toward the city. His legs trembled, his body ached, but his mind was clear.

"I have to tell Alen," the young soldier whispered, his voice hoarse with determination. "I have to tell him what happened here."

And with each step, he ran faster.

**

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