After receiving his customary morning beatings, Damian was brought to the room with the healers. This time, however, he didn't pass out and managed to walk on his own, despite his bleeding back. Yes, it hurt—a lot. Aramis, despite the disapproving glares from all his companions, didn't care and watched Damian take the punishment with a cold expression saying not a single word.

'That goddamned piece of shit is definitely enjoying this,' Damian thought, though he wasn't trying to act tough—well, maybe a little. The real reason he forced himself to stay awake was so he could observe and memorize the advanced or intermediate healing spells the healers used on him daily. They couldn't cast more than three or four spells without running out of mana, yet every day, his back was healed to just enough to keep him walking with no problems. The healers, surprised that he insisted on standing, paid little attention to his unusual behavior and simply did their jobs. Damian, however, focused intensely, memorizing the runic structure as it was formed again and again. With his back in pain, it wasn't easy, but he suffered through it, knowing that once he mastered the spell, he wouldn't have to endure this pain any longer, he could heal himself anytime he wanted.

After the healing session, Kyle and Paul escorted him back to his room. As soon as Damian entered, he closed the door, pulled out his rune recording book, and quickly copied the spell as he remembered it. Only then did he collapse onto his bed, passing out with the rune book still lying near his hands.

When he woke up—more like was forcibly woken up by his guards—it was time for another meeting, or rather, the final meeting before their engagement with Ashenvale in the coming days. Damian freshened up and lazily made his way to the room he'd been summoned to.

The guards opened the door, and Damian walked in. Everyone else was already present, as he'd taken his time enjoying a warm bath—not his fault, since it was the only relief he had from his daily torture. Ignoring the gazes on him, he headed toward the nearest pitcher of wine when he heard a voice.

"Just take a seat," said the elf commander, holding a glass of wine filled by the maid instructor standing at her side.

Damian looked at her, then at the others, before slowly making his way to a chair on the opposite side of the long table, directly across from the elf commander. The rest were seated on the sides, leaving Damian and her facing each other.

"Scouts confirm they're about a day and a half away, my lady. However, the biggest concern is..." Lord Tristan began, but Aramis cut him off mid-sentence.

"They can use waygates in half a day at most. We should activate the defense mechanisms immediately."

"That's exactly what I was going to say before being very rudely interrupted by Lord Aramis," Lord Tristan finished fuming, despite the interruption.

"We don't have time for your nonsense right now," Aramis retorted.

"Enough, you two!" the old second ranker knight ordered who did not fight with them yesterday.

"My lady, the defense mechanisms are ready for you to activate after this meeting," the foreign knight added.

Vidalia nodded in agreement, signaling for the discussion to continue.

"The troops are prepared as well. All extra forces have been called back from guarding the waygates, leaving only the minimum personnel there," Lord Percival said. "Now, if only we could repeat the methods we used yesterday..."

Everyone, in sync, turned to look at Damian, who remained still, gazing back at the army commander.

"Don't worry about it. He'll do it," she said confidently.

"My lady," Aramis began, "have you considered the possibility that he was here intentionally, planning to be caught, just to gain our trust with these tricks when we need him most—only to betray us?"

Several eyes shifted back to Damian. Though no one spoke, he could sense the doubt in their expressions. After all, he was an anomaly, an exception—something they didn't understand, a foreign entity. Damian, however, couldn't care less about such suspicions. Whether they trusted him or not didn't matter. He just had to survive, and survive he would. Ashenvale had done nothing wrong to him, and Eldoris, while unreasonable, had spared him for a grievous sin. Yet, they also tortured him, so there was no love lost on either side.

He didn't care which side he fought for. To be honest, he didn't even want to fight. If it weren't for Sam, he never would've joined the goddamned army. But the lightning sword was something Sam needed to grow strong enough to survive on his own. Once he could get him that, Sam wouldn't be his responsibility anymore. It was Damian's own weakness—his inability to abandon such nonsensical ideas of honor and doing the right thing—that landed him in this mess. This was not modern earth, morality were different here, people here did not have luxury of peace. He swore that if he got out of this alive, he'd find a place where life wasn't so shitty that he had to take matters into his own hands. He was a rune shaper, for f*ck's sake, not a fighter...

"You are overstepping your bounds, Lord Aramis," said one of the older second-rank lady knights who also hadn't fought with them the previous day. "We understand that the scale of the upcoming conflict has everyone on edge, but do not forget who you are speaking to."

"I apologize, Lady Commander, but the boy cannot be trusted," Aramis insisted, and several others nodded in agreement.

"Which is why he will wear this," the commander said, retrieving a collar from her spatial storage and holding it up for everyone to see.

'Ah, here it comes,' Damian thought.

"He will be under my control from today until the end of this fight," she continued.

"Hold your horses now..." Damian interrupted, not caring in the slightest that his crude language had offended nearly everyone in the room.